An infamous human trafficker and murderer is hot on his heels, and he has nowhere to go. When his car breaks down in a small Texas town, he has no choice but to seek help from a biker bar in the middle of nowhere. After a lifetime of rejection, he doesn’t want to trust anyone ever again. But when he meets a blue-eyed bear at the bar who promises him kindness and protection, he desperately wants to believe that this time things will be different.
James Alan Cutter is on a mission.
As a member of an immortal motorcycle club entrusted with protecting humanity, he shouldn’t be taking time off for romance. But something about Abbott stirs his Daddy nature.
When evil stalks the boy Cutter has fallen for, his brothers in arms come together to protect their love.
Cutter’s Mission is a 48K motorcycle club romance with an age gap, size difference, and hurt/comfort.
After Cutter turned the lights down low in his room and finally settled in, his body was pulled into a deep, dreamless sleep. Sometime later, Cutter heard a slight click. Old soldier instincts kicked in and his body stiffened, preparing to fight. His senses reached out and quickly, he remembered he was in his own bed. The noise that had awakened him was the door handle turning. Light peeked in through the opening, and the silhouette of a trembling boy stood in his doorway.
“Abbott? What is it, boy?” He kept his voice quiet and nonthreatening.
“I – I had a nightmare. I’ll, I’m sorry, I…”
His quivering voice alerted Cutter to Abbott’s emotional state. “Abbott, come here.” He lifted his covers in invitation. Within seconds, his arms were full of his shaking redheaded temptation. He turned on his side, pulling Abbott close to him, keeping his arms wrapped tight. Abbott’s face burrowed closer to his chest, and Cutter could feel the wetness of his cheeks.
“I promise you, Abbott, I’ll never let anything bad happen to you.” He was rubbing soothing circles on his boy’s back and placed little kisses on his forehead. “You are safe in this town. The Valhalla Warriors watch out for their own, and I guarantee no one could come to St. Germain and hurt you.”
Abbott sniffed. “But I’m not a member of your club. Why would they protect me?” His voice was muffled against Cutter’s chest. “Because you need help, and I can help. I want to. That’s all they need to know. And I—” He paused. What was the best way to tell this precious boy that Cutter wanted to protect him, be a Daddy to him? They weren’t friends, much less in a relationship so it was too early. Wasn’t it?
As an author, I’m looking to bring my readers joy. The Valhalla Universe is full of Amazonian Warriors, Valkyrie, gods, goddesses, war heroes who ride motorcycles, and the humans who love them. The Valhalla Warriors is an LGBTQ Series that is insta-love, low angst, light kink romp of fun and steam.
I always turn up at just the wrong moment. I never know how to make the most of a situation; I don’t know the right thing to say, or when I should come or go. Let’s just say I have really shit timing. I’m not a smart guy. I don’t have great ideas. I’m practical, a hard worker; someone who lives for his family, and for the air that she breathes. It’s just a shame that the “she” in question never knew this. It’s a shame that I waited all these years to make my move. It’s useless to tell you, readers, that it was already too late; that I’d screwed everything up, once again. And, this time, my mistakes forced her to come home. Except she didn’t want to stay. And now she hates me – or maybe she doesn’t. I still haven’t worked out what’s going on between us, but like I said, I’m not the sharpest tool in the box. And even though this could be my last chance, I’m not going to be the one to ask her to stay. Not even if she turns out to be the one I’ve always waited for. Because she doesn’t belong in this place. And she doesn’t belong in my life. My name is Alex Brennan, and this is my story: of how I realised I’d lost the most important person in my life, before I even had her.
I whisper my answer onto her mouth, brushing against her; I try to say it again, but louder, in case she didn’t hear me, pressing my lips onto hers more firmly, carrying her away with me, before slowly letting them go with a sigh. I dive back in: this time, my tone is decisive, my movements more impatient. Her lips part, and my tongue slips between them, giving her my answer once again, telling her everything she needs to know. My hands frame her face, her hands lost in my hair. She moves closer, so that we’re chest to chest; her tongue dances around mine, telling me that this isn’t just a senseless monologue, but a full-blown discussion: one with commas, exclamation points, and pauses for breath. There are so many breaths, which she robs from me and I steal back from her.
I’ve never kissed her like this before, and I want to make sure it’s one she never forgets.
We pull apart for a moment, giving me just enough time to admire her shining eyes, before I remind her again of my answer. I don’t think I’ve made it clear enough, yet.
I pant onto her mouth and go back to her; I take her lips between mine and nibble them, gently. My hands slide down her back, her arms, her sides, in search of the hem of her top; my fingers delve underneath, seeking out her skin.
Ellie lets herself go, lets me set the pace. She wants to hear what I have to say, with no interruptions, just as I asked. But her hands have another idea; they don’t know how to stay put, weaving her fingers through my hair and grabbing it, before letting it go. They slide down my face and stroke my beard, keeping me close to her. Her body is pressed against mine, as if it needs to recognise me, know how to excite me; how to love me.
We kiss like this, by the dock, across from the bay.
