Just One Taste

Masters and Mercenaries~Topped Book 2 by Lexi Blake

Coming November 17, 2015

One Hot Chef….

Eric Vail has always loved a challenge. After leaving the Navy, he mastered his passion for cooking. As the sous chef at Top, one of Dallas’s hottest restaurants, his skills are pushed to the limit every night. Unfortunately, his ultimate prize still eludes him. Server Deena Holmes is the sweetest thing he’s seen in forever, but she’s as distant as she is beautiful. When they’re put together in the same training class at the infamous club Sanctum, he knows this is his shot. And this former SEAL never misses.

A Woman Who Lost Her Taste for Love…

Deena thinks Eric is the most gorgeous man she’s ever seen, but her heart has been burned too many times before. She’s sworn off relationships for good and she can’t trust herself with a man that easy to fall in love with. She takes a spot as a trainee at Sanctum in the hopes of finding a safe place to explore and experiment. When she discovers her partner is the same chef she dreams about every night, Deena knows she may have bitten off more than she can chew.

A Perfect Recipe for Passion

While exploring the world of Sanctum, Eric and Deena find themselves learning about each other and finding an intimacy neither expected. But when the ghosts of her past resurface, old wounds are reopened. Can their newfound love survive when it’s put to the test?

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Review

Just One Taste is an interesting title for Eric and Deena’s novella because those words have very different meanings for the Dom and submissive in training.

For Eric, one taste of Deena’s body is all he needs to know she’s the woman he wants, and as long as he’s patient and can tear down some of her walls, she’ll be his to indulge in forever.

For Deena, all she wants is a taste…a physical release from a bad boy who will please her physically and leave her emotions intact. She’s not looking for a lifelong commitment; her divorce left her scarred and broken, unwilling to put her heart on the line again.

But regardless of how much Deena tries to top from the bottom and sees Eric as a forever kind of man, not the bad boy she needs, Eric’s mission is to indulge and command, giving and taking until Deena finally sees that she can have the best of both worlds as Eric’s submissive and lover.

I have to admit…I didn’t understand why Eric felt so deeply for Deena right from the start. Don’t get me wrong…I completely understand why Deena shut down after her divorce, not wanting intimacy with anyone, but I couldn’t understand her way of thinking when it came to a bad boy vs. a good man because even giving herself over to a man only interested in sex can do more harm than good. But as Eric takes the steps to prove to Deena the type of man he is and she starts to let down her walls and consider not walking away, readers are able to see who Deena really is behind the fear and heartbreak and understand why Eric is willing to risk everything, especially his job and his heart.

Just One Taste is a fairly quick read with plenty of sass and steam. Eric is an incredible man, Dom, and chef who deserves everything his heart desires and even though Deena is a bit closed minded and insensitive, she seems to be who he wants and the journey to get there is quite the showdown of two stubborn and controlling people who in their heart knows they want more than just one taste!

A complimentary copy was provided in exchange for an honest review.

4 Poison Apples

Excerpt

“Why? Why would you want me?” All her arrogance was gone.

“Because we’re friends and I like you and you’re gorgeous. I’ve wanted to sleep with you from the moment I saw you. That might not be what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. I think we could be good for each other. Neither one of us has had a lover in a long time. Am I right?”

“You’re right,” she replied. “I haven’t even dated anyone since my divorce.”

“Then why not try? If it doesn’t work, we’ll go back to being friends.”

Her head shook. “That never happens.”

“I don’t know what kind of douchebags you’ve been dating, but I’m still friends with almost every woman I’ve ever dated. It doesn’t have to end in either happily ever after or hate. Especially if we’re both honest. The contract is for six weeks. I can promise you right now that I’m still going to like you after six weeks. You be honest with me. Were you planning on experimenting with your training Dom if you’d had chemistry with him? Before you knew I was the Dom. Would you have given that Dom a chance?”

She nodded silently.

“Well, then I suppose we’ll have a very abstinent training period and then we’ll go our separate ways when it comes to the club. I guess Big Tag and the shrink aren’t as smart as they think they are.” He wasn’t about to give up. This was only the beginning of a very long battle, but it was time to retreat. “We’ll talk about the contract later tonight and set up all the rules. I’ll still have to touch you during the scenes, but I’ll make it as impersonal as possible.”

“We don’t know that we have chemistry,” she said quietly, making no move to grab the bags.

He shrugged. “I guess we won’t know.”

He turned to begin helping her. He would take the bags out to her car and then let Grace know she was on her way. Someone would meet her in the parking garage to help her bring everything up. He would spend the afternoon planning menus with Chef and heading to the farmer’s market to find fresh vegetables for dinner.

