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A.L. Jackson is the New York Times & USA Today Bestselling author of contemporary romance. She writes emotional, sexy, heart-filled stories about boys who usually like to be a little bit bad.
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I shook my head. “No, here with me at this moment. You must have plenty of other things you could be doing right now that are more fun than listening to my drivel.”
“Maybe I like drivel.”
I snort-laughed. “No one likes drivel.”
He smiled, and his eyes dropped to my lips for a fraction of a second. “Maybe I like you.”
I shifted in my seat to face him. “Why?”
Christian shrugged again. “I don’t know. I think you’re interesting.”
My eyes narrowed. “What about me is interesting?”
“You’re a billionaire who lives in a rent-controlled apartment over a fruit stand and tried to give the team you inherited to your grandfather. What’s not interesting about you? Given your situation, most people I know would live in a penthouse by now and take car services, not walk twenty minutes to the stadium every day after getting off the train.”
I raised an eyebrow, and a grin spread across Christian’s face.
“Plus, you’re hot.”
That last part made me smile. “And technically, I’m your boss.”
His grin widened. “That makes you even hotter.”
I chuckled. “Tell me about yourself, Christian. I feel like you know so much about me, but I don’t know anything about you, other than your stats, of course.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“You think I’m hot too, don’t you?”
I laughed. “Just answer the question, Knox. Something tells me your ego gets stroked enough.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He shook his head. “No girlfriend.”
I tapped my lip with my pointer. “What do you do in the offseason?”
“Recover. Let my body heal. Sleep. Fish. I have a cabin on a lake up in Maine. Spend time with friends. Travel. Keep up with my training.”
“That sounds so…normal.”
“The season is anything but normal when you play in the NFL. It’s tough on the body and mind. You’re on the road all the time, the media follows your ass around, women hand you underwear with their numbers written on them and sneak into your hotel room. So normal is good.”
My face wrinkled. “Women give you their underwear?”
Christian smiled. “Any other questions?”
“Am I demented if I’m curious to know whether the underwear are clean or not?”
He laughed. “Maybe. But I like the way you think.”
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Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times, #1 Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author. With millions of books sold, her titles are currently translated in twenty-six languages and have appeared on bestseller lists in the US, Germany, Brazil, Bulgaria, and Hungary. Three of her short stories have been turned into films by Passionflix, and two of her books are currently optioned for movies. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.
The peace they both crave they’ll find in each other.
Hidden Waters, an all-new emotional, roommates and friends to lovers, small-town romance from bestselling author Catherine Cowles is coming June 21st, and we have your first look!
Prologue
Addie
PAST
“Cecily!” My father’s voice bellowed through our ranch house. I swore the force of his words shook the beam above our heads.
Mom pulled her hands from the dough she was kneading and wiped them on her apron. “Scamper, Little Mouse.”
The familiar code made my stomach cramp and palms dampen. How many times had she drilled it into my head? “Scamper, Little Mouse. Find a nook to hide, just like a tiny mouse would.”
I bit my lip, shaking my head. “I want to stay with you.”
“Cecily! Where are you?”
“I’m in the kitchen, Allen. Just making your favorite biscuits for dinner.” She pushed me towards the back door, her hands warm and soothing but forceful. “Go, Little Mouse.”
I opened my mouth to try another argument, but her sharp look had me snapping it shut. The door closed quietly behind me. Mom knew better than to advertise that someone had made an escape.
I stepped to the side of the door and pressed my back to the siding of the house. I held my breath as I waited. Dad’s footsteps pounded against the floor. I watched the back step tremble with the force of them as though we were having our own little earthquake. One that only reached our house.
“John said you left today. Without me.”
I knew the words came through gritted teeth. I could picture my dad—the set of his jaw, the clench of his fists. The red that crept up the back of his neck.
“We were out of baking soda, and I knew you wanted biscuits with dinner. You were out all day. So, I took Addie into town with me.” Mom’s voice was soft, but it didn’t waver.
