She’s too good to be true and he’s her worst nightmare…
Sasha Masters Manwaring, the youngest president’s daughter, is satisfied with the path she’s chosen: she lives in picturesque upstate New York, teaches dance, is close to her sisters and stays out of the public eye. But it’s love at first sight for Dan Lawson and when he sweeps her off her feet, there’s nothing she can do about it. Even if her feelings tell her something isn’t right about him.
The phone shrilled into the darkness. Sasha startled awake. With shaky hands, she grabbed it from the nightstand.
“H-hello.”
“Is this Sasha Masters, the owner of DanceWorks?” She’d chosen to use her mother’s last name for privacy when she moved to Rockford.
“It is.” She glanced at the clock. Three in the morning. This wasn’t going to be good.
“Lieutenant Liam Murray here, from The Rockford Fire Department. Your building caught fire, in the bakery. It’s contained on the first floor.”
“Is Mrs. Bruni hurt? Anybody?”
“Nobody’s hurt. But her shop is a mess with a shitlo—oops, sorry, a whole lotta water damage.”
“Oh, no.”
“She’s at the site, now. She gave us your contact information. There’s smoke damage in your studio but you’re one lucky dog. The sprinklers stopped the fire from reaching the second level.”
“Just so no one was hurt. I’ll be right there.”
“Thank you. Mrs. Bruni’s all alone.”
“I’ll hurry.”
Throwing on clothes, Sasha thought about calling her sister Hannah, but she was still recovering from her arm surgery and she’d want to come, too. Sasha could handle this by herself.
She took a moment to breathe in and out deeply for calmness, then dashed out to the car. On the short drive she uttered the mantra, “No one’s hurt. No one’s hurt.”
Flashing red lights from police vehicles blocked off the entrance but they let her through. More red lights and the loud rumble of firetrucks greeted her as she arrived at the building and hurried out of the car. A man in tan-and-yellow gear approached her. “Ms. Masters?”
“Yes.”
“Liam Murray. I called you.” He angled his head. “Mrs. Bruni’s over there.”
“Can you tell me how the fire started first? And the extent of the damage?”
“Looks like an electrical outlet sparked in the bakery near the deep frier.”
“That’s terrible.”
“We got here fast and put it out with a special extinguisher. The flames did damage, but the water is the big culprit.”
“Did you explain this to her?”
“Uh-huh. She asked if she did anything wrong.”
“Aw. Poor woman. I’ll go over to her.”
The stalwart widow of a war veteran, Angela Bruni was slump-shouldered and pale. When she saw Sasha, she started to cry. “Cara. My shop.”
It was dark so Sasha couldn’t see inside. “Mi dispiace tanto.” Mrs. Bruni had been teaching her Italian so she knew the words for I’m sorry.
“Dio mia. This is all I have left of Gus.” She and her husband started the bakery together. “That nice firefighter said it was not my fault.”
“Apparently the electrical outlet was old and sparked.”
Mrs. Bruni shook her head. “Your studio?”
“Smoke damage. Easier to clean up.” But water damage? That was huge.
“He said I can rebuild. But how?”
“The building’s insured. I promise, you’ll have your store back.” If Sasha had to pay extra for repairs herself. She owned the structure and was up to code on her inspections. This must have been a fluke.
Another woman approached them. “Angie, dear Angie, I’m so sorry.” Sasha had met Mrs. Bruni’s sister, who often helped out at the bakery.
They hugged then Mrs. Bruni said, “Coso posso fare, Millie.”
“We’ll figure out what we can do.” Mildred looked over her sister’s shoulder at Sasha. “There’ll be a way.”
“Excuse me.” Lt. Murray stood behind them. “Ms. Masters would you like to go up and see your studio? The private entrance staircase’s intact.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” She said to the women, “I’ll be right back.”
He handed her something. “I got some goggles from the truck and some gloves. Put them on. And don’t touch anything.”
He went ahead of her to the door. “I’m afraid we had to break your lock.”
“I’m glad you didn’t have to break down the door.”
They climbed the steep staircase and he opened the studio door. Immediately, she began to cough.
“We should go back.”
“No, I’ll be all right.” She pulled out a scarf she’d grabbed at home and covered her mouth and nose to dilute the acrid, putrid smell.
The symptoms dwindled and her eyes adjusted. Everything was intact—the two dance barres, the set of mirrors. She saw the door was closed to the office so that might have helped to keep it cleaner.
“We can’t stay, but I wanted you to know it’s just smoke damage.” When she didn’t respond, he went on, “There’ll be soot everywhere. But luckily no water damage. The alarm went off and we got here fast.”
“I had a layer of fireproof compounds and mortar laid between the floors when I remodeled upstairs.”
“Good thinking. Let’s go back to the street.”
Ironically, it was a lovely July night, with stars twinkling and the streetlights glowing. Too lovely, for what had happened here.