A hand on his arm gently pulled and he turned.

Deena was standing right there, her face turned up to him, her eyes wide. “Shouldn’t we know?”

She went on her toes and pressed her mouth to his. He went still, unwilling to frighten her away. Soft lips moved over his as her hands found his waist. She was tentative, but he could sense the fire in her. Those hands told the real tale. They moved restlessly, as though she had them on a leash. He wanted that leash taken off.

When she ended the kiss and stared up at him, he decided to go for broke. She wanted to see if they had chemistry? He could show her how volatile they could be.

“My turn,” he whispered before he took control. His hands slid up her neck, fingers sinking into the soft, silky strands of her hair.

He kissed her, moving his lips over hers, commanding her. The minute he took control those hands of hers started to move, sliding up the muscles of his back, her body pressing in. He felt her relax as though happy to not be the one in charge. Deena could take control of a room of diners and work that floor with an iron will, but she was shy about this. She needed him to take charge of the physical part.

He could do that. It wouldn’t be sexy if she weren’t so together in the rest of her life. He kissed her again and again, his tongue finally moving over her full bottom lip. She groaned and her mouth opened, welcoming him inside.

The kiss turned wild, their tongues playing against each other as their bodies came together. He could feel her rubbing against him. He would bet her body was soft, her pussy already getting slick and ready for him.

He was so ready for her.

And if he took her right here on the prep table, she would likely run away forever. She wasn’t ready. Not even close.

He broke off the kiss, brushing his lips lightly against hers one last time. He’d promised her control. It was damn iron will that got him to take his hands off her. She was so sweet looking with her hair mussed and her lips puffy from kissing. This was how he wanted to see her all the time. Sweet and willing and ultimately satisfied.

Satisfaction would have to wait.

“We have plenty of chemistry, sweetheart.”

 

About Lexi Blake

NY Times and USA Today bestselling author Lexi Blake lives in North Texas with her husband, three kids, and the laziest rescue dog in the world. She began writing at a young age, concentrating on plays and journalism. It wasn’t until she started writing romance and urban fantasy that she found the stories of her heart. She likes to find humor in the strangest places and believes in happy endings no matter how odd the couple, threesome, or foursome may seem.

Her first novel, Their Virgin Captive: Masters of Ménage, Book 1, was a collaboration with New York Times bestselling author Shayla Black. There are five more books available in the series: Their Virgin’s Secret, Their Virgin Concubine, Their Virgin Princess, Their Virgin Hostage, and Their Virgin Secretary. The next book in the series, Their Virgin Mistress, is coming to Amazon this April.

In addition to the Masters of Ménage series, she is the author of the Masters and Mercenaries series. The first seven novels, The Dom Who Loved Me, The Men with the Golden Cuffs, A Dom is Forever, On Her Master’s Secret Service, Love and Let Die, Dungeon Royale, and A View to a Thrill are available now, along with the novellas Sanctum, Unconditional, Dungeon Games, and Cherished. The eighth novel, You Only Love Twice, is coming in February of 2015, along with two new novellas, Luscious and Adored, coming in May of 2015.

In 2013, Lexi also began releasing her urban fantasy series, Thieves. The full series, Steal the Light, Steal the Day, Steal the Moon, Steal the Sun, and Steal the Night, are available now on Amazon. The first book in a spin-off of the series, Ripper, released in January of 2015. Look for Addict, the next book in the spin-off series, to be released in Fall of 2015.

Lexi will again collaborate with Shayla Black in a new series The Perfect Gentlemen. The first book, Scandal Never Sleeps, will release on July 7, 2015.

Sign up for Lexi’s FREE newsletter at http://lexiblake.net/contact.html#newsletter.

For more information about her books, her appearances and her wacky life visit her Facebook page http://goo.gl/q2IHnJ  or her website http://www.lexiblake.net .

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The danger isn’t over.

It’s only just begun.

Circumstances brought them together and their undeniable connection won’t let them part. But when the past and the present collide, emotions run high—things are said, lines are crossed, and rules are broken. Both focused on crushing the enemy, the retribution is almost too much to bear. Still, there’s no undoing what has already been done, and every action has a consequence.

He loves her and she loves him, but love isn’t a shield.

Sometimes your only choice is the one you’d rather not make. Pushed to the limit, the tainted love of Logan and Elle is in jeopardy. With outside forces driving a wedge between them, they have to dig deep within their souls to release the ghosts of their pasts, and fight even harder for what neither knew they needed—each other.