“Adaline should be home like her mother. She needs to learn how to tend this house so she’ll make a good wife one day. But I can’t imagine that’s possible with you teaching her.”
I pressed my hands harder into the wood of the house, splintered pieces embedding in my palms. I fought the urge to run inside. To tell him to shut up. It would only make things worse.
“I wanted to make sure you had what you wanted for dinner.” Mom’s voice sounded defeated, almost as if she’d given up.
“Then you should’ve planned ahead. Checked our pantry before I took you to the store on Sunday.”
“I’m sorry, Allen.”
There was silence for a moment, and I could picture Dad staring at her. Sometimes, he prowled around her like a jungle cat, looking for any signs of weakness.
“Tell me the truth. Were you going to meet a man?”
Mom let out a small gasp. “No. I would never. You know that.”
“Lies. I see the way you flirt with the ranch hands.”
I went up on my tiptoes, craning my head to get a glimpse inside. My stomach knotted as I took them in. Dad had grabbed Mom by the collar of her dress, pushing her against the refrigerator.
“I don’t. I would never disrespect you that way.”
“Bullshit.” He hauled back, slapping her so hard she crumpled to the floor.
A small sound escaped my lips, a panicked, keening noise. Dad’s head snapped around as he looked for the source of the sound. I took off running. My legs pumped hard as I cut across the back field towards the woods.
Our ranch butted up to national forest land. Those trees were my refuge and solace, the only safe place I’d ever known. I pushed my muscles harder, even once I’d reached the shelter of the woods.
My lungs burned as I dodged tall pines and fallen logs. Tears streamed down my face as the guilt grabbed hold. How could I have left her? I’d learned the hard way that it would be worse for us both if I stepped in. Still, I should’ve stayed close.
My run slowed to a walk as I wrapped my arms around my waist. I followed an invisible path I knew by heart and sent up a silent prayer for my mom’s protection. But I wasn’t sure that God heard me. If He did, He’d remained silent in response so far. I prayed harder, pleading and begging—for safety and for freedom.
My muscles burned as the path moved into the foothills of the mountains. The sound of rushing water teased my ears—it only made my tears come harder. This was the place that my mom had shown me, the one we’d bring a picnic to in summer or hike out to in our snow boots in winter.
I stepped out of the trees and took in the waterfall. The crashing of the water onto the rocks below reminded me that there were forces more powerful than me in the world. More mighty even than my father and his fists. I only wished I could channel them to take him on.
“Addie?”
My head jerked in the direction of the voice, my heart hammering against my ribs. I let out a shaky breath as I took in my cousin. “Evie.”
She strode towards me quickly, her horse, Storm, grazing by the edge of the pool of water. She framed my face with her hands and then pulled me into a hug. “What happened?”
“I-I’m okay. Dad hurt Mom.” My voice cracked on my words, and the tears continued to fall.
Everly hugged me tighter. “I’d like to kick his sorry ass.”
“Evie.”
She was so much braver than I was. So much fiercer. Never afraid to stand up to anyone, even her jerk of a brother or her dad when he was in one of his moods.
“Maybe we could poison him. There’s some rat poison at my house. We can grind it up and put it in his sweet tea.”
My hands fisted in her sweatshirt. “You can’t.”
Everly pulled back. “Why not? He shouldn’t be able to do what he’s doing to you and Aunt Cecily.” She bit her bottom lip. “Mom says we can’t interfere.”
No one wanted to interfere. I knew the neighbors saw Mom’s bruises, but they never said a word.
Everly’s fingers dug into my shoulders. “We could run away. We can gather our things, and I’ll bring Storm to pick you up. We could live off the land. We know how.”
Sure, our mothers had taught us what plants were safe to eat, how to build traps and shelter, but how long would we really last? I swallowed against the burn in my throat. “I’m going to talk to Mom. I’ll ask her to run away. We could steal one of the cars. Maybe we could take you and your mom, too.”
