My life has never been easy. Not from the day I took my first breath until now. Only days old, I was placed in a laundry basket and left in front of a firehouse. I never knew who my parents were before being shuffled around from one bad foster home to another. Until the day I arrived at Kerrighan House.
My safe haven.
My home.
I was welcomed with open arms into a world where love and sisterhood were the rule, not the exception. From that moment on, I believed I was safe. That nothing bad could touch me.
I was so wrong.
Neither my success as a full-figured lingerie and fashion model nor my street smarts as a born and bred Chicago native, safeguarded me against walking into the clutches of a monster.
As I try to pull my life back together, I’m brought face to face with a man whose wounds mirror my own. Under his protection, I’m gifted the opportunity to find beauty where there has only ever been pain. And yet, danger lurks, as a new evil threatens to bring me to my knees.
Can my savior protect me, or has my fate been sealed?
Killian came over to me and stopped a couple feet away. “You doin’ okay?”
I nodded and pushed a lock of hair behind my ear suddenly feeling shy. “Everything is a little awkward but I’m rolling with it. Thank you for sharing your space and willingly shooting in your home. This can’t be fun for you.”
He smiled softly. “Why wouldn’t having something unearthly beautiful to photograph in my home not be fun for me?”
I bit down on my bottom lip and looked at the floor, trying to hide how much his compliment lifted my confidence.
“I’m still scared.”
“Of the guy who hurt that girl?” He clarified.
I shook my head. “No…actually, yeah, that too. It’s just… This is my first shoot back after the other thing and now it’s blowing up again. I just want to apologize in advance if I randomly I stare off into space or have one of my moments.”
He stepped so close I could almost feel the heat of his larger frame cocooning mine, reminding me that there was someone perfectly capable of protecting me. Him.
“Last time when you paused during the shoot, you went somewhere. What happened then?” he asked.
“I…uh, went back to that horrible place where I was kept. The guy, he took pictures and video of me. Sometimes the sound of the flash or a picture being taken can send me back there.”
He lifted up a finger. “I’ve got an idea. What if we drown out the sound?”
I tilted my head. “How so?”
“Music, of course. What do you like?”
I shrugged. “Most everything, but I’m really into Lana Del Rey right now.”
“She’s awesome. Why don’t you go get your hair and makeup done while I set up and get some music on? I need to choose the first outfit and props to see what we’re working with.”
Without any preamble, I closed the space between us and wrapped my arms around his neck. I lifted up onto my toes so I could whisper against his ear while hugging him. “Thank you. For making me feel safe. For giving me a private space. For understanding my issues…”
He wrapped his arms around my body, bringing me flush against his hard frame. I relaxed into his return hug.
“When I say it’s my pleasure, I really mean it, Addy. There’s something about you. About your beauty. About your body. About your entire package that calls to me, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. I have to capture your beauty on film. It feels…important somehow.”
I trembled in his hold, not because I was afraid, but because the things he said turned my insides to mush and my body to nothing but liquid desire.
I wanted him.
Badly.
“We’re going to break all the rules about models and photographers getting mixed up with one another, aren’t we?” I whispered against his thick, manly neck where I scented a light cologne mixed with a heady, earthy musk that had to be all Killian. “I sure as hell hope so.” He ran his hand up my back and cupped my cheek, his thumb tracing my bottom lip in a feather-light caress. His gaze seared straight through to the heart of me.
Audrey Carlan is a #1 New York Times and International bestselling author. Her titles have appeared on USA Today and the Wall Street Journal. Audrey writes wicked hot love stories that have been translated in over thirty different languages across the globe. She is best known for the world-wide bestselling series Calendar Girl and Trinity. She lives in the California Valley where she enjoys her two children and the love of her life. When she’s not writing, you can find her teaching yoga, sipping wine with her “soul sisters,” or with her nose stuck in a steamy romance novel.
Josh Keller never thought he’d host a wedding reception—his kink club is a place where he tends bar and chains willing men to the padded wall in his private room. He also never thought he’d see the love of his life again. When both happen on the same day his life will never be the same.
Pax Dupont never stopped loving Josh, not when they fought and broke up and not during the fifteen years they spent a thousand miles apart. Coming face-to-face with the man he left behind is a surprise, but learning Josh is part owner of the club intrigues Pax enough to share his own love of silk, lace, and domination.
Will Josh and Pax put past hurts behind them and admit their feelings still run hot, or will Pax’s attempts to dominate Josh break them up for good?
Warnings: This book contains a brief scene of violence and a hero in peril, mentions of past abuse of a child, grief over the death of siblings, a man who loves the feel of silk and lace, and one who thought he understood his own kinky nature.