Can love really conquer all?

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Kim Karr is a New York Times, USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling author.

She grew up in Rochester, NY and now lives in Florida with her husband and four kids. She’s always had a love for reading books and writing. Being an English major in college, she wanted to teach at the college level but that was not to be. She went on to receive an MBA and became a project manager until quitting to raise her family. Kim currently works part-time with her husband and recently decided to embrace one of her biggest passions–writing.

Kim wears a lot of hats! Writer, book-lover, wife, soccer-mom, taxi driver, and the all around go-to person of her family. However, she always finds time to read. One of her favorite family outings was taking her kids when they were little to the bookstore or the library. Today, Kim’s oldest child is seventeen and no longer goes with her on these, now rare and infrequent, outings. She finds that she doesn’t need to go on them anymore because she has the greatest device ever invented–a Kindle.

Kim likes to believe in soul mates, kindred spirits, true friends, and Happily-Ever-Afters. She loves to drink champagne, listen to music, and hopes to always stay young at heart.

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Title: Making Choices: Black Shamrocks MC #2
Author: Kylie Hillman
Genre: Dark romance, MC, contemporary, suspense
Cover Design: Judi Perkins of Concierge Designs
Release Date: 12.14.2015

He kills; She heals. How do you choose- heart or head?

From the outside, it appears that Juliette Patrice has the perfect life. Her career is her number one priority, matched only by her desire to fulfill her parent’s enormous expectations.

Lucas ‘Timber’ Blake is the Sergeant-At-Arms of the Black Shamrocks MC. A violent man who cares only for his Club and his family, he’s wrong for Juliette in every logical way.

Still dealing with the fallout from the explosive events earlier in the year, Lucas is tested further when Juliette is dragged into the middle of the war between rival Clubs. A war that’s already had fatal consequences.

Common sense tells her to run. Her emotions compel her to stay. The time has arrived for Juliette to begin MAKING CHOICES.

DISCLAIMER: This book contains depictions of graphic situations. As such, it is not suitable for all readers.

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Title: Seizing Control: Black Shamrocks MC #1
Author: Kylie Hillman
Genre: Dark romance, MC, contemporary, suspense
Cover Design: Judi Perkins of Concierge Designs
Release Date: 9.30.15

DISCLAIMER: This book contains depictions of graphic situations. As such it is not suitable for all readers.

When a monster owns your past, can you control your destiny?

Only daughter of the volatile President of the Black Shamrocks MC and long-suffering sister to four overprotective brothers, Madelaine O’Brien has survived circumstances that would have broken a lesser woman.

Mik ‘Mad Dog’ Kennedy is her salvation, her reward for continuing to fight, and the matching piece of her soul.

With her life finally happy and on track, will the reappearance of the monster from her past be the event that finally breaks her? Or will he be the catalyst she needs to put it all behind her, once and for all?

They say when life gives you lemons; make lemonade. What do you do when life sends you demons who refuse to stay buried? Do you lie down and accept defeat or rise to the seemingly unwinnable challenge, and start SEIZING CONTROL?

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Kylie Hillman is an Australian author.

Wife to a Harley riding, boating and fishing, four-wheel driving typical Aussie bloke. Mum to two crazy, adorable, and original kids. Crohn’s Disease sufferer and awareness campaigner.

She is also an avid tea drinker, a connoisseur of 80’s/90’s rock music, and is known for lacing everything she says with sarcasm and inappropriate innuendo.

Formerly working in finance, she was forced to reevaluate her plans for her life when severe Crohn’s disease brought her corporate career to a screeching halt. Restarting her childhood hobbies of writing and reading to alleviate the monotony of being sick and housebound, she found her calling and is enjoying life to the max. A typical day is spent in the ‘real’ world where she hangs out with her awesome family and ‘book’ world where she gets to chill with her fictional characters.

Kylie writes the books she wants to read. A lover of strong men who aren’t perfect and aren’t afraid to admit it, straight talking women who embrace their vulnerabilities, and real life gritty stories, she hopes these themes shine through her writing. An avid reader of all genres, Kylie hopes to release books that keep the reader on the edge of their seat- be it with suspense, romance, or laughter.

Her debut, Seizing Control, is book one in the Black Shamrocks MC series. It is a dark, gritty, and sexy story following the Club and the O’Brien family. Making Choices, book two in the series will be available in December 2015. It is anticipated that the series will contain five full length novels.

Brawl, her NA MMA standalone will be available in February 2016.

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Come join in the celebrations of the re-release of Seizing Control and the Cover Reveal of Making Choices by Kylie Hillman. Guaranteed to be alot of fun with lots of authors and giveaways.

