So much alpha-protector goodness is jam packed into these steamy, sexy, seductive romances that your panties are sure to melt. SEALs, cops, Joint Task Force 2, firefighters and marines. All the bravest and most courageous that help make our world safer finally find their happily ever afters.
Recently dumped by her boyfriend, Triss Young accepts the unexpected offer from her best friend to travel to Colorado and spend Christmas with Hannah and her uncles. But when Triss’s plane lands in Denver and Hannah’s is rerouted because of snow, Triss heads to the ranch alone and is surprised when a blue-eyed, sexy rancher with dog tags answers the door.
Grumpy rancher Asher Harris doesn’t know what to make of the beauty who showed up on his doorstep at midnight, covered in snow and hell-bent on snuggling goats. He’s got a lot of work to do on the ranch and doesn’t have time to entertain, even though he can think of a few ways he and Triss could stay warm.
However, this Christmas seems to be full of surprises for everyone, as Triss proves herself to not only be a natural with the horses, but she’s up for anything—even mucking stalls. Is she also the breath of fresh air and happiness Asher didn’t know he needed?
Footsteps echoed on the other side of the door and the porch light flicked on just before the big solid oak door was yarded open to reveal a shirtless man, not much older than Triss, wearing flannel pajama pants. He had abs for days, dog tags hanging between his pecs, a scowl on his face, and confusion in his dark blue eyes.
Was she at the right house?
Hannah said she was coming to spend Christmas with her uncles. This man could not be Hannah’s uncle. Not when he should be on the cover of some firefighters with kittens calendar. Or in this case, cowboys with baby goats calendar.
His eyes traipsed down her body. “Who are you?” Dear God, his voice was exactly what she’d expect from a cowboy. Sex and rasp.
She swallowed, trying her hardest to keep her eyes on his face, not his six-pack. “I’m Triss. Hannah’s friend.”
His brows scrunched. “Hannah’s flight had to turn around.”
“Did it?” She checked her phone, though she realized the moment she did it that it wouldn’t do her any good. Not only would Hannah not be able to text her if she was still in the air, but Triss’s phone had up and died on her journey from the road. “Fuck,” she muttered, stowing her phone back in her pocket. “Are you Hannah’s cousin?”
He shook his head which caused the porch light to catch on a thick white scar on his chin and make it glow. “Uncle.”
If the other uncle was just as young and hot, Triss was going to have a heart attack.
“She did tell you I was coming, right?”
He shook his head.
“Fuck.”
“For Christmas?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yeah. Hannah invited me to join her here with you and … your brother? For Christmas.” At the mention of his brother, Triss tried to see around the man’s big frame into the house and whether another one just like him was lurking in the shadows.
“Nate’s in Texas. Took a yearling down there few days ago, got stuck in the snow.”
“And you are?”
“Asher.”
A man of very few words.
“Well … uh … I flew in from Baltimore. Hannah’s my best friend and …” She glanced back toward the road. “My cabby made me walk from the road. After I paid triple the fare to get here.”
All Asher did was scratch at his bristly jaw, the sound of his nails on those short wiry hairs doing all kinds of strange things to Triss’s lower belly.
Was he going to invite her in?
His eyes bore holes into her face for a solid thirty seconds, causing heat to worm through her until her hands grew sweaty in her gloves. Then, finally when she wasn’t sure if he’d slam the door in her face or not, he opened it wider and stepped to the side. “Come in.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, awkwardly tugging her suitcase over the threshold and stepping into the dark, sparsely decorated farmhouse. It was warm inside, which she realized was from a wood stove in the corner of the living room. A window in the wood stove door was the only light in the room, its orange flames making the area around it glow.
She tugged off her gloves and removed her hood from her head, apologizing when a few droplets of water from it were flicked onto his hard chest.
“Guest room is down the hall. Bathroom is beside it,” he said, jerking his scarred chin in that direction. Then before she could ask him any more questions, he turned away from her and padded his big bare feet up the creaky wooden staircase that led to darkness. A second later, she heard a door close, only then did she release the breath that had snagged in her throat when she saw that butt in those pajama pants.
A Canadian West Coast baby born and raised, Whitley is married to her high school sweetheart, and together they have two beautiful daughters and a fluffy dog. She spends her days making food that gets thrown on the floor, vacuuming Cheerios out from under the couch and making sure that the dog food doesn’t end up in the air conditioner. But when nap time comes, and it’s not quite wine o’clock, Whitley sits down, avoids the pile of laundry on the couch, and writes.
A lover of all things decadent; wine, cheese, chocolate and spicy erotic romance, Whitley brings the humorous side of sex, the ridiculous side of relationships and the suspense of everyday life into her stories. With single dads, firefighters, Navy SEALs, mommy wars, body issues, threesomes, bondage and role-playing, Whitley’s books have all the funny and fabulously filthy words you could hope for.
Knows his way around a woman’s body? CHECK CHECKITY CHECK CHECK
Title: Quick & Snowy
Series: Quick Billionaires, Book 5
Author: Whitley Cox
Genre: Steamy, Contemporary, Holiday Romance
Release Date: December 11, 2021
Get her to her family and home for Christmas. Keep it in your pants. Easier said than done.
Retired SEAL and now special operative, Barnes Wark just wants to finish his current job—find the long-lost McAllister sister—then escape to solitude in his beachside cottage. He’s not one for fuss, people or holiday cheer.
But for the last four months, every lead has been a dead end, and he’s getting pissed.
Hiding away in a seaside village in beautiful Portugal, he finally finds who he’s been searching for.
Unfortunately, she’s not leaving without a fight and that pisses him off even more.
Dr. Brier Scofield allows herself one indulgence in life and that’s one three-week vacation every year. With no family, she’s dedicated her life to curing the disease that killed her mother.
So when a handsome, but frustrating, stranger shows up and says she has family waiting for her in the snowy mountains, she doesn’t know what to think.
Going from no family to a ton seems daunting and something this quiet, introvert isn’t ready for.
Barnes doesn’t care if she’s ready or not, he has a job to do—and that job is her.
In more ways than one.
★★★★★ Goodreads Review – “Two of my favourite themes are holidays and mystery/suspense; so for me Quick and Snowy was a perfect blend for me.”
★★★★★ Goodreads Review – “If you love holiday romances with some mystery this book should certainly be on your radar.”
★★★★★ Goodreads Review – “Author Whitley Cox gives readers a lovely story around newly found family (it’s huge) and Christmas, then add in two introverts who get each other and discover that there is sizzling hot chemistry between them!”
He pulled the sheet away and watched as a new layer of gooseflesh chased across her skin.
He wanted to feel those bumps beneath his lips.
Melt them with the heat of his tongue.
Setting the plate off to the side, he leaned forward, and from just above her crease, he ran his tongue up the length of her spine, feeling her tremble and shiver beneath him. He ended at her neck and gently bit her shoulder.
She relaxed into the bed.
Yes.
The woman needed to fucking relax.
He’d never met someone who was constantly so tightly wound.
He’d watched her unravel and loosen up just a bit on the plane when he slid his fingers beneath her pants, but even then, even as she allowed him to bring her to orgasm and suck on her nipples, she hadn’t allowed herself to completely let go.
What was “relaxed” Brier like? When she truly allowed herself to be free of worry.
He wanted to find out more than he’d wanted to find out anything in a long fucking time.
Swirling his tongue over her shoulder and down her arm, he brushed her hair off her face to find her looking at him.
The smile in her eyes hit him hard in the solar plexus, and a breath hitched in his chest.
But he made sure to hide his physiological response from his face.
If she got even a whiff of anything, she could shut down all of this.
She couldn’t know that he was beyond having temporary feelings for her. That parts of him wanted to explore this connection, this friendship they had, beyond their time in Whistler.
Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Her eyes closed.
He’d made sure to place the plate with orange slices within reach, and while still kissing her, still giving her attention, he reached for a slice, brought it over and squeezed it over her bare back.
Starting at the base of her spine, right above her crease, he moved his hand up the length of her body.
She inhaled sharply, and her eyes widened.
He grinned down at her, then brought the now empty and crumpled orange slice in front of her face.
Understanding dawned on her face. But her eyes remained wide.
Intrigue and desire replaced the surprise, burning hot and making the green of her eyes intensify in color.
He moved away from her face and back toward her butt. Her gaze followed him.
He didn’t have to see her eyes to know they were glued to his every movement.
He could feel the heat of her stare. Sense the ripping vortex of desire and unease that dueled within her.
She wanted this.
But she didn’t think she should.
“Relax, Bry,” he cooed. Before dipping his head, he swirled the tip of his tongue at the top of her crease for just a moment, then raked his tongue up the length of her spine, gathering the droplets of sweet juice as he went.
She stiffened beneath him.
He felt her tense.
Felt her walls start to go up.
She was stepping out of her comfort zone, and he needed to let her know that it was okay to do so. That she was safe to be herself with him. Safe to let go.
When he reached the back of her neck, he bit down just hard enough to send her a message. Then he slid his hands over hers, which were flat above her on the bed, and he covered her body.
He didn’t put all of his weight on her, but he put a bit.
“You are safe, Bry. Safe with me. Nobody can hurt you here. Nobody outside of the people in this room need you for anything other than for your desires to be fulfilled. Turn off your worries. Let yourself relax. You’re safe to be yourself with me.”
Quick puffs of warm arm fled her flaring nostrils.
He glanced at her. She looked up at him.
Both of them were keenly aware of his erection laying against the crack of her ass. Particularly her, because when he lowered himself onto her a little more, she clenched her cheeks.
“We won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, Bry. But something tells me you want to do more than you’re willing to admit … to me or even to yourself. Give yourself a gift for Christmas. The gift of not overthinking. The gift of just going with the flow. Of giving in to your basest, most animalistic and carnal desires.”