A look of longing passed over Everly’s face. “She’ll never leave. Dad doesn’t hit her or us. He’s just…”
Her words trailed off, but I knew what she meant. At times, it seemed as if Uncle Howard’s brain didn’t work right—he was always sure that the whole world was out to get him.
Everly’s fingers tightened on my shoulders. “But if you get a chance to be free, take it.” She gave me a wobbly smile. “You and I could go to college together.”
“Yeah.” College was a million years away. What I wanted more than anything in the meantime was to go to school. To have a real teacher and a classroom.
A crack of thunder sounded, and I looked at the sky. Dark storm clouds had rolled in, and a drop of rain splashed on my forehead. “You should go. You don’t want to get caught out in this on horseback.”
Everly looked back at Storm, who pawed at the dirt. “What about you? Want to come with me to my house? Storm can carry us both.”
I shook my head. “It’ll just make him madder. I’ll wait here for a little bit and then go back.”
Her jaw clenched. “You sure?”
“I’ll be fine.” I just hoped the same would be true for my mom.
“Okay. Let’s meet here for lunch tomorrow. Twelve-thirty?”
“I’ll be here.”
She pulled me into a tight hug. “Love you, Addie.”
“Love you, too.”
Everly released me and mounted Storm, giving me a wave as the skies opened. She kicked Storm into a canter as she rode away, headed down a path that would take her around and up the mountains to her house.
Rain peppered my skin. I hadn’t planned on this little adventure, and I was only wearing a t-shirt and jeans. I hurried for cover, but the trees could only give me so much.
The wind howled, sending the rain sideways and a chill rocketing through me. I’d just stay for a little while longer, enough time for Dad’s temper to cool. Only I didn’t think forever was long enough for that.
My family tried to break me. But, somehow, I made it out alive, even though the wounds from that survival are forever carved into my bones. Now, my only wish is for…normal. To know what it’s like to have friends, a job, a home.
The last thing I want is for my new roommate to see the scars I’m so desperate to keep hidden, especially not the ruggedly handsome man who steals my breath and sends my heart into overdrive.
But something tells me that Beckett has demons, too. I see it in the shadows haunting his gorgeous eyes and the way he looks at me with gentle understanding.
As our unlikely friendship becomes so much more, forces from my life slink out of the shadows. And we could both lose everything we’ve fought so hard for—down to our very last breaths…
About Catherine Cowles 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.
“A top must read for 2022” —Samantha Young, New York Times bestselling author
Falling Embers, an all-new must read moving romance from Catherine Cowles, is available now!
I’ve loved Calder Cruz from the moment he taught me how to fly. Racing down a mountain and giving me the release I so desperately needed. My understanding. My safe space.
Hadley has fought for a life of her own ever since her sister’s kidnapping. When she was drowning in expectations and family pressures, Calder was always the one who understood her.
Until one night changed it all. From best friends to strangers in a single breath.
She’s like a fire that lives inside me. Even when I thought it was all burned out, there were still embers that lived in my bones.
Calder knows what it’s like to almost lose the people he loves most. He’ll never make that kind of mistake again. Working at the fire station and taking care of his daughters are the only things he needs.
All it takes is a single moment to make him realize how wrong he is. A split second of coming close to losing the woman he has always loved.
But as long-buried embers light anew, there are those who lurk in the shadows. And they’ll do whatever it takes to extinguish that flame for good…
Heat flared to life in Hadley’s eyes, a mix of anger and frustration. She whipped her shirt over her head, leaving her in nothing but a pale pink lacy bra. I wasn’t blind. I knew that Hadley had curves, that she was beautiful, but the sight in front of me had my mouth going dry. I fought the urge to lean in closer. “Cat got your tongue?” I scowled at Hadley through the mirror. “Took me by surprise is all.” “Sure.” I returned my focus to her back, cleaning each scrape meticulously. “Hold your shirt to your chest?” “Too much boobage on display for you?” I chuckled, the sound a little rougher than normal. “I need to unhook your bra. That might be too much boobage for you.” Hadley rolled her eyes but held her t-shirt to her chest, keeping her bra in place. I unhooked the little tines, letting it fall open. I cleaned the rest of the gashes and moved for the antibiotic ointment. As gently as possible I spread it over the worst of her scrapes. Hadley trembled slightly. “Did that hurt?” “No, I’m fine.” But her breathing was more shallow than usual. Her gaze focused on the counter in front of her. Apparently I wasn’t the only one affected.
