Shattered Sea, a sexy, suspenseful, small town romance from USA Today bestselling author Catherine Cowles, is out now!
I’ve known every kind of pain. Of the heart. Of the body. Of the soul. All I want now is the freedom that comes from making my art.
The last thing I expected was Hollywood royalty to waltz into my gallery in a small town in the middle of nowhere and see me.
A man like Boden Cavanaugh shouldn’t understand me. Shouldn’t be able to soothe my most ragged edges. Even worse, he makes me want the one thing I can’t have. Him.
All it takes is one spark, and friendship catches flame. But as our attraction burns bright, there are forces desperate to send us back into the darkness. And they’ve already killed before…
Keep reading for a look inside Shattered Sea!
The way Boden’s muscles tightened told me the little he’d shared was only the tip of the iceberg. That tension called to me, and I reached out, kneading the flesh along his shoulders. His head fell to my own shoulder, and he sighed. “I’ll only let you do that forever.”
I chuckled. “I do have the magic touch.”
“You could be making millions with those hands.”
“I only use them on very special recipients. They aren’t for sale.”
Boden straightened, but as he did, he came closer. Our faces were close. Lips just a breath away. The urge to lean forward, to know what he felt like, tasted like, was strong. Boden’s hand skated up my arm to my neck to tangle in my hair. I knew that Boden Cavanaugh was more than dangerous. But like a moth to a flame, I kept getting closer.
Writer of words. Drinker of Diet Cokes. Lover of all things cute and furry, especially her dog. Catherine has had her nose in a book since the time she could read and finally decided to write down some of her own stories. When she’s not writing she can be found exploring her home state of Oregon, listening to true crime podcasts, or searching for her next book boyfriend.
Canary, an all-new not-to-be-missed, enemies-to-lovers standalone mafia romance from New York Times bestselling author Tijan is available now!
We were on the front lines in that world, the mafia world. There was nothing soft or glamorous about it. Who you were before no longer mattered. Names didn’t exist.
I joined anyway. I had no other choice because they took my sister. Join. Find her. Try and make it out alive.
Then he won me in a poker game. I hated him instantly, thinking he was like my other bosses before him. He wasn’t. He was worse.
He wasn’t just cold. He was dead inside. It didn’t matter that he was gorgeous. He was the most lethal thing I’d ever met.
He was also the only person who could keep me alive, if he didn’t kill me himself.
A/N This is a 102k mafia/cartel standalone. This is the most violent book Tijan has ever written. Trigger warning: references to sexual violence
“Canaries sing to save lives. I sing and people die.”
“I…” I didn’t even know. I couldn’t explain what I didn’t know. “Ask me about Jake in a different way.” “There is no other way.” “You know there is! Ask it in a different way.” I shoved up to my feet. This was the fight here. I was sick of the killing. I could not handle one more body, especially not someone I knew. My chest heaved. “Ask it in a different way.” I liked Jake. I was hurt by what he said, but he wasn’t on my list anymore. I frowned. “What happened with Cavers?” “None of your business!” he erupted, his hands flying in the air, but he was moving farther away from me. His back hit the wall, and he let me see him, how haunted he was, how stricken. He let it all out for me to see and read, though I wasn’t sure he knew it. “I don’t run my decisions through some pussy I like plowing.” Okay, now I was mad. “Take that back,” I said quietly. He swore, low and long. Then he moved, flipping a chair into the wall. It impaled there, and the wall held it. It looked like an abstract piece of art. “Take it back!” I clipped out, folding my arms over my chest. He looked away. I didn’t know what was going on here, but fuck him if he didn’t take back calling me pussy he liked to plow. I screamed, “Take it back!” “No!” He was across the room and in my face in the next second. I braced myself, but he didn’t touch me. He stopped just short of it, his breath in my cheek, his eyes taking me in, scanning my face. He was panicking. I saw it now, lurking there. Good! That filled me with satisfaction. My chest started pounding. No, that was my heart. It was thumping in my chest, getting stronger, faster—a steady and powerful beat now. I could feel it all the way to my toes—in my fingers, my neck. His eyes lingered on my lips. He couldn’t look away. Stark hunger flashed in his eyes, and he raised a hand, holding it in the air. It curved gently, as if he wanted to touch my neck, or the side of my face. But he didn’t move. He just held it there, a few inches from my skin. His eyes lifted to mine. “You bitch.” My heart still pounded, trying to reach him. “You’re a murdering asshole,” I whispered back, seething. “What?”he sneered. “You want to fuck now? Forget you put a fucking gun to your head?” “Don’t kill Jake.” He pressed into me, his eyes wild, on the edge of control.
“Why?” His breath was hot on me. He bent down, his eyes glittering now. Then he found his control. He rested one hand against the wall, next to my head. The other found my hip and slid up, moving under my shirt, raising it. God. I almost moaned. Wetness flooded me, and I started to throb. I wanted him. So fucking bad. He bent and his lips grazed over mine, my cheeks, my chin. Tingles raced through me. Jesus. I wanted him deep inside of me. I shifted, pressing against him, and both of us groaned from the contact. I began moving, a slow grind, and he was quiet, grinding back. This was different from the other times. The terms had flipped. Roles were changing. Everything was being upended between us.
About Tijan Tijan is a New York Times Bestselling author that writes suspenseful and unpredictable novels. Her characters are strong, intense, and gut-wrenchingly real with a little bit of sass on the side. Tijan began writing later in life and once she started, she was hooked. She’s written multi-bestsellers including the Carter Reed Series, the Fallen Crest Series, and the Broken and Screwed Series among others. She is currently writing a new series from north Minnesota where she lives with an English Cocker she adores.