She shivered beneath him when he said that last bit.
“You might just surprise yourself with how much you enjoy this other side of yourself. How freeing it is.” He brought his mouth down next to her ear. “How much you like to be dirty.”
A Canadian West Coast baby born and raised, Whitley is married to her high school sweetheart, and together they have two beautiful daughters and a fluffy dog. She spends her days making food that gets thrown on the floor, vacuuming Cheerios out from under the couch and making sure that the dog food doesn’t end up in the air conditioner. But when nap time comes, and it’s not quite wine o’clock, Whitley sits down, avoids the pile of laundry on the couch, and writes.
A lover of all things decadent; wine, cheese, chocolate and spicy erotic romance, Whitley brings the humorous side of sex, the ridiculous side of relationships and the suspense of everyday life into her stories. With single dads, firefighters, Navy SEALs, mommy wars, body issues, threesomes, bondage and role-playing, Whitley’s books have all the funny and fabulously filthy words you could hope for.
Christmas, a time for family, cheer and Joy getting her groove back.
It’s nearly Christmas and the Hart brothers and their families are getting ready for another loud, crazy and wonderful holiday. But when they show up at their mother’s house with a freshly cut tree in tow, they’re in for a surprise nobody ever expected.
After losing her husband thirty years ago, Joy Hart raised her four sons on her own, got her doctorate, and became an accomplished sex and relationship therapist. As much as she loves being a nana, a mom, and a mother-in-law, she’s far from dead and wants more in her life. For a long time, she pretended she was satisfied with the flings she had while away at conferences. Love was not on her radar. But a chance meeting with a dashing man has opened this Hart’s heart to new possibilities.
Too bad her sons aren’t on board with the new man in their mother’s life. They’re giving Grant the gears and think he’s all wrong for their mother—for their family. He has no place at their Christmas dinner table, and the Harty Boys are determined to get the dirt on Grant before the timer on the oven says the turkey is done.
Will Brock, Chase, Rex and Heath take things too far and ruin Christmas for everyone with their stubborn, meddling, alpha ways? Or will Grant save the day, save Christmas and prove to everyone that Joy deserves a happily ever after just like the rest of them?
Trigger warning: miscarriage
POV: All (Brock, Krista, Chase, Stacey, Rex, Lydia, Heath, Pasha, Joy and Grant)
**Note: This is the fifth book in the Harty Boys Series. It’s highly recommended to read the Harty Boys quartet first. But not every Hart found their soulmate, so I thought why not give Joy the happily ever after she deserves too? So grab your rum and eggnog, put your fuzzy slippers up, get cozy by the fire and dive into a fun, read featuring your favorite family at Christmas time.
**Note: The political views represented in this book do not necessarily reflect those of the author. This is fiction and characters are given their own thoughts, ideas, morals, ethics, religious and political opinions to make them seem more realistic.
“Hearts will be full. Completely one of those books I will read and re-read again and again. (Nicki ~ The Overflowing Bookcase ~Goodreads Reviewer)
“This is a magical read. It’s fun, it’s entertaining, it’s emotional and it’s full of the Christmas spirit mixed with some heartbreaking moments. I loved everything about this book. I laughed, I swooned and I sighed and I cried. Full Hart really tied this series together and I’m certain I will be re reading all of the books time and time again.” (Jackie Wright ~ Goodreads Reviewer)
“I can’t express how much I loved this book! Grant was perfect for Joy! I love all the characters from this series and their interactions. They can be so funny! It made for a very enjoyable and entertaining book! (Cynthia Hughes ~Amazon Reviewer)
The click of a bedroom door had them all pausing, including everyone on the threshold.
Brock watched the knob turn and the door open.
His heart was in his throat.
Making gimme fingers to his wife, he asked for the gun.
“I’m a better shot than you are,” she muttered, elbowing him out of the way.
Holding his breath and not blinking, he kept his gaze focused on where his mother’s bedroom door was and the whispers filtering out of it. It was two people. He knew that now.
“Mum?” he barked, making his wife in front of him jump, glance at him over her shoulder, and glare.
A head poked out from the doorway, and his mother’s brows furrowed.
Sighs echoed through all of them.
“What the hell are you doing with that, Krista? Put that away right now,” his mother ordered, stepping into the hallway, all four feet eleven inches of her.
“Sorry,” Krista murmured, stowing the gun in the holster clipped to her belt.
Their mother approached. “What is going on?”
“I’d like to ask you the same question,” Brock said, realizing he was still holding the damn tree on his shoulder. He leaned it up against the wall. “Why didn’t you answer us? Why is the house cold, dark, and quiet? Why are the curtains pulled? Whose truck is that?”
Color burned in his mother’s cheeks.
“Yes,” Krista said in what sounded like a hiss. Her smile grew mischievously wide.
Yes?
Brock took in his mother’s appearance for a moment.
She was wearing a pair of dark wash jeans and a long-sleeved button-up blouse of some light shade of pink. But the buttons were askew, not fastened properly. The shirt was also wrinkled. Her hair was disheveled, too.
Which was so unlike Joy Hart.
The woman was always put together.
For as long as Brock could remember, his mother had tucked her hair up into a no-nonsense bun on the back of her head and rarely was a hair ever out of place. But the bun on the top of her head now looked like it’d been tossed up in haste.
Her lips were also puffy.
And there was a red rash or something on her cheeks.
A throat cleared down the hallway, and Brock lifted his head.
He could hear his mother swallow as he watched a man about the same height and build as himself walk down the hall, buttoning his shirt.
“What the fuc—”
“Watch it,” his mother said.
“Holy crap,” Rayma murmured behind Brock. “Have him stripped, bathed, and brought directly to my tent.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
“He’s old enough to be your dad,” Heath scolded her.
“And I’m sure he could help me work through any daddy issues I may have,” Rayma retorted. “And for the record, all y’all burly Harty Boys are old enough to be my father. Hasn’t stopped the fantasies during the dry spells.”
“Rayma!” Pasha admonished, nearly dropping her son as she gaped at her twenty-something sister. “That’s my husband.”
Brock noticed Rayma’s indifferent shrug. “I know, and I’m respectful. It’s not like in my fantasies we’re cheating. You’ve been dead a respectable amount of time, and I’m there for Heath to help him raise the children on his own.”
“You kill me?” Pasha practically screamed.
“This just keeps getting better,” Lydia, Rex’s wife, said with a chuckle.
The man from the hallway with the dark, close-cropped hair, facial scruff, and light gray eyes came up suspiciously close behind Brock’s mother and rested his hand on her shoulder.
Brock’s body turned molten hot.
He heard his brothers grunt and suck in breaths beside and behind him.
Their mother glanced at the man behind her, smiled, and turned back to the rest of them. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet Grant.”
A Canadian West Coast baby born and raised, Whitley is married to her high school sweetheart, and together they have two beautiful daughters and a fluffy dog. She spends her days making food that gets thrown on the floor, vacuuming Cheerios out from under the couch and making sure that the dog food doesn’t end up in the air conditioner. But when nap time comes, and it’s not quite wine o’clock, Whitley sits down, avoids the pile of laundry on the couch, and writes. A lover of all things decadent; wine, cheese, chocolate and spicy erotic romance, Whitley brings the humorous side of sex, the ridiculous side of relationships and the suspense of everyday life into her stories. With single dads, firefighters, Navy SEALs, mommy wars, body issues, threesomes, bondage and role-playing, Whitley’s books have all the funny and fabulously filthy words you could hope for.
I can remember the exact moment I thought up the idea ofQuick & Dirty.
I was walking my dog up Rainbow Road on the south facing slope of Christmas Hill in Victoria and texting with some friends asking for heroine name suggestions.
One of them suggested Parker Ryan and I absolutely loved it.
I also knew that I wanted the tagline to be The best way to get over a millionaire is to get over a billionaire.
I’d already “created” Tate McAllister, mysterious billionaire philanthropist and introduced him to the “world” in Hot & Filthy, but I hadn’t really planned to give him his own love story, let alone turn it all into a series.
I joined a boxed set and needed a story to contribute, so I “whipped up” Quick & Dirty as my contribution. However, I never felt like I had truly “finished” the story arc of how Tate got his seed money to buy the resort. Too much was left unanswered about Tate’s dead, estranged father.
The world needed more answers. I needed more answers.
Quick & Easywas written more on a dare than anything else. Two of my very close friends, who also happen to be incredibly talented authors (Jeanne St. James and Erica Lynn) used to tease me over the fact that all my books were long, and just kept getting longer. Meanwhile, they had no problem whipping up 20-45K word novellas. But I just couldn’t do anything under 50K.
So to prove them that I in fact COULD write a novella, I set aside two weeks to write Quick & Easy. I wanted to outdo my own challenge and said I would keep Quick & Easy at 20K words. Well, of course, you know I did it!
But that just fed the flames of this series even more and I needed to add more brothers. More billionaires. The mystery behind the rich deadbeat dad still burned inside of me.
Quick & Reckless came about because I wanted to challenge myself once again. I wanted to write two tropes I’d never attempted before: secret baby and step-sibling.
I get a little squirmy at the idea of hooking up with a step-sibling, to be honest. I don’t have any step-siblings, but if its someone you’ve grown up with and in any way shape or form have called “a brother” or “a sister” it just feels too taboo for me to write. No judgement if you write or love to read step romance. I don’t judge. I just didn’t want to write too far out of my comfort zone, otherwise you as the reader would have known and felt that lack of sincerity and the characters and story would have been wooden.
So I put a twist on the step romance. A twist that didn’t have me stepping too far out of my comfort zone, but enough so that my toes got wet and I’d like to think I can now add that trope to my list of “I’ve gone there” tropes.
