Sadistic Sherlock New Release Blitz

Blurb:

Ten years ago, Dominic Walsh faked his own death. With no true identity, it wasn’t hard. But if he’d stayed, he would have been drawn further into a life he’d never chosen. He has friends and family at Ward Security now and has managed to escape his dark past. There is only one thing he truly wants.

Abraham Stephens.

When Dom was first tasked with watching over his friend’s father, he didn’t expect to fall so hard for the gorgeous silver fox. But Abe is interested in friendship only. He’s at a point in his life where he wants something permanent, not a romp with the sexy redhead who happens to be the same age as his son.

But Abe finds himself drawn deeper into Dom’s life when cryptic messages start appearing—ones that frighten the skilled security specialist. The more Dom tries to hide what’s happening, the more Abe wants to help him.

And maybe, just maybe, he’ll find a way to trust the strength of the bond Dom understood from the start.

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Excerpt:

Dom insisted on helping him clean the kitchen, and it took all Abe’s concentration to not attack the guy. He wanted to lift him up on the counter and—

“That’s it,” Dom announced. “I can’t handle the way you keep looking at me.” He threw the dishtowel he’d been using and backed Abe into a wall this time. He braced both hands on either side of shoulders and stared hard at him. “We’re doing this at a slow pace. I mean it.”

“Stop being so fucking bossy and come here.” Abe grabbed him and yanked him in for another kiss that rocked his world. The man kissed like he wanted to devour Abe, like he could pull air from Abe’s lungs to survive on that alone. He had a naughty tongue normally—Abe never knew what was going to come out of his mouth—but it was also playful and so damn sensual when he slid it into Abe’s mouth. He wanted that tongue all over his body.

They kissed until his lips became sensitive, to where every rasp of Dom’s lips sent nerves tingling like he was being zapped with tiny bursts of electricity.

Dom pulled back and he kept going until his back hit the island. “Take off your shirt.”

Abe didn’t even hesitate. He was too far gone to worry about his forty-nine-year-old body at this point. If Dom didn’t like him as he was, if he didn’t want to do this again, then Abe would take this one shot to see him, to touch him, and he’d love it. He stepped back and pulled off his Henley and stood there, letting Dom look. “Yours too.”

“In a minute,” Dom breathed as he leaned back against the island and leisurely ran that hot gaze over Abe.

It took all his control to stand still, because he wanted to maul Dom. There wasn’t another word to describe what he wanted to do. Grab him, throw him against the wall or on the couch and just…take him apart. Feel all that searing skin against his. Rub his cock against that taut body…

Dom grinned in that oh-so-wicked fashion of his and crooked a finger. “Come here.”

But Abe had a better idea. He grabbed him and pressed him back into the wall. Dom didn’t wait for him to take the final step close before his hands were on Abe’s chest and his fingers were combing through his chest hair. He ran one palm down Abe’s belly, which didn’t have the bumps and ridges of muscle that Dom’s had. But he couldn’t discount the complete desire he saw in those green eyes and the very hard dick showing in his jeans.

Abe slowly reached out and ran one finger down that hard ridge, and the back of Dom’s head thunked on the wall. “If I come in my pants, no comments about the age thing. I’m thirty-two damn years old and you have me so hot, I’m about to be humiliated for life.”

“Oh yeah?” He popped the top button and unzipped Dom’s jeans. He didn’t push them down—just left them open. “Spiderman? Really?”

“I didn’t think you’d be seeing my boxers tonight, or I would have worn the Batman ones. They’re way hotter.” Dom smirked.

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My Review:

3.5 stars

This book showed a lot of promise for me, and it partially delivered on that promise. I won’t spoil the surprise, but suffice to say, Dom had a good reason to fake his death. As for Ward Security, I love all the characters tied to that company now, and am kind of regretting not starting with book one of the series.