We kiss like this, like we’ve never kissed before; as if we needed to understand that our mouths were really meant for one another.
We kiss like this, as if we’d been kissing for ten years, and knew the shape of each other perfectly; as if we knew all the stopping points, when to breathe.
We kiss like this, as if the love I’ve always felt for her were the same as the love she feels for me, now.
We kiss like this, as if the woman I’ve been waiting my entire life for is finally back where she belongs.
We kiss like this, as if I were telling her that I could never be anyone but hers.
We kiss like this, as if she were telling me she can only ever be mine.
Title: My Sweet Enemy Author: Jenny Hartwell Genre: New Adult Contemporary Romance
The only thing tempering their insta-hate is delicious attraction.
Sunny chocolatier Charlotte Beecher is unemployed, in student debt, and on the verge of hawking her beloved copper pots just to make ends meet. So when a gourmet chocolate factory chooses her as one of five candidates to help re-launch the company in their Charlie and the Chocolate Factory inspired competition, Charlotte begins to see a light at the end of the tunnel.
Fellow contestant Luke Wells complicates her plans to win by a landslide with his flow charts and marketing projections. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Haughty is all about the bottom line and is as bitter as she is sweet. And when he snubs Charlotte in the first challenge, misunderstanding or not, she transforms from cream puff to jawbreaker. Bring. It. On.
But when these two rivals find themselves distracted by delicious attraction, will they let their passion get in the way of winning the competition?
The soft click of the key card in the front door sounded. Luke straightened from the island as the door opened. The soft glow from the undercabinet lights illuminated Charlotte, frozen in the doorway as she stared at him with wide eyes.
She wore high heels, tight jeans, and a fitted jacket over a low-cut top. She was, in a word, gorgeous.
Luke forced himself to blink.
“Um, hi,” she finally said, pulling her key card out of the lock without taking her eyes off him.
“Hello.” He kept his feet rooted to the spot.
Charlotte slowly walked into the kitchen area. Her unblinking gaze roamed over his bare chest and abdomen.
Luke’s skin felt hot, as if her stare was actually touching him.
“Did you have a good day?” he asked, trying to sound normal. Normal? Ha. He could barely manage normal on a typical day, let alone late at night when he was half-naked and the woman who’d caught his attention was looking delicious enough to eat.
She walked closer, her eyes still roaming across him. She was like a surveyor, mapping the contours and terrain of his muscles and sinews and flesh with precision. With focus. With intensity.
“I had a pretty relaxing day myself,” he said, filling the silence as he fidgeted with his ice-cream spoon.
She set her purse on the counter next to his bowl and stepped closer. Now only a foot separated them.
She was so short that he could see straight down the low-cut neckline of her shirt. He tried to look away. After all, he wasn’t a perv trying to sneak a peek, but his gaze returned to the tempting curves and shadows of her cleavage nonetheless.
Willpower, thy name is enemy.
Charlotte finally looked up at him. Her eyes seemed to glow in the soft, muted light.
“Charlotte, I just wanted to say again how sor—”
She covered his mouth with her fingers and shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
He spoke against the light pressure of her touch. “But— ”
She arched an eyebrow.
He stopped.
Her lips tipped up at the corner as she scanned him once more. She seemed to relish the sight of his bare feet and plaid pajama bottoms hanging low on his hips, as well as the half-eaten bowl of ice cream on the island counter beside him.
She kept one hand on his mouth, and with the other, she plucked the spoon out of his nerveless fingers. Scooping up a small mound of ice cream, she slid the spoon between her lips and slowly pulled it out. Her tongue darted to her lower lip to capture a drop of the melted dessert. Charlotte closed her eyes and hummed as she swallowed the bite.
“I’ve been thinking.” She set the spoon back into the bowl on the counter with a clink and took a half step closer.
The air between them grew hot. Or there wasn’t enough air. Or something else involving air was happening because Luke’s lungs suddenly felt like they needed more oxygen than was available.
He opened his mouth to question her, but she traced her fingertips lightly over his bottom lip. Luke forgot what he’d meant to say. He forgot the year, his name, and even how words worked.
“Luke,” Charlotte whispered. Her face was luminous. Her scent, vanilla and flowers and a hint of chocolate, teased his nose. Her lips were pink and gorgeous and inviting.
He nodded, and her fingers dragged across his mouth with the slight movement. He wanted to close his eyes and take her finger into his mouth and swirl his tongue around it and groan, but he did none of those things. Yesterday, he’d hurt her. He needed to treat her with respect. He needed to tread lightly. He needed to—
Jenny Hartwell has a confession-she loves People magazine as much as Pride and Prejudice. Her fun, pop culture adoring side shines in her contemporary rom-com novels set in a gourmet chocolate factory while Jenny’s Regency romances feature strong damsels and swoony lords. Her writing has won or finaled in numerous contests including the Golden Heart, The Emily, Four Seasons, Fool for Love, and The Catherine. Jenny lives with her family in the verdant Pacific Northwest. She loves movies, travel, and staying up late with a good book. And, of course, chocolate. Jenny is represented by Lesley Sabga of The Seymour Agency.
