Ariella I moved in with Jaxson after the attack. It’s hard to keep my hands off him, but he’s my boss. He’s given me a job at Eagle Tactical as his subordinate.
I don’t take orders well, especially from a grumpy boss. He’s about just as grumpy as his toddler when she skips her afternoon nap.
Jaxson I vowed to protect Ariella. That’s how much she means to me, but she’s gotten under my skin with her know everything attitude and sassy hip sway that has my body in overdrive.
I swore I’d never do a one-night stand. Is that what she thinks we shared? Is that why she hates me?
I don’t know how much longer I can wake up under the same roof, go to work with her, and not throw her down on the bed.
We have a mission that takes priority, but how can I keep my mind on the job when she’s always in the room, and I want to bend her over the desk?
I didn’t dare gaze into the eyes of the man who bought me. Thanks to my stepbrother, Nikolai, I belonged to Franco, his second in command in the mafia.
“Next week you’ll be my bride,” Franco said, his teeth yellowing and crooked. He grabbed my jaw and yanked my face closer to his for a kiss. His breath smelled of vomit. My stomach recoiled.
We stood outside his black sedan, the door open. I was to go with him. I’d sooner starve myself to death. That was still a possibility after I went with the man who I was engaged to marry.
Bile rose to my throat, and I swallowed the burning acid as it slid back down. I kept my mouth sealed shut, but it didn’t stop him from planting his thick dry lips against mine. His tongue pushed at my mouth rough and forceful, but I refused to grant him access. The scum-sucking vermin could kiss the soles of my feet.
I wanted to kill my stepbrother but not before I took out Franco.
Franco’s thick hand palmed my hair, his fingers tangled in my locks before he yanked hard, bringing my face to his. “Other girls should be as lucky as you.”
My stepbrother was nowhere to be found. Typical. Sell me and move on, like I meant nothing to him. I was a piece of property. That was it.
Franco shoved me toward the back door of his sedan.
Oh hell, no. I had the upper hand now, with only Franco and his driver. If I made it to his house, who knew the danger that awaited, how many men I’d be forced to fight or what other security measures would exist.
“Get off me!” I slammed my elbow into his stomach and stomped on his toes before kneeing him in the crotch.
His driver lifted his gun, pointing it at my head.
“Please, you’d be doing me a favor,” I said. I’d sooner die than marry him.
“Don’t shoot her!” Franco pushed the gun away from the driver, lowering the barrel.
I pulled back my fist, landing another blow, this one to Franco’s face before his hand yanked my hair and slammed my head into the side of the car.
The world spun and nausea swept over me.
He shoved my body into the back of the vehicle, slammed the door shut, and stomped around to the front passenger side.
“Don’t puke on the interior, Bitch.”
The car engine started.
My vision blurred, but I felt for the door handle and gave it a hard pull. Damn child safety locks. It didn’t open.
Roar. I flew back against the seat as the driver slammed on the gas. The tires squealed, and my nose tickled with the scent of burning rubber. The skyline grew smaller in the distance as we tore out of the city. Where the hell were we going? Where did Franco live?
“Where are you taking me?” I rubbed my eyes, confused and tired. The blurred vision was getting better, but I still felt like I’d been run over by a car.
“Home sweet home, Darling. We’re going to Russia.”
Russia wasn’t my home. I’d never been out of the country. My fingers stroked the white gold locket against my neck, the only token of my mother that I had left, a gift from my deceased father.
I wasn’t going to Russia or any other country with Franco.
I shoved my hand into my pocket and retrieved my cell phone. I turned it on silent and sent out a text requesting help. I didn’t know how long I had until the flight or until they searched me. I’d been foolish not to bring a knife or at the very least mace with me, some kind of weapon to defend myself.
I had memorized Mason’s number, having stalked him online. It had been years since we’d seen each other. We’d gone to boarding school together. He had joined the army after high school, and I had been sent to live with my father.
It was no secret he worked for the security firm Eagle Tactical. I couldn’t call them. It would be too risky. I hoped that their business line could receive texts. I didn’t have Mason’s personal number; it appeared to be unlisted.
Mason, I need your help. Please track my phone and come for me. I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t life or death – my death. Hazel It was short and to the point. It’s all I could do. I hoped it would go through and he’d come for me.