Sasha had a thought. “I forgot to ask how I go about cleaning all this up.”
“Call Pro Serve. They’ve worked with us a lot. You’ll have to wait to do anything inside, though, until the arson squad checks things out.”
“Arson? This could be arson?”
“Doesn’t seem like it to me, but for most commercial fires, the squad comes to make sure. I already told this to Mrs. Bruni.”
“Oh. My heart stopped there for a minute. But, again, thanks.”
Sasha walked over to Mrs. Bruni, who now sat on one of the benches that lined the street. Mildred’s arm circled around the shoulders of her sister’s flowered house dress. Sasha joined them. As soon as she sat and took the old woman’s hand, she felt gutted by her pain.
Sasha ignored it. She would be here for her friend.
#
Dan stood across the street on the sidewalk as he watched Sasha come out of the studio entrance with a fireman and head over to a bench. Amidst the noise of the trucks and officers shouting orders, Dan crossed to where she sat with Mrs. Bruni. Her curly brown hair was back in a ponytail and she wore a light purple workout suit. “Sasha, are you all right?”
“Danny? Um, physically, I’m fine. What are you doing here?”
“I have a small apartment down the street and heard the commotion outside my window.”
“I forgot where you lived.”
“Mrs. Bruni, I’m so sorry about all this,” he said.
The older woman stared at him with bruised eyes. He tried not to react but she was so sad even his hardened heart softened. “Danny. Thank you.”
“You two know each other?” Sasha asked.
“I go to the bakery almost every day.”
“You’re a nice boy,” she said squeezing his hand.
Ha! He was anything but that.
“What can I do for you?” he asked Sasha
“We don’t know yet.”
When Mrs. Bruni turned to her sister, Dan dropped down next to Sasha. Taking her hand would be too forward, so he made sure their hips and shoulders touched. Her face was ragged, her violet eyes turbulent, something else that elicited unwanted emotion from him. “This is so awful.”
“I know. You’re insured, aren’t you?”
“I am. But Mrs. Bruni has a high deductible. She won’t be able to cover all the repairs.”
“There must be something we can do.” He used we intentionally.
“The town has to help.”
“I agree. How bad was your studio damaged?”
“Smoke damage. The flames didn’t reach it so the sprinklers didn’t go off.”
“That’s good to hear. At least it didn’t burn.”
“I have to remember that.” She gave him a small smile. “I like that you’re so optimistic.”
Again, the foreign twist in his heart. Which he couldn’t afford. He’d come to Rockford to do a job and he certainly couldn’t develop feelings for his target. After all, he was planning to destroy her life as she knew it.
A NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY bestselling author, Kathryn Shay has been a lifelong writer and teacher. She has written dozens of self-published original romance titles, print books with the Berkley Publishing Group and Harlequin Enterprises and mainstream women’s fiction. One of her firefighter books hit #20 on the NEW YORK TIMES list. Her novels have been serialized in COSMOPOLITAN magazine and featured in USA TODAY, THE WALL STREET JOURNAL and PEOPLE magazine. There are over ten million copies of her books in print and downloaded online. Readers call her work heartwarming.
A war of Fae Houses. A Prince waking from darkness. A woman drenched in his blood.
Prince Renaud, my mother’s killer, is waking. The Court has not felt the full weight of an Old One in centuries, and it’s my fault.
I am Aerinne Capulette, Lady of House Faronne, and I will have my vengeance against House Montague and Renaud. But despite the ground war I’ve led since I was a child, we remain locked in bloody stalemate.
If the Prince takes the field against us, he will rip from my mind the secret that will shred any hope for peace, or victory.
He will kill me if he discovers the truth. . .
. . .sweet, foolish child. Your death is not what I desire. I have not waited, watched, and planned for centuries to let something as petty as a halfling girl’s vengeance keep me from claiming what is mine.
To protect you, and to ensure my reign, I will bend you to my will. I will slake this obsession with your blood and tears, and I will yield you to no one.
Let your House protest. Let my Court look aghast. They are nothing.
And you—you are my anchor.
We may be enemies, but your hatred only seduces my darkness.
Night in His Eyes is an adult high heat, slow burn Fae fantasy romance, first in the Fae Prince of Everenne series. This not a standalone and ends in a cliffhanger.
No male had ever pulled me with such casual command against his body. He settled a hand on the small of my back, above the curve of my bottom. Lavender burnt to displeased dust in my nostrils the moment he touched me.
I stiffened. “Be careful where you put your hands, Prince. I am not yours.” I tried to draw away and his fingers pressed into me, a silent refusal.
Prince Renaud lowered his mouth to my ear, his voice a breath of sound. “Do not run from me.”
“And if I do?”
“Run, and I will give chase, my halfling.”
Music began, a duo of harps with percussion that echoed the staccato beats of my heart, a wordless feminine voice twining through the notes, and we danced.
“You have no right to hold me like this.”