The Deceit of a Devil, the passion-filled and emotional conclusion to The Taste of an Enemy Duet from Holly Renee is available now!
Sinless. Stunning. Damaged. Tempting. Allie Taylor had been the girl I hated for as long as I could remember. And now she loathed me just as much. It didn’t matter that I betrayed her to save her. Completely devastated and infuriated by my dishonesty, she had no intentions of ever trusting me again. Her trust was shattered, her hate raging on with each second. She would never look at me the same again. Our past was full of pain and lies that could never be forgotten. I knew what I did was irreparable, but I refused to let her walk away without another chance. I should have left things in the past. I didn’t. I couldn’t. I won’t. I needed her. Even if it cost me everything.
“What?” I chuckled as I slipped on my socks and shoes.
“Nothing.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m just impressed, is all.”
I chuckled and Beck shoved his sister’s chair, almost making her fall. “That’s my friend, asshole. You don’t get to be impressed.”
“No. She’s right.” Josie was still staring at me too. “I really expected you to have the smallest dick.”
“I feel like I should be offended.” I leaned back in my chair.
“It’s your personality.” Allie shrugged. “You know, cocky guy, small dick. Showy car, small dick.”
“Okay, Allie.” I pressed my elbows into my knees and looked across the fire at her. “Truth or dare?”
She stared at me, and I had a feeling that no matter what she picked she wouldn’t do it. “Truth.”
I let my gaze slide to Eli before it went back to her. I shouldn’t have even called her name. I should just ask her something stupid and move on, but my heart raced in my chest, and I didn’t hesitate with what I asked her next. “When was the last time that you were truly turned on? I mean really and truly, couldn’t-think-about-anything-else turned on?”
A few people snickered, but I didn’t look away from her. She didn’t pull her gaze away from me either as she answered, but I knew her answer was a lie the moment it left her mouth.
“When Eli kissed me.”
“Carson, truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“When was the last time you were really and truly turned on? And I mean to the point that you actually considered kissing the girl?”
“Oh shit.” That came from Olly, but no one said anything to stop us.
“Just about any time I’m with you, but if you’re looking for a specific moment, the night the cops walked in while I was going down on you.”
Laughter rang out around us, but neither of us was deterred.
“Allie, truth or dare?”
“Truth.” There was no hesitation in her eyes. She wasn’t scared of what I had to say.
“Do you actually like Eli, or are you just pissed off at me?”
“This is the exact reason people think you have a small dick.” She crossed her arms. “You assume that everything anyone does it about you when it isn’t. I actually like Eli, for your information.” She tucked a blonde curl behind her ear. “Carson, truth or dare?”
“This is about to get messy,” Josie whispered to Beck, but I heard her. She was right. It probably was.
“Dare.” I cocked my head to the side and looked at her.
“I dare you to stop being such an asshole and just tell us what the hell your problem is.”
“My problem?” I rubbed at my jaw. “Currently my problem is you. You haven’t barely spoken to me in days, you’ve been avoiding me like the plague at community service, and now…”
“Now what?” She was angry.
“Now I have to sit here and watch you with him.” I pointed at Eli, and he had the nerve to fucking smirk at me.
“I haven’t spoken to you because the last time we spoke, you made it very clear where we stood. I’ve been avoiding you because I don’t want to deal with you, and you’re going to have to continue to watch me with him because I like him. And it’s the oddest thing, but he likes me too.”
“Truth or dare?”
“I’m done playing this stupid game.” She pushed out of her seat, and I knew that Eli was about to follow her.
“Truth or dare, Allie? It’s not that hard.”
She spun back around to face me, and I could see the anger in her eyes. “Fine. Dare.” She held out her arms because she thought by ending the truths, she was going to end this argument between us.
“I dare you to kiss me.”
“That’s not happening.” Eli had the balls to say that out loud to me, and it took everything inside me not to close the space between us and finish what we had started last weekend.
“The last time I checked, you weren’t Allie’s boyfriend, and you don’t speak for her.” I looked back to Allie, and she was staring at me. “Allie can either kiss me or she can drink.” I lifted the bottle of liquor and shook it between us.
“You kissing me changes nothing.” She shook her head.
“Then it won’t hurt.” I shrugged my shoulders and tried to act like I didn’t care one way or another, even though I didn’t know what would happen if she walked away from me now. “If you’re so into Eli and kissing me won’t change anything, then what are you so scared of?”
About Holly
I’m Holly Renee, a small-town east Tennessee girl who is obsessed with all things romance. I love bringing flawed, sassy, and real characters to life in a way that makes you feel like you’ve been best friends with them for years. No two Holly Renee books are the same, but if you love real, relatable, fun female characters and swoon-worthy heroes, I’m your girl.
When I’m not writing or reading, you can find me momming so hard, being disgustingly in love with my husband, or chilling in the middle of a lake with my sunglasses and a float. #lakelife
I have a 2-year-old adorable little man who is as wild and sweet as they come and a baby girl on the way.
The Bully, an all-new enemies-to-lovers standalone in The Kingmakers Series from bestselling author Sophie Lark, is available now!
Cat is in so much trouble. She did something bad, and I saw.
I’ll keep her secret… for a price.
Poor, sweet, timid Cat should never have come to Kingmakers. It’s a place for monsters and killers. People like me.
She wandered into the lion’s den and now she’s mine.