About Catherine Cowles 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.
That is until I realize I 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵’𝘷𝘦actually gone too far this time.
She’s there. I’m there. The scene of the crime.
It’s dark. The police show up.
We have no choice. We run. Down High Street, into Quinn’s bake shop, and I pull her through the entrance to the old speakeasy that everyone forgot was here decades ago.
The door locks, the cops circle the building, never knowing we’re right here, and I’m hidden in plain sight, indefinitely, with someone who’s awful.
𝘔𝘦𝘢𝘯. 𝘙𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. 𝘋𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺.
A thief. A delinquent.
Until one night, lost in all of these rooms together, I don’t see any of those things anymore.
She’s smart. Daring. Soft.
Hot…
Everything’s changing. It’s this place. It does something to people.
We have a silly urban legend in Shelburne Falls about mirrors. They’re a gateway. Don’t lean back into them.
But we came through front first.
I don’t care what the county records say. This was never a speakeasy.
We sit in silence, me forcing my eyes closed when I really just want to watch the door of the garage. He taps away on his phone before turning on the music.
But after a few, he’s antsy. “This doesn’t feel right,” he murmurs.
“It’s only been three minutes.”
“We shouldn’t have sent her in there,” he tells me. “Another fucking mistake. All I’m doing is making mistakes.”
I open my eyes, staring ahead at the garage down the street. “I’m going to remind you one last time before I beat it into you,” I grit out and then look at him. “No one needs you. Reaction is still action, and you broke the law too. Don’t put this all on me. I’ll use you like you’re using me, but make no mistake, I’d get it done without you.”
“You’d be in jail already or dead if I didn’t show up last night,” he says, looking down at me.
I just snicker. “This isn’t my first adventure, Pirate. I got along before you, and I’d still be kicking the shit out of your friends right now if you hadn’t come along and stuck your goddamn nose into everyone else’s business, like I’m quite sure you have a habit of doing because you’re a control freak who needs to insert himself to feel superior.”
He just laughs, shaking his head. “This conversation is tedious.”
I tip my head back, staring up through the sunroof as I mock back. “This conversation is tedious.”
“Stop acting like a child,” he growls. “And I’m not a control freak.”
I turn my head, gazing over at him. “You watch everyone in town. Like God.”
He can’t argue that, can he?
“Do you get hard when you do it?” I ask.
He goes still.
“Knowing where everyone is at any moment?” I go on. “Who’s skipping classes? Which spouses are cheating? Who stopped off at a liquor store, three sheets to the wind, before climbing behind the wheel of a car? Having the power to ruin a life whenever you want?”
He’s clearly smart if he knows how to gain access to that surveillance, but it’s still not clear what he’s doing with it. Or with that place. I searched the rooms. There’s only one bedroom with clothes, personal items, and a bed that looks like it’s been slept in. He’s not sharing the hideout. He stays there alone.
“I wouldn’t blame you,” I admit. “It would feel good to have some power like that. But don’t worry. I know it doesn’t turn you on.” I lay my head back again and close my eyes. “That’s not why you do it.”
It takes him a few moments, but eventually he speaks. “Why do I do it?” His voice is soft, like it was last night when he patched me up.
I smile, not sure I’m ready to play that card yet. Or that he’s ready to hear it.
When I don’t answer, he exhales hard and then I hear him open his door. “She hasn’t texted,” he says. “She’s supposed to text every five minutes.”
I open my eyes, immediately spotting something ahead.
“I’m going in there.” He starts to climb out of the car.
I grab his arm. “Wait.”
He looks back at me, but I’m looking out the front windshield. “There she is,” I tell him, sitting up.