But of course, three books wasn’t enough. I still hadn’t answered the mystery of the dad.
We needed a sister.
Cue, Skyler and her story, Quick & Dangerous. We met Roberto “Rob” Cahill in Lust Abroad, and a lot of readers asked me if he was going to get his own story, since they loved him in Lust Abroad. So I figured, why not give him his HEA and pair him up with the fiery Skyler who is running from the mafia? A match made in romantic suspense heaven.
I honestly can’t tell you WHY I decided to make mention of a fifth sibling at the very end of Quick & Dangerous, but I did. It was my subconscious telling me that I wasn’t done with this series. That I needed to delve deeper into the mystery of Randall McAllister–
…deadbeat dad extraordinaire–and introduce one more McAllister sibling into the mix.
But, of course, I also wanted to bring us back to Canada and give the family a big, noisy, snowy Christmas.
I’m loving the direction that Quick & Snowy is going. It’s a slower burn than the rest of the books, and the heroine (Brier), although strong and brilliant, also suffers from crippling social anxiety and is terrified to meet her intimidating, billionaire siblings. Barnes is a former SEAL and an amputee, and he’s been tasked with finding Brier. Only when he finds her in sunny, beachy and beautiful Albufeira, Portugal she’s not exactly hopping on the next plane to go and meet her family.
He has a bit of a challenge on his hands, convincing her to leave with him. Because if there is anything this former SEAL does is finish the job he started.
I can’t wait for you to read this book and let me know what you think. I plan to wrap up all loose ends and any unsolved mystery pieces. This will be the FINAL Quick Billionaires book. I have way too many other things planned and on the TBW (to be written) pile to think about working another Quick Billionaire book into the mix.
But I think the reason why I did keep adding more books to the series is because just like the Hart family (The Harty Boys Series) I just love this family and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
“You’re welcome to tickle my nuts and sniff my ass crack, but I know damn well I don’t have to remove my leg. Try again …” Barnes Wark leaned forward over the rolling belt in airport security and squinted at the nametag on the baby-faced TSA agent.
Oden.
He resisted the urge to sneer at the name since he, too, had an unusual name that often garnered some quirked eyebrows. Instead, he felt half an ounce of sympathy for the kid.
But it wasn’t enough o save him from Barnes’s impatience. Oh no.
The barely-legal kid’s Adam’s apple bobbed hard in his throat and his brown eyes shifted from Barnes’s to his supervisor who was standing in the corner.
“Don’t look at her, look at me,” Barnes continued. “I’m the person you’re dealing with right now. You saw my prosthetic after I took off my shoes and thought, hey, let’s make the cripple take off his leg. I’ve never seen that before.”
The kid’s face was turning the shade of an over ripe tomato. He shook his head as if Barnes hadn’t just dived into his sick subconscious and read his mind.
Barnes ignored the man’s silent, but colorful denial. “And you’re not going to see it today. But I am going to give you a second chance to speak to me like human being with the same rights as every other person in here. So tell me again exactly what I need to remove.”
The kid’s eyes found Barnes’s once more, he swallowed again and nodded. “Belt, shoes, all electronics, all liquids and anything metal. But I don’t need you to remove your prosthetic, sir. A pat-down will be necessary, though.”
Barnes nodded and chucked his wallet, watch, belt and carryon into the bin, then walked to wait for another TSA agent to wave him through the metal-detector. Of course, it beeped.
He always forgot his dog tags. They were an extension of who he was—just like his leg—so it skipped his mind that they would need to be removed before proceeding through the detector.
Stepping back through, he lifted his tags out from under his black T-shirt and tossed them in with his belt and wallet.
The moment they were off, he felt exposed. Vulnerable.
A piece of himself was missing.
He needed them back.
Calmly, with a hard swallow, he stepped back through the detector.
It beeped again.
He rolled his eyes. It would beep until the day he died.
He’d been through this scenario hundreds possibly thousands of times. But once in a while he encountered a wet-behind the ears greenhorn who had either skipped the page on amputees in the TSA training handbook, or had some secret fetish or overwhelming curiosity that made them break protocol.
He NEVER indulged them.
Sure, he didn’t give two shits that one of his legs was made of titanium. He’d come to terms with that part long ago. But he did give two shits, probably more than just two about being made a spectacle or having his rights violated.
He was waved over to the side where two male TSA agents approached him.
He didn’t say a word. Just spread his legs and let them do their thing.
They wouldn’t find anything.
He was one of the good guys.
Or at least he tried to be.
The TSA agent who was sliding his hands up Barnes’s thigh was busy explaining what he was doing and why. Barnes tuned him out. The other agent had Barnes’s passport. He glanced into the bin of Barnes’s stuff and his brows lifted.
Barnes waited.
Five …
Four …
Three …
Two …
One …
“Thank you for your service, sir.”
As predictable as the tides.
“My father served as well. We appreciate everything you’ve done to keep our country safe.”
Barnes nodded at the man and accepted his passport back. If only this thirty-something guy with the wedding band and baby spit up on his collar knew the kinds of things Barnes had done to keep this man and his family safe.
It would give the average person nightmares.
Fuck, it gave Barnes nightmares.
“Thank you for your cooperation,” the other man said, standing back up.
Barnes grunted, then continued on to gather his stuff.
He was almost home.
One more flight, Houston to Portland and then he could hunker down until the new year.
With his dog tags securely back in place, he released the breath that had been burning his lungs. He finished putting on his belt and shoes, slung his rucksack over his back and headed toward his gate.
His sister had offered for him to come and spend Christmas with her family in Maine. His nieces and nephew were dying to see their uncle Barney, but he just didn’t have it in him to do the big family Christmas thing.
Genre: Steamy/Contemporary/Suspense/Thriller/Alpha Male
Release Date: July 10, 2021
She’s the light this dark Hart needs to survive.
Pediatrician Dr. Pasha Young likes her routine, busy life. Her job is meaningful and she’s good at it. But when Heath enters her world—all long blond hair and midnight blue eyes—she realizes everything she’s been missing.
Former special operative and now security specialist, Heath Hart has never met a woman quite like Pasha. She helped his family when they needed it the most. Their attraction was instant. Electric. She’s also okay with his no-strings rule. Because he can’t go back down the love rabbit hole. Not after what happened last time.
She understands what drives him. She was there when Dakota Creed got away, and Heath’s need to find Creed and end his reign of terror is all-consuming. Nobody else deserves to get hurt, and Heath will stop at nothing to finish the job once and for all.
But what happens when the hunter becomes the hunted? The devil he’s chasing is now chasing him—chasing them. When Heath’s need to find Creed turns into an obsession, and he begins to slip into the dark, can Pasha muster the strength to pull him back into the light in time? Or will he give himself over to the chase, causing her to lose her heart, and her Hart, to the darkness once and for all?
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
“The book gets wildly intense and had me biting my nails! The suspense was killing me. They way this book ends is absolutely perfect. This author never fails to amaze me. Another bestseller!” (Nora Houston ~ Amazon Reviewer)
“The things he’s done, the things he’s seen, who wouldn’t have a dark heart. Betrayed by someone you loved will make you darker. Can Heath find the light or will the dark just get darker? A read that will keep you on the edge.” (Vickie Komarek, Amazon Reviewer)
“A few laugh out loud moments, more than a few suspenseful times and a lot of hot times. What more could you ask for?.” (Sue Hancock~ Goodreads Reviewer)
She headed to her en suite bathroom, tossing a look at him over her shoulder. A look that made him wish his phone was within reach because he’d make that image his wallpaper. “You coming?” she asked.
“Hate to see you leave, but love to watch you go,” he said standing up and following her into the bathroom.
She turned on the water for the shower and let it heat up, then she went about wrapping up her bandaged finger with cellophane. Once she was done, she looped her arms over his shoulders and lifted up onto her tiptoes so they were more at eye level.
He thought she was going to say something. A tease or a joke about the sex they’d just had, but she didn’t.
She stood there, breathing in his breath and staring into his eyes.
What was she looking for?
Did she want more from him?
More of him?
She couldn’t have it.
Nobody could.
He had nothing more to give her.
Christina had stripped him of everything else he could possibly give a woman. Taken his trust, his love, his belief in happily ever after.
He gave Pasha everything he had left. Everything he could, and if she asked for more, then he’d have to say no and watch the disappointment fill her eyes.
And the thought of doing that gutted him.
After a moment of uncertainly, waiting for her to say something, he growled and cupped the back of her head, taking her mouth in a need-driven kiss. He needed to get things back to where they’d been, not to where he feared they were headed, which was her asking him for more.
We all have our favorite romance tropes. And even more of us have MANY favorites. And even more, even more of us probably can’t pick a favorite because there are just too many awesome tropes to choose from and we don’t want to make any tropes feel sad (as if they are living breathing things WITH feelings … *whispers: “because they are.”*)
But, as much as I like my PNR romances with vampires, witches, demons and shifters getting immortally jiggy with it, and my highland romances with bare-chested heroes with lilts that won’t quit … I have to say, I REALLY like my military romances.
My love of military romances started with Cindy Gerard’s Black Ops Series. If you haven’t read it, you should. It probably wasn’t the best idea that the first book I picked up from this author was about human trafficking in Indonesia, particularly since two months later I MOVED to Indonesia to teach English, but the book was THAT good, and the hero that swoony and heroic that it didn’t stop me from jumping on a plane and heading across the sea.
Now, if you don’t know, I’m in Canada. And we don’t have Navy SEALs. Our equivalent of the SEALs is Joint Task Force 2. So, because my Harty Boys are Canadian, hailing from Victoria, BC, Home of the Pacific Naval Fleet, I had my men belong to Joint Task Force 2.