While this book is fourth in the series, it works as a standalone. However, with all the characters and references to other books, it would have likely made more sense if I’d read the other books in the series first. Nevertheless, I was still able to enjoy the story. Plus, with all the hints dropped about the other books, now I want to read the other books to get the backgrounds and stories of the other characters.

My biggest complaint about this book though was the pacing. It took half the book to really start getting into the storyline in the blurb. While part of this was to build up suspense, introduce characters, etc., the build-up kept getting waylaid by unnecessarily long or pointless scenes, particularly the sex scenes. A good number of them didn’t fit into the story flow or seemed to be thrown in as an afterthought. I’d start getting into the mystery and suspense side, only to then detour to something totally different for 20 pages, only to then get thrown another suspenseful bone. The flow just didn’t work.

In addition, because of these pacing issues, the main resolution seemed a bit rushed in comparison to the other plot elements, which took away from the overall badass resolution (which was creative, vastly entertaining, and one of the best parts of the book). Side note, I have to say, the ending was one of my favorite parts and reminded me of an action/spy movie, which just made it even more fun to read.

Overall, while I wasn’t a fan of the pacing, I did like the story and especially the characters, who I would read the other books in the series for. So if you’re looking for a book with a great cast of characters, I would highly recommend giving this series a try, because there is quite a cast.

* I received a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.*

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About the Authors:

Who are Drake & Elliott?

Jocelynn Drake and Rinda Elliott have teamed up to combine their evil genius to create intense gay romantic suspense stories that have car chases, shoot outs, explosions, scorching hot love scenes, and tender, tear-jerking moments. Their first joint books are in the Unbreakable Bonds series.

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Concierge Service New Release Blitz

Blurb:

Joshua Hannes, the concierge of the Vivaldi Central Park Hotel prides himself on fulfilling every impossible request. Tickets to a sold-out show? A purple dye job for a purse dog? A last-minute table at a premier hotspot? No problem.

But the devastatingly handsome penthouse guest wants what?

Self-made billionaire Craig Ridley’s in New York on business, but at the end of the day, he wants to relax with someone interesting. The concierge should be able to supply a friendly face. Just for a little conversation. Dinner and a card game. Not sex with a man he doesn’t know or respect.

Craig didn’t expect the concierge to personally volunteer. Nor to be the man Craig hadn’t known he needed.

A billion reasons why they shouldn’t be together. A billion and one reasons why they should.

A smoldering standalone romance with an HEA.

Excerpt:

Fed, but caught in the weird limbo of exhausted and wired, Craig paced around his lush temporary domain. Another exploration of the secondary bedroom brought out a detail he’d missed before.

He picked up the towel elephant, trying to figure out how it was put together without unrolling it. Nice. Craig had only asked for one, out of the sheer whimsy of being able to make such a nonsensical request and having it fulfilled. The guy who’d rolled and tucked this little critter into existence had not only left one on the master bed, but had gone the extra mile to leave one in here, too. Thorough.

Craig admired that in a man.

The man himself was easy on the eye, tall and lean, with a shock of brunet hair that would look wonderful tousled, even better than neatly combed.

Which was a thought for the spank bank, and not going to do him a lick of good now.

The spank bank hardly ever had deposits.

Did jet lag do bad things to the brain? Here he was, indulging in a fantasy of a stranger about whom he knew nothing more than the man was thorough. Maybe he couldn’t make conversation past the latest celebrity gossip. Or he could have a partner. Maybe the long drought since the last truly interesting man had crossed Craig’s path was making his imagination work overtime.

Whatever, it wasn’t like he’d have the opportunity to find out, which at least attached to the privilege of skipping the argument over attraction. He’d been called “unbefuckinglievably picky” a few too many times by men he’d found unbefuckinglievably ready to drop trou without knowing one damn thing about him, let alone liking or respecting anything beyond his face and his bank account. Skip that whole mess and the concierge could remain a pleasant thought.

He flicked through four movies, hating each one within a scene or two. He could go out, but that involved shoes. He could play the Steinway, but three rousing renditions of Chopsticks exhausted his repertory.