Mine to play with. Mine to torment. Mine to break…
The Lark Notes: My very first inspiration for Kingmakers was Dean Yenin. I wanted to write a true anti-hero, with a character arc spanning three books. Dean will make you feel all the things, sometimes against your will. You’ll love him and hate him and love him again, and never get him out of your head. – Sophie
“The Bully” is the third installment in the epic dark mafia Kingmakers series. It’s a bully romance, full of dark, twisted enemies-to-lovers conflict, and some dubious scenes. Reader beware, this one is intense.
I have to return to my own life at Kingmakers. Even if there’s something horrible waiting there for me.
It’s ironic. My father is forbidden to force me into a marriage contract against my will. But I’ve already trapped myself in something far, far worse.
The moment I step foot aboard the ship to Kingmakers, I’m looking around for Dean Yenin. I remember the last words we spoke to each other as though it were three minutes ago, instead of three months.
“I know what you did . . .
“I saw you . . .
“I won’t tell. But understand this . . . I own you now. When we come back to school, you’re mine. My servant. My slave. For as long as I want you . . .”
I almost spilled my secret to Zoe a hundred times. I almost told her what I did.
But in the end, I stuffed the words down again, into the ball of frozen fear that’s been lodged deep in my guts all this time.
This is my burden to bear, not hers. If I told Zoe the truth, she’d never feel free to go to L.A. with Miles.
She’d be compelled to stay with me, to try to protect me from something she simply can’t prevent.
Dean knows what I did. He could tell the Chancellor at any time. Nothing can stop him from doing that. My only chance is to stay on his good side. To trust in his mercy.
The only problem is that I don’t think he has any goddamned mercy.
I’m trying to please a man who can’t be pleased.
Dean is spiteful. Vengeful. Full of rage.
He could destroy me with a single word, just because I looked at him sideways.
The train of his hatred is long and complicated.
He hates Leo Gallo because of the feud between their families.
He hates Miles and Zoe because Miles is Leo’s cousin.
And he hates me because I’m Zoe’s sister.
But that barely scratches the surface of his fury. I’ve thought about this long and hard over the summer, wondering how I truly attracted his ire.
The real reason he hates me is that I saw him in a private, unguarded moment. I saw him sobbing after Ozzy’s mother was executed by the Chancellor.
I saw him hunched over, tears streaming down his face, as he gave in to the storm of pain inside him.
And he will never, never, never forgive me for that.
I saw Dean weak and vulnerable. He’ll have me killed before he’ll chance me telling anybody else.
Like a fool, I handed him the perfect leverage over me.
I murdered Rocco Prince, my sister’s intended fiancé.
And Dean knows it.
The Rule of Recompense is the most iron-clad law of Kingmakers: an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, life for a life.
If Dean tells anyone what I did, I’ll be executed, just like Ozzy’s mother.
About Sophie 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.
Sancte Diaboli: Part Two, the all-new, highly anticipated installment in the Elite Kings series that will leave you on the edge of your seat from Wall Street Journal bestselling author Amo Jones, is available now!
He held a darkness that could never be touched. She carried a light that could never be seen.
Not by anyone. Only by each other.
Simply two halves of the same soul, Brantley and Saint were fused together with equal parts wrath and peace. Nothing could break through their bond. Nothing.
Everyone has a story, and when you die, your memories cling to the minds of the people you leave behind, scripted in permanent ink. They can go back and visit their favorite chapters when they need comfort, or simply skip over the scenes they want to forget, but what they can’t do, is be removed. Even if you tear a page from a well-written book, there will always be telltale signs something was there. There you lie, embedded in their minds forever, so essentially you’ll live forever, right? I didn’t think much about this until I met him. The day that I would die, I mean. Would I leave behind a novella, or would it be a nine-book series that would need your undivided attention? You see, I’ve gazed into the eyes of death twice in my life, and both times began at the entrance of his soul. His stare was always heavy and roguish, but he lit a match inside my body that would burn a lifetime after I’m gone. I wasn’t sure what I felt the first time his cold, corpse-like skin sailed over mine, but I remember it was the exact day that I knew I would never be the same. I was touched by the Devil; Heaven would never want me now. Not that Heaven was where I belonged either, though I’m sure he thought so. Tortured souls still weep; they tear themselves apart in dark corners where no one can see. Brantley is just that—tortured—though he doesn’t conceal it. He wears his darkness like a souvenir, proud and indifferent. I knew Brantley from the inside out, and I say that literally. I was familiar with the notes that his blood left in my mouth well after I had swallowed it. And I think that will haunt me more than anything. It will haunt me so much more than this day. The day my book hit the final page.
Meet Amo Jones
Amo Jones is a USA Today & Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author whose books have been translated in multiple countries.
She resides in the tropics of Australia with her family, though she’s a born and bred Kiwi who more often than not, misses New Zealand.
Marymount girls are good girls. We’re chaste, we’re untouched, and even if we weren’t, no one would know, because we keep our mouths shut.
Not that I have anything to share anyway. I never let guys go too far. I’m behaved.
Beautiful, smart, talented, popular, my skirt’s always pressed, and I never have a hair out of place. I own the hallways, walking tall on Monday and dropping to my knees like the good Catholic girl I am on Sunday.
That’s me. Always in control.
Or so they think. The truth is that it’s easy for me to resist them, because what I truly want, they can never be. Something soft and smooth. Someone dangerous and wild.
Unfortunately, what I want I have to hide. In the locker room after hours. The bathroom stall between classes. The showers after practice.
My head swimming. My hand up her skirt.
For me, life is a web of secrets. No one can find out mine.
OLIVIA
I cross the tracks every day for one reason—to graduate from this school and get into the Ivy League. I’m not ashamed of where I come from, my family, or how everyone at Marymount thinks my skirts are too short and my lipstick is too red.