They’re retired from the navy and special forces however, moving back home after their time served and working together in the security and surveillance company: Harty Boys Security.
Why wouldn’t men with very special sets of skills continue to use those skills for good? It just makes sense, right?
So even though they’re “technically” retired, they’re still bringing all that training, all that alpha goodness and protector instinct with them no matter the job.
And if I haven’t convinced you yet why military romances are awesome, here are my top five reasons!
TOP FIVE REASONS (Plus a bonus reason) why military romances are awesome and one of my favorite tropes!
1.) Who doesn’t like a man who will do anything to protect the woman he’s falling for? These guys are protectors and heroes through and through. It’s part of their DNA and in my opinion, that’s damn sexy.
2.) The abs. The body. These guys, take care of themselves. Enough said.
3.) The stamina. Going back to reason number 2, they take care of themselves and workout, so they have stamina. *wink wink*No two-pump chumps here.
4.) They’re competitive. Find me any man or woman for that matter who has served and tell me they don’t have a noticeable-from-space competitive streak. And as much as competitiveness can be frustrating at times, in the bedroom, they’re all about beating their last “best”. That means, they want to give their heroine more orgasms, better orgasms and the next “best sex of her life.” I don’t know about you, but that’s a competitive streak I can get on board with.
5.)they’re all about brotherhood and family. they’re close with their team and have their six no matter what. that means they’re loyal and family-oriented. they don’t trust easily, but Once you’re in their “fold” they’ll go to the ends of earth to take care of who they love.
BONUS REASON: Usually a military romance is also a romantic suspense. And I happen to love to not only to read, but to write, edge-of-your-seat, heart-in-your-throat, nail-bitingromantic suspense. the mystery, the intrigue, the danger. it’s a different kind of high that I get when I read those kinds of scenes, and when they’re peppered in among the steamy scenes, that there is my kind of perfect read!
Comment below or shoot me a message with military romance recommendations. Because as well all know, a TBR is never too full!
right now, in preparation for the release of dark hart next week, i have dropped the price of hard hart to …
He was just drifting off to sleep when a fist landed square in the center of his back.
Groaning, he rolled over, coming face-to-face with an angry angel. “What the fuck was that for?”
“You’re taking up over half the fucking bed.” She growled.
He inched over just a bit. “Better?”
She glared at him in the dark, her little button nose wrinkling. “No. You’re enormous. Easily taking up seventy percent of the bed and probably eighty percent of the covers.”
Brock rolled his eyes. He was too tired for this shit. But he also didn’t want her to go. “What do you want from me?”
“To give me space. You’re a furnace, too.”
“Do you want me to go to the other room?”
He didn’t want to, but he would. For her. For sleep.
She grew awfully quiet. “No.”
Grunting, he sat up, scooted over to the edge. Half his ass cheek was hanging off, but hopefully that would appease the mother bear in his bed. “Better?”
She nodded. “You just need to be more considerate while you’re sleeping.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, woman, how can I be more considerate while I’m sleeping? I’m sleeping. I have no idea what I’m doing!” Grumbling and swearing under his breath, he pulled a bunch of covers off his side and draped them over her. “There! Better?”
She grinned. “Yes.”
That sassy little smile. Fuck. It got him every time. Even when she was being an irrational, hormonal, back-punching nut job, he wanted her. He always wanted her. Never one to care about having anyone to kiss at midnight, he’d hated the idea of Krista sitting home alone the other night, ringing in the new year by herself.
“How’d it go?” she asked, rolling over onto her side and propping her hand under her head.
He grunted. “How’d what go?”
“Your job?”
He lifted one shoulder. “Everyone’s safe.”
Her lips twisted, and she drew circles on the bottom sheet of the bed with her finger. Her eyes followed her finger. “Maybe next time you could call me when you go out on a job.” She lifted her head just a touch, her eyes pinning on him. “Let me know you’re safe. I worry about you too, you know.”
Brock’s chest tightened, and his throat felt raw. Here he’d been giving her shit for not behaving responsibly enough, meanwhile he could be doing more, too. He nodded stiffly. “Okay.”
Her smile was small but triumphant.
He gave her the side-eye. He needed a distraction, and the way her breasts squished together when she was on her side like that was doing a hell of a job. “Well, now that we’re awake, you want to bang?”
Her eyes brightened, and her smile grew. She scooted across the bed, tossing his pillow to the floor, and looped her leg over his hip. “What did you have in mind?”
Today, I have a fun surprise to share with you…I’ve teamed up with 30+ fantastic authors to give away a huge collection of Military & Hero Romances to 2 lucky winners! Oh, and did I mention the Grand Prize winner gets a BRAND NEW eReader? You can win my novel Hard Hart, plus books from authors like Samantha A. Cole, Sharon Hamilton and April Canavan.
Here’s what I’m giving away. By entering to win in the link above, you could win MY book, plus a whole bunch of other books AND a free ereader.
How to know if this book is right for you?
1.) Do you like alpha males?
2.) Do you like surprise pregnancy romances?
3.) Do you like stubborn, bad-ass heroines who take no shit?
4.) Do you like military romances?
5.) Do you like a little slap and tickle in your dirty scenes?
6.) Do you like tight-knit families who would do absolutely anything for each other?
7.) Do you like broody, grumpy, grunty, broken heroes with titanium shells and gooey insides?
8.) Do you like edge of your seat romantic suspense with truly evil bad guys?
9.) Do you like enemies to lovers romances?
10.) Do you like roommates to lovers romances?
If you answered yes to any of the above then this is the book for you!
But if you still don’t believe me, read the blurb and excerpt below and see if it tickles your fancy anymore.
It’ll take a tough woman to win this hard Hart.
Krista Matthews, a hard-headed, hard-fighting rookie cop, is determined to prove herself on the force. It’s not just a man’s world anymore and she’ll show them all she’s up to the challenge, even if it means putting up with the advances from her lecherous mentor, Myles Slade. However, Brock is even more stubborn than she is, he’s all male, all alpha–and whether she likes it or not he’s made keeping her safe his number one priority. He doesn’t realize she doesn’t need protection; she can take of herself and then some.
Brock Hart, bodyguard and retired special operative, has never known anyone like Krista. Ever since their first meeting, when she pulled him over for speeding, he’s been drawn to her. She infuriates him, challenges him, and has gotten under his skin in a way no woman ever has. He’s kept people at arm’s length all his life for good reason, but Krista won’t stand for it. She wants to know everything about him, and that puts him on edge. But one drunken night together changes everything. Their worlds are rocked, and Brock’s quiet, introverted life is threatened forever. Which may be exactly what he needs.
Excerpt
He tasted like beer, but she probably tasted like cheap tequila, and in the end, it didn’t matter. They both knew what this was. It was hot, sweaty, need-driven, make-each-other-feel-good drunk sex with a stranger. The fact that there was beer on his breath as his tongue massaged hers into passive submission only spurred her on, made her want him, made her want his body and this night even more. She wrapped her legs around his waist and bucked up into him, feeling the granite hard length of him press into her pelvis. She ached to touch it, to feel him in her palm, to watch his face as she brought him pleasure.
But she hardly had time to finish that thought before his mouth left hers and began traveling down her body. His hands roamed and unlatched the front clasp of her bra, allowing her breasts to spill out. Warm, wet kisses were dropped along her chest and nipples, her ribcage, her belly button, her mound, and then lower. His fingers made deft work of removing her panties.
What’s better than a little dirty talk to get you in the mood?
Even if sex isn’t on the table at the moment (the kids are awake, in your face and cock blocking you like crazy), or you and your man are not even in the same room or building, let alone under the covers, or you’re just looking to spice things up a bit for fun, dirty talk can be a great way to open up the lines of communication between you and your partner. It can give you a chance to talk about what it is you want in bed, and also just get your engines revving for when you finally do get to carve out some alone time. And if you’re not comfortable saying those things out loud, because of little ears around, that’s what cell phones are for.
We don’t do it often, but when the hubby and I feel a lack of connection, we’ll send each other dirty, or sometimes sexy but also sweet messages throughout the day. I’ll even get creative and just send him a list of emojis and then he has to decipher what they mean. He’s pretty good at cracking that code, though, maybe I’m making it too easy on him. We all know what a peach and an eggplant mean …
One things for sure, the heroes in my books are expert dirty talkers. They know how to take their women from zero to sixty, shivering to sweaty in record time.
I thought it might be fun to pull a few dirty talk excerpts from some of my books to give you a real taste of just how raunchy and filthy these men can be.
**WARNING** May cause your computer/phone to catch fire and/or your panties as well. I suggest a tall glass of ice water, maybe a hand fan and your partner close by.
Shoot me a message, or comment below and let me know what your favorite one is, or if I forgot a dirty talking hero, or you just have a favorite filthy-minded man you want me to include. I’m totally open to a PART 2 of this post, so suggestions are welcome.
Tate McAllister – Quick & Dirty – The Quick Billionaire Series, Book 1
“Miss Ryan…” he purred with a grin. But then his face grew fierce and his brows narrowed. “Touch yourself.”
Biting my lip, I let one hand travel down to the V of my legs, two fingers snaked their way between the lips to my slippery heat. His eyes never left me, they just caught fire. Perhaps it was the glare from the sun overhead, or maybe it was just Tate, but when I looked into his eyes all I saw was a raging inferno. Lust, craving, desire, need. I began rubbing my clit, back and forth back and forth, enjoying the way the nub grew hard beneath my fingertips and my slit grew wet. I let two fingers slide into my channel and I started to fuck myself, enjoying the feeling of my own hand but also loving what it did to Tate, what I did to Tate.
