~ Excerpt Reveal for Dani Wyatt ~


 

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Coming June 18th

 

Add to your Goodreads shelf now.

 

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Retiring from the military was the right decision for Beckett Fitzgerald. He’s landed the girl of his dreams, the ring is on her finger and the only other mission he’s interested in is putting a baby in Promise’s belly by the time they get back from the honeymoon. Simple, right?

 

Swept off her feet by Beckett, with his scarred face and Monet blue eyes, Promise is finally learning that true love isn’t just for fairy tales. With her brother finally free from the horrors of foster care and her own personal hero hell-bent on teaching her all the magical ways her body belongs to him, her once-in-a-lifetime feels so real.

 

But, before their honeymoon suitcases are packed, a knock on the door and a best friend’s betrayal threaten to tear them apart. Beckett will cross oceans and leave a path of destruction behind to protect what is his, but when promises are broken, and the truth is revealed, will their all-consuming love be enough to carry them through?

 

Author’s Note: You receive both books! Cherish is the conclusion to the best-selling, Promise which is also included here as free bonus content so you can read Beckett & Promise’s story from beginning to end. This book will give you a sweet happily ever after, an insatiable head-over-heels in love alpha hero, panty melting yumminess and no cheating.

 

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God, Beck, please, that’s enough, I can’t cum anymore—” My voice breaks and cracks when I try to say his name one last time.

As soon as the words leave my lips, I know it’s a mistake. Beckett halts his movements for a moment and I can almost hear the cogs whirring inside his head. His eyes raise to look at me, and I realize I’ve just challenged him.

“We’ll see about that, babe.” He smiles before he attacks me again.

One finger, then two push deep inside me, slipping easily in and out with the slick juice he’s created between my legs. I can feel it running down the insides of my thighs, pooling on the white duvet below my butt.

The tension between us tangles until it’s like we’ve melded together. My pleasure is his pleasure. He moans into my folds, sounding lost in the moment, just like me.

I look down just as he looks up. This is the moment that always slays me. Seeing the desire in his face. His desire to watch me; to know he’s giving me pleasure is enough to push me over the edge again.

The tension gathers low. I keep my eyes on his as he locks them onto mine. His tongue spins around my clit. Then down. Then back. Fingers moving faster and faster, ramming in my cunt until the tingling tightness starts. The last thing I see before my eyes close is the hint of his smile. A flash of that chipped front tooth and then I’m lost again in a climax that jerks my thighs together, slapping and trapping his face between my legs.

I make sounds I’ve never made before. Like an animal in the midst of some perfect torment, a sensual pain that elevates me to something above this plane of existence.

I lose complete control over my muscles. My body jerks and my hips gyrate on his face. My fingers pull at his hair and my brain completely shuts off.

Just the way he planned.

I feel the vibration of his words as he growls into my body. I cum on his face.

“My pussy. My cum. My good girl.”

He talks into me like this often. At first it felt strange.

He’s talking into my pussy.

But Beckett is so unflinchingly confident. So unaffected. So completely alive in every moment. I find it beautiful now, and it makes me feel incredibly cherished.

Besides, it just feels good. Those low baritone vibrations spoken into my soaking girl parts are not without their own sort of tingle.

My eyes begin to focus as he crawls up on top of me. I turn to melted butter at the mere sight of his magnificence. My hands were born to be on his body. I love the contrast of his smooth, soft skin over a hardness that radiates pure physical power. The way the burned skin feels slick, different from the rest.

He is a man in ways I didn’t understand until I met him. Power does not come from bravado nor arrogance nor boisterous frat boy stupidity.

Beckett is power. A true, masculine power that is as loud as it is silent. His calm, unflappable countenance draws me to him like light into dark. I want to tuck myself under his wings, to crawl inside him and feel the peace that he brings me.

His body bridges over me. My hands draw up from his shoulders. I feel the movement of each tendon under sweat slick skin as the head of his enormous cock presses upward between my legs.

“Open,” he demands. “Spread your legs, babe. Open those knees and show me what’s mine. Only mine.”

I do as I’m told, the tingling tightening into a knot in my core as he rears back, licks his lips and shakes his head, looking at my open snatch.