5PM – 11PM US TIME (CST)

05.00 PM – Kylie Hillman (Cover Reveal & Official Re-Launch kick off)
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Title: Dragonfly

Author: Lana Sky

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release Date: November 14, 2015

Synopsis

Sheltered by an overprotective family, Amy Sager—a shy twenty something poet from Canada—just wanted to break out of her shell and be free to live her own life. What better way to assert her newfound independence than by moving to San Francisco?

However, when she meets a tall, blood-drenched stranger she gets more than she bargained for. Jackie is everything she should never want. Violence, lies, and even murder taint this strange man, but she finds herself irresistibly drawn to him…like a moth to flame.

When their relationship strains her loyalty and his livelihood, it isn’t long before violence consumes her independence and Amy’s quest for freedom turns into just another story of a good girl caught on the wrong side of the tracks, too far gone to turn back.

Buy The Book 

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Excerpt

He smells like blood.  

The scent clashes with the harsh aroma of sesame seed oil, coffee, and chai tea, burning the inside of my nostrils.  I find myself sniffing deeper without meaning to, breathing him in—though I don’t dare look up from the book lying open on my lap, and I never stop reading aloud.

“These violent delights have violent ends…”  My voice trails off as my grip on the page slips, accidentally smudging a neat row of printed font.  Just like that, Shakespeare becomes a black stain on my sweat-soaked fingers, and I can’t stop thinking the same thing over and over again.  

It has to be a lot of blood.

The smell churns my stomach.  I have to breathe in through my mouth, which doesn’t really help me escape the other flavors wafting from his corner.  Smoke.  Not exactly like that from a cigarette…it’s more pungent than that.  Acrid—as if someone dumped lit charcoal on my tongue, and I’m instantly reminded of the time Rory took me to his precinct’s gun range in some misguided attempt to help me “break out of my shell.”  

I will always remember that sound.  The weight of the weapon in the palm of my hand.  The smell that filled my lungs the moment I’d pulled the trigger.

The man watching me from the back of the semi-crowded restaurant smells like blood.  He tastes like gun smoke.  He has eyes like midnight that watch impatiently as I fidget beneath the spotlight.

“And in their triumph die.”

Scattered applause erupts from the audience, but it’s noticeably halfhearted.  Rather than read one of my own poems, I’d recited a classic: the ultimate cop-out.  Boo.  Hiss.  Snore.

On another night, I’d die of embarrassment and swear to try harder next time.  Tonight, I’m shaking for an entirely different reason as I scramble up from the stool and make my way off stage.  May, the host of tonight’s impromptu poetry night, smiles at me.  I try my best to smile back, but I can’t quite make my lips move when my eyes are too busy drifting in the opposite direction.  

To him.  His hands are hidden within the pockets of a black leather jacket, which shields most of his muscular frame.  He’s also wearing a normal pair of jeans, but they seem abnormally coated in dark splotches.  They catch my eye and send my brain scrambling to come up with a logical explanation.  The result of the earlier rainstorm?  Or the cause of that fucking smell?

Breathe.  The silent command helps.  I suck in air and blow it out as I make my way through the narrow dining room while someone else takes the vacated stage.  Her poem is original, and she recites each word clearly, displaying a distinct flow—though I only hear the opening line:  “Life is but a series of cruel intentions…”

It’s still enough to resonate inside me, more deeply than Shakespeare’s words ever could as I shove my tattered copy of Romeo and Juliet into my bag.

Life is a series of cruel intentions.  Some inflicted by others.  Some we inflict upon ourselves.  Like the way I take the time to button up my coat before palming the brass handle of the main door.  For a moment, it’s almost like I’m a normal woman preparing for a normal walk home from a night of humiliating herself for the umpteenth time.

A normal woman who isn’t counting the heavy, abnormal footsteps following in her wake.  One.  Two.  Ten.  Fifty.

It’s like my shadow has substance, matching me step for step with every inch that I travel toward my apartment.  Some nights, it’s easier to pretend that the sounds are just from the many other commuters heading home—I’m not the only person in the world, after all.  If I try hard enough at make-believe, I can imagine that there is no specter who creeps closer once my apartment building comes into view.  Neither is there any suspiciously warm air ghosting the back of my neck.  Nor is there a hand that shoots out the moment I reach for the battered door to my building, pinning it in place.

“Will you let me in tonight?”  The voice is gruff—male—and the name he calls me isn’t in English.  On his tongue, it sounds like “woo deep moie.”  

Butterfly girl.