Pax shot him a look over his shoulder. That look was full of heat and promise as much as the question of what the hell did Josh have running around in his head.
Josh stood behind him as he flipped through the folders in the box and rested both hands on Pax’s shoulders. Leaning close, he whispered in Pax’s ear, “What can I do to help?”
Pax’s exhale seemed to go on forever. As he sighed, he also relaxed under Josh’s hands and leaned back so their bodies touched—Pax’s back against Josh’s chest. The same way they’d slept when they were teenagers after a long night of making out. Among other things.
“Fuck, Josh, I really have work I need to do.”
“I’m not trying to stop you.” Josh moved one hand to circle Pax’s waist and pull him closer. Gently, but leaving no room for doubt that he wanted Pax, that the anger and hurt and resentments of their past were just that: of the past.
Pax dropped his head back onto Josh’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t have left so fast. I thought…”
“You thought what?”
“That you were just being kind, and that this—” Pax turned so his lips brushed against Josh’s ear. “—was all in the past.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t…Fuck, Pax, I still feel it. All of it.” Josh wrapped his other arm around Pax’s chest and held him tight. Pax shivered in his embrace, his ass pressed tightly against Josh’s growing cock. Josh knew he couldn’t say any more—he’d already said too much, even if Pax hadn’t been on the clock. It was way too soon to be making any grand pronouncements, even if he would mean every word.
Josh made a soft squeaking sound when Pax took him by the wrist and moved his hand to rest on Pax’s waistband. Josh’s thumb slid into Pax’s slacks and against something silky.
“I’d love to take you right here—” Josh dragged his thumb across Pax’s stomach, loving the contrast between his firm body and the surprising silkiness of whatever he was wearing. “—but someone could walk in any minute.” Pax groaned and leaned back harder against Josh, pressing Josh’s hand tight against his abs as he did. Josh thought Pax’s knees might have weakened at the thought of someone walking in and catching them together and filed that knowledge away for when he could make good use of it.
Charley Descoteaux is the author of the Buchanan House Love Stories. Book One is a USA Today Must-Read Romance.
Charley has always heard voices. She was relieved to learn they were fictional characters, and started writing when they insisted daydreaming just wasn’t good enough. In exchange, they’ve agreed to let her sleep once in a while. Charley has survived earthquakes, tornadoes, and floods, but couldn’t make it through a single day without stories.
Charley also writes under the pen name Charli Coty. Under that name you’ll find LGBTQIA+ fiction that’s a little different but always has a happy ending.
Title: Twice Tempted Author: Jeaniene Frost Series: Night Prince #2 Genre: Paranormal Romance
Dating the Prince of Darkness has its challenges…
Leila’s psychic abilities have been failing her, and now she isn’t sure what the future holds. If that weren’t enough, her lover, Vlad, has been acting distant. Though Leila is a mere mortal, she’s also a modern woman who refuses to accept the cold shoulder treatment forever–especially from the darkly handsome vampire who still won’t admit that he loves her.
Like choosing between eternal love and a loveless eternity…
Soon circumstances send Leila back to the carnival circuit, where tragedy strikes. And when she finds herself in the crosshairs of a killer who may be closer than she realizes, Leila must decide who to trust– the fiery vampire who arouses her passions like no other or the tortured knight who longs to be more than a friend? With danger stalking her every step of the way, all it takes is one wrong move to damn her for eternity.
Leila and Vlad’s relationship is far from perfect. In fact, the book starts out with quite a row and Leila walking away – with Maximus on her heals for protection. She returns to the carnival circuit to find her old friend and partner, Marty. But what she thought was a return to her old life, is no such thing. Marty appears to have moved on with a new partner, and she flounders trying to figure out what to do next.
Unfortunately, that seems to be Leila running for her life with Maximus at her side. This makes things a little uncomfortable since he has a crush on Leila, and she never seems sure of what his motives really are. How much would he be willing to say and do just to turn her away from the idea of returning to Vlad?
In the long run, Vlad and Leila find themselves up against a new enemy and will need to rely on each other to get things taken care of. But if Vlad wants to get Leila back, he’s going to have to make some major changes, both emotionally and in the location of his bathroom.
This book did hit a little bit of the book 2 hump that seems to plague so many second-in-series. It felt a lot more like a transition between book one and book three than a complete story unto itself. The cliffhanger ending really added to that impression as well. Getting ready for book 3 was an exciting trip though, and it looks like there’s only more excitement to come.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” a deep voice slurred from somewhere near the door. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
“I’m going home, Silas,” I said, fighting back the tears that were threatening to run down my face as I tried to fit too many textbooks into my backpack.
“Like fuck you are,” he said, making his way toward me.