Anyone he wanted to talk to was two time zones away, probably putting the kids to bed or catching up on the cuddles they’d missed while they were scrambling to get this IPO put together.

Craig hadn’t missed any cuddles, or he’d missed all the cuddles from a someone who wasn’t part of his life. He needed to meet somebody, like that was possible.

This particular bit of craziness would be over in a week, but the nuttiness that came from running the company and doing the social things that went with running the company weren’t going away. Try finding someone who understood that. A fuck buddy didn’t get to question it, but Craig doubted he could even get it up for any man he had so little regard for. He could scratch his own damn itches, but if he started talking to himself…

Maybe that was the answer—unwind with one of the toys he’d dragged along from Denver this morning. He unpacked his suitcase, eyeing the bottle of lube. Did hotel guests ever ask the concierge to fetch another bottle, or more toys? Not a request Craig could see himself making.

No, he didn’t want to give himself a solitary hand job—he wanted to talk to someone. See a friendly face. Someone who wouldn’t accidentally turn the conversation back to equity and shares and total float and lockout time, and how much more would they be worth when… Someone not associated with work. Or his usual life.

He eyed the sleek black house phone on the bedside table.

Naw. Too ridiculous. Too late.

Twenty-four/seven concierge service, whispered the memory of the redheaded twink at Reception. And the concierge on the phone: If you want it, I can get it for you.

Oh, hell. The worst they could say was no.

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About the Author:

P.D. Singer lives in Colorado with her slightly bemused husband, one tall young man, half a case of empty nest syndrome, and thirteen pounds of cats. She’s a big believer in research, first-hand if possible, so the reader can be quite certain Pam has skied down a mountain face-first, been stepped on by rodeo horses, acquired a potato burn or two, and will never, ever, write a novel that includes sky-diving.

When not writing, playing her fiddle, or skiing, she can be found with a book in hand. Follow the adventures at Pam's website, her Facebook page, Twitter, or drop her an e-mail.

When Love Calls Book Blitz

Blurb:

Mona Lisa Gregory is ready to live her best life. She's moving on after thirty-five years of dating one man. Scrapping the holy matrimony fantasy, a carefree and no-strings-attached passion is her new obsession. But her perfect plan has one hiccup. Dexter Jenkins.

Dex is an old-school guy who believes in falling in love with one woman and living happily-ever-after. He once had it all. A great job. Money in the bank. A happy, thirty-year marriage. He lost everything he held dear after one unfortunate accident. Guilt plagued him for years, but he has finally forgiven himself. Now he’s ready to give love a try again.

Mona is not looking for long-term. But Dexter is unwilling to ignore the fierce passion they share whenever he holds her in his arms. He will do whatever it takes to make her the next Mrs. Jenkins. But will secrets from his past and her former lover keep them from having the life they deserve? Or will their love be strong enough to withstand every obstacle placed in their way?

Excerpt:

“Back to my original question. Would you like to go and see the latest Morgan Freeman movie with me?”

She snapped her finger. “That’s who you sound like. I’ve been puzzling my brain since the first time you spoke to me trying to figure out who you sound like. That deep, sensual baritone is just like Morgan Freeman’s.”

A slow smile spread across Dexter’s lips. “Sensual, huh?” Over the years, people had often commented on the deepness and the power behind his voice. But hearing Mona call his voice sensual had him sticking his chest out, feeling as if he could conquer the world.

Mona opened her mouth, but nothing came out and she shut it. That shyness he’d witness more often than not was back and so was her adorable smile.

Deciding not to pick on her, he asked, “So, how about a movie?”

“When?”

“Right now.”

“Now?”

“The movie starts in thirty minutes.”

She glanced down at her outfit again. “I would love to go, but that doesn’t give me enough time to shower and ch—”

“You look amazing, Mona. All you need to do is slip into a pair of shoes and grab a jacket.”