Clay Collins and her friends have always turned up their noses at me. The witch with her beautiful skin, clean shoes, and rich parents who torments me daily and thinks I won’t fight back.
At least not until I get her alone and find out she’s hiding so much more than just what’s underneath those pretty clothes.
The princess thinks I’ll scratch her itch. She thinks she’s still pure as long as it’s not a guy touching her.
I told her to stay on her side of town. I told her not to cross the tracks.
But one night, she did. And when I’m done with her, she’ll never be pure again.
*Tryst Six Venom is a standalone, new adult romance between the wealthy princess with a temper for what’s hers and the hard girl from the wrong crowd. One battles convention. The other, her pride. But nothing will stop it.
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Pen Douglas manages to turn every trope into a unique, twisty, and addictive read. I am not usually a reader of FF romance, but when Pen announces a new book – it immediately goes on my TBR, and I’m so glad I put my trust in her with this one!
This story is so much more than a YA FF romance. It is relevant to not only today’s teens and the struggles they face as LGBTQ young adults, but also to how society perceives them and how social classes play a role in opportunities allowed to both the rich and lower income families. The way in which this author wrote the story in line with Romeo & Juliet was brilliant – I loved the modern edge to it, and the division of the Saints and the Swamp rats.
Liv & Clay were everything and more from a HS couple as friends, enemies, bullies, allies, and lovers. I loved their charismatic personalities; Liv being the out, strong, edgy and tough “swamp rat”, and Clay being the upper class “princess” who looked like a Barbie and talked with barbs on her words. They were cruel to each other, brutally honest, they challenged one another, and ultimately their hate turned into love that could no longer be denied. Their pull was so real and natural, their lust was raw and passionate, and their connection to each other was both beautiful and all-consuming.
I loved the path that Liv & Clay’s relationship took…it would not have had the impact that it did had they veered from their enemies to lovers course. Their characters both stayed true to themselves, never sacrificing their own person but only allowing themselves to bend and open their eyes to self-acceptance and love. Their words were beautifully broken at times, and I spilled many tears for these two young women who left themselves vulnerable and open to love.
In true Pen Douglas fashion, this story is full of characters who you will be drawn to whether they’re the villain or the “hero”; there are twists and surprises that turn this five star read into six stars and will leave you begging for more from these characters. Liv’s five brothers need a series of their own – they all left me salivating for more of their dark, possessive, and lusty behavior. 😉
I loved EVERY.SINGLE.THING. about this book….the setting, the characters, the addictive storyline, and the true, raw passion and love between these two young women. Well done once again Pen Douglas! I can only hope that we will see more from these characters one day!
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I stalk down the nearly empty row, drop my bag, and look at her. She turns her head, sees me and rises, grabbing her backpack, but I slide into the seat, grab her wrist, and yank her ass back down.
“Sit,” I growl through my teeth, feeling heat rise up my neck as she crashes back into the wooden pew, her jaw flexing.
There’s no point in denying myself any of this. I’m a bitch, but only to her, and only because it feels so good. Fuck it.
“Do something for me?” I ask her, keeping my voice low as students fill the rows around us, and the altar servers light the candles. “Move your ass a little faster down the field than my grandmother this Saturday, or is that too much trouble?”
Liv doesn’t look at me, just stares ahead as she lets out a quiet little laugh. “I haul ass down that field.” Relaxing back into her seat, she hangs her elbows over the back of the pew, and her shirt creeps up a little. I spot the switchblade she keeps hooked over the waist of her skirt, but hidden on the inside, that only I seem to know about. So far anyway. She goes on, “I’ll never understand how a princess who can’t pass a ball for shit and brags to anyone who will listen about being a Swiftie,” and she does air quotes, “‘even before she went pop’ is our team captain. Oh, wait. Yes, I do understand. Daddy is useful. When he’s there.”
My father didn’t get me that position. She can think what she likes.
But I grin and turn toward the front of the church, my arm brushing hers.
“Swiftie?” I say. “Aw, you stalk my Twitter.”
That was like four years ago when I said that.
But she just mumbles, “I couldn’t care less about your Twitter and your twenty-eight followers.”
“At least I don’t lose a dozen every day,” I retort.
Yeah, maybe I stalk her Twitter, too. And I don’t have twenty-eight followers. I don’t have as many as her, but it’s more than twenty-eight.
“The world just doesn’t like tattooed feminazis with hairy armpits,” I tell her, my gaze catching the dimple on her cheek as she smirks, “who pass judgments like all the other constipated Captain Americas on social media who act like they really know anything when they’re just angry their life sucks donkey nuts.”
The dimple grows deeper, her matte red lips pursing to keep her amusement at bay. My heart thumps, and for a moment, I can’t look away. Sometimes I get lost, looking at her. The shape of her nose that I’m kind of jealous of. How soft the lobe of her ear looks. The way she chews the corner of her mouth sometimes.
“Is everything okay?” someone says, snapping me out of it.
I turn my head, seeing Megan Martelle standing over us, holding a stack of collection baskets. Her blue eyes flit between Liv and me, knowing very well that this isn’t a friendly conversation, but lucky for her, this isn’t any of her damn business.
“Fine, thanks,” I reply, my tone a big enough hint she’d have to be blind to miss.
But she looks to Liv instead. “Liv?”
Excuse me? It’s not the name. It’s how she says it. Like they know each other.
Liv must give her some gesture or something, because Martelle gives me one last look and then slowly leaves, continuing down the aisle toward the back of the church without another word.
What the hell is she thinking? Does she want to become my next hobby or something?
I reach down and pull my backpack closer before turning my eyes back to Liv to see if she’s watching her leave.
But she’s staring at me instead, amusement in her eyes.