I stood to my full height and looked at him. My heart dropped at seeing him this way. “Silas, you’re drunk.” I could smell the marijuana coming off of him in waves. “And probably high. You should call it a night.”
I didn’t know why I was trying to give him advice. I should have told him to go fuck himself and be done with it.
“I’ll call it a night if you call it one with me,” he drawled, moving in closer to me.
“Get away from me, Silas,” I said, trying to feign confidence but he just laughed.
“You don’t want that, Sky. I saw the way you looked at me. The way you looked at her. You wanted that to be you, hm?”
I didn’t think his comment warranted a response. Either that or I was too choked up to say something back. I picked up my backpack and tried to lift it onto my shoulders, but even in his inebriated state he was quick. The bag tumbled to the floor as he pushed it away and I felt my back press into the wall behind me.
“Admit it, Sky. You. Want. Me.” He was so close to me now. His lips were ghosting against my neck and his hand was pressing against my hip.
I hated this.
I hated him.
I hated the way he made me feel.
And I hated the way he smelled like someone else’s perfume.
“I can smell her on you,” I seethed at him through grit teeth.
He pulled back, lifting his face so that his eyes were even with mine. His fingers moved up, making me shiver on their ascent before pinching my chin. I grimaced as I wondered whether it was the hand that had, minutes before, been knuckle deep in another woman’s cunt.
“You wish it were you, don’t you?” he drawled.
“No,” I bit back, but I was a fucking liar. Truth was, I wanted Silas. I wanted him bad. And I wanted him all to myself. I didn’t want to share him. Not with some bimbo. Not with anyone. I loved the way him and I had developed our study routine. I loved that out of everyone in his life, except for maybe his mother, I knew him the best. He had hot edges and a frozen center, but at least I knew all the secrets he kept hidden there were for me and me alone. But I didn’t know how to say any of this. Worse than that, I didn’t know how to admit any of this. I hated and wanted him at the same time. He said I was a contradiction but that was only because he tore me in two.
Writer of all things untamed, romantic and free, Ivy Wild never planned on becoming a romance novelist. In fact, she hated romance as a kid and was quite proud of that fact. Basically, life is weird.
Married to her own alpha hero, she currently lives in various places of the world at various times thanks to his military career.
Title: Scorn of Secrets Author: B. Truly Genre: Young Adult Contemporary Romance
I must keep it locked away—the memory of my darkest secret….
When the rising tides of my life peak, I’m left struggling with the currents of the storm. The first dilemma is my dad’s gambling debt. Mama bounces back quickly from the ramifications it causes. She proves this by getting a new man. Her Rico Suave is just the tip of the iceberg—she moves us across state to live with him and his two sons.
My outgoing, older sister fits right in—she’s the total opposite of me. I am Madison Guillory, the shy, quiet type. Taught to make the best of even the worst situations, I contemplate giving my new family a chance.
Living with my future stepbrothers is interesting, to say the least. They’re like night and day. I have more in common with the laid-back brother, and we become instant friends. I’m adjusting to Taylor High, and the arrogant brother is even starting to grow on me. Maybe everything will work out after all.
My life finally seems to be falling into place until a dreadful night shatters my dreams. My world is flipped upside down because of the consequences I must now bear.
The memories of that night lurk in the shadows to torment me. If I think of what happened, I’ll succumb to my fear. His face has scorned me. No one will believe me if I confess, not even my own sister. I hold the key to my darkest secret, desperate to keep it locked away.
The trip to the airport terminal is rimmed in silence. Gigi is driving us. She’s been supportive, saying encouraging words like, “it will all work out” and “everything happens for a reason.”Deep down, I don’t think Gigi is thrilled about us leaving. But she probably feels it’s not a bad idea for us to get out of town, worried about the robbery and how my father was murdered.
The airport is busy, and it takes a while to check in. Gigi waits with us until they announce its time for us to board our plane. Gigi hugs Tanya first, then she embraces Mama, who pats her back awkwardly. Charlotte has never been the touchy type—Regan being the exception these days. She is all over him whenever they’re together.
Gigi hugs me next. “Take care of yourself, Madison.”
“I’m going miss you, Gigi.”
“I’ll miss you, too, dear. Just be yourself and everything will be fine.” Her lips curve upward, not reaching her eyes. “It won’t be as bad as you think. Just remember life is what you make of it.”
Gigi has always taught me to roll with the punches. “I’ll try to make the best of it.”
“That’s the spirit. Call me when you get settled.”
I wave good-bye, then head to the check-in line to board.