Willow has loved writing since she was in high school (many ages ago). Her small town romances are reflective of living in a small town in rural America. Whether she’s writing romance or sitting outside by the bonfire reading a good book, Willow loves the magic of the written word. She dreams of being swept off her feet and hopes to do that to her readers!
Art dealer Sasha Montgomery is both nervous and thrilled to be invited to the Caldorian Earth Base for her best friend’s wedding to an alien warrior. One, she’s never seen an alien up close, and two, she made a promise to be there, no matter how much the idea of being surrounded by hundreds of huge alien warriors frightens her.
She thinks she’s got it all under control, until Dagan, the groom’s best friend, crashes the wedding. He’s smoking hot—way too hot to be an alien—and determined to seduce her.
Sasha gives in to passion with unexpected consequences. Ancient power rises in response to their new-found bond, and the once innocent Sasha discovers that Dagan has been keeping secrets. He’s not just another warrior, he’s a king, and the power rising between them hasn’t been seen in a millennium.
Sasha must learn to control the force clawing its way through her body…or destroy them all.
Sasha turned back toward Dagan but couldn’t meet his eyes as he stepped in so close she could feel the heat emanating from his body. Her feet stubbornly refused her silent command to move back and she nervously smoothed her hair. Why doesn’t he say something? Or move back?
Dagan did neither, and Sasha shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other. Is he waiting for me to do it? Her throat constricted, and all she could manage to get out was a mousy squeak. With agonizing slowness, she forced herself to raise her eyes one inch at a time. Huge black boots that came up to mid-calf. He’s standing way too close. She inhaled his ruggedly masculine scent. And, of course he smells amazing. Sasha closed her eyes and breathed him in a second time. A cool minty breath whispered across her cheek and she opened her eyes. Was it her imagination or had he moved even closer? Was he trying to crowd her? Sasha’s breathing grew shallow and choppy. She took a small step back, but he not only followed her, he took one of her dainty hands in his, dwarfing it completely. Her nipples tingled as his thumb stroked unhurriedly back across and in between each knuckle. Her breath hitched and she took another step back. He followed. She tugged her hand, and he squeezed gently but refused to release it. Why didn’t he take the hint and let go, she wondered? He’d just arrived from Caldor? He must not know how much humans like their personal space because he was very much in hers, and the proximity was sending her into meltdown.
“Dagan,” she whispered as she raised her free hand, trembling and unsure, to signal him to stop and move back, but he was already so close her fingertips brushed up against his rock-hard abs. She gasped as she felt his muscles contract at the contact. She squeezed her eyes shut as a bolt of pleasure zinged down her spine, all the way to her core. She jerked her tingling fingers away and took another step back in retreat. She was going to die; she just knew it.
He’s just so big and intimidating up close. Even shirtless, he looks ready for battle. Or sex. Sasha blushed nervously. She hadn’t said that out loud, had she?
Sasha worked her gaze up another notch. His shoulders were mouth-wateringly broad and well-defined, and his dark blue markings were fascinating up close, the artist in her nearly transfixed by the hint of sparkling opalescent fire inside the dark whorls. Sasha stared until he gently cleared his throat. The sound drew her eyes reluctantly upward just in time to see him swallow. His lips twitched, like he was holding in a laugh. His nose was straight and the perfect size for his face. Not daring to meet his eyes again, Sasha skipped up to his forehead. Please, God, just get this over with. Either let go or shake hands, or whatever it is you do and go away so that you won’t see me melt into a mindless puddle. Finally, she looked into his twinkling eyes.
“Sasha Montgomery of Earth, please forgive me for frightening you earlier today. I am Dagan Tiranon of Caldor.”
Sasha barely had time to register what he’d said in his deep, rumbling bass before he moved his hands to her waist and lifted her up like she weighed nothing at all, bringing her in to rest against his chest.
“What are you doing?” Sasha squeaked. She pushed against his shoulders and wriggled to make him put her down, but he didn’t budge. He didn’t even seem to notice she was trying to get away.
“I am greeting you, little one, as humans do,” Dagan rumbled. “I am new to your world but I have been watching how you greet each other. I would like to share in your traditions. I believe you call it hugging.”