“What the hell are you smiling at?” I demand.
She never loses her cool, and it pisses me off.
But she just replies, “You have a tattoo.”
Her gaze drifts to my hand, and I squeeze my fingers together, covering it. All over again, I feel the needle carve into the inside of my middle finger on my left hand.
Fair enough. I’d mocked tattooed feminazis, an umbrella term I tossed her under, when, in fact, she doesn’t actually have any tattoos. Not even the one of her family’s little Sanoa Bay gang—the snake and hourglass that she wears on a bracelet around her wrist. Her brothers all seem to have it inked on them somewhere.
Her eyes hold mine, maybe waiting for a response or daring me for one, but the light coming in from the stained-glass windows catches the coppery glint of the strands in her dark hair, a lock hanging over her eye as the rest spills around her shoulders. A dozen or so little braids decorate her hair, none of the ends secured with rubber bands. She looks like a warrior girl in one of those futuristic dystopian movies.
And all of a sudden, nothing is hot anymore. It’s just incredibly warm.
I squeeze my fingers tighter, the lines inked on the inside of my finger making the four quarters of an inch on a ruler, very few ever notice the lines, and those who do probably just assume I’ve leaked pen on myself.
Within that inch we are free. One inch.
“Clay?” she says, her tone different.
I don’t realize I’m staring off until I bring my eyes back into focus and see the black of her Polo shirt. I lift my gaze, seeing a worried expression on hers.
Her eyes shift to my hand on the pew in front of us, and I notice that it’s shaking.
“You okay?” she asks.
I inhale hard, angry at myself. Why would I not be okay?
She grabs my backpack. “You need one of your little blue pills?”
But I snatch the pack out of her hands and glare at her. “If you let her touch you,” I bite out, changing the subject. “She will live to regret it. I don’t even have to leave this seat to ruin her life.”
Liv looks back at me, and I want to get closer—get in her face, because I want a reaction.
“She won’t be able to take it,” I growl in a low voice. “I will keep going until she can’t take it.”
I can ruin anyone’s life from my phone. It would be fun. And easy.
“You’re not embarrassing our team,” I finally tell her.
Megan was flirting yesterday. There’s no way in hell that’s happening.
She holds my gaze and then draws in a breath, another fucking air of delight written all over her stupid, fucking face. “I don’t like women who chase me anyway,” she says. “When I want them, they know.”
A tingle spreads up my spine, and when I expect to feel anger at her boldness, something else comes over me instead.
When I want them, they know. How do they know? What does she do?
But she rises from her seat without elaborating. “Excuse me,” she says, and takes her bag, trying to leave.
But I stomp down the kneeler, grab her wrist, and yank her to her knees. She sucks in a breath as she catches herself on the pew in front of her, and I pick up my backpack and rise.
“Sit your ass down,” I grit out.
I don’t stay to see her reaction. I spin around, ignoring the spying eyes from those around us, and leave the chapel just as Mass begins.
Penelope Douglas is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author. Her books have been translated into fifteen languages and include The Fall Away Series, The Devil’s Night Series, and the stand-alones, Misconduct, Punk 57, Birthday Girl, and Credence. Please look for Tryst Six Venom and Motel, as well as the Hellbent series, coming next!
She lives in Las Vegas with her husband and their daughter.
The Rebel, an all-new, forbidden romance from Sophie Lark is live!
Zoe Romera is trapped in a marriage contract with the most sadistic psychopath at Kingmakers.
She couldn’t be more off-limits. Stealing her from Rocco Prince would break the most ironclad rules of the mafia world.
But I have to have her. She’s my soulmate. I want her, or no one at all.
I’ll do anything to save her. Rocco will do anything to destroy her.
I’ve got one chance to achieve the impossible…
“The Rebel” is is the second book in the epic dark mafia Kingmakers series. It’s a forbidden romance, full of jealousy, desire, and a hero who will do anything to save the woman he loves.
We’re walking up toward the Solar, slowly because neither of us is in a hurry. The thick sod muffles our footsteps.
“It’s not your fault,” Miles says, frowning.
“It is, though. When I disobey my father, he always takes it out on Cat. I knew that beforehand. When I rebel, it’s her that suffers.”
Remembering that immutable fact makes me realize that I’m making the same
mistake all over again. I spent the night at the Halloween party, dancing and drinking with Miles, heedless of the consequences that might follow.
Reading my thoughts, Miles takes my hand. His hand is large and strong, and immensely warm.
“Your cousins weren’t here tonight,” he says. “None of Rocco’s friends, either.”
“They’ll still hear. Everybody talks.”
Miles doesn’t bother to deny that — he knows it’s true.
“Tell me about your marriage contract,” he says.
“I haven’t even read it,” I admit. “I wasn’t part of the negotiations.”
“Do you know what your father’s getting out of the deal? What’s in it for Rocco’s family?”
I explain it to him as best I understand, starting with the wars amongst the Galician clans, and ending with everything I know about my father’s business, and the Princes’.
Miles takes it all in, occasionally asking clarifying questions. This is something I’ve noticed about Miles — he’s an information-gatherer. He’s good at asking just the right questions to figure out what’s really going on.
When I’m done talking, he’s quiet for a while, considering.
“There’s a personal element on Rocco’s side, isn’t there?” he asks me.
“Do you mean, is he in love with me?” I say. “I wouldn’t call it love.”
“He’s fixated,” Miles says.
“Yes. We’ve been betrothed since I was twelve. He’s been planning what he’ll do with me once we’re married for eight years now. He’s more than fixated — he’s obsessed.”