Our seats are all together. Mama and Tanya are out like a light not long after we take off. My mind is too busy to sleep. I ponder on my new life. A new home, father figure and, basically, stepbrothers. Ugh! Everything is so foreign and causes my stomach to roil. Staring out the window, I study the white puffs of vapor. Clouds can form countless shapes. There are so many possibilities. I imagine them to be what my life could be if my father hadn’t died and I got to stay in Baton Rouge. The thoughts keep my mind off what’s to come, imagining my life turning out with a happy ending.
My daydream is a fantasy and reality sets in when the plane starts to land.
B. Truly has wanted to be an author since she was fifteen years old. She is grateful to have accomplished this dream. B. Truly has very vivid dreams and a wild imagination. She likes to read, watch tons of TV shows, and movies. She’s addicted to romance and gets a thrill out of suspense and sci-fi. She writes young adult, new adult, and adult romance, sci-fi, dystopian, and paranormal genres.
B. Truly likes to explore conflicted plots of romance with thrilling twists. She also loves creating impossible situations for her characters to grow from and try to overcome.
B. Truly has three wonderful children, and a husband who defines the person that she is today. She works full-time as an Ultrasound technologist in Houston, Texas.
November 1928, New York City. No one can keep a secret like high society – especially when that secret is murder.
There are two things Penelope Harris would rather do than get involved with another murder—sing opera and flirt with Thom Lund. When two tickets ensure Penelope and Thom get some precious time together at the Metropolitan opera, neither believes another murder will interrupt their romantic evening.
Fate has a different plan. Before the night is over a failed manufacturing tycoon is found dead at the bottom of a staircase, his poisoned and dying daughter nearby. Is it an accident? Suicide? Or murder? When a fellow soprano pleads for help, Penelope just can’t help her inquisitive nature.
As Penelope pulls back the cover on a diabolical crime, Lund rushes to complete the investigation of a suicide on the Gold Coast of Long Island. What they find will uncover the sordid underbelly of high society and put Penelope on the wrong side of her own gun.
In the darkness of the Daimler’s back seat, Penelope held her hands together to keep herself calm, valiantly resisting the urge to lean over the middle seat and stare up as the magnificent building as it came into view. The Metropolitan Opera! It took all her resolve not to stare like a child at a candy counter. It was Mary who suggested they avoid the well-lighted street entrance complete with red carpet and a crowd of newspaper reporters. “It’s the photographers, Penelope. They’ll fall over themselves to get a picture of you.”
Penelope shuddered, pulling the borrowed opera coat close. “Are we sneaking in the back way?”
“There is no back way into the Metropolitan,” Mary proclaimed with exaggerated hauteur. “But there might be a way around the photographers if we’re lucky. You can drop us here, Parker.” Mary scooted across the back seat, opened the back door herself, much to Parker’s astonishment, and stepped out of the car.
Penelope leaned forward across the seat. “Parker, do the photographers know this is the Staughton car?”
“They might,” he admitted.
“Could you stay in the line until you reach the red carpet, stop, and open the door as though we are in the back seat?” Penelope lifted her voice hopefully.
Parker tipped his hat. “Of course, miss.”
Penelope smiled and slipped out of the back seat to stand next to Mary on the sidewalk. Her eyes swept up the plain building rising eight stories above them. It didn’t look like the outside of any opera house she had ever seen before. An ornate façade was flanked on either side by what appeared to be apartments. Many of the windows were lit with the occupants watching the crowd in the street. For a moment, Penelope wondered if they were in the right place.
Mary took her arm. “Have you ever done anything like this?”
“Like what?” Penelope pulled her attention away from the windows and returned it to the phalanx of photographers grouped around the ornate brass doors.
“Gone to the theater alone.”
Penelope was at a loss for words. She had done a dozen things young society women weren’t supposed to—driven a car, sung Jazz, operated a casino, eloped. Most nights in Shanghai she had run the Jade Tiger from the casino floor, Kinkaid too drunk or too bored to cope with the day-to-day attention the business needed. She had done so many things on her own that it was hard to list them all. While her cousin, she realized, had likely never gone anywhere without a male escort—unless it was a tea party or a fashion salon.
Mary blushed. “You’ve probably done this a hundred times at least. Silly of me.”
“Mary Staughton! I’m not that jaded.” Penelope put her nose in the air and intoned, “Young lady, you are not allowed to go to the opera alone! Your brother will be happy to take you.” She hoped urgently Mary didn’t notice her crossed fingers.
Mary giggled happily. “Does James like the opera?”
“He loathes it.” Penelope smiled at the thought of her brother as she watched the cars pull along slowly. She pulled Mary alongside her, habit putting them both in the shadow of a decorative column carved into the building portico. They weren’t quite close enough to make a dash for the entrance—the photographers were sure to see them as soon as they stepped into the light. Penelope kept her eye on Parker behind the wheel as the Daimler neared the photographers gathered around the red carpet.