She twisted her bottom lip between her teeth as if seriously considering his invite.

“I’ll give you three minutes,” he prompted.

“Make it five and we have a deal.”

She didn’t wait for a response. Instead she rushed to the back of the condo. Exactly five minutes later she returned. She had pulled her hair into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, added gloss to her lips, slipped into a pair of knee-high boots, and wore a short leather jacket.

Dexter grinned, impressed at the speed in which it took her to look even sexier. “You look great.”

She laughed. “We really need to get your eyes checked.”

He liked this side of her. Relaxed and carefree.

When she started to move past him, Dexter reached out and grabbed her hand. Without thinking, he pulled her to him and captured her mouth with his. She gasped, but that didn’t stop him from taking what he wanted. She kissed him back with a hunger that rivaled his, and excitement charged through his body.

He had been dreaming about kissing her again, wanting to confirm that the first time wasn’t a fluke. That he hadn’t imagined how perfect her body felt against his. Or how kissing her was like a fantasy come true.

As their tongues tangled, the kiss sang through his veins, sending blood rushing from his brain to the lower part of his body.

Nope, it hadn’t been a fluke, he thought, as Mona’s arms went around his neck, deepening their connection. The lip-lock was like a soldering heat that joined metals and Dexter never wanted to let her go.

Mona didn’t know yet, but before long she’d be all his.

Copyright © January 2018 by Sharon C. Cooper

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Author Bio:

Award-winning and bestselling author, Sharon C. Cooper, is a romance-a-holic - loving anything that involves romance with a happily-ever-after, whether in books, movies, or real life. Sharon writes contemporary romance, as well as romantic suspense and enjoys rainy days, carpet picnics, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. She’s been nominated for numerous awards and is the recipient of an Emma Award for Romantic Suspense of the Year 2015 (Truth or Consequences), Emma Award - Interracial Romance of the Year 2015 (All You’ll Ever Need), and BRAB (book club) Award -Breakout Author of the Year 2014. To read more about Sharon and her novels, visit www.sharoncooper.net

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Lying Eyes Book Blitz

Blurb:

This bartender’s art lies in more than mixing drinks …

Randy Vaughan is a six-foot-three mass of mysteries to his customers and his friends. Why does a former Secret Service agent now own Mata Hari, a successful piano bar? Where did a muscle daddy get his passion for collecting fine art? If he’s as much a loner as his friends believe, why does he crave weekly sessions at an exclusive leather club? 

Randy’s carefully private life unravels when Jack Fraser, a handsome art historian from England, walks into his bar, anxious to get his hands on a painting Randy owns. The desperation Randy glimpses in whiskey-colored eyes draws him in, as does the desire to submit that he senses beneath Jack’s elegant, driven exterior.

While wrestling with his attraction to Jack, Randy has to deal with a homeless teenager, a break-in at Mata Hari, and Jack’s relentless pursuit of the painting called Sunrise. It becomes clear someone’s lying to Randy. Unless he can figure out who and why, he may miss his chance at the love he’s dreamed about in the hidden places of his heart.

Note: Lying Eyes is a standalone gay romance novel with consensual bondage and a strong happy ending. It contains potential spoilers for Robert Winter’s prior novel, Every Breath You Take.

Excerpt:

Saturday rolled around, and Randy headed to town early to make sure everything was ready for Mata Hari’s busiest evening of the week. Although the bar officially opened at five-thirty, it was rare for anyone to wander in much before seven o’clock. Randy was surprised when the front door opened at six to admit a good-looking man.

The stranger was probably about five foot nine or ten, and wore a three-piece suit that seemed tailored to accentuate a lean build. His dark hair was cut stylishly short on the sides but thick and swept back on the top, and his mustache and full beard were closely trimmed. A brightly colored necktie contrasted with the somber gray of his suit. Randy had trouble assessing the man’s age, but he would go with thirty. European, though—Randy would stake the bar on that guess.