“That’s my horny cunt, isn’t it?” He licks his lips and waits for my nod. “That’s right.”  He sinks two fingers into my dripping opening in one solid movement and brings them, soaking wet, to his lips. “You’ll never get wet for anyone but me. Only me.”

I lay open for him, and after a long silence he shifts down lower. I raise my own body, wanting him inside me even after he’s made me cum at least four times with his mouth. Wanting him fully. Completely.

His brow knits together as he brings his face down to mine. I feel the warmth of his breath on my lips before he takes my mouth. Tasting my own arousal on him makes my belly flutter. I let out a whimper into our kiss.

He pulls back, his face intense, those eyes that could melt candles lock onto mine and my hands cradle his cheeks while his cock dances at my opening.

I want him inside me, more than I want my next breath. But somehow he holds steady, watching me.

“What? Please.  I want you, now.” I whine and wiggle my hips up toward him but he counters backward and I whimper in frustration.

I smell the hint of his clean aftershave as he brings his lips down to my ear.

“Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

He pushes forward. The first brush of his cock sends electricity pulsating over my skin. I draw in a sharp breath and he glides inside, spreading me, pushing his cock slowly where I want all of him right now.

“How much?” I mutter as he draws back, making me gasp. How can a body crave something so deeply? I don’t just want his cock inside of me. I feel like I may die if I don’t get it.

He’s playing with me. “I love you past the stars. Out there in the universe where there is no time, no measure of things in this world. I love you in a way that no one else on this earth can.  Not in this life and not after.”

 

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Dani Wyatt loves her alpha men; make them military, cowboys, MMA — any uber alpha with a wicked possessive streak and an insatiable libido. Receive a free exclusive unpublished title when you join Dani’s private readers group for updates, free chapters and discounts.

http://eepurl.com/bubxzz

 

She’s a 40 something regular lady who just happens to love badass alpha males who pull your hair and love their women with a lethal passion.

 

When she’s not writing (which is not often) she is probably laughing about some irony (like A-1 Steak Sauce is vegan), riding her horse, wondering why The Walking Dead can’t have a new episode every night, or looking cross-eyed at some piece of technology sent to ruin her day.

Author Links

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BLOG TOUR!! ~*~ THE DOM GAMES! ~*~ by Rachel Robinson!

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Title: The Dom Games
Author: Rachel Robinson
Category: Contemporary Romance-BDSM
POV: Dual

Releases: OUT NOW!

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Ten submissive women. One billionaire dominant. Three months competing for his “affections.”
One winner takes all.

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NOW LIVE!  

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Dominic Reed, heir to an oil fortune, has spent his entire adult life perfecting his dark hobby. With little control in every other area of his manicured life, he finds his release as a dominant. With more money than he knows what to do with, he creates a TV show: The Dom Games.

This year is different than the past seasons, this year Dominic will be the star. He wants a forever submissive.

Before last month Kayla Parchet thought the word submissive only referred to dogs. Fresh out of college with a business degree that is scrap paper, she needs to get an Ivy League masters degree to pursue her dreams. When Kayla is accepted to be one of the ten, her world takes a dark turn as she competes against women who live the submissive lifestyle for enjoyment. Can she hold on to her dreams long enough to win the competition and ten million dollars? Or will she get sucked into Dominic’s twisted world?

Only a few whips and canes stand between Kayla and the future she’s always desired.

Lights, camera, sex…

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“Are you ready?” I ask, placing my palm on her sweaty stomach. She’s so petite that my hand spans her entire stomach. It rises and falls with each deep breath she takes. This power I feel right now is utter heaven. She’s mine in every way possible, and no one can deny it. Fury of possession and lust hit me. I don’t want to hold back any longer.

Kayla nods. Gritting my teeth, I unfasten her gag and pull it away with a long strand of spit connecting it to her mouth. Her lips part and close a few times as she adjusts to the new sensation.