“Parker’s still in the line!” “Yes,” Penelope kept her eyes on the car, “Let’s wait here and watch.” They edged closer to the shadow of the building. Whispering began as the Daimler closed in. The photographers got ready, each hoping to get the jump on the others. But they were too orderly, Penelope thought. She and Mary would need a bigger distraction to cover their entrance. She thought fast. It wasn’t so long ago there had been a paid bounty on a photo of Penelope or Mary. Rumors persisted that there still was. Penelope had an idea. “Say,” she called out “isn’t that the Staughton car?” The effect was immediate. Just as Parker rolled up to the carpet, the photographers began pushing one another to get nearer to the car door spilling onto the red carpet and knocking over the brass stations holding the rope. As the photographers pushed past one another trying to get the shot, the cousins edged around the crowd and slipped through the door, cutting off the noise and exhaust from the street as it closed behind them. They stepped up one of the carved marble staircases on either side of the entrance and into the hushed golden light of the interior.
Author of the Penelope Harris Mysteries, E.W. Cooper was ecstatic to learn her debut in the series, The Jade Tiger, was the 2020 Booklife Prize Finalist in Mystery/Thriller. A lifelong fan of classic mysteries and Grand Opera, Ms. Cooper is hard at work on the second book in the Penelope Harris Mystery series, Murder at the Met (April 2021). She lives quietly with her partner, children, three dogs, and one cat in a very noisy house in South Texas.
To learn more about Penelope Harris Mysteries (and the author) go to www.ewcooper.com and snoop around.
You know that awkward moment when your lava-hot boss says “marry me?” Not for love. Not for real. Not without a mammoth payoff. Of course, this fortune comes with a ginormous snag—Ward Brandt.
Call me bananas. I must be short of a full bushel rejecting Chicago’s finest billionaire. Who knew he was my boss when he crashed my worst date ever? Oh, but he found out. He swore I wasn’t fit for Brandt Ideas, chewed me up, and spat me back out. I vowed I’d prove him wrong—and sabotage a metric ton of his coffee.
Then tragedy strikes, upending his limitless ego. Guess who needs an image makeover to shore up the family business. Big fat hell no. King Snarlypants has a peanut-sized heart and a chip on his shoulder bigger than a redwood.
Find another sucker, Ward-hole. Even if I agreed, my shields are up. No magnetic kisses. Zero butterflies. Nix the blushing when everyone gushes over what a “perfect couple” we’d be. Then again…it’s just ninety days and mama needs a windfall. What’s one little white wedding lie with a bossy grump built like a god?
When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I do is check my email.
I’m expecting Miss One Glass to send back some whiny message about how unfair it was for me to bury her under an avalanche of projects.
There’s nothing like that, but a slideshow of the final bid in its current form attached to a blank email with the subject line Done.
Damn her.
It’s incredible how she maintains her scathing sass with a single word.
At the office, Nick stands in front of Miss Holly’s desk, sipping his sugar rush mocha and leering over her. Probably trying to look down her shirt.
Careful, you idiot. This girl knows Illinois employment law by heart. She’ll have your balls stapled to your jacket.
Muttering silently, I stop on the way to my office and my eyes meet hers. “I take it my coffee’s waiting on my desk?”
She looks up and glares a second too long, those green eyes glittering like a jungle cat’s.
“Nope.”
“No?” I spit back.
“Shocking espresso shortage. The Bean Bar only had enough left for a mocha and one double shot, and Mrs. Beatrice Nightingale Brandt takes seniority. If I’d waited for them to resupply, I’d have missed your oh-so-important deadline. Mrs. Brandt told me to let you know you could see her if you had a problem with it, though.” She flashes me a murderously triumphant “gotcha” grin.
“The Bean Bar does not run out of espresso,” I snarl through clenched teeth. The coffee shop has its shit together better than anything else in this city—the whole reason we love it and treat ourselves to Chicago’s finest dressed-up caffeine overload a few times every week.
“Sorry. We’re one cuppa joe short, but I figured the project was more important, so…” Holly just smiles and shrugs like a schoolgirl who’s gotten away with cherry-bombing a high school toilet.
The motion sends my eyes lashing down her face to the low cut of her blouse.
For a tortured second, I’m no better than my idiot brother, my eyes glued to a pair of ample tits I’d like to boss around with my tongue, my teeth, my—
Damn her to the moon.
With nothing else to say, I turn around and nearly slam into Nick.
“Whoa, where’s the fire?” He greets me with his usual lopsided grin.