Altogether, it’s such a cheesy line that I choke on something that could have been a laugh in another setting.  Tonight, however, when paired with the blood—God, I can taste it now that he’s this close—the words take on a bitter edge.  There’s a challenge hidden in his tone.  A challenge that’s always there, no matter how many times we play out the same scenario.   

“Have you wised up, Amy?”

I mull that question over.  It’s late, and it’s quiet enough to hear the sounds that drift through the paper-thin walls of the building.  Someone coughs.  A woman laughs.  A television blares.  My fingers tremble as they clutch my canvas messenger bag, and I shift it to my other shoulder in an attempt to hide the nerves.

“You’re afraid,” he deduces, each word heating the back of my neck like the blast from a furnace.

“You’re bleeding,” I counter, lowering my voice to a whisper.

Drip.  Drip.  I swear I can hear each telltale drop hitting the pavement while a familiar urgency shakes me to the core.  Let him in, damn it!  For some reason, it’s so much harder this time to wrestle one of my hands from my side and use it to swat his away.  As he withdraws, I curl my grip around the metal handle and pull the door open, revealing a narrow hallway, painted gray.  

“Come in.”  I choke out the words, but he’s already on my heels, driving me up the three flights of stairs to my flat.  The hallway is empty this time of night, thank God, but I can’t escape this insane feeling that a million pairs of eyes are on me at once.  Peeping through the cracks beneath the doors.  Lurking behind the bars that shield the scattered windows in the hallway.  Crouching underneath the ratty staircase.

Our invisible audience watches me race for the green door with the peeling paint and fish my keys from the side pocket of my bag.  “Come in,” I repeat, though he’s already at my back, shoving me inside the moment I fit the key in the right slot.

“Sake,” he gasps out while staggering to the armchair in the corner of my living room.  For the first time, I turn to look at him.  Really look.  He stands out from the shadow like a twisted Ying Yang symbol—just pale skin, marred by countless obsidian swirls that blend in with the darkness.  Black hair falls messily across his face, obscuring most of it, but his eyes shine through, and they are darker than anything else in existence.  Pure black.  They meet my own as he snaps his fingers twice.  “Get the sake.”  His words come slower this time, betraying the accent he typically works hard to disguise.  “Hurry up.”

“Um…”  The nervous sound tears from my throat before I can help it, as I turn to the cramped corner that doesn’t deserve to be listed as a “full kitchenette.”  My fingers tremble even more as I push open the cupboard underneath the sink and reach for the shoebox tucked beneath the snaking pipes.  I feel a stupid sense of guilt when I settle the box on the counter and pry off the lid.  Stay away from alcohol, Amy, Dad always warned.  The stuff will bring you nothing but trouble.  Just ask your mother.

Inside the shoebox, two green bottles clink together like the sound of my promise breaking.  “Does it matter which one?”  I choke out.  The black characters printed on each gray label differ slightly.

From across the room, he laughs darkly under his breath.  “Whichever one looks more dangerous.”

I settle on the bottle that has an extra character drawn in—just a single black line.  Then I swipe a random cup from the cupboard above the sink and turn to him while wrestling off the cap of the bottle.  Carefully, I pour a hefty amount into what I’m mortified to discover is a Minnie Mouse mug from a trip to Disneyland ten years ago.

“More,” he commands, and I quickly tip the bottle again, filling the mug nearly halfway.

“Show me it,” I urge the moment I come close enough.  I steel myself by setting the bottle and mug down on my coffee table, next to my worn volume of Emily Dickinson’s My Letter to the World and Other Poems.  With my eyes on the gray cover, I acknowledge the hiss of him shedding his coat, followed almost immediately by the sound of more droplets of moisture striking the floor.  Some of it rain.  Some of it not.

I take my time looking up again and observe him from beneath my eyelashes.  His legs seem uninjured, at least; his jeans cling to the muscle around his upper thighs, enhancing the strength he exudes even while sitting.  Near his right pocket gleams a dark black stain that I choose to assume is grease.  By the time I reach the white shirt shielding his upper body, that fragile illusion shatters.  It’s speckled with red.  The color is so vibrant in some places that it almost looks deliberate:  ruby colored tie-dye.

I notice the wound then—a cleanly cut slash surrounded by the darkest splotches of red. It’s just underneath his collarbone on the left side of his chest.

“Knife?” I wonder, the back of my throat tight.

He nods just once and meets my gaze, those impossible eyes searing me from the inside out.  “Knife.”

I inhale sharply, surprised by how little my fingers shake.  “I’ll get the kit.”