“What is right?” He tilted his head in slow perusal, a quizzical light in his cold stare.
“It starts with consent.” I said this to the High Lord—without clawing his eyes out.
Fingertips brushed the curve of my hips, sliding over silk like he owned the body beneath. “You consented to dance.”
I forced my jaw to unclench, my temper ticking up a notch. I’d told him not to touch me like that. Like a lover. Like I’d given him the right he was taking. I cringed internally at even thinking the cliché, but the dizzying speed of his interest was all so sudden. If anyone had told me a week ago the Prince of Everenne would be all over me like dryads in a tree, I would have laughed. Where was all of this coming from?
“To dance, not for you to fuck me standing up in public.”
“When I fuck you, Aerinne, you won’t be capable of standing. And if you have never beheld the Fae fuck while dancing, you have never beheld Fae truly dance.”
Emma is a 40 mumble mumble bi-racial American Muslim mom of five who writes PNR & SFR. Her dragons, fae, and bears will most interest readers who like their alphas strong, protective, and smokin’ hot; their heroines feisty, brainy, too grown to give a *uck, and over the age of 30.
Her stories feature men and women of diverse backgrounds.
Everyone knows that the biggest risk you can take with your best friend is to cross a certain line.
When it comes to relationships, Hunter Lancing is not a risk taker. Between his parents’ terrible divorce and his own bad decisions, he’s been burned. Computers make more sense to him. Everything has a rule. Everything is defined. Like his computers, his best friend is defined, constant, and comes with rules he won’t break.
“Ohhh, I think I’ve died and gone to chocolate heaven,” she gushed as she picked up a spoon and sliced it through the cake. Her eyes drifted shut as she chewed and he let himself watch her. Let himself enjoy her, just for a moment. He swore her happy little moan might take him to his knees. What would he have to do to recreate that sound from her?
Nothing. You do nothing.
“This is hands down one of the best brownies I’ve ever had. You have got to have some, Lancelot.” She opened her eyes.
Hunter grabbed the spoon and stabbed at the brownie.
“Hey, this is a work of art, treat it with the respect it deserves,” admonished Natalie as she gently sliced another portion off with her spoon.
“It’s a brownie, Nat. It’s meant to be eaten, not admired.”
“No reason why you can’t do both.”
For the next few minutes, they ate and Hunter looked at everything around him but Natalie and the spoon going in and out of her mouth. The way her lips clung to the metal as she slipped it back out. The dart of her tongue to lick up anything she missed. Not to mention more small noises of pleasure she was making. Someone should put him out of his misery now. This was Texas. Someone had to be packing, right?
When she finished, she placed the spoon on the plate, a look of sadness turning her irises a darker blue.
“I stand by my comment—best brownie. What do you think?”
“It wasn’t bad.” Honestly, he couldn’t remember a single bite.
She rolled her eyes at him. “You’re a brownie heathen, Hunter Lancing.”
“Add it to the growing list of annoying things about me you have,” he grumbled, tossing his napkin on the plate.
“I would never have a list like that about you.” Natalie sat up and leaned over the table, the neckline of her dress dipped, and his eyes were drawn to her cleavage. He quickly averted his gaze and locked onto hers right as her thumb brushed the side of his mouth.
Like what happened when he was in the zone with his coding, all his focus zeroed in on her and only her. The way the fairy lights on the tree highlighted her brown hair. Her lips glossy and probably sweet from dessert. Her touch against his skin, soft and simple…mesmerizing. The temptation to lean forward and kiss her threatened to derail him like a virtual virus would a computer program.
“Crumb,” she whispered as if she too was caught up in the sensual spell weaving around them. Her voice soft like the fall of a snowflake on the ground, blue eyes turning hazy…dreamy.
Award-winning contemporary romance author Kadie Scott grew up consuming books and exploring the world through her writing. She attempted to find a practical career by earning a degree in English Rhetoric (Technical Writing) and an MBA. However, she swiftly discovered that writing without imagination is not nearly as fun as writing with it. Kadie also writes sweet contemporary romance as Kristen McKanagh, and award-winning paranormal and YA/NA fantasy romance as Abigail Owen. No matter the genre, she loves to write happily-ever-afters that shine with home, heart, and humor. Kadie currently resides in Austin, Texas, with her own swoon-worthy hero husband and their two children, who are growing up way too fast.
USA Today Bestselling author Nicole Flockton writes sexy contemporary romances, seducing you one kiss at a time as you turn the pages. Nicole likes nothing better than taking characters and creating unique situations where they fight to find their true love. On her first school report her teacher noted “Nicole likes to tell her own stories”. It wasn’t until after the birth of her first child and after having fun on a romance community forum that she finally decided to take the plunge and write a book.
Apart from writing Nicole is busy looking after her very own hero – her wonderfully supportive husband, and two fabulous kids. She also enjoys watching sports and, of course, reading.