The newcomer contemplated the walls of Mata Hari, passing almost dismissively over the art on display. He studied each piece for no more than a second before moving to the next, but Randy had a distinct impression the man sought something in particular. As he completed his survey, he kept turning and eventually met Randy’s eyes across the bar.

Immediately desire flared in the man’s face as his hungry gaze drifted over Randy’s tight white shirt and up to his face, lingering on his mouth. Shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly as he drew himself to his full height, yet Randy recognized a softening of hard edges. He lazily ran his own eyes to the stranger’s luxurious beard, and he imagined stroking the softness there. He sensed something accommodating. Something potentially submissive, yet more subtle than the wanton displays of obedience and posing he was used to on Mondays at his private club.

Something he would enjoy channeling and rewarding, in the right circumstance.

The man started toward the bar. As he moved, Randy had the odd sense that the suit he wore was ill-fitting, even though it seemed perfectly tailored. A step away from the bar, his face just—closed. That was the only word for it. One instant he was cruising Randy; the next he was stone.

Randy sighed to himself. The guy was probably a closet case on his first night at a gay bar. That usually meant an unsatisfying encounter, even if the newbie didn’t rabbit. In any case, it wasn’t Randy’s thing. He’d had plenty of virgin ass over the years, and preferred his men experienced.

Fine. Nothing for me here. He waited at the bar, vaguely disappointed.

“Sir, good evening.” The man’s accent was English, his words precise and elegant like his hair and his clothes and his beard. Probably from London. Up close, Randy could see his eyes were a deep shade of brown graced with streaks of gold around the pupils that caught the lights over the bar. “I’m looking for a Mr. Randall Vaughan.”

Despite forswearing his immediate attraction to the stranger, that honeyed voice caused Randy to smile slowly and show his teeth. He registered the slight widening of the eyes behind the stranger’s mask as he focused on Randy’s mouth.

“I’m Randy Vaughan. And you are…?”

The man blinked in surprise. “Oh. The Mr. Vaughan I was seeking is an art collector.”

Shit. Just another jerkwad, making assumptions right away. Randy was a big man so he couldn’t possibly be knowledgeable about art, could he? Well, fuck that noise. One more chance.

“I wouldn’t use the term collector, but…” Randy gestured at the walls.

“Quite so,” the man said distantly, and turned to sweep his gaze over the works on the nearest wall. “Neither would I.”

Randy’s back stiffened immediately. The stranger—no, the asshole—turned his attention back to Randy and held out a hand. He seemed oblivious to the fact that he’d just royally pissed Randy off. “My name is Jack Fraser. I’m from the Kensington Museum in London.” Fraser paused as if waiting for Randy to be impressed. “I sent you a letter recently.”

Randy willed himself not to think further about Fraser’s whiskey-colored eyes or the luxuriousness of his beard, and he didn’t take the offered hand. Instead, he wiped a small spill on the counter before him. “You did,” he agreed in a bored tone.

Fraser dropped his hand. “Ah, yes.” A pause. “My secretary didn’t hear from you to set up an appointment.”

“Which was my answer to your request,” Randy said, letting some snarl appear as he met Fraser’s eyes. They were still guarded and closed off, but Randy could see embers burning deep inside. In the right setting, and with proper motivation, he could imagine making those embers flare and ignite in the slender man before him. For the moment, though, the eyes just narrowed in calculation.

Before Fraser could say anything, Randy turned away. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

“May I buy a pint?” Fraser asked, desperation shading his smooth accent.

Randy considered calling Malcolm over to deal with it, but stopped in front of the beer taps. He was annoyed at his lingering attraction, and he decided to push back on this prick a bit. “Fine. What’s your pleasure?”

“Guinness. If you have it.”

“Of course you’d drink Guinness.” A little scorn curled Randy’s lip. “Well, the closest beer I have is a stout from Flying Dog.” He let his sneer turn feral. “It’s called Pearl Necklace.” He dropped his eyes to Fraser’s necktie, as if he could picture that very thing replacing the colorful silk.