Lips. They’re such innocuous things in real life. They speak, and laugh. They kiss babies, and are responsible for filtering or not filtering every word you ever speak. In my world, this world, they’re the most erotic, beautiful, stunning part of a person. Lips praise. They suck and kiss and worship my body. Kayla’s lips worship me. I am obsessed with lips, but especially hers right now because I know that this isn’t her life, nor is it something she would pick for herself, yet her lips are asking me for more. Words passing her lips about how good I feel, how wet she is, thanking me for filling her with a vibrating dildo. It’s uncomplicated in here. She obeys. She wants more.

Removing the gag does give me pause, because she could potentially say something un-sub like and ruin the scene, but at this point I wouldn’t even care, I’ll still fuck her. My cock is heavy and dripping with pre-come. I glance at the large, digital clock to my right to make sure my timing is on par and catch sight of the crew.

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The Dom Games by Rachel Robinson from Bibliophile Productions on Vimeo.

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rachel robinson

Rachel grew up in a small, quiet town full of loud talkers. Her words were always only loud on paper. She has been writing stories and creating characters for as long as she can remember. After living on the west coast for many years she recently moved to Virginia Beach, VA.

Stalk Rachel here:  Website | Facebook | Twitter | Amazon | Goodreads

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Presenting…. JD Lexx – Author in ✯MALEDICTION✯ !!

¸.•*´✯MALEDICTION✯`*•.¸

Rise of the Crimson Confessions

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Genre: Erotic Romance, Romantic Suspense

Release Date: March, 20th

Author:  JD LEXX

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Some devote a lifetime to the endless pursuit of love. Others spend even longer trying to outrun it. Between the shimmering lights of Paris and New Orleans’ commercialized sin, author J.D. Lexx embarks on his latest hunt. Once content to walk blindly in the light, these days he prowls a different world, one of shadow and sensuality where flesh yields to the probing hungers of fantasy. Driven by painful reminders of opportunity left unseized, he roams, tirelessly seeking the next in a growing collection of Crimson Confessions.

Yet these tales of conquest and seduction which have brought such notoriety are merely bait for a more transcendent prey. The one he truly stalks is infinitely more elusive, and lethal in her charms. To win her over, and write the happy ending to this unfinished story, an infamous collector of secrets must now lay his own bare for all to see. Chasing a trail of enticing exploits stretching from Sin City to Prague, every stop leads him back to the beginning…and one step closer to her.

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Determined to retake control, I feathered a caress over the sloping muscle of her abdomen while fighting to my last breath the urge to explore her body further. As I took one step back to unsteady her balance, she instantly countered, throwing her palms against the wall behind her and launching the both of us backward. On the far side of the hall, we slammed with a crash so violent that it dislodged a pair of antique mirrors from their mounts.

Moments later, I finished the job. As I shook off the impact of not one, but two bodies, she dropped to the ground, ripping my belt away and heaving it down the staircase. For a passing second, I humored the desire to leave her there on her knees, at the mercy of the beast she seemed determined to unleash. Any longer, however, and she risked getting herself into real trouble. With a grunt of reluctance, I lifted her to her feet and spun her hard against the wall. This time, both mirrors collapsed under the force of the blow, unleashing a deafening roar to each side as bronze frames hit the floor and rained shards of glass over ancient oak.

Looking to one side and then the other while helplessly bound by my grasp, she shook her head and spoke softly, “Fourteen years of bad luck. I hope I’m worth it.”

“You better be.”

I pressed her firmly to the paneling with an added shove for emphasis, and then raked slowly up her sides. Keeping her shoulders glued to the wall, her lower body began to buck as the random whimper escaped her lips. Eventually, every inch struggled to break free and lurch forward for my lips but I allowed nothing on her terms.

With a punishing tug of her hair, I held her still and licked a trail up the warm pulse of her neck. Near enough to taste her lips, I leaned in to stake my claim with that first deep kiss, mangling her blouse in desperation I could no longer control. With a starved tug of fabric, the top two buttons flew free to bounce across the floor, just as the resurrected power grid kindled a soft amber glow.

While my eyes adjusted, I caught a first glimpse of the crucifix revealed by my assault. I can’t tell you how long it kept me at bay as the receding darkness left me once again accountable for my craving. For the first time that evening, I looked into her eyes, squarely and honestly, and reaped all the shame that she had sown. In the rekindled lamp light, I saw only a young girl, and the trust I had so long refused to break.