Becca Brayden spends her days writing and her nights dreaming up her next hot adventure with even hotter alien hunks. A Colorado native, she has lived in New Zealand, Florida, Alabama, Kansas and loves to travel in direct proportion to how much she hates to cook. Chocolate makes her happy, licorice makes her cringe, and despite the cult following – she hates pumpkin pie and pumpkin spice lattes. (More for you!) Natural wanderlust has given her a deep love for Mediterranean food and a bookshelf filled with everything from philosophy to sexy romance.
She believes that if we are to save our great planet and all its amazing inhabitants, we must put aside our differences and collectively work together!!
You can catch her enjoying a cup of hot cocoa at her website www.BeccaBrayden.com
Broke and widowed, Rachel Ferrer has already lost so much that when her tarot reading roommate pulls The Tower card, Rachel isn’t phased. What are upheaval and chaos when the worst had already happened? When Rachel’s late husband’s childhood best friend, Nicolas, reappears in her life and brings a handsome friend along with him, Rachel forgets the cards. She takes a chance on Blake even though she can’t stop thinking about Nicolas. It isn’t settling if the person you want is married, right?
Nicolas Rivera has always been a man of faith. His marriage and his job at the church have been his pillars, but when the foundations of both begin to crumble, doubt and a forbidden attraction tempt him to seek comfort in the one woman he shouldn’t go anywhere near.
Nicolas and Rachel have been on the periphery of each other’s lives for years, but as circumstances push them together, lightning crackles between them. Will they be able to resist the electricity or will they get burned by Temptation?
Nicolas was covered in dirt and sweat, and his skin itched. If he hadn’t just destroyed one of his favorite parts of his year, he would have been satisfied with a good day’s hard work. As it was, the catharsis he’d been looking for felt more like a dead end. Like he was slowly erasing himself and his legacy from the church instead of controlling the narrative.
Rachel collapsed on the curb beside him. They sat on the edge of the church parking lot, looking out over the now-barren field where the garden had been.
She was just as dirty as he was, but it didn’t change how adorable he thought she was. He’d been so distracted by the way her tied-up T-shirt accented her waist that it had taken him more than an hour to realize she was wearing one of Blake’s campus ministry T-shirts. Because she had come from Blake’s place this morning.
He’d spent the rest of the day reminding himself of that.
“Here,” she said and handed him a red cup full of Coke.
He tried to hand it back. “I don’t drink soda.”
She pressed her fingers against his forearm, and the warm touch of her hand soothed the sore muscles like a balm. He wanted to lean into her but focused on the drink in his hand instead as she said, “It’s what’s in the soda, Nicolas.”
He sniffed. “Whiskey?” And a lot of it too.
Rachel looked to the sky and sighed. “Gabe’s funeral was five years ago today.”
Nicolas didn’t think. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t make the connection. How are you doing?”
Rachel shrugged and sagged against him. It was too hot to touch for long, but Rachel didn’t seem bothered by the heat or the fact that their significant others could turn from where they were gathered around the food table at any moment and see them embracing.
“It’s been five years, but I still miss him. Sometimes I wake up, and I still expect to find him in the kitchen making coffee and talking back to the news, like normal. Even if I have to resign myself to knowing things are never going to be normal like that again. I think that’s part of the reason why Naomi was determined to make this into a party. That and it was an excuse for her to flirt with your wife.”
Nicolas chuckled at her attempt at levity. He’d noticed the way Naomi had tracked Kat’s every move all day long. “I didn’t quite believe it before, but I think you might be right.”
Rachel only shrugged and motioned with her cup to where Naomi and Kat stood with Blake and the kids across the parking lot. Naomi squealed and pulled Kat into what looked like a spontaneous hug. Everyone else was smiling, so Nicolas chose to do the same. It hadn’t really been that bad, having them all here today.
Nicolas nudged Rachel, who was staring off into space, with his elbow. “What shall we toast to?” He didn’t want her to be sad today.
Rachel motioned toward the decimated field with her red cup. “To new beginnings,” she said. Nicolas knocked his cup against hers and said aloud the one thing he’d been trying to garner for himself lately when it came to his job, and maybe his marriage. “To having the courage to start the journey.” They shared a sad smile before they both drained their drinks.
Marla Holt believes in second chances, romance, and the radical notion that everyone deserves a happily every after. She’s living her own fairy tale, writing contemporary romance novels in her Kansas farmhouse with her husband, three boys, three cats, and flock of imaginary sheep. Follow her at marlaholt.com or on Instagram as @marlaholtauthor
