As an affiliate at retail sites, I earn a small commission from qualifying purchases. See my disclosure for more details.
About The Bastard Heir by Whitley Cox and Ember Leigh
Title: The Bastard Heir
Author: Whitley Cox and Ember Leigh
Series: Winter Harbor Heroes #1
Genre: Contemporary Small-Town Romance
I’m the heir to a secret family fortune, facing down brothers I hate, and trying to get back the one that got away….
Callum
Eight years ago, she broke me.
Her secrets drove a wedge between me and my brother that can never be fixed.
Now, with my life in shambles, I’m forced by the ludicrous demands of my dead father to face the one woman I ever loved, and the brother I can not stand.
I need the money. But a year is a long sentence to serve in a house with people I hate, and in a town that hates me.
A year is a long time to dodge Harlow Jackson and the eyes and smile that made me fall harder than I’ve ever fallen before.
But it only takes days to show me that what happened eight years ago was a mistake. Now I need every last second of the year ahead to convince her to take a second chance on us. This is the first book of the Winter Harbor series which features a quirky small town, secrets galore, and three estranged brothers who find the key to healing comes from the women who steal their hearts
Excerpt from The Bastard Heir
© 2022
Whitley Cox & Ember Leigh
He smirked. “So it is a weekly thing. Great. I’ll let my brothers know so we can be sure to tidy up and put our Sunday’s best on, so we can convince you that we’re a happy little family out here.”
“Sunday’s best wouldn’t fool me on that one, sorry. Remember—I do know you.”
“So, is this weekly charade also a requirement of the will? I don’t remember reading about this in the paperwork. Unless you just wanted some excuse to see me?”
I tried not to let my strickenness migrate to my face. I’d been here less than ten minutes, and he’d already called me out. Wonderful.
“You are impossible,” was all I could muster, however weak it sounded.
“At least I’m not transparent,” he said with a mischievous smile. “Do you want to see the upstairs?” The question felt like an olive branch. But one lined with thorns, if I knew Callum.
I hesitated, looking back at the front door. “You have a bunch of orphaned duck eggs under an incubator lamp you want to show me?”
That earned me a devilishly handsome grin over his shoulder. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
Dammit. I had a hard, if not impossible, time denying this man, particularly when he wore what could be considered lingerie for me. I took a deep breath. “Sure. I can’t stay long, though.”
His footsteps clomped up the stairs. “Why? Got a hot date?”
“Yes, actually,” I lied.
“Well, you better tell him you keep fucking up and making out with the Winters boy,” he intoned. Electricity snapped between us. Of course, he’d gone there. Of course. The man probably believed it was illegal to go a day without reminding me of this sexual connection.
“It was once,” I corrected. “I made out with the Winters boy once, and I think my hot date will be fine,” I said, my heart racing. “I’d never fuck the Winters boy, which is the most important detail.”
Callum appeared unfazed, but of course, all I could see were his broad shoulders straining at the black fabric of his t-shirt. Every inch of my body begged to see the reaction on his face, to see the desire shining through his eyes.
“But oh, you used to fuck him,” he said, his voice grittier. “And you loved it, too. Particularly liked sitting on his face, if I recall.”
My neck went hot at his words. It had been stupid to come here, knowing this would be the outcome. But God, it felt so right, too. This was the forbidden fruit I was dying to taste.
“I don’t see how that’s relevant.” I cleared my throat. “Nor do I understand why you continue to dredge up ancient history every time we see each other.”
He reached the landing, hands stuffed in his pockets as he turned toward me. His face had hardened into a mask of indifference, at odds with the heat and grit in his voice. I could only imagine it was because he was fighting this losing battle alongside me. And we were both willing victims.
“What else is there to talk about besides ancient history?” The smirk that emerged on his lips was both sexy and infuriating.
“Clearly nothing else, since you can’t move on.”
“But have you moved on?” he asked.
The question rooted me to my spot. I had tried like hell to move on. But every second spent around him reminded me that I hadn’t. Not in the ways that counted.
“I offered to talk about it with you, but you didn’t want to,” I spat. “Does this mean you want to have the conversation now?”
Callum strode down the wide hallway. He jerked his chin toward a smaller door tucked into the wall. “Let me show you something.”
I deflated slightly. Now he was deflecting. “What?”
“The perfect place to air our grievances.” Well, that was slightly more promising, at least. “What is it? A padded room and a couple of baseball bats?”
Pick Up Your Copy Today
About Whitley Cox
A Canadian West Coast baby born and raised, Whitley is married to her high school sweetheart, and together they have two beautiful daughters and a fluffy dog. She spends her days making food that gets thrown on the floor, vacuuming Cheerios out from under the couch and making sure that the dog food doesn’t end up in the air conditioner. But when nap time comes, and it’s not quite wine o’clock, Whitley sits down, avoids the pile of laundry on the couch, and writes.
A lover of all things decadent; wine, cheese, chocolate and spicy erotic romance, Whitley brings the humorous side of sex, the ridiculous side of relationships and the suspense of everyday life into her stories. With single dads, firefighters, Navy SEALs, mommy wars, body issues, threesomes, bondage and role-playing, Whitley’s books have all the funny and fabulously filthy words you could hope for.