Miles’ expression is serious as he looks at me. Miles has eyes of a color I’ve never seen before — a pure, clear gray. Under the starlight they shine almost silver, lighter than his deeply-tanned skin.
“Even if you there was an incentive for your father and the Princes to void the contract… Rocco wouldn’t agree.”
“No. He doesn’t care about money,” I shudder, “he only wants me.”
We’ve reached the Solar. The wind is picking up just a little, rustling the paper feathers of my angel wings.
“I shouldn’t have kept you out here so long,” Miles says, glancing at my bare arms. “You must be cold.”
I should be cold, going from the heat of the crowded stables to the crisp, open air. But I’m not. I’m never cold around Miles — my heart is always beating too hard, my blood thundering through my veins.
“Your cut has almost healed,” Miles says, gently touching the place next to my eye where Rocco dug his knife.
When Miles touches me, it seems to ignite every nerve beneath his fingertips. That one part of my body becomes more sensitive than every other inch of skin combined.
I don’t think he means to kiss me.
But one hand on my face becomes two, and then he’s pulling me toward him, our lips coming together in one smooth movement. Miles’ lips are full and warm, firm and yet soft against mine. The kiss is gentle at first, and then it becomes deeper, his tongue sliding between my lips, caressing mine.
The taste of his mouth turns attraction into lust. My heart races so hard it feels like one, continuous throb. I’ve thrown myself into his arms. We’re clinging to each other, kissing with a desperation that feels wild and reckless and utterly addictive.
Kissing Miles is like dancing with him. We’re perfectly in synch. Time melts away. I can’t get enough of it, I can’t seem to stop. The wind buffets my paper wings, making a sound like a thousand whispers, lifting me like I might fly away.
Slowly, I realize how exposed we are at the base of the Solar. Even in the dark, anyone looking out their window might spot me in my white gown.
I break away from Miles.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
It was Miles who kissed me, but I shouldn’t have let him. It’s not only dangerous for me to break my contract with Rocco. If anything, it’s even more dangerous for Miles. The Princes could seek retribution.
“I did it,” Miles says, looking at me intently. “And I’m not sorry.”
“We can’t,” I say to him.
We both know we can’t, and yet I allowed myself to pretend otherwise. I enjoyed the fantasy that I could talk to a man I liked, flirt with him, dance with him. I let myself experience the feeling of actually falling for someone, reveling in that sense of mutual attraction. I’ve never felt it before. It’s intoxicating.
But now I’ve crossed the line. And it feels too good. So good that I’m terrified of what I’ll end up doing if I don’t stop now.
“I can’t see you anymore,” I say to Miles.
He’s looking at me, face impassive, not answering.
I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I can’t read Miles as well as he reads me.
“You’re going to see me tomorrow,” he says.
“I’m not.”
“You will,” he says.
His gray eyes are brighter than ever, fixed on mine with an intensity I’ve never seen in Miles before. He acts like he doesn’t care about anything. But I always knew that couldn’t be true, because he’s the furthest thing from lazy. He’s always hustling, always working an angle.
I’m finally seeing what it looks like when Miles is chasing something he wants.
“I can’t kiss you anymore,” I say, “And I can’t be alone with you.”
“I’m not going to argue with you Zoe,” Miles says, his eyes burning into mine. “But I’m also not going to stop.”
Before I can say another word, he turns and strides away from me, across the dark grounds.
I’m staring after him, open-mouthed, my lips still throbbing where he kissed me.
About Sophie 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.
What happens when the king of football meets the queen of nothing? Find out in The Revenge Pact, an all-new emotional and swoon-worthy enemies-to-lovers standalone romance from Wall Street Journal bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills!
River Tate is a god on campus. The king of football. A tattooed bad boy with gunmetal eyes that see right through you. The only chink in his armor is her, the girl he pretends doesn’t exist, the forbidden one with the shy smile and lavender hair.
Anastasia Bailey is a nobody. The queen of nothing. An outsider with the face of an angel and a body made for sin. The only chink in her armor is him, her boyfriend’s frat brother, the football player who hates her.
But when Anastasia’s life crashes down, River’s the one who sweeps in and picks up the pieces. Torn between loyalty, lies, and secrets, he battles the temptation to take everything from her when they make their revenge pact.
He can’t tell her no. Because revenge (or love) is sweet, and once you get a taste, the craving never ends.
“Tell me three things you’re grateful for,” I say.
She does a double take. “Is this where I’m like your…pet project? Don’t feel sorry for me.”
Rainbow, sorry is the last thing I feel for you.
I want you under me.
Deep and hard.
“How are things with Donovan?” I ask.
Her throat bobs. “I-I can’t talk to you about him. I mean, yeah, um, it…doesn’t feel right, you know, to him.”
Right. He’s her boyfriend and my frat brother.
The door opens and she slips out, her arm brushing against my chest. I follow, sucking down the electricity between us.
She blows out a breath. “I know what this is, why you’re being nice to me—”
“Yeah? Tell me, because I can’t figure it out,” I snap, annoyed she won’t open up while the other side is pissed at myself for asking. “Trust me, I wish I didn’t…” I stop, my jaw clenching.
She stops at the door to class and faces me. “Your paper. I’m sorry I can’t help you, I really am. I love helping others, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for us…” She bites her lip, her gaze avoiding mine. “There’s something about you and me—” She halts and looks down at her feet. “Anyway, I know a few students who tutor athletes. Let me give you their names—”
“No one but you, Anastasia.”
“What? Why?”
Instinct takes over and I back her against the wall, towering over her. I tilt her chin up, and she doesn’t speak or move, just breathing fast, as my hand slides around to her nape. A hum of heat goes through my body as my hands tangle in her hair.