“I have to get back,” I said, dropping my guilt-laden gaze to the floor.

To this day, those words stand among the most difficult I’ve ever uttered. I knew perfectly well the repercussions they would echo, if not for how long they would do so. No longer had I sacrificed my opportunity for her unwitting benefit. I had now formally rejected it. Fourteen years of bad luck, indeed…

As I turned to leave her trembling in the hallway, I feared the curse may have already taken hold. The moment I stepped again into solitude, that fear gave way to certainty. With a broken breath, I stepped to the bedside to take an icy hand in my own, realizing immediately that I’d returned just minutes too late. I collapsed back into my seat and buried a roar of resignation deep between my palms, grudgingly accepting the unpalatable truth that I had failed not one, but two vows that evening.

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International attorney, award-winning journalist and last of a modest raconteur bloodline, J.D. Lexx has been a storyteller for most of his life and a student of humanity for even longer. Perhaps it’s no wonder that he takes such pleasure in the subtle tease of the written word, in kindling curiosity with every shared tale, then daring the imagination to continue on beyond The End.

A traveler by nature, Lexx spends most of his time between the frenzied streets of New York and the slower pace of New Orleans’ Vieux Carré. When not exploring the sensual psyche through his writing, he can usually be found honing his skills in the kitchen or working alongside charitable organizations to promote literacy and tolerance— two causes not only reflected in his work, but forever dear to his heart.  

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JD Author Page – https://www.facebook.com/AuthorLexx

JD Goodreads page – http://bit.ly/1OZvlMU

JD Website – http://www.jdlexx.com/

JD Twitter (@JDLexx) – https://twitter.com/JDLexx

JD Amazon page – http://www.amazon.com/J.D.-Lexx/e/B010XROTOC/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1447410965&sr=8-1

Malediction Trailer – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZHAp0z1j3w

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~*~ DIRTY by Kylie Scott Excerpt Reveal! ~*~

dirty excerpt reveal

Excerpt

Heavy footsteps roused me from my stupor. I don’t know how long exactly I’d been sitting in the bathtub, staring off at nothing, pondering the catastrophe my life had become. Couldn’t have been too long since sunlight still lit the room.

The footsteps came closer and closer. And then they entered the room. Oh, shit. I froze, not even daring to breathe. There was a loud yawn, followed by the cracking of joints. Then a large hand reached in beside the closed shower curtain and turned on the tap. A torrent of ice cold water poured down. It was like a billion itty-bitty knives stabbing at my skin. All of the scratches and raw patches from earlier stung like shit. I gritted my teeth, shoulders hiked up to around my ears as if that would provide any protection.

Yep, I sat there, all huddled up, listening to the man take a leak.

Awesome. Just plain awesome.

Wasn’t like I could jump out and interrupt the man midflow. And say what? I knew this was not a good situation to get caught in.

  1. I’d basically broken into this guy’s house.
  2. And had then gone on making myself right at home, having a messy emotional breakdown in his bathtub.

Normal, rational people didn’t do this sort of thing. I didn’t even have a criminal record, had never particularly done anything outlandish or interesting until now. This was all Chris’s fault, the bastard. I’d just have to make the best of it and hope this guy had a sense of humor.

Just as the water began to warm, he flushed the john and freezing cold water drenched me anew. I’d been about to open my mouth and announce my presence, but that put an end to that. Needles of icy cold water pelted down on my skin. I fucking froze. Teeth gritted, I suppressed a squeal of pain and rage.

Then the shower curtain flew back.

“Shit!” The man was very tall, very naked, and very surprised. He stumbled back a step, a hand clutching at the bench behind him, eyes furious and wide. “What the hell?”

Good question.

I opened my mouth, closed it. Language skills had apparently abandoned me. In total silence, the man and I stared at each other.

Even with no clothing to take cues from, the dude was clearly the epitome of cool. He looked about my age, or maybe a little older. He had longish red-blond hair, dark blue eyes set in an angular face, a lean but muscular torso covered in tattoos, and a rather large cock. Not that I meant to check him out, it’s just kind of hard to ignore a penis and scrotum when they’re dangling right in front of your face. I tilted my head, trying to get some perspective. Every viewpoint, however, was equally shocking. There was dick as far as the eye could see.