She taps away on her phone, looking at ease like I told her to, and then she passes Hawke and climbs into the backseat.
“What’s the matter?” I ask her.
“Are you okay?” Hawke slams the door and turns in his seat, looking back at her.
She just nods, pulling on her seatbelt. “Yeah. It’s done.”
He and I exchange a look.
“Already?” I blurt out. “I told you to take your time. To relax. To blend in.”
“Are you sure no one saw you?” he questions.
She just laughs under her breath. “Most people don’t.”
We both stare at her, but I glance behind me to make sure no one’s following her. Hawke turns and loads the camera onto his laptop.
“Don’t worry,” she tells me, relaxed. “We’re good.”
But I’m still on the fence, looking behind me once again for any sign that she was followed. Just walking in and out like that is suspicious.
But then Hawke just laughs. “Well, shit.”
I follow his gaze, seeing the workroom appear on his screen, the camera positioned just like we told her. Two guys play pool, but the flood of activity that usually happens at night has quieted. It’s a pretty clear picture. I look up at Hawke. Where else does he have his own hidden cameras posted? I would post them everywhere. This is kind of fun.
Tommy clears her throat. “You’re welcome,” she sing-songs.
I smile, and Hawke flashes her a warm look in the rearview mirror. “Thanks, Dietrich.”
If that was this easy, we might use her again. One camera might not be enough.
“So, what do I get?” she chirps, doing an excited little bounce in her seat.
Hawke meets her eyes again, like he hadn’t expected her to demand anything other than the pleasure of hanging out with him today.
She looks at me. “I mean, I should get paid, right?”
“Yep.” I cast a look at Hawke.
Like the Joker said, if you’re good at something, never do it for free.
She grins, gazing at Hawke again. “I want to go to the Loop.”
♦ ♦ ♦
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.
“Oh.” Mac looks back at her purse sitting in the chair. “I do.” She holds up a finger. “Give me just a minute. I’m sorry.”
She drops my hand and sprints over to her bag, bringing out… You’ve got to be joking.
My eyes widen, and I look at the judge, afraid he might actually ask me what the world is in her hand. But he has a better sense of humor than me, fighting off a grin as McKinley steps up and faces me, two black pieces of plastic clutched in her fingers.
“Are those zip ties?” I try to appear like this level of crazy doesn’t scare me.
“Uh-huh.” She smiles tightly. “If they can hold Lu’s bumper, they can hold this marriage together.”
Tomorrow, I will appreciate the thought, but today, I’m just shocked as the judge resumes, instructing each of us to recite vows and zip tie our “rings” on each other’s fingers.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. Mr. Lexington, you may kiss your bride.”
Hesitation should not be in my wheelhouse. I’m a closer, the best reliever in the bull pen. Being put in stressful situations is my Kool-Aid. But right here, in the middle of the judge’s chambers, my palms start sweating as I reach for my bride, slipping my arms around her hips and pulling them flush with mine. “I’m—”
McKinley’s arms loop around my neck, her lips pressing gently against mine. Her warmth… well, I just react. Gripping her hips, I waste no time taking advantage of her silence…and compliance. Maybe it was zipping that dress, watching as my own hands hid the body my eyes lusted after. She wasn’t mine, not in the sense a normal wife is to her husband, but tell that to my body. A mouth that will one day marry another man after we divorce. A mouth that can’t help but pop off with outlandish comments and argumentative retorts. Yeah, my mind might know this marriage is a sham, but my body—my tongue, using her surprise to slip in, claiming her intimately in front of witnesses—knows we’re in deep. This isn’t a kiss meant for a first date or a deal between friends. The feel of her hands tangling in my hair as she
moans deep in her chest is intimate—primal. This is a kiss shared only between a husband and a wife.
And I’m… I’m screwed.
A throat clears. “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Lexington. You may pick up your certificate at the front desk.”
We finally pull back, McKinley dabbing at her lips, her eyes widening as she stares at me. “Yes, thank you, Your Honor.”