He nods and shifts to a more comfortable position, spreading his legs apart and bracing both hands on the armrests of the chair.  I can tell from the way he stiffens that he’s aware of just how much blood he’s losing.  A muscle in his jaw twitches as he clenches his teeth and sits forward slightly, trying his damnedest not to get any on the chair’s peach-colored upholstery.   

The misplaced concern makes something inside me ache.

“How many do you think you’ll need this time?”  I call as I drift over to the hall closet beside the front door.  The calm is all forced.  Only God knows how deep the wound is.  Just how close the knife had come to striking his heart.  Just how much time he has left if I don’t get him closed up fast enough.

He chuckles again, the sound raising goosebumps over my skin.  “As many as my ‘butterfly’ thinks are necessary—” He breaks off for a suspiciously wet cough that I struggle to ignore.

Focus.

Tucked on the shelf, above a row of hanging sweaters, is a bright pink Hello Kitty lunchbox.  I carefully pull it down and carry it by the handle over to the armchair.

“It’s gonna hurt,” I warn as I flick back the lid, revealing a disgusting array of pink thread and a pincushion shaped like a rubber duck.  I had never been so ashamed of my own naivety before him.  I used to be just Amy Sager:  the woman who wore bulky sweaters, knitted in her free time, and liked to attend poetry readings at ten o’clock at night—even though she rarely gathered up the nerve to read her own work.

“You promised that I’d hear my poem tonight,” he scolds as if reading my mind.

I shrug and ease a needle from the pincushion.  “That’s not really important at the moment…”

From the corner of my eye, I see him nod just once.  “Hand me the drink.”

Up this close, his voice resonates in my bones.  So deep and yet so soft at the same time.  It’s the kind of voice that could easily get on stage and recite that cliché line from Romeo and Juliet but earn a standing ovation doing it.

Obediently, I set aside the kit to pass him the Minnie Mouse mug brimming with alcohol.  He throws his head back, but when he hands me the mug again, I’m surprised by how little he actually drank.

“For you,” he says in a tone that warns me not to argue.  However, his eyes are playful, peeking from beneath a damp fringe of black hair.  “Your hands shook so badly the last time.  I need them steady.”

My cheeks heat up at the memory of the mangled scar on his left inner thigh.  Without a word I accept the mug and tip it back.

God, that stuff burns.  I struggle to choke down a sip.  Then another while he watches.  His hands—steady despite the way he winces at every movement of his arm—are there to ease the mug away.  He’s not laughing now as I fish a strip of colored thread from the bottom of my kit and try to eye how much length I’ll need while he strips off his shirt.

In an instant, I know why he wanted my hands steady.  The knife pierced him right along the edge of the ornate collage of black ink that forms the wings of a massive dragon tattoo, which I know spans the length of his back.  There will be a scar—he won’t be able to help it—but a somewhat neat job might salvage the overall effect.

An artist to the end, he is.

I’m amused by that facet of him even as my mind races with the questions I don’t dare ask.  Who, this time?  How?  Why?  Where?

My city—once calm on the surface to my woefully sheltered self—is now a smoldering volcano, spitting up white-hot bits of magma.  He’s just a small piece of it, searing me alive while I prime the eye of a needle with hot pink thread.  

I’d learned in the past few weeks that regular sewing needles aren’t the best for stitching flesh when the blood makes everything slippery.  Thinner, quilting needles work a little better, along with a sturdy gauge of thread that won’t tear under strain.

Nana sure would be proud that I am using the skills she taught me, solely to decorate throw pillows in mutated images of cats, for this.  Small stitches, Amy.  I can almost hear her correct me as I tie off the thread with a secure knot.  “Take your time.  There’s nothing worse than getting a tangle in the thread and having to start all over…”

I inhale sharply when I turn back to him and eye the ink painting his beautifully sculpted chest.  The gash is bleeding in the center of it.  His eyes are on my fingers. They reflect a sense of trust that blows my mind with the same intensity with which he’s blown the rest of my life apart.

Biting my lip, I reach for his discarded shirt and use the edge of it to wipe away most of the blood.  “Sorry,” I apologize in advance before I wad the fabric up and press it to the gash with as much force as I can muster.

He grits his teeth.  Sucks in a breath.  Swears.  Whatever he says is in Cantonese, but I catch the gist after months of having him spoon-feed me terms.  “Sorry, sorry,” I say again—a side effect of the Canadian blood in me.  Most Americans can’t seem to stand that much remorsefulness.

But he isn’t American, and in his world there is no such thing as an apology.  No concept like regret.  Regardless, his gaze burns deep into my own as I continue to hold the pressure for exactly ten more seconds.