“Smack it like you did before,” he ordered, the bulge in his pants betraying the composure his voice still held.
I let the grin slowly drift across my face and closed my eyes as I began delivering light, tingly little smacks to my clit and lips with the tips of my fingers. God, it felt good. A soft sting following by a spreading heat, pleasure born of the pain.
“Fucking hell,” he said with a snarl, sinking to his knees and shuffling over to my chair. He molded my body how he wanted it, lifting my legs onto the arms of the chair, spreading me wide. “My turn.”
Swallowing I leaned my head back and closed my eyes again. I’d never done anything like this before, never pleasured myself in front of anyone, never let a man take me in so many ways, in so many places. And yet Tate, Tate made me want to submit and let him have me as he pleased. I’d do anything for this man so long as he continued to make me feel the way I did now. Alive. Wanted. On fire.
“Continue with your breakfast,” he said as he blew cool air on to my wet, throbbing lips, denying me the touch I so desperately craved. “Eat, Parker, or else I won’t.” His eyes were all pupils now as he drew one sexy finger up between my folds. With his thumb and forefinger he gave my clit a mighty pinch. I yelped, so he did it again. “Eat!”
Warren McAllister – Quick & Reckless – The Quick Billionaires Series, Book 3
“Suck it, Silver,” he said with a low growl, urging her forward with his hand in her hair. She opened her mouth, welcoming him inside. But he didn’t ease his way inside. Instead he took control, gave no quarter and rammed his cock to the back of her throat. Silver’s eyes teared from the impact, but she managed to suppress her gag reflex and hollow out her cheeks. “That’s right, angel. Suck it hard. You love my cock, don’t you?”
She nodded, glancing up at him. “Mhmm.”
“You love it when I ram it inside your sweet little cunt, make you come all over my balls.”
Max Travis – Hot for Teacher – The Single Moms of Seattle, Book 1
She licked her lips, her eyes bright and challenging. “Are you going to take the matches away from me, Mr. Travis? Or are you going to teach me how to start a fire? Stoke it so it gets good and hot.”
She squawked as he flipped her around and pressed her back against his chest. One of his hands pressed against her neck, keeping her head on his shoulder, while the other one splayed across her flat abdomen. “Oh, I can teach,” he whispered next to her ear. “I think the greater question here is: Are you willing to learn?”
Her sharp inhale was encouraging.
“Do I need to muzzle you?” he asked, nipping at her earlobe and trailing his tongue down her neck.
“All depends.”
“Hmmm.” His fingers against her belly pushed beneath the waistband of her pants until he met with lacy panties.
“I can be quiet if I have to be,” she whispered, her chest lifting and dropping with each heavy breath.
“Are you normally?” He inched his fingers lower still over her panties until he found a damp patch. He tapped her clit with his middle finger, and she jerked in his arms.
“No. At least I didn’t used to be.”
Lifting his hand up, he pushed his fingers beneath the elastic of the lace where short, soft hair met his fingertips. He’d never been one who liked a bare pussy, and he could just imagine that the hair between her legs was the same as the hair on her head. The thought of pressing his nose there, inhaling her scent before he devoured her pussy, made his dick throb. He knew she could feel his erection against her ass. He wasn’t hiding it, and the way she wiggled her bottom across his lap said she felt it and she didn’t mind it at all.
His middle finger dipped down between her folds and gathered drops of her silky arousal before dragging it back up toward her clit, where he began to make small circles. Her hips gyrated, and she bucked up into his palm.
Chuckling, he released his grip on her neck. “Give me your mouth,” he demanded, relishing in the way she shivered in his arms from his words.
Jack Savage – Hot for the Handyman – The Single Moms of Seattle, Book 3
Her head thrashed back and forth on the counter, her ponytail hanging over the side, butt cheeks pressing into the other edge.
When the second wave of euphoria began to ebb, she lifted up onto her elbows with the little energy she had left. “Jack … you need to …”
He just kept going.
“Oh my God, stop. It’s too much.”
He shook his head, his blue eyes opening and tipping up to look at her, dark and searing. He drew her clit back into his mouth. “I’m not stopping until it looks like I’ve eaten a dozen glazed donuts, Bianca. You have more in you. I can taste it, and you taste fucking delicious.” He swept his tongue up her folds. “Haven’t tasted anything so fucking good in a long time, darlin’. Can’t stop now. Couldn’t if I tried.”
Her head shook quickly. “No, no, it’s not that. I have. It’s just … I mean, I washed myself, but I haven’t tidied things up down there in a while. I don’t go bare as a peach, but I like to keep the hedge, well, groomed, if you know what I mean.”
He rolled his eyes and flopped back down into his pillow before reaching for her hand from where it was still wrapped around his cock. “Don’t care about that. Like fruit, like topiaries, like the wild, untamed wilderness. Now climb up onto my face, woman. I’m hungry.”
Warmth and lust infused her.
“Lydia …” he urged, hauling her over him with all his rippling muscles. “Listen to your gut and climb up on my damn face. I’m like a hobbit. I’ll have my first breakfast in bed, then we’ll head to the kitchen and I can whip us up some waffles for second breakfast.” His nose wrinkled. “Unless you’d prefer pancakes.”
His nerdy reference to being a hobbit only made her like him even more.
Rex was the walking definition of not judging a book by its cover. Because when she’d ogled him when he went for his runs or walked out to his truck for the last couple of months, never in a million years would she have guessed that he was a closet nerd with a penchant for puzzles and Lord of The Rings.
“You could not be further from a hobbit,” she said, feeling her pussy pulse and tingle as he maintained eye contact with her and slowly wedged his free hand into the elastic of her panties.
His brows scrunched, and he made a mock dejected expression. “Are you saying I’m not courageous, brave and determined? Am I not a skilled listener? Do I not have good eyesight? I’d like to think that for my size, I’m still nimble and deft in my movements.”
She sniffed a laugh. “Okay, maybe you have the psychological characteristics, along with the good listening and eyesight, but I’m more saying that you don’t look like a hobbit. Aren’t they generally short, fat and slow?”
He gripped her by the hips with both hands, making her yelp. “Maybe some, but not this hobbit. Now give me my breakfast.”
James Shaw – Sex, Heat and Hunger: Part 1, 2 and Hot & Filthy – The Dark and Damaged Hearts Series, Books, 3, 4, 4.5
“You need to know that you are beautiful, drop-dead fucking gorgeous, and Tom and all those other jackasses that made fun of you are fools, and it’s their loss. You are exquisite, inside and out.” He came up behind me again, wrapping his big, strong hands around my body. “I find every inch of you sexy as hell, and I wouldn’t change a thing. Please, stop putting yourself under a microscope and looking for imperfections that aren’t there.”
AND
I could hear him trying to suppress a laugh. “All right. What are you wearing?” That dark and dangerous voice set jolts of warmth zinging through my body until they settled deep in my belly and spread into a growing and tantalizing heat between my legs.
“Oh, you know… I’m just sitting here doing some paperwork in my plaid mini skirt and white knee-highs. I was wearing my white blouse, but it got so hot in here that I had to take it off. Now I’m just in my lacy black bra.”
“School girl route, eh? Okay then. Well, why don’t you take your skirt off as well, cool off?”
I grinned. “Okay.”
“Are you stressed over all the homework you have to do? May I suggest a stress release?”
“So stressed,” I hummed. “Are you offering to help me out, Mr. Shaw?”
“Yes, I am.” He was all business.
“Oh, please, Mr. Shaw, I neeeeeed your help,” I cooed.
“All right, baby, first I want you to lie back and bend your legs. I need you to close your eyes and pretend your hand is me.”
“Okay.” I’d never had phone sex before, but I was rather excited to try. It was another thing that I had suggested to Tom only to be shut down and called a pervert.
“It’s been so long since I’ve tasted you, can you remind me of what I’m missing?”
I wasn’t surprised that I had started to get wet. His voice was enough to make me cream even without the dirty talk. I reached down and touched myself, sliding one finger inside and pumping it in and out while lightly brushing my clit. I brought it to my mouth and sucked my fingers.
“I’m so wet, James, wet for you. I taste… I taste salty and a little sweet and sour. My body is craving your touch. I need you inside me.”
“Slide your hand back down and pretend you’re me. You’re going to need to talk to me and tell me what you’re doing, so I can be right there with you. I want to dip my head between your thighs and nip at your inner lips. Would you like that?”
“Oh, God yes. Don’t stop. I need your tongue on me. And your fingers inside me.” I slid my fingers back down beneath my pajamas and started massaging lazy circles around my clit. “I’m touching myself, making circles around my clit, and it feels so… so good.”
“Good, baby, good. I’m stroking myself too. I miss your mouth. You give the best head. You’re able to take me in so deep. I love being able to feel the back of your throat with the head of my cock. It’s such a huge turn on. Suck my cock now.”
“I love having your cock in my mouth,” I sighed. “You’re so big, and it turns me on too. I need you to put your fingers inside me, suck my clit, and use your beautiful tongue to tease me. I need to come.”
“Oh, baby, I need you to come too.” My eyes were closed, and I was picturing everything he was saying. In my mind we were in the sixty-nine position, fucking each other with our mouths. I slipped another finger inside myself and started working the two in and out, scissoring them back and forth as I used the fingers of my other hand to circle my clit. “I want you to suck my balls baby. I loved it when you did that before, your tongue is so soft and your mouth so warm. Suck my balls.”
“Oh, God yes. I’m going to take one in my mouth slowly while I continue to work your cock with my hand. I love the sounds you make when I’m sucking you off, the moans and the grunts, it lets me know I’m doing it right. You taste so good. I take your other ball in my mouth and gently pull and massage it. They’re so big.”