With zip ties on our fingers, we grab our certificate, walk out of the courthouse to the car and shut ourselves inside, both of us silent on the way home.
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.
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.
Staci Hart has a brand new rom-com standalone coming February 23rd! Bet the Farm is a heartfelt, flirty story of opposites attract and I cannot WAIT to read it! Mark your calendars and pre-order your copy today!
“What are you doing out here at midnight? And what are those?”
“Oh!” she said, seeming to remember the wriggly blonde puppies in her arms. “Oh my God, Jake. Listen to this—Presley was driving me home from Joe’s because I might have maybe had a little to much to drink, and we were just outside of town when we came up on this cardboard box on the side of the road that somebody wrote PUPPIES on the side of. Can you believe somebody would do that? This world is so fucked up.”
I started to laugh at her untethered use of the word fuck, but cleared my throat. “Okay, but what are they doing here?”
“Well, they were so cute, and Presley wanted one and was gonna take the rest to town to”—a hiccup—“’Scuse me. To town tomorrow to see if anyone wanted them or she’d drive them to the animal shelter. And I was sitting there with that box in my lap and was looking at those little babies, with no mama to take care of them, and I … well, I …” Her voice wavered, and tears welled in her eyes so high, they touched her pupil. “They’re all alone. And so am I. And so are you. So I brought us puppies. This one’s yours.”
She shoved a puppy into my chest.
“No, wait. This one’s yours.”
She shoved the other puppy into my chest, clutching the first one to hers.
I looked down at the furry little squiggly thing, taking it with no small amount of reluctance. “I don’t want a dog.”
“Well, that’s too bad, isn’t it?” she said to the puppy in her arms in a schmoopy voice. “Jake, aren’t they just so sweet? I could just eat him up.”
“That one’s a girl.”
She glanced for confirmation. “Well, I guess I’ll have to pick a new name. Kevin isn’t exactly neutral, is it?” When she looked up, her nose was a little red but her eyes were clear. Until she got a good look at me and her face melted into that doe-eyed expression girls got when they looked at a baby.“Awww, Jake! You’re holding a puppy.” She giggled, but her eyes were shiny again like she was going to cry. “And your shirt’s all unbuttoned. And you don’t have shoes on! I can’t handle it.” Her face lit up. “Let me take a picture of you.” She was already fumbling for her phone.
“Pass.” I dumped the puppy back in her arms with its sibling. “I don’t want a dog, and I don’t want to be all over your stupid social media.”
She made a dramatic grump face and said in a doofy mocking male voice, “I don’t wanna be on the interwebs with the TikTockers and InstantGrammar. You are such a fuddy duddy. And you can’t say no to the puppy.”
The puppy was back in my arms. “Trust me, I can.”
I tried to give it back, but she pushed it in my direction, her face screwing up in anger.
“Listen, you asshole—you need this puppy and she needs you. You won’t let me be your friend, so please, take the dog. She doesn’t have anybody else to take care of her and you don’t have anyone to take care of you. We don’t have Pop anymore, Jake. And I don’t have you and you don’t have me because you’re such a stupid jerk and you never have a shirt on when you know it makes me all …” She crossed her eyes and circled her ear with her pointer finger. “So take the goddamn dog! And I’ll take mine. And then we won’t be alone anymore.”
A slice of white-hot pain cut through me at the despair in her words. At the knowledge on their heels. At the look on her sad, angry face and those shiny tears still in her eyes. How she’d gone through so many forms of tears in such a short period of time astounded me. But that was Olivia. She felt everything. And she always tried to find a way to be happy, despite her circumstance. Which, at the moment, was pretty shitty.
And all I’d done was make it worse, simply because I was scared of losing anything else that meant something to me. I’d lost enough.
She was right. We were alone. And we both needed a friend, canine and human both.
Olivia Brent has one summer to save the dairy farm she just inherited.
But there’s one problem, and it’s not her lactose intolerance.
Jake Milovic.
The brooding farmhand has inherited exactly fifty percent of Brent Farm, and he’s so convinced the city girl can’t work the land, he bets she can’t save it in a summer.