The moment I let up, he grabs the bottle of sake and lets half of it pour into the wound and run right down his front, pooling in his lap.  I reach for my threaded needle and he sucks in another breath, his fingers clutching the armrests on either side of him. Before I start, he nods to his right knee with an authority I can’t resist.  I want you here.

I carefully perch myself on his lap and settle against his chest while I prepare myself.  Then I try to prepare him, even though he doesn’t need my reassurance.   

“Easy does it.”  The words come out in a rush as I pinch as much of the skin closed as I can with two fingers and then go in with my needle.  

Stitch.  Stitch.  Inhale.

It’s a simple routine that gets me through the worst of it—his smothered grunts of pain, a few more muttered curses.  Halfway through, though, I have to stop—leaving the needle dangling from a strip of bloody thread—to snatch the Minnie Mouse mug from the floor.  My grip slides so much that I have to prop the edge of the mug on the crook of my opposite elbow just to take a sip.  I set it down empty, my eyes streaming and throat burning.  With a steady inhale, I turn away from the scarlet smeared over Minnie’s smiling visage and then get back to it.

His blood paints me all over by the time I finally tie off the final stitch.

The job is as neat as can be expected.  I’m almost proud of myself, considering the room is starting to blur and the delicious burn of alcohol leaches through my skin.  It’s almost enough to counter the fear, and I notice just how handsome the man sporting the bloody wound actually is, with a stern jaw, perfect mouth, and mocking smile.  His eyes are the most beautiful of all—obsidian set within a porcelain face.  He leans forward before I can react and swipes his tongue along my bottom lip as if stealing the last drops of sake away for himself.  My already racing heartbeat doubles.  The scent of blood dissipates, and I start to smell him underneath: the rich aroma of coconut and spice and a million other nuances I will never truly uncover.

I wish I was brave enough to swipe him back, but I can only turn away to fish a packet of alcohol wipes from the kit.  I carefully clean the blood off the needle and then stab it into the pincushion.  Next, I attack my hands while he watches.

He doesn’t say a single word while I do my best to wipe away his blood.  Instead, he shifts against the back of the chair, cradling my body with his.  His heat seeps through my sweater.  My body reacts, tensing…tightening up.  I shudder when his fingers find that groove at the nape of my neck and he teases it with his thumb, absently stroking a path down to my shoulder.

“Ten,” he declares after glancing down at the row of stitches holding his wound together.  His voice is steady again, the accent firmly under control. “You did good, butterfly.”  

I suck in air and consider the words I want to say next.  “Thanks,” I blurt on a sigh, rather than ask one of the many unspoken questions hanging between us.  Why do you smell like gun smoke?

Instead, I rest my head on his shoulder and just breathe him in.  For four beautiful minutes he lets me almost forget why he’s here.  What this means.  But then he shifts, and I feel a sense of dread knowing what will happen next.

Sighing, I watch as he gingerly reaches into his pocket and withdraws a plastic sandwich baggie that contains a single white pill.

“Open.”

I obey without question.  With painful slowness, he plucks out the pill between two of his fingers and places it on the tip of my tongue.

“Swallow.”

I do, and even though it’s too soon for the narcotic to have any effect, my eyelids feel heavy and the aftereffects of the sake lull me into a heavy sense of calm that makes it easier to curl up on his lap, ignoring the blood and the fact that I will need to buy yet another cover for my armchair.

He whispers Cantonese to me as my eyes fall shut, and I feel myself drift off.

About Lana Sky

Lana Sky is a reclusive writer in the United States who spends most of her time daydreaming about complex male characters and legless cats. She writes mostly paranormal romance, in between watching reruns of Ab Fab and drinking iced tea. Only iced tea.

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Slave to Love by Julie Richman from Becca the Bibliophile on Vimeo.

Add to your TBR at:  http://bit.ly/SlaveToLoveTBR

Release Date: COMING SOON

Blurb

There are risks to mixing business with pleasure…

IF A MAN HAS AN AFFAIR AT WORK, HE’S A STUD.

He was a royal prick.

The night we met, he ignored me.

Then Mr. Big Shot CEO grabbed my ass in a business meeting.

My boss just loaned me out to this guy.

Now, we’re working on a major project together.

And our chemistry is dangerous.

Combustible.

If I allow it to ignite, I’ll risk losing that promotion.

Worse, what if I lose myself in him?

IF A WOMAN HAS AN AFFAIR AT WORK, SHE’S A SLUT.

From the moment I saw her I knew she was trouble.