“Your pussy is dripping wet. I’m having a hard time licking up all your sweetness. It tastes so good. I love your soft, bare pink pussy.”
“I need to deep throat you. Feel your big, thick cock hitting the back of my throat… it makes me wet.”
“Oh, baby, yeah, talk dirty to me.”
“I’m close, James.” It hadn’t taken long for my orgasm to start pounding on the door, screaming to be let free. His voice, his words, knowing that he was touching himself while I touched myself, it was hot and dirty and so damn sexy that it took every ounce of self-control for me to not just go off like a rocket.
“Me too, baby. Just finish yourself off, but be sure to make lots of noise. I need to hear you come.”
“Okay.” I was breathless; I’d put the phone on speaker and laid it next to my head on the floor seeing as both my hands were occupied.
“How many fingers do you have inside, baby?”
“Two.”
“Add a third.”
“Okay.” I continued to make circles around my clit with two of my fingers on my right hand as I slid a third finger inside from my left. I pumped furiously. My release was only seconds away. I needed another hand to pinch my nipples; I needed James. I gently pulled on my clit with my thumb and forefinger, and my climax erupted. “Oh, oh, ah, oh God, oh God, oh fuck James, yes, oh, oh.”
“That’s it, baby, yes… take it all, all the way in… fuck. Swallow everything. I give you. Yes, Emma, yeah, oh God, ahh, err, ah, ah, FUCK!”
S: You’re so fucking sexy, Harper. You know that? Carly’s upstairs with your sister, and you’ve left a key under the mat. I enter and lock the door. I hear the shower running. I remove my shoes and my jacket, then walk toward the bathroom. I open the door. It’s steamy inside.
What the heck was going on? Is that what he wanted to happen tonight? Did he want me to leave Carly with Quinn? I was so confused, but at the same time so freaking turned on. I flipped another waffle and poured on more batter, thinking about what I could text back that would even remotely add or match what he’d so eloquently and sexily described. But he didn’t give me a chance.
S: All I see when I walk into the bathroom is the outline of a body. Curves that won’t quit, beautiful creamy skin. Sexy dark hair hugging a long neck.
Was this sexting? Was Sam sexting me?
S: The door opens and suddenly I’m met with a vision. You. Your body glistening from the water while your beautiful brown eyes shine bright and eager. You hold your hand out to me and invite me in.
We were sexting! I’d never sexted before, but apparently Sam had, because the man knew how to seduce and arouse. I flipped another waffle and poured on more batter. Closing the iron, I picked up my phone.
H: But you’re dressed, so I order you to undress. While you remove your jeans and shirt, I begin to soap up my body. I pour body wash onto a bath pouf and lather myself up. My body is quickly covered in bubbles, all over my breasts, my belly, my pussy. I run my fingers over my nipples and they’re so hard.
S: I’m naked in seconds. I step inside the shower and you make room for me. You’re so wet.
H: So wet for you.
S: You’re good at this.
H: You’re better.
A giggle escaped me as I continued to make waffles and sip coffee. I could hear the dinosaur documentary in the living room and Carly randomly repeating the different species as the documentary discussed them. “Hadrosaur.” “Therapod.” I thought I heard her say, “Archaeopteryx.” The girl can’t pronounce her own name correctly, but she can enunciate Archaeopteryx like a pro.
My phone buzzed again.
S: Your body is even more luscious in person than behind the glass. I can’t keep my hands off you. I cup your breasts and let my thumbs graze your nipples. You gasp. I pull on them. You gasp louder. Dipping low, I pull one into my mouth and tug, biting and pulling on the tight little nub.
H: I drop the pouf and let my hands drift down. I find you hard.
S: I’m so fucking hard.
I bet he was. Damn how I wished I wasn’t standing in the kitchen making Saturday morning waffles as my toddler watched television in the living room.
H: I grip you and start to pump. You’re big.
S: Damn straight.
Well, I’d walked into that one. I burst out laughing in the kitchen, nearly burning the waffle. I wiped the tears from my eyes before texting him back.
H: Water beads on your beard, I lean forward to kiss it off, loving how the bristles scratch my lips and cheeks.
S: You’ll love it even more when they scratch you elsewhere.
Yes!
I squeezed my legs together and let my eyes close for a half a second from the delightful friction and the way the seam of my tight yoga pants brushed my clit. It wasn’t enough to get off, but it still felt pretty good.
H: I’m sure I will.
S: I drop to my knee and push your legs apart.
H: No. Kiss me first.
S: I will, but I get to pick the lips I kiss.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. This was absolute torture. He was texting back faster than I was and had an answer for everything. I flipped the last waffle onto the plate and shut off the iron, unplugging it while mindlessly gnawing on one of the cooler ones. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could continue with the dirty texting before I had to abandon my child and go take care of business in the bedroom. What on earth was Sam’s end game here?
S: Slowly, I part your lips and run a finger up through the center. You’re so wet and not just from the shower. Spreading you wide, I let my tongue dart out. I need to taste you, Harper. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since you walked through those playgroup doors six months ago.
Don’t forget to leave a comment and tell me which hero you think is the best at dirty talk. Also, don’t forget to let me know if you think another one of my heroes (who I haven’t included) has something really raunchy to say and I will make sure to do a PART 2 and include him next time!
Are you ready to deck the halls, jingle those bells and trim that tree with all four harty boys, their wives, kids and mum?
Well, get ready, because October 9th, this military Christmas romantic comedy is coming at you, and it’s going to be chock full of holiday spirit, the Yuletide and dripping with mulled wine.
I can’t wait to share the final installment of the Harty Boys with you. It’s bittersweet, because I love this family, want to desperately give Joy her happily ever after, but I’m getting teary-eyed just thinking about having to say goodbye.
Second generation of Hart family antics and hijinks anyone? It might just have to happen just so I can keep the good times rolling.
Christmas, a time for family, cheer and Joy getting her groove back.
It’s nearly Christmas and the Hart brothers and their families are getting ready for another loud, crazy and wonderful holiday. But when they show up at their mother’s house with a freshly cut tree in tow, they’re in for a surprise nobody ever expected.
After losing her husband thirty years ago, Joy Hart raised her four sons on her own, got her doctorate and became an accomplished sex and relationship therapist. As much as she loves being a nana, a mom and a mother in-law, she’s far from dead and wants more in her life. For a long time, she pretended she was satisfied with the flings she had while away at conferences. Love was not on her radar. But a chance meeting with a dashing man has opened this Hart’s heart to new possibilities.
Too bad her sons aren’t onboard with the new man in their mother’s life. They’re giving Grant the gears and think he’s all wrong for their mother—for their family. He has no place at their Christmas dinner table, and the Harty Boys are determined to get the dirt on Grant before the timer on the oven says the turkey is done.
Will Brock, Chase, Rex and Heath take things too far and ruin Christmas for everyone with their stubborn, meddling, alpha ways? Or will Grant save the day, save Christmas and prove to everyone that Joy deserves a happily ever after just like the rest of them?
Note: This is the fifth book in the Harty Boys Series. It’s highly recommended to read the Harty Boys quartet first. But not every Hart found their soulmate, so I thought why not give Joy the happily ever after she deserves too? So grab your rum and eggnog, put your fuzzy slippers up, get cozy by the fire and dive into a fun, lighthearted read featuring your favorite family at Christmas time.
Exclusive excerpt
She was his first love.
His first kiss.
His first … everything.
The girl next door who loved to read her summers away in her family’s backyard hammock, write poems in the spring and fall about the blooming flowers and changing leaves, and make pinecone and peanut butter birdfeeders in the winter.
He’d loved her since he first laid eyes on her when her family moved in next door. He was fourteen. She was twelve.
She’d been shy, but her smile had made the entire world absolutely glow.
He waited until she was fourteen and “allowed to date” before he finally asked her out to the movies and ice cream. And when she said yes, he had literally fist pumped and leapt into the air for joy.
They were together after that until she passed away.
He honestly thought he’d never find love again. That his one true soulmate had come and gone. In his life for thirty years, but not nearly long enough. He and Daphne had been robbed of so much. Not only the family she desperately wanted, but of time together, too. And with her death, he was certain, so had died his heart. And perhaps that was still true. Perhaps Daphne had been his soulmate, and Zane had been Joy’s, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t find companionship and love while they lived.
Most of his heart had died with Daphne. And the way Joy spoke of Zane, most of her heart had died with him. But small fragments still beat within their chests. Keeping them going, moving forward and living the life their soulmates were denied.
tHINGS HEAT UP FAST IN THIS NEIGHBORS TO LOVERS ROMANTIC SUSPENSE/THRILLER. rEX, THE fORMER MILITARY SPECIAL OPERATIVE GETS KNOCKED TO HIS KNEES BY THE SASSY, THIN-FILTERED LYDIA.
ARE YOU READY FOR THIS WILD RIDE OF A ROMANCE?
Hey there my Fabulously Filthy Friend!
If you haven’t noticed, I’ve moved my blog over from Blogger to my WordPress website. It’s just easier to have everything in one place. I’m going to be giving you way more content, excerpts, deals and an inside look at the process of how I come up with ideas for each of my books. I’ll post cover reveals here, preorder announcements and more, so stay tuned.
Book 3 of my Harty Boys –my military romantic suspense series– came out May 15th and I am loving all the love that everyone has for Rex and Lydia. He might have no hair, and muscles to spare on the outside, but inside our sexy Rexy is just a big ol’ teddy bear nerd and we love him to bits. Sure, he makes some mistakes along the way and struggles to listen to reason or his gut, but deep down this Hart has a heart of gold and we love him all the more for it. All these buff, military men are easy to love, but also easy to get on your nerves when their protector-mode comes out. But how can you not fall for a man who rescues a Pitbull puppy, has a penchant for puzzles and could snap a man’s neck with just a flick of his pinky finger? I don’t know about you, but I’m getting a little flushed just remembering all the hotness I put into this sexy military romantic suspense
Here’s all of Chapter One for you. Just to give you a tasty, mouth-watering sample of Rex and Lydia and their hilarious, sexy banter that make the sparks quickly morph into a full-on inferno.