“Nowhere, apparently.” I level a glare on him. “Shouldn’t you be in your office working?”
He holds a hand up. “Bro, if you’re jonesing that bad for coffee, I can run down to the bar downstairs and get you an espresso. My treat.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
I need to move it before my humiliation is complete, so I push past him, go to my office, and slam the door shut. Then I remember, I’ve only seen one completed project this morning.
Where’s the other?
I open the frosted glass door and stick my head out. “Where’s the Winthrope comp catalog?”
Miss Holly looks up, twirling her blond hair like spun gold. “I’m working on it now! I can send you what I have. The final should be ready before lunch.” She points to her computer.
My eyes narrow and I fold my arms.
“It was due at eight a.m.”
Nick watches us for a minute and huffs loudly. “Yo, Ward, give her a break. It’s still her first week.”
“No excuse to miss deadlines. She has the credentials and work ethic, when she applies them,” I say.
“Aw, c’mon, the last girl took at least a solid week to make those catalogs,” Nick fires back. “There’s so much crap in them—”
Miss Holly jumps in. “Most of it I’ve been able to copy and paste, which is why I’m done with the North American hotels for comparison. Since Mr. Winthrope is coming by for a check-in this week, I thought the slideshow was more important. I’ll be done with the catalog today, like I said.” Nick’s eyes trace from Paige—Miss Holly—to me.
Nicole Snow is a Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author. She found her love of writing by hashing out love scenes on lunch breaks and plotting her great escape from boardrooms. Her work roared onto the indie romance scene in 2014 with her Grizzlies MC series.
Since then Snow aims for the very best in growly, heart-of-gold alpha heroes, unbelievable suspense, and swoon storms aplenty. With over a million books sold, she lives for the joy of making two people fight with every bit of their soul for a Happily Ever After.
Current fan favorites include her Enguard Protectors series, accidental love novels, plus long beloved MC romance thrillers like the Grizzlies and Deadly Pistols.
I assume there’s going to be a whole lot of jockeying for position in the first few weeks at Kingmakers. Every kid here thinks they’re the alpha — and they probably were, wherever they came from. But we can’t all be alphas at the school. There’s going to be a new hierarchy. I intend to be at the top, like always.
Bram probably thinks the same thing. He narrows his eyes at me, tossing back his longish hair and muttering something to his friends. The other Penose give me venomous looks.
Bram’s the next shooter. He rolls the point number three times before hitting a seven, ending the round. He scoops up his winnings, grinning.
“Hey Dmitry,” he calls. “Why don’t you come join?”
He’s calling to a tall blond boy who’s standing at the railing looking down at the water. The boy took his shirt off because of the heat. A Siberian tiger is tattooed to the right of his spine, done in the classic style as if it were crawling up his back. Because the boy is so pale, the tiger looks snow white with black stripes.
Dmitry turns around slowly, facing our group.
He looks right at me, and seems to recognize me immediately.
I get a similar jolt.
He’s strangely familiar, even though I know we’ve never met.
His eyes narrow, his jaw tightens, and his lip curls up in a sneer.
“No thanks,” he says, coldly. “I don’t like the company.”
“What?” Bram says, glancing back and forth between us. “The Amerikanets?”
“What’s wrong with Americans?” I say. I keep my voice level, but I’m looking the blond boy right in the eye.
Bram and I sized each other up last night, and it was clear that we both thought we were hot shit. Who’s shit is hotter remains to be determined. With Dmitry it’s something else. He doesn’t view me as a rival. He’s looking at me like an enemy.
“It’s not Americans,” he says to me. “It’s you.”
His voice drips with disdain.
Something in his tone, coupled with his coloring and the familiarity of his features makes it all click at once.
I’m talking to my cousin. He’s calling himself Dmitry, but this is Dean Yenin, I’m sure of it.
Not that Dean considers us family.
His father and my mother are twins. They were best friends growing up. Until my mom chose my dad over her own family.
Dean’s grandfather tried to kill everyone I know and love at my parents’ wedding: my uncle Nero, my aunt Camille, Uncle Dante, my godmother Greta, even my father. He succeeded in murdering my grandpa Enzo, so that I’ve only ever known him from a portrait that hangs in my father’s office.
And in return, my father reigned down bloody retribution on Dean’s family. Dean’s grandfather is dead, strangled to death by my dad. And his father Adrian is burned up worse than Vader from what I’ve heard.
So we are enemies, maybe more than anyone else on this boat.
I knew that Dean was coming to Kingmakers.
I knew this was coming.
But it’s something different to meet him face-to-face, after never even having seen a photo of him.
He’s the main reason my mother didn’t want me coming here. She’s tried to reach out to her brother over the years — tried to repair their relationship so they could at least have a measure of forgiveness, even if they could never be close again.