And I should stop ogling him. Right.

“Hi.” With a calm I didn’t even vaguely feel, I reached up and turned off the tap. Much better. His monster penis had momentarily derailed me, but I was back on track now. Time to talk myself out of this mess. “Hey.”

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” he asked flatly.

“Right. Well . . .” I neatly tucked my dripping-wet shoulder-length blond hair back behind my ears. As if that would help. My winged eyeliner and false lashes were probably halfway down my cheeks. “I, um, I . . .”

“You what?”

“I’m Lydia,” I said, the first thing to come to mind.

No reply. His handsome face, however, took on a distinctly pissy expression. Even his strawberry-blond hair seemed a fiery hue. Fine, so we weren’t swapping names and getting cozy. Fair enough. You wouldn’t believe how hard it was, keeping my eyes on his face. The struggle was real. It might have been due to my not seeing one in so long, but his dick seemed almost hypnotic. The thing had magical powers, I swear. It was so big and mobile, subtly swaying every time he moved. My gaze kept darting down despite my best efforts.

Finally he put me out of my misery, grabbing a towel off a nearby rack and wrapping it around his waist. It made for quite the hot-looking miniskirt. Not just any man could have pulled off such a look.

But back to my explanations.

“Ah, firstly, I’d just like to say sorry about this.” I waved a hand at him and his bathroom and, well everything, really. “For any inconvenience I might have caused here in your bathroom.”

The guy stood tall, looming over me with his hands on hips. Tattoos covered his arms to his wrists. Still, he had a whole lot of sinew on show. Definitely not the kind of man you’d want to mess with. Dude could probably snap me in half in a second. I bet he was a tattoo model, or a biker, or a pirate, or something. Something a lot hot and more than a little scary.

Shit. I really should have chosen another house.

“I don’t normally break into people’s places and hide out in their tub,” I babbled, on the verge of incoherency. “So I’m really sorry. Seriously. So very sorry. But you’ve got a lovely home.”

“That so?”

“Not that, I mean, that’s not why I’m here. I just . . .” Fucking hell, my mind was a disaster. I took a deep breath, letting it out nice and slow, before trying again. “I love the old Arts and Crafts bungalows, don’t you? They have such soul.”

His brows drew tight. “Are you high? What the fuck are you on?”

“Nothing!”

“You haven’t been popping any pills or snorting something?”

“No, I swear.”

“Nothing to drink?”

“I haven’t had anything,” I said, but the suspicion and anger still lined his face. Paired with the stubble on his chin and the shadows beneath his eyes, my unwilling host was one tired, cranky man. Couldn’t really blame him.

“So you’re completely sober,” he said.

“Completely.”

A pause.

“You’re thinking I’m bat-shit crazy now, aren’t you?” I asked, despite the answer sitting plain as day on his pretty face.

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Oh, god. “I’m not. I’m sane.”

“You sure about that?” He looked down the long line of his nose at me, distinctly unimpressed. “Seen a lot of weird shit in my years. Stuff like you wouldn’t believe. But I got to tell you, right now, this . . . you, are taking the cake.”

“Great.” And I was so definitely probably going to jail. Someone ought to give me a cookie. My ability to take a bad situation and make it worse today was amazing.

“You touch any of my stuff?” he asked. “Take anything?”

“Yes, your sofa is cunningly hidden down the front of my dress. You won’t believe where I fit the TV.”

Again, his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Between you and me, probably not the time to be funny, babe.”

Crap. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You have every right to be mad.”

“Damn right, I do.”

I nodded, contrite. “I haven’t touched any of your things.”

The dude just stood there, staring. Lots going on behind his eyes. None of which I could read.

A stray tear trickled down my face. It must have saved itself up just for the occasion. Gah. How pathetic. I sniffled, brushing it off hurriedly with the back of my hand.

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered.

“I really am sorry about this. The truth is, I just needed somewhere to hide for a little while. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

He sighed. It wasn’t a happy sound. “Lydia?”

“Yes?” Despite my best efforts, my voice trembled slightly.

“Look at me.”

I did so. He still looked cranky and crazy cool while I remained a hot mess.