Fuck, sweet and sour pork was goddamn delicious. Particularly when he didn’t have to share his six-person combo meal with anyone.
Rex’s stomach grumbled, demanding to be filled.
Every last bite was for him, and he was more than okay with that.
Was there anything better than the smell of Chinese food wafting up from the back of your vehicle?
He sure as fuck didn’t think so.
Well, maybe the smell of Chinese food wafting up from the back of your vehicle while a woman’s head bobbed in your lap in the front seat.
But he only had one of those things currently, and his angry belly was winning out over his full balls and lonely dick.
Especially after a long fucking day at work—he’d been up since four and on the job by five—followed by an hour at the gym hitting the punching bag. He’d earned every damn carb that he intended to consume tonight and then some.
He’d have to make do with his fist tonight. He was too tired to send out messages to women he knew would be interested in a little no-strings fun.
Maybe tomorrow night.
With enough Chinese food to feed a family of six, and a six-pack of beer from a local microbrew in the back seat of his truck, he was gearing up for a satisfying evening alone.
It was late Wednesday afternoon, but considering he started work before the sun was up, he’d put in a full day and then some. He was going to head up to his apartment, grab his dog, Diesel, and take him for a quick piss outside. After Diesel did his thing, they’d head back inside, he’d feed his dog, strip down, have a shower and nut one out. Then, finally, at long last, he’d sit in his incredibly expensive recliner, put his feet up and eat a fuck-ton of chow mein and sweet and sour pork, drink his beer and watch a riveting documentary on the Discovery Channel while his dog snored and farted at his feet.
Was there a better plan out there?
There sure as fuck wasn’t.
Unless of course, while he did all of that, a beautiful woman’s head bobbed in his lap.
Again, tonight he’d settle for the chow mein and beer, followed by his fist.
With his belly continuing to grumble like an angry bear woken up mid-hibernation, Rex pulled his big, black Chevy into his parking spot behind his apartment building and turned off the engine.
Thank fuck the weather was starting to get better.
Spring had arrived and with it, longer days, warmer weather and the heady and sweet scent of blossoms on the air.
Always on the alert, even when he wasn’t on the job, he scanned the parking lot as he climbed out of his truck, slammed the door, then opened the back cab to grab his beer and dinner.
He’d been in his apartment for nearly two years, and so far, nothing weird or nefarious stood out to him. It was a decent neighborhood, not too far from the University of Victoria, and the building was only about five years old. The majority of his neighbors were students, but nobody was rude, loud or obnoxious. And the odd party he heard didn’t affect his sleep at all.
He’d been to hell and back during his time with Joint Task Force 2 and the special operative team he and his brothers joined after their stint in the Canadian Navy. He could sleep on a concrete floor next to a mosquito-infested swamp while ten other men farted and snored around him.
If he was tired, he could sleep.
He tossed his coat over his arm, grabbed his gym duffle bag, and heaved the Chinese food and beer out of the back seat of his truck, his keys in his teeth as he struggled and juggled all his shit before finally getting to the lobby door. He’d done this over a hundred times, this exact same scenario. You’d think he’d have figured out a more productive and effective way to carry all his shit.
He was just checking his mail when the sound of sobs and sniffling drifted down the hall, followed by the sweetest smell of wild strawberries and summer sunshine.
He’d always had the nose of a bloodhound.
As a kid, he could usually guess what his mother was making for dinner simply by how she smelled when she picked up him and his brothers from school.
He glanced up from where he was scrutinizing a misaddressed letter only to come face-to-face with a beautiful woman with tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.
She was stunning, tall and lithe, with feminine curves, long auburn hair that coiled down just past her shoulders and wide, deep-set hazel eyes. Eyes that were filled with sadness as tears continued to fall. She looked up at him, her nose red, while her cheeks held a rosy glow.
Rex had never met this woman, but he’d seen her around the building—only from a distance, however. She liked to run on the weekends, and he liked to watch her leave. She pulled off Lulu Lemons like no woman he’d ever met.
He instantly felt the need to protect and find out what or who made her cry and make them pay.
He wasn’t sure how he could fix her, but he really wanted to try. Those weren’t just tears from a sad movie or seeing a three-legged dog on the side of the road. Those were tears of pain. Heartbreak. Devastation.
Protect those who are unable to protect themselves.
And although that often meant “protect the weak” he didn’t see this woman as weak; he just saw her as sad. Hurt.
Either way, he wanted to help.
It was just how he and his brothers had been raised.
If someone was in trouble or needed help, you helped them. Simple as that.
And right now this woman looked like she needed help.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She shook her head, her breath catching as she struggled for words. “N-no.”
“Is … is there something I can do to help? Do you need me to beat up an ex-boyfriend or something?”
She snorted a small laugh and wiped the tears from her cheeks and beneath her eyes. “Unless you’re willing to kick the shit out of a twenty-six-year-old, hundred-and-thirty-pound chick, I don’t think your muscles are needed.”
“Uh …” He scratched the back of his neck. “Ex-girlfriend?”
“No.” She sniffed loudly. “I was fired!” And then before he knew it, she flung herself at him, collapsing against his chest and wailing.
He’d dropped everything in his hands to check his mail, so he was able to comfort her now. His hand gently fell to her back, her small body feeling like a child’s in his giant palms. Then he found himself petting her back and shushing her like he did his nieces and nephews when they fell and hurt themselves. “It’s okay,” he hummed. “It’ll be okay.”
He shifted her under his arm and with his free hand grabbed his dinner, coat, gym bag and lastly—and most importantly—his beer, and he ushered her toward the elevator.
“Which floor are you on?” he asked softly. She didn’t say anything but hit the number three. They rode in silence, and then when the door opened, he figured she’d take off, leaving him to his Chinese and microbrew, but he suddenly found himself inside this stranger’s apartment, watching her take off her shoes and then slump onto her couch, clutching tissues to her nose.
“You know I’ve never met a nice girl named Odette?” She sneered. “Not that I’ve met a ton or anything, but the few I’ve come across have been the biggest bitches ever. The one I went to grade school with was a mean girl—even two years younger than me, she was still just a little witch—and this cow was no different. I worked there for one month. Did EVERYTHING right, went in early, stayed late, bought my own supplies, took work home with me. I spent three hours of my own time at home sewing up the holes in the canvas parachute and the big stuffed alligator that sits in the reading corner. I never asked for money for doing it. Never even told them I did it. I just did it. I was an exemplary employee, and she waltzes in as the new manager, is there for less than a week and she fires me because she thinks I’m after her job.”
Rex watched her reach into her purse and pull out a brown paper bag, the neck of a booze bottle sticking out. She took a swig, then made a face, only to take another sip before offering it up to him.
“No, thanks.” He grimaced. “I have beer.”
She shrugged. “More for me.” She tipped the bottle up and took another drink. “Have you ever met a nice Odette?” She caught a rather dainty burp with the back of her hand before offering him a crooked, slightly embarrassed smile.
He snorted. “Can’t say I’ve ever met one. But I did date an Odessa briefly. She dumped me.”
“Why?” Another cute little burp, followed by a hiccup.
“Ah, you know, same old story … she complained that my penis was too big.” He grinned wide, hoping his joke made her smile.
Her sweet little rosebud mouth hung open for the briefest of seconds before she shot him a skeptical look, hiccuped again and then burst out laughing.
Good. His joke did the trick.
He widened his smile. She had a really adorable laugh, and at least for the moment, he’d managed to take her mind off her problems. Little did she know that it was actually a true story. Odessa had dumped him because she said his cock was too big. If he remembered correctly, she’d called him Godzilla dick, said he nearly split her in half and then tossed him out of her apartment in nothing but his boxers and his work boots.
Good thing she hadn’t tried to sleep with his brother Heath. He might be the baby of the family, but he was also the biggest. She’d probably chase him down the hallway—at a cowboy waddle—claiming he was part horse.
He snorted hard at that thought.
He lifted his shoulder. “So … uh, can’t you just get another job? What did you do?”
She mimicked his shrug before taking another sip from her brown paper bag of secrecy. “I was working full-time at this day care and loving it. I got the job midyear because another teacher went on maternity leave. It was perfect. Monday to Friday, eight until five. Then they hired a new program manager. She’s younger than me and doesn’t have near the experience with kids that I do. I’ve been babysitting since I was thirteen, then I nannied and babysat all through college. I got my preschool teacher certification as soon as I finished my teaching degree because I knew that I wanted to teach little kids. I’m also certified to teach Montessori and special-needs kids.
“But preschools aren’t open as long as day cares and the money isn’t as good—unless you’re at a full-day Montessori or a Waldorf or some fancy private preschool. And I applied to those, but they had no available positions—or they said I was overqualified and they couldn’t afford me. So I found this job. It’s the best of both worlds. A preschool in the morning, then day care for the rest of the day. I still get to teach—sorry, I still got to teach, past tense and all since I was canned.” She sighed. “Canned from the perfect job by the biggest bitch on the west coast.”
“Did you try telling them this?”
“Pfft,” she scoffed. “I was still within my three-month probation period. They could fire me for having a hangnail if they wanted to.”
He looked around her apartment, unsure what to say next. Her place wasn’t quite the carbon copy of his, but it was close. Small but open concept. A big bedroom, small but homey living room and kitchen, new stainless appliances and cramped bathroom.