He never responded to her, not a single word.
It’s clear from the expression on Dean’s face that my mom was right. The Yenins weren’t just avoiding us. They fucking hate us still.
“Is that any way to talk to your cousin?” I say to Dean.
I won’t give him the satisfaction of glaring back at him. Instead I paste a grin on my face, like I don’t take him seriously. I know that’s the best way to really piss him off.
Sure enough, he takes another couple steps toward me, closing the space between us. Instinctively, everyone else steps back. They all know the feeling of a fight about to happen. That anticipation in the air, the electricity between two people itching to do each other harm.
“Don’t call me that,” Dean says.
It’s funny how even the simplest words can cut if they’re said sharply enough.
Dean hasn’t raised his voice, but he makes it perfectly clear that he isn’t fucking around. His fists tighten at his sides, and his shoulders swell as his body shifts into a more aggressive stance. He’s got the look of a fighter, as if he’s most natural in that position. If I were anybody else, I’d probably take a step back, cringing like a little bitch.
But I’m not somebody else.
I’m me. And I don’t back away from anybody.
“Don’t call you what?” I say. “Cuz?”
Dean takes another step forward until we’re within arm’s reach of each other. I’m taller than him by two inches, but he’s got a decent amount of muscle packed on his frame, and he looks fast too. I’m watching him carefully, though I don’t let it show. I stand there as relaxed and casual as ever.
“We’re not family,” Dean hisses. “Because your whore of a mother betrayed her family. She’s not a Yenin anymore. She’s just a piece of treacherous trash.”
I want to hit him so bad my fists are throbbing. I can’t let that go unanswered.
“The Yenins broke a blood oath,” I spit back at him. “I don’t know how the fuck you’re even here. You should be excommunicated. Whose cock did your father have to suck to get you back in?”
We rush each other at the same moment. I throw the first punch, right at his stupid fucking face. But to my surprise, he slips the hit so my fist barely glances off his jaw. I’ve never missed like that before.
At the same time, he hits me with a left hook that fucking rocks me. Dean may not be quite as big as me, but he’s fast as fuck and strong, too. My head is ringing, and my hangover headache comes roaring back.
I swing back at him, and this time he can’t quite duck it — at 6’5 I’ve got a fuck of a longer reach than he’s used to. I pop him in the cheek, raising an instant red welt under his eye.
In retaliation he slugs me back in the gut, and that fucking hurts too. Jesus he’s got a sledgehammer for an arm.
The howls of Bram and the other students draw the attention of the sailors. Two of the deckhands tear us apart before we can finish the fight. They’re big, burly men, and they fling us down on the deck shouting for us to knock it off.
The bigger of the two, a man with a glass eye and two sensuously entwined mermaids on his forearm, points a sausage-like finger at me and growls, “Raise your fists again and I’ll chuck you in the fuckin’ ocean. No fighting on board.”
He stands there, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching us both until Dean picks himself up off the deck and resumes his sullen position at the railing, and I head back toward the bow.
I climb up in the net once more, making Ares stir and mumble in the midst of his nap, and Anna glances up from her book.
“What the hell?” she says. “What happened to you?”
She’s staring at my face.
I swipe my hand under my nose, seeing blood smear across my knuckles.
“Little family reunion,” I say.
“Dean?” Anna asks, eyes wide.
“Who else.”
“Why’d you have to go and fight him?” Anna says.
“He started it. I was willing to be friendly.”
“For how long, two seconds?” Anna frowns.
“He called my mom a traitor!”
“Of course he did! You know what he’s probably been told. Did you even try to talk to him?”
“It’s not my job to talk to him!” I scoff. “His family are the fucking traitors, and if he says another word about my mom, I’ll break his jaw for him.”
“You’d better not,” Anna says, darkly. “You know the rules—“
“He’s the one—“
“They won’t care!” Anna cuts across me. “This is exactly what Aunt Yelena was worried about—“
“Oh, get off it,” I grumble at Anna. “I heard enough of that before I left.”
I hate when Anna acts like she’s on my parents’ side about me not going to Kingmakers. She should be happy that I came here with her, instead of taking my full-ride to the University of Kentucky. Does she want to be here alone? I thought she’d be thrilled that we’re both experiencing this together. The thought of going to some school without her, any school, makes me sick to my stomach. She’s my best friend. We’ve always done everything together.
Sophie Lark is an Amazon Bestselling author who writes intense, intelligent romance, with heroines who are strong and capable, and men who will do anything to capture their hearts. She lives with her husband, two boys, and baby girl in the Rocky Mountain West.