Determined to prove him wrong, Olivia accepts what might be the dumbest wager of her life.
His strategy to win seems simple: follow her around, shirtlessly distracting her between bouts of relentless taunting. And it’s effective—if his dark eyes and rare smiles aren’t enough to sidetrack her, the sweaty, rolling topography of the manbeast’s body would do the trick.
What they don’t know: they’ll have to weather more than each other.
Mysterious circumstances throw the farm into disarray, and with the dairy farm in danger, Olivia and Jake have to work together. But when they do, there’s more to fear than either of them imagined.
Because now their hearts are on the line, and the farm won’t be the only casualty if they fail.
Staci has been a lot of things up to this point in her life — a graphic designer, an entrepreneur, a seamstress, a clothing and handbag designer, a waitress. Can’t forget that. She’s also been a mom, with three little girls who are sure to grow up to break a number of hearts. She’s been a wife, though she’s certainly not the cleanest, or the best cook. She’s also super, duper fun at a party, especially if she’s been drinking whiskey. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, sleeping, gaming, or designing graphics.
Staci Hart has a brand new rom-com standalone coming February 23rd! Bet the Farm is a heartfelt, flirty story of opposites attract and I cannot WAIT to read it! Mark your calendars and pre-order your copy today!
I went down like a windmill, one socked foot in the air and arms wheeling. The calf had still grazed me, and the force combined with my graceless fall slammed me into the ground.
My ribs quaked, my lungs empty from the shock and locked by the pain. Stunned, I watched the calves tromp around me, knowing I needed to curl up or crawl away or call for help. Only I couldn’t move or speak, too busy trying to unlock my lungs and hear past the ring in my ears.
A sharp whistle cut through the chaos, and the calves trotted to the other side of the pen. The sun hammered me into the mud.
Breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t—
Shade cast over me, and I cracked my eyes to see a silhouette of Jake against the crisp blue sky.
He gathered me to sit, bracing my body against his and inspecting me as best he could. “Are you hurt?”
I shook my head. “Can’t … breathe …”
“You can, just look at me.”
When I met his eyes, I would have told him that was the dumbest thing he’d ever suggested, provided I could speak. Because it was impossible to breathe with his face inches from mine. His eyes were narrowed in concern, the green of his irises crisp and vibrant, even in the shade. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen. I was probably hallucinating. No one could be this perfect, every feature symmetric and aligned. He had to have a flaw besides his shitty attitude. Hairy ears, maybe.
When he turned his head to check my limbs, I noted his stupid ears were perfect too.
Jerk.
Olivia Brent has one summer to save the dairy farm she just inherited.
But there’s one problem, and it’s not her lactose intolerance.
Jake Milovic.
The brooding farmhand has inherited exactly fifty percent of Brent Farm, and he’s so convinced the city girl can’t work the land, he bets she can’t save it in a summer.
Determined to prove him wrong, Olivia accepts what might be the dumbest wager of her life.
His strategy to win seems simple: follow her around, shirtlessly distracting her between bouts of relentless taunting. And it’s effective—if his dark eyes and rare smiles aren’t enough to sidetrack her, the sweaty, rolling topography of the manbeast’s body would do the trick.
What they don’t know: they’ll have to weather more than each other.
Mysterious circumstances throw the farm into disarray, and with the dairy farm in danger, Olivia and Jake have to work together. But when they do, there’s more to fear than either of them imagined.
Because now their hearts are on the line, and the farm won’t be the only casualty if they fail.
Staci has been a lot of things up to this point in her life — a graphic designer, an entrepreneur, a seamstress, a clothing and handbag designer, a waitress. Can’t forget that. She’s also been a mom, with three little girls who are sure to grow up to break a number of hearts. She’s been a wife, though she’s certainly not the cleanest, or the best cook. She’s also super, duper fun at a party, especially if she’s been drinking whiskey. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, sleeping, gaming, or designing graphics.
All Encompassing Books 