Fraser blinked nervously. Probably he could picture it too. Maybe he even imagined Randy’s hot jizz splattering his chest and neck as his reward. Well, he shouldn’t have been a condescending shit out of the gate then. Randy waited, one hand on the tap, the other idly scratching his ear to make his bicep flex under his white shirt. Fraser focused on his arm and swallowed audibly.

“That’ll be fine,” he said. “A, uh, Flying Dog then.” Randy drew the pint to set before Fraser on a coaster. He didn’t wait for the man to take a sip or comment, but headed to the other end of the bar to check inventory.

He stayed busy but somehow noticed that Fraser lingered at the bar for several minutes, apparently hoping Randy would come back and let him ask again about the piece Randy had purchased from the Gates Gallery. When Randy deliberately kept his distance, Fraser took his beer (which, Randy was pleased to note, was more than half gone) and wandered around the room to examine more carefully each painting displayed. Sometimes he moved on quickly to the next piece of art. Other times, he gave a slight shake of his head.

Randy’s ears burned, and he considered throwing the guy out. Since he’d opened Mata Hari no one had given him grief about his collection. To be honest, no one had studied it the way Fraser did, but still. Each piece had been acquired because Randy connected to something in it. To have this handsome English stuffed shirt look down his nose offended Randy in a way he couldn’t even articulate. He seethed inside the longer Fraser spent on his dismissive tour of the room.

When Fraser reached a landscape that was hung over a small settee, he gave a distinct snort. He set his empty beer glass on a nearby table and Randy swooped over to pick it up, ostentatiously swiping the wood as if it had left a ring. “Another Pearl Necklace?” he snarled.

“Ah, no. Thank you.” Fraser seemed surprised to find Randy standing so close, though his eyes remained closed off and stony. “But it was a quite nice stout after all. Thank you for the recommendation.”

Randy gestured at the landscape with his chin. “Is that painting offensive to you for some reason? You’re practically laughing at it.”

“What? Oh no, it’s…fine. Competent. It’s the presentation, the arrangement of the art, that I find amusing.”

Randy ran his gaze over the pieces arranged on that wall of the bar. He’d decided where to hang each and every work over a long stretch of time as he’d readied Mata Hari for opening. He revisited the collection frequently and rotated different pieces in and out of prominent positions. Most of his customers were oblivious but Randy took great satisfaction in presenting something unique in the atmosphere of his bar.

“What’s amusing about it?”

“Well, there’s no story, is there?” Fraser answered him.

“What do you mean?”

“Individually each piece is presentable. A few are even intriguing. But see here,” he gestured at the landscape, “this is a nicely executed pastoral, yet it’s positioned between a Japanese scroll and a watercolor of a monarch butterfly. The pieces say nothing about each other, and have no intrinsic relationship.

“But over there,” he indicated the wall opposite, “is a modern landscape. Change the frames to something complementary, place them side by side, and the two landscapes together suggest a conversation in, oh, quite a lot actually. Painting techniques, the subject and tonal changes in works separated by two artistic traditions. You see?”

Randy did see, but he’d be damned if he’d admit it. “Two landscapes here wouldn’t fit,” he said stubbornly.

“Ah. Art as furniture. Of course,” Fraser said with a smirk, and that did it.

“No charge for the Pearl Necklace,” Randy barked. “Since you made the trip for nothing.”

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Author Bio:

Robert Winter lives and writes in Provincetown. He is a recovering lawyer who prefers writing about hot men in love much more than drafting a legal brief. He left behind the (allegedly) glamorous world of an international law firm to sit in his home office and dream up ways to torment his characters until they realize they are perfect for each other.

When he isn’t writing, Robert likes to cook Indian food and explore new restaurants. He splits his attention between Andy, his partner of sixteen years, and Ling the Adventure Cat, who likes to fly in airplanes and explore the backyard jungle as long as the temperature and humidity are just right.