“River…what…” Pink rises on her cheeks as her lashes flutter.
Every time, I’m pushing a little more, the dark side of me winning. Monday. Her apartment. Now.
I could kiss her right now, but it’s wrong, immensely, and I’m being bad, so bad…
She gazes up at me, her eyes flaring, the gold around her pupils darkening. She swallows as goose bumps appear on her neck.
A primal sound builds in my throat.
Anger.
Frustration.
Loyalty.
Dammit. I shouldn’t be this close, shouldn’t touch her—
“I’ll wait.” I grind my teeth and step back.
Her lips part, a small puff of air coming out. She looks at my mouth. “For what?”
The lethal side of me, the one itching to play this game no matter the consequences, tries to take over and speak the truth. I shove it down.
You, I say in my head.
Leaving her there, I sweep past her and go to my seat.
Five fucking rows back.
About Ilsa Madden-Mills Wall Street Journal, New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills is best known for her angsty new adult romances and romantic comedies.
Eight of her eleven novels have placed in the Amazon Top 10 Best-seller List: Dirty English #1; Fake Fiancée and I Dare You #2; I Bet You, Filthy English, and Very Bad Things #6; Boyfriend Bargain #8; The Last Guy, her collaboration with Tia Louise, #4.
A former high school English teacher, she adores all things Pride and Prejudice, and of course, Mr. Darcy is her ultimate hero.
She’s addicted to frothy coffee beverages, cheesy magnets, and any book featuring unicorns and sword-wielding females. Feel free to stalk her online.
Join her Unicorn Girls Group on FB, the best way to keep up: http://bit.ly/37B6Nay Sign up for phone alert for book releases (max of 4) Text ROMANCE to 21000
CHECK OUT THE OTHER STANDALONES IN THE SERIES!
Best-selling authors Ilsa Madden-Mills, Meghan Quinn and Adriana Locke,deliver three stand-alone romances about college football players finding true love while on the verge of losing everything.
THE ROMANTIC PACT by Meghan Quinn Release Date: December 10th
Synopsis: I haven’t seen her in three years.
I haven’t talked to her since the kiss.
So why am I on a plane, flying across the world to spend a week with her in Germany?
One word: Pops.
My life’s a mess. My possible football career is hanging on by a thread. I’m driving the roads of Germany in honor of Pops with the one girl I can never have. And I’m sharing a bed with her, the girl I’ve measured everyone else up to, while desperately trying to not to touch her.
We made a pact growing up, never to get romantic with each other – never fall in love.
THE RELATIONSHIP PACT by Adriana Locke Release Date: December 17th
Synopsis How hard can it be?
That was the question rolling around Larissa Mason’s mind just before she asked Hollis Hudson to be her fake boyfriend.
It was only supposed to be for five minutes, after all.
Granted, that was also before she felt his hand on the small of her back as he charmed the heck out of her family.
She hadn’t heard his laugh yet either.
And it was definitely before she saw the football god shirtless. Otherwise, she would’ve had an idea of just how hard some things could be.
It turns out that pretending to be in love with a crazily handsome, somewhat enigmatic, and absolutely unforgettable tight end (that has an amazing tight end) is easy.
Reminding herself that just because opposites attract doesn’t mean they’re forever is much harder.
What they have isn’t love—it’s a relationship pact. Right?
“A breathtaking romantic experience that will have you on the edge of your seat. Allen delivers a poignant new adult must-read.” – Kandi Steiner, Bestselling Author
A Bridge Between Us, an all-new standalone small-town romance from USA Today bestselling author K.K. Allen is available now!
I had always known he wasn’t mine to keep, but that didn’t change the way I loved him—quietly, gently, and from afar.
As the seasons changed, the corn stalks grew strong, and the grapevines flourished with hope. But none of it mattered, not when the soil at our feet bound us in a century-old rivalry. We’d never even had a chance.
They said life flashed before your eyes on the way to death, but on that night, after my final scream burst from my throat and my world started to fade to black, I only thought of him. Of his sweet chocolate eyes, his desperately cautious stare, and his silence that carried more weight than gold.
I should have died that night. Instead, I crossed the moonlit bridge and never returned. I let rivalry win. If only that had been enough to keep us all safe. If only we didn’t have a bridge between us.
She starts to move past me toward the record player when something strong and instinctual—something that feels like fate—gives me a hard punch in the chest. I grab her hand and pull her back to me. Surprised, she stumbles a little, and her palms break her fall on my chest. When she recovers, she meets my gaze, and I don’t try to interpret it. Instead, I move her arms around my neck, wrap mine around her waist, and start to move.
Her eyes narrow, but they have a glimmer in them. “Oh, so now you want to dance.”
I cringe a little. “I don’t think you can call this dancing. And to be fair, I don’t think you can call what you were doing dancing either.”
Not even her harsh glare can hide the amusement she finds at my joke. She purses her lips to hold back her laugh then swats at my chest before moving her hand back around my neck. “At least I was having fun.”
“Oh, I was having fun watching you. Besides, you didn’t seem to have a problem with my moves at prom.”
Her cheeks redden, and when my gaze slips down to her neck, I find that part of her skin is changing color too. She’s flushed all over, and I can’t help but get excited that I’m doing that to her.
“Yeah, well, you also bribed me with a dozen pink roses, a tent, and a pretty necklace, so we probably shouldn’t compare experiences.”
At the mention of her necklace, my gaze locks on her throat, even though I already know it isn’t there. When she picked me up from the jail, she wasn’t wearing it then either. The disappointment weighed heavily, and as much as I want to ask her where it is, I choose not to go there. I had no right to question it back then, and I still don’t. “Just give me a few minutes, and I can rectify all that.”