It was the combination of her fresh face, smart mouth and nipples that seemed to know my name.

This woman could satisfy my needs both in the boardroom and the bedroom.

But there was more to it than that.

I wanted her.

Really wanted her.

And I was in the position to change the course of her life.

But I’ve got secrets, secrets that could destroy her.

And either make her mine or drive her away forever.

About the Author

USA Today Bestseller Julie A. Richman is the author of the highly acclaimed NEEDING MOORE SERIES trilogy (SEARCHING FOR MOORE, MOORE TO LOSE & MOORE THAN FOREVER), BAD SON RISING & HENRY’S END. Saddled with the affliction of serious wanderlust, Julie can often be found behind a camera lens in locales from Paris to Alaska.  

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Detective Drake Nash: hot, alpha, bossy, and… mine.

Now, if someone could tell his ex that… I don’t care if the summer fayre is coming to Holly Woods and she’s on the planning committee. What I do care about is sugar-filled food, bright lights, late nights… and danger. The type that won’t come in the form of Nonna’s new cantankerous British parrot, Gio. (Please see the damage done to Mom’s new curtains.)

Unfortunately, when the danger comes, it comes in the form of something Holly Woods has never seen. The town is rocked to its core, and once again, I’m in danger. Only this time, it isn’t because of my clients—this time, I’m in danger because of who I am… Because of my heritage.

And despite the HWPD’s best efforts, the bodies keep on piling up.

Drake’s determined to protect me. I’m determined that I can do it myself.

Danger. Mystery. Darkness. Malice.

It’ll be a miracle if any of us make it out of this with guns unfired, cupcakes still frosted, and hearts intact…

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*****

HOOKED BY LOVE By Toni Aleo

December 28th 

Things are out of control for the Sinclair boys! With two already in the NHL, Jace Sinclair is ready to follow in his brothers’ HUGE skates in the last Bellevue Bullies novel…

Jace Sinclair here, and I’m amazing. There is no other way to describe me. I am the leading scorer for the Bellevue Bullies, I’m the captain, and people love me: my family, my teammates, my coach, and the NHL. I already have one foot in the draft and I’m ready. This is my last year in college–it’s basically a conditioning year to get me ready for the NHL, to further my game, and I have to be focused. But then, it’s also my last year to have fun and not give a damn before my life really starts. Which means I’m gonna run through every girl I meet. That’s my plan. Because my one and only love is hockey. It keeps me warm even when it’s freezing. It’s always there when nothing else is. And it pushes me to be the best I can be. It’s my love.

That is, until I see her against a tree with a guitar.

Avery.

The last thing I wanted was to meet anyone. My heart is on the bench because I’ve watched my mom get broken by the person I call my father, and I don’t want that for myself. I don’t want to be hurt by anyone. I can’t give them that power.

But my heart is begging for ice time, and I can’t control it around her.

* * *

I’ve always been in the background. No one has ever had time for me and that’s fine; I’ve learned to cope. Coming from a family where hockey is life, the last thing I want is some big, burly hockey player charging at me. I don’t have time for it, but Jace Sinclair isn’t one to be deked around. The thing is, I came to the University of Bellevue for one reason and one reason only. To make my dreams of being a singer/songwriter come true. To work in the industry and pay my dues. Become who I really want to be.

I didn’t want to meet anyone. I didn’t want to end up freezing the puck with him. It’s not what I want.

I have demons.

I have issues.

Living in the shadows, no one even knew until it was too late. But Jace wants to know.

He wants me.

And that scares me the living hell out of me.

We were so worried about what would happen if we fell, but we never thought what could happen in the process of falling. We never saw it coming. But it’s here, and the repercussions are not pretty. We should have known that there is no way out of the zone when you are being Hooked by Love.

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Defenseless by Corinne Michaels from Becca the Bibliophile on Vimeo.

Cover Design by: Okay Creations

Photograph by: Nicole Ashley Photography

Now Available for Pre-order!

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About the Author

Corinne Michaels is the USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling author of The Salvation Series (Beloved, Beholden, Consolation and Conviction). She’s an emotional, witty, sarcastic, and fun loving mom of two beautiful children. Corinne is happily married to the man of her dreams and is a former Navy wife. After spending months away from her husband while he was deployed, reading and writing was her escape from the loneliness.

Both her maternal and paternal grandmothers were librarians, which only intensified her love of reading. After years of writing short stories, she couldn’t ignore the call to finish her debut novel, Beloved. Her alpha Navy SEALs are broken, beautiful, and will steal your heart.

Contact Corinne

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