She has a slight obsession with hiking, bodybuilding, and live comedy shows. Her perfect day would be taking the kids to Harry Potter World, going dancing with Mr. Lark, then relaxing with a good book and a monster bag of salt and vinegar chips.
A double cross sends a couple of friends on the adventure for their lives.
A chance run in with an old friend becomes a run for their lives when Sherry Rose and Benny Freeman have a misunderstanding with local drug dealers. Witnessing the massacre of friends of Sherry’s double crossing boyfriend leads them to be hunted down by corrupt law enforcement.
Having a near death experience gives them a chance to start a romance they never knew the other wanted.
Will they survive when the bad guys close in on them and finally find the love they always wanted?
It was the first time I saw her at ‘The Fred’ in that two-piece. Her body had just developed overnight. She’d gone from wearing a onesie bathing suit with tree trunks for thighs, hanging below her to the most stunning woman this side of Dominique Chinn with tree husks for thighs and a treasure chest flowing out the top and sides of her bikini looking like she had two floatation devices. She wore a powder blue swim cap that looked like a JiffyPop popcorn tin ready to explode with popcorn. The lifeguard on duty at the deep end was a customer. I had come to let him know Ray and I were open for business and the Cherry Punch strain wouldn’t last long. He hopped out his chair, asking me to hold down the fort. He’d be right back as he dashed into the men’s locker room where Ray was waiting for him.
It wasn’t more than ten seconds after he disappeared that Sherry burst out the water like a mermaid onto dry land. The strap for her cap must’ve loosened as it floated deep into the waters as she stepped onto the concrete. Her curly hair glistened in the rays of the sun from whatever moisturizer she was using.
“Your cap,” I pointed out as I stretched my fingers to waters behind her.
Water cascaded around her as the most glorious figure emerged from the pool. Her arms had the tone of a gymnast, she was ripped from her wingspan to her calves. I knew she spent a lot of time in the water, but damn. Her face had a glow as the sun tried to crack through her darkness while water beads rolled to the ground.
“Can you get it for me, please?” she asked sweetly as her fingers rushed to her bushy hair.
I stepped back away from the life guard stand as fear instantly consumed me overtaking the shame I felt as I didn’t dare admit I didn’t know how to swim.
My eyes darted back and forth for someone to retrieve the plastic cap before it floated any further and sank below.
“Please, Benny, get it for me?” she pleaded and I was stunned. She knew my name. Like Charlie Brown’s little red head girl, she knew my name.
I took a step forward, bracing myself, telling myself it wouldn’t be that bad. I could make it out into the waters and maybe turn back. Or at least toss Sherry her cap and signal for her help after she secured the cap in place on her head. Sheesh, how long would that take? I hesitated.
“Really?” I heard from behind as Ray in a pair of red and white Speedos ran past me. A back splash of water rained upon me as he dove into the water saving the day and securing another satisfied customer.
“Marvin Mason has arrived as a refreshing new storyteller with this fun adventure of young people and African-American Midwest life, the seemingly quiet but oh-so interesting world that molded me but rarely shows up in the media.” Kalisha Buckhanon, American Library Association ALEX Award-winning author of Upstate and Conception, winner of the Friends of American Writers Literature Award.
He’s savage. He’s sinful. He’s everything I told myself I didn’t need.
But for just one night, I’ll give in to temptation. I’ll forget he’s a shapeshifter and that I’m not. I’ll forget the Pack would never approve.
Because after tonight I’m moving. Our paths won’t cross again. Only that one night gives me more than I bargain for and nine months later I deliver a bundle of joy complete with ten tiny fingers and ten perfect toes.
A year and a half later, I’m back. But this wolf is no longer the shifter of my dreams. Now he haunts my nightmares. And what is he going to think when he learns he has a son, one who isn’t a just a wolf?
“You shouldn’t have given me your innocence,” he says, a fierce glint in his eyes. “I’m going to ruin you for any man who comes after me.”
I bite my lower lip. Thank God I’m leaving tomorrow. This boy could easily become an addiction. This moment, these feelings, it’s more than I imagined. More than I ever anticipated. And a hell of a lot more than I’m ready for. But to hell with it.
“Do your worst,” I tell him. His eyes flash with silver, his beast drawn front and center. “Burn for me, mariposa. Burn.
Danielle Annett is a snarky AF Latinx Author. Born and raised in sunny California, she now makes her home in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and their three tiny terrors. She hates cheese—of all kinds—and yes that means she orders cheeseless pizza. She loves to talk (a lot) and is probably as extroverted as they come so feel free to shoot her a message, send a raven, throw up smoke signals. Whatever it may be. She love’s chatting with readers so feel free to stalk her.