Or maybe everything just felt cramped and small to Rex, but to an average-size person, it was all completely normal. She’d decorated her place in a very feminine way, with soft oranges and light blues. A white overstuffed leather couch faced the television with a slew of throw pillows on it, while paintings of seashells and flowers in black plastic frames hung behind the couch. He saw very few photo frames or pictures of people, except for a small black and white photo of what he could only assume was her as a little girl, maybe six or eight, at the beach with a man and woman who he would guess were her parents.
“So what’s your name?” she slurred, appearing to be bored or perhaps just too upset to want to continue talking about her job or lack thereof. “I’ve seen you around the building a bit. You have the big black truck and the pit bull puppy, right?”
He nodded. “My name is Rex. What’s your name?”
“Lydia.” She yawned. “Rex, eh? Like T. rex.”
He rolled his eyes. “I suppose.”
“Is it short for anything? Like Rexworth, Rexwell or Rexington … Rexthalomew?”
“Rexthalomew?”
She shrugged again. “Rexly?”
He simply snorted and smiled, ignoring the grumble of his belly. Man, she was drunk. “It’s not short for anything.”
She shrugged again. “Do you have any siblings?”
“Three brothers.”
“And do they all have weird names too?”
“I personally don’t think Rex is weird, but no, they don’t. We all have one-syllable names, though. Brock, Chase, and Heath. And our dad was Zane, and our mother is Joy.”
She made an interested pout. “And what’s your middle name?”
“You looking to steal my identity? Want my social insurance number next?”
She stuck her tongue out at him.
He grinned. “My middle name is Barry.”
That had her nose wrinkling like a cute little bunny. “Why Barry?”
“What’s wrong with Barry?”
She shrugged, and her eyes lost focus for a moment, reminding him of her inebriation. “Nothing. But why? Is it like a family name or something?”
He exhaled through his nose. “My parents—in their infinite wisdom—thought it would be fun to give my brothers and I the middle name corresponding to the artist they were listening to while we were conceived.”
“Gross.”
“Indeed.”
“So you’re Rex Barry after … Manilow?”
“White. You know, ‘Let’s Get It On …’” He made sure to drop his voice to baritone level when he sang that little bit.
She nodded in understanding. “And your brothers?”
“Brock Lionel, Chase Marvin and Heath Leppard.”
“Leppard?”
“‘Pour Some—’”
“‘Sugar On Me’!” she finished with a wide smile. “That’s hilarious.”
“At least it’s our middle names and not our first names.”
“True enough. What’s your last name?”
“Hart.”
She rolled his name around on her little pink tongue like foreplay. “Rex Hart … Rex Barry Hart,” she murmured, cocking her head to the side and giving him a once-over. “I like it.” He continued to watch her, wondering when the bottle of whatever spirit she’d chosen to numb the pain was going to hit her like the freight train it inevitably was and send her rushing to the bathroom to go and vomit.
“What’s your full name?” he asked. “Fair is fair, right?”
“Lydia Andréa Sullivan.” She tipped back her booze bottle, then frowned when she realized it was empty. She set it down on her coffee table, and her eyes darted to his case of beer. “So … sexy Rexy, how are you going to make me forget about my jobless woes?”
He searched her face for a moment.
His belly grumbled again.
He needed to go let Diesel out.
He needed to shower.
He needed to fucking eat.
His bald head was covered by a black knit cap, but he pulled it off and ran his hand over his bare scalp. “I’m not in the habit of taking advantage of drunk women,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “So I can offer you some dinner—got enough Chinese food here to feed a family of six—but as far as sexy Rexy goes, I’m afraid I’m going to have to say no.”
Her face fell. “How old are you?”
Well, that was a random and abrupt subject change. Though, he was grateful for it none-the-less.
“Thirty-six. How old are you?”’
“Twenty-eight.” She pursed her lips. “So you reject me but then you offer me food. What the fuck?” Her anger was building, and without thinking, his gaze flitted to the door. She saw him, and he watched heat and embarrassment creep up her neck and into her cheeks.
Rex took a deep breath. Despite his hunger and how drunk this woman was, he could already tell she was a good person. Anyone who wanted to work with kids usually was. He’d already come up with a few ways that he might be able to help her. “What kind of qualifications do you have?”
“I told you. I have a degree in education and preschool teacher certification and a Montessori teaching certification. I’ve also taken courses to work with children with special needs and kids who are on the autism spectrum. I have my first aid certificate, a clear criminal record and a clean driving record. Why? Do you have kids that need watching?” She took a hard swallow before standing up and heading to her kitchen, where she ran the tap in the sink and filled a small tumbler of water.
“I don’t have kids. But I know a lot of people who do, and they are looking for childcare. It might not be completely full-time, but it will probably be close. Unless this is just you licking your wounds and allowing your ego to heal and you could go out and get another similar job tomorrow. Seems to me you’re crazy-qualified and people would be champing at the bit to hire you.”
Her eyes formed thin slits as she stood in her kitchen, her hip cocked against the counter as she sipped her water. “It’s hard to get hired in March for anything school-related. I lucked out with covering that maternity leave. And I was looking everywhere before I got that job. It’s slim pickings. And I don’t want to teach older kids.” She huffed. “Even if I did, the on-call teacher list is a mile long, and the school districts have put a moratorium on hiring new substitute teachers.”
Well, that was shitty.
His gaze drifted to the fur ball that had wandered into the living room from the bedroom. A calico cat with bright yellow eyes sauntered toward him and rubbed its back up against his leg. His mind immediately flew to Diesel upstairs, and he knew that he had to get to him and take him out for a walk. Poor guy was probably pacing the living room with a full bladder.
He made to stand up, but the intense look in her eyes had him pausing where he sat.
“I can’t figure you out, Rex Barry Hart. You turn me down for sex, then you offer me food, and now you might have a job for me? What’s your deal, dude?” Her words were only slightly slurred for someone who should be struggling to remain vertical if she’d consumed that entire mickey like he figured she had.
Relaxing his shoulders, he stood up, reached for his duffle bag, beer, coat and dinner. “I’m in unit four-eleven if you want to come up and have some dinner. I need to get my dog out first. But I’m more than happy to share my food with you.”
She stumbled back into the living room and squinted at him. She was either on the verge of passing out or puking. And even though he normally found drunk chicks to be nearly as intolerable as two cats mating at midnight, Lydia was a cute drunk. “What’s your angle … Rexly?”
Rexly? Oh lord.
His head shook. “No angle. Just a nice guy. Give me twenty minutes. I need to get Diesel out and then have a shower. I was just at the gym.”
Her eyes struggled to roam his body in a new way—a way of appreciation—but she finally smiled. “Maybe.”
He was not one for head games. If she didn’t come up, then so be it. More food for him. But if she was going to come up for dinner, she needed to get there before he ate it all.
His stomach made another noise of impatience and desperation. If he didn’t get something in it soon, it was going to start consuming him from the inside out.
“Am I not pretty enough?”
Oh, good lord.
This was one of the things he hated most about drunk chicks. The self-deprecation and melodrama.
However, Lydia was an unusual case. She wasn’t drunk simply to party. She was nursing a wound. She’d been fired out of the blue from a job she loved. She deserved to wallow for a night with whatever spirit was her vice, and he needed to cut her some slack.
“Lydia, you’re fucking gorgeous, and you know it. Let’s not play that game. But you’re also drunk as fuck, and I don’t fuck drunk chicks.” He paused for a moment. “Unless we’re already together and it’s a consensual thing, but you know what I mean. But I’m turning you down for sex because we just met, you’re drunk off your cute little ass, and you’re sad. The only kind of man who would tap you in that state is not a man worth knowing. If we have sex, I want you sober and knowing what you’re agreeing to. If I fuck you, it’ll be until you’re damn near cross-eyed, and forgive a guy for wanting the chick awake and aware for something like that.” He headed to her door and rested his hand on the knob. “I’m upstairs in four-eleven if you’re hungry for Chinese food and want to know more about the job.”
He went to open the door, but her voice had him pausing again. “I know what I want,” she slurred.
He highly doubted that.
She tossed her feet up onto the couch and slid down into a horizontal position, her eyes closing like a vintage doll when her head hit the orangey-pink checkered throw pillow. His mother would probably call that color coral.
Turning the knob, he opened the door but glanced back into her apartment. “Well, if you still want it tomorrow when you’re sober, you know where to find me.”
But she didn’t reply. A low and very unladylike snore rumbled up from the sad little drunk woman on the couch, while her cat hopped up and snuggled up next to her leg.
Rex took a deep breath, closed the door again and stepped back into Lydia’s apartment. The glass she’d been drinking water from was empty on her counter, so he filled it again. Then he opened up a couple of kitchen cupboards until he found a bottle of Advil. He shook out two tablets and carried them and the water over to her coffee table.
Reaching for the baby-blue knitted blanket off the back of her couch, he draped it over her, making sure not to disturb the cat. “I hardly know you, but I don’t like how sad you are. I’d like to help,” he whispered.
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Can her ray of sunshine melt his icy heart?
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contribution. However, I never felt like I had truly “finished” the story arc of how Tate got his seed money to buy the resort. Too much was left unanswered about Tate’s dead, estranged father.
So to prove them that I in fact COULD write a novella, I set aside two weeks to write Quick & Easy. I wanted to outdo my own challenge and said I would keep Quick & Easy at 20K words. Well, of course, you know I did it!
Cue, Skyler and her story,
more, even more of us probably can’t pick a favorite because there are just too many awesome tropes to choose from and we don’t want to make any tropes feel sad (as if they are living breathing things WITH feelings … *whispers: “because they are.”*)
makes sense, right?