She smiles gently back at me, and the mood shifts from playful to serious. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
My heart pounds so hard that I can feel it between my ears. I cup her neck while slowly moving a finger across her cheek, and I glance at her lips before locking on her eyes. “I would do anything for you, Camila. That hasn’t changed, and it never will.”
She blinks, as if she can’t believe me. I drop my forehead to hers, and when her eyelids flutter closed as a shaky breath rushes past her lips, I know she feels the same.
“How does this feel so normal?” Her words are just a whisper. “I close my eyes, and it’s like I’m right where I’m supposed to be.” She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
“What’s to understand? Our roots are deep, just like your vines, which adapt to every season. No matter the harsh weather, there’s always new growth.”
“Are you comparing our relationship to the life of a grape?”
The teasing in her voice makes me chuckle. “No. I’m comparing us to a whole damn vineyard. We’re the root.” I lean in, brush her lips with mine, and whisper, “You and me, Wild One.”
A shiver racks her entire body, and I tighten my hold around her, as if it could help. The way she’s engulfed in my arms brings me the most comfort I’ve felt in years. Camila’s right. This feels so normal and natural, like we were always meant to fit.
I brush my lips against hers again, almost expecting her to pull away and tell me it’s too soon or too late. Either one of those responses would be understandable. But when her fingernails dig into my back, I don’t ignore the message. I mold my mouth to hers and kiss her hard.
Her firm lips respond to mine immediately, and she steals every bit of my air as she breathes me in. I explore the taste and feel of her like it’s the very first time. In a way, that’s exactly what this is. It’s been ten years since our lips last touched, and though I’ve dreamed about it, nothing could have prepared me for the real feeling of our mouths moving as one, our breaths tangling with heat and desire, or our hands wandering as our mouths keep a slow and steady pace. The kiss is so consuming and powerful that I feel an awakening within me. And when she parts my mouth with hers and sweeps her tongue over mine, a growl rumbles through me.
Meet K.K. Allen K.K. Allen is a USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author and interdisciplinary arts and sciences graduate from the University of Washington who writes heartfelt contemporary romance stories that are as real as they are inspiring. K.K. is a Hawaiian girl who was raised in Seattle, and currently resides in central Florida. She works full time as a digital producer for a leading online educational institution and is the mother to a ridiculously handsome little dude who owns her heart.
K.K.’s publishing journey began in June 2014 with the YA Contemporary Fantasy trilogy, The Summer Solstice. In 2016, K.K. published her first Contemporary Romance, Up in the Treehouse, which went on to win the Romantic Times 2016 Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best New Adult Book of the Year. With K.K.’s love for inspirational and coming-of-age stories involving heartfelt narratives and honest emotions, you can be assured to always be surprised by what K.K. releases next.
“H. Hunting pens a heartbreaking tale that leaves readers absolutely breathless from beginning to end. One of her best books yet!” – Stacey Lynn, author
Little Lies, an all-new, angsty and emotional new adult romance from New York Times bestselling author Helena Hunting writing as H. Hunting is out now!
I don’t want you. You mean nothing to me. I never loved you. I turned my words into swords. And I cut her down. Shoved the blade in and watched her fall. I said I’d never hurt her, and I did. Years later, I’m faced with all the little lies, the untruths, the false realities, the damage I inflicted, when all I wanted was to indulge my obsession. Lavender Waters is the princess in the tower. Even her name is the thing fairy tales are made of. I used to be the one who saved her. Over and over again. But I don’t want to save her anymore. I just want to pretend the lies are still the truth.
The front door swings open, and the never-ending nightmare that is this day smacks me in the face like a long-expired sausage. Kodiak stands in the doorway wearing only a pair of swim shorts, wet hair sticking out all over the place, water dripping on the damn floor. But God, is he ever glorious. Muscle layered over muscle, thick biceps flexing as he holds the doorjamb, a mischievous grin popping the dimple in his left cheek. My heart seizes and gallops. I miss this version of him: the one that smiles and doesn’t hate me. He ruins everything a moment later by bellowing, “Who’s fucking in the driveway?” His gaze moves to Dylan, who looks as horrified as I feel, but as it shifts to me, his smile drops and my stomach tightens. “You should really go,” I tell Dylan. “I’ll see you around.” He disappears into his car and barely has the door closed before he’s backing out of the driveway and screeching down the street. I adjust my backpack on my shoulder and head for the house, steeling my spine and my nerves because Kodiak is still standing in the middle of the doorway, his face a mask of indifference. I try to brush by him, but he stays where he is, making it impossible. I sigh, exhausted beyond belief. I just want to go upstairs and have a good, cathartic cry. I try to mirror his apathy. “Can you move so I can get into my house?” His brow furrows as his eyes move over my face. He lifts his hand, like maybe he’s thinking about touching me. There’s no way I can handle that. I jerk back and swat his hand away. “What are you doing?” “Your lip is bleeding.” “Don’t act like you actually give a shit, Kodiak.” “Tell me what happened.” His voice is low and soft, and for whatever reason, that makes me even angrier, so I lash out, wanting to wound him the way he keeps wounding me. “You, Kodiak. You happened, and you ruined my goddamn life. Now get the hell out of my way.” I elbow past him, almost tripping over several sets of running shoes. I head straight for my bedroom and lock the door behind me. I slide down the wall until my butt hits the floor and close my eyes, taking deep breaths. I imagined the concern in his voice. I imagined the pain that sat heavy behind his eyes. We see what we want to, not the truth, especially when it hurts.
About Helena Hunting
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.
All Encompassing Books 