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Email: robertwinterauthor@comcast.net

Dragon Void Book Blitz

Blurb:

A woman born on the wind...

A Turul princess, Evie North has waited long enough for her “one true love” — a man she’s stopped believing truly exists. She throws caution—literally—to the wind and decides to take matters into her own hands. She chooses a handsome stranger from a crowd and falls into bed with him, hoping love might find her in his arms.

A human man drawn to powers beyond his comprehension...

The only thing Marcus Calais knows is that he’s likely to die in a pointless war but also honor-bound to run into battle. At least until he meets an angel named Evie in Central Park who incites stronger desires than he’s ever had and whose songs drive him to levels of passion he never imagined. After just one night with the lovely, waifish beauty, he discovers he has so much more to live for. Will he sacrifice his principles to stay alive for her?

The immortal dragon who owns both their souls...

“Ked” is what his five siblings call him, but others simply refer to the huge black dragon as The Void. He is darkness personified, but nothing is darker than the enemy he is up against. It will take true darkness to fight the evil permeating his world, and to save the female Fate intended for him. But Fate has a funny way of switching things up when he least expects. What will he find when he ventures forth into the enemy’s lair in search of love?

What other surprises does Fate have in store?

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Excerpt:

“You terrify me,” he said softly, and she knew what he said was true. Even if the Wind hadn’t been there to verify his honesty, she’d have known it by the wetness in his eyes. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and the first one I’ve ever wanted so much I’d behave like a rutting stag the first time we meet. I don’t do this, Evie. What I want to do with you is entirely out of character for me. I know you have no reason to believe that because we just met, but it’s the truth.”

She laughed shakily, taken aback by his bare honesty. “Surely there have been others… Look at you.” She waved her hand down his sturdy frame, still crouched before her.

He shook his head. “I’ve tried off and on, but somehow the women I’m most drawn to are wildly inaccessible. You’re the first who’d give me the time of day. That in itself makes you infinitely more amazing to me. But there’s something deeper.”

He reached up a hand and placed his palm against the center of her chest. The simple touch stole her breath. “I can’t put my finger on it, but I really want to know everything there is to know about you.”

Evie found it hard to fill her lungs enough to speak. Finally, in a near whisper, she said, “What if I never trust you enough to share my secrets?”

“Then I’ll have to prove to you that you can.”

She sighed, relieved that he told her the truth, but also more anxious than ever that she hadn’t heard any hint of a lie. If she had, she’d have had an excuse to avoid following through with her crazy plan.

She urged him to stand and laced her fingers through his again. Taking a deep breath, she found that steely will of hers along with the wicked streak that had urged her to seek him out to begin with.

“Rutting stag, huh? I think I like the sound of that.” She grinned up at him. Abruptly he wrapped her in his arms and laid a hot, hungry kiss against her lips. In spite of the cold brick wall he had her pressed into, all she could feel was his heat flooding through her thin dress. She clung to him, melting against him, both of them oblivious to the traffic on the sidewalk passing by like nothing out of the ordinary was occurring. Like she wasn’t on the verge of letting this man fuck her silly against the wall right out in public on a cool spring evening.

The honk of a cab caused Marcus to jump and draw away from her. She held on, reluctant to lose the warmth of his body and the sweet pull of his mouth. A small, petulant sound came out of her and he groaned in response. He placed his hands against the wall on either side of her head and peered down into her eyes.

“You’ll be the death of me, Evie North. But I think you’ll be worth it.”

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Meet the Author:

Ophelia Bell is the author of the super steamy bestselling Sleeping Dragons series. Ophelia loves a good bad-boy and especially strong women in her stories—women who aren’t apologetic about enjoying sex and bad boys who don’t mind being with a woman who’s in charge, at least on the surface, because pretty much anything goes in the bedroom. Ophelia grew up on a rural farm in North Carolina and now lives in Los Angeles with her own tattooed bad-boy husband and four attention-whoring cats.

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