“I’m Vaughan,” he said.

“Hi.”

He tipped his chin and silence fell between us once more.

With the tip of his tongue rubbing at his upper lip, he looked at the wide open window, and then back at me. Yep, that’s how I’d gotten in. Houdini had nothing on my mad skills.

“What are you doing in my house, Lydia? The truth.”

“It’s kind of a long story, actually.” Along with being excruciatingly embarrassing. But then, what wasn’t about this day?

Vaughan crossed his arms over his wide chest and waited me out while I fussed with my ruined skirts and tried to come up with a way to spin the story to not make me look a complete fool. Christ, the holes in my stockings were huge. On one side, my entire foot stuck out. So screwed.

Vaughan crouched by the side of the tub, resting his arms on the side. Up close the shadows under his eyes seemed even bigger and darker against his pale skin. And there were bags big enough to use as carry-ons. Despite the strong lines of his lean face, the man looked done-in. Ready to sleep for a hundred years.

I knew that feeling.

“Looks like a wedding dress,” he said quietly.

“Yes, it is. I was going to get married today.” I took a deep breath, wiping my face with my hands. Just as expected, my palms came away smeared with black eye makeup. “Ah, boy. I must look a wreck.”

Without comment, Vaughan reached out and grabbed a towel, handing it to me. It was sort of threadbare, old. Dated like the rest of the house. I hadn’t seen more than one room, but real estate agents got a feel for these sort of things. Minimal upkeep for the past five or so years would have been my guess. Perhaps it’d even been left empty. Bushes out front hid the house from view, so I’d never gotten a good look at it before.

“Thank you.” I patted myself dry with the towel as best I could. What remained of my beautiful dress was a sopping wet ruin. “I’m sorry I broke into your house, Vaughan. I swear I don’t normally do this sort of thing.”

“No,” he said, his voice deep. “Figured as much. Where’d you come from?”

“The big house at the back.”

His brow wrinkled. “You climbed over the fence?”

“Yes.”

Tired, red-tinged eyes appraised me anew. “That’s a tall fence. Must have been one hell of an emergency.”

“It was a disaster.”

For a long moment he studied me, deep in thought. Then he sighed yet again, climbing to his feet.

“Are you going to call the cops on me?” I asked, my throat tight with tension. “I know you have every right to, I’m not disputing that. I’d just, I’d like to know. Mental preparation and all that.”

“No. I’m not.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” My whole body sagged in relief.

Then he clapped his hands together, startling the crap out of me. “Okay, Lydia. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

“Yes?”

“I arrived late this morning, have only had a few hours sleep. If I don’t get some coffee soon, things are going to get ugly. And you probably need to get dried off.” With no fuss, he held out his hand. “Let’s get shit sorted out. Then we can sit down and you can tell me the long story of how the hell you ended up in my house. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” I said, voice lightening.

He pulled me up. Then, with strong hands on my waist, lifted me out of the tub. Immediately water started dripping off of my saturated dress, pooling on the scuffed wooden flooring at my feet. Chris would have been distinctly unimpressed. Chris didn’t like messes. But as Vaughan didn’t seem to care, neither did I.

“You’re really not going to call the police?” I asked.

“No. Hold still,” he said, carefully plucking a fake eyelash from my cheek.

“Thank you.”

“Your dress is kind of fucked.” He looked me over from top to toe.

“I know,” I said sadly.

“I’ll leave you to get changed.”

“Wait. Please. I can’t get out of it on my own.”

More frowning.

“It’s vintage,” I explained with a grim face. “There’s no zip, just a line of little buttons up the back.”

“’Course there is.” Without another word, he turned me around and got started in on said buttons. As he worked, he hummed beneath his breath, the song vaguely familiar.

“Aren’t you still mad?” I asked, perplexed.

“Nuh.”

“But I broke into your house.”

“Window was open.”

“I still trespassed.”

Busy fingers kept working on undoing the dress. “You sat in the tub and cried because some dickhead fucked you over.”

That shut me up.

“Or that’s what I’m assuming, given the dress and all. I take it he’s the one that gave you that shiner on your cheek?”

“No. No one hit me. And yes, you assumed right about the being fucked over.” I tried to look back at him, but I couldn’t see a thing beyond my wild-ass hair. Impressive how it’d survived the shower. The stylist clearly knew her shit.

“You sure no one hit you?” He did not sound convinced.

“Yes. I lost my grip and hit the floor when I was climbing in the window. My home invasion skills need work.”

“I’d suggest you try a different career.” He finished with the buttons and took a step back, scratching his head. “You okay with the dress now?”

“Yes, thank you,” I told his reflection in the mirror. “For everything, I mean.”

“Sure.” He almost smiled and gave a small shake of the head as if he couldn’t quite believe what was going on. Or maybe it was disbelief that he wasn’t kicking me straight back out the window through whence I’d come.

Lord knows, it’d shocked the shit out of me.

He turned toward the door. “See you out there.”

dirty preorder

Are you ready to get DIRTY!?!

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Title: DIRTY

Series: Dive Bar Series

Release Date: April 19th!

Genre: Erotica-Contemporary / Rockstar Romance

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Blurb

The last thing Vaughan Hewson expects to find when he returns to his childhood home is a broken hearted bride in his shower, let alone the drama and chaos that comes with her.

Lydia Green doesn’t know whether to burn down the church or sit and cry in a corner. Discovering the love of your life is having an affair on your wedding day is bad enough. Finding out it’s with his best man is another thing all together. She narrowly escapes tying the knot and meets Vaughan only hours later.

Vaughan is the exact opposite of the picture perfect, respected businessman she thought she’d marry. This former musician-turned-bartender is rough around the edges and unsettled. But she already tried Mr. Right and discovered he’s all wrong-maybe it’s time to give Mr. Right Now a chance.

After all, what’s wrong with getting dirty?

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Pre-order your copy of DIRTY here:

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kylie scott

Kylie is a long time fan of erotic love stories and B-grade horror films. She demands a happy ending and if blood and carnage occur along the way then all the better. Based in Queensland, Australia with her two children and one delightful husband, she reads, writes and never dithers around on the internet.

Kylie is represented by Amy Tannenbaum at the Jane Rotrosen Agency, New York.

Stalk Kylie Scott: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

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*Excerpt Reveal* ~Stuck – Up Suit~ by Penelope Ward and Vi Keeland!

stuck up suit excerpt reveal

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It felt like we were the only two people in the world, instead of inside a busy, posh restaurant.  

“This is beautiful.  But odd,” I said.

Graham took off his jacket and settled into his side of the table with one arm casually slung over the top of the booth.  “Fitting.”

“Are you saying I’m odd?”

“Are we going to fight about it if I say yes?”

“Probably.”

“Then, yes.”

My brow furrowed.  “You want to fight with me?”

Graham tugged at his tie, loosening it.  “I find it turns me on.”

I laughed.  “I think you need counseling.”

“After the last few days, I believe you may be right.”

The waitress returned with our drinks.  She set a highball glass down in front of him and a wine glass in front of me.

Graham had ordered Hendrick’s and tonic.  “That’s an old man’s drink, gin and tonic,” I said as I sipped my wine.

He swirled the ice around in his glass, then brought it to his lips and looked at me over the rim before drinking.  ”Remember what arguing with me does.  You might want to look under the table.”

My eyes widened.  “You aren’t.”

He smirked and cocked an eyebrow.  “Go ahead.  Put your head under.  I know you’re dying to take a peek anyway.”

After we both finished our drinks, and some of my nerves had started to calm, we finally had our first real conversation.  One that wasn’t about sex or tongue rings.  

“So how many hours do you work a day in that big fancy office of yours?”

“I usually go in by eight and try to leave by eight.”

“Twelve hours a day?  That’s sixty hours a week.”

“Not counting weekends.”

“You work weekends, too?”

“Saturdays.”

“So your only day off is Sunday?”

“I actually sometimes work in the evening on Sunday, too.”

“That’s nuts.  When do you find time to enjoy yourself?”

“I enjoy my work.”

I scoffed.  “Didn’t sound that way when I stopped in the other day.  Everyone there seems afraid of you, and you refused to open the door.”

“I was busy.”  He folded his arms over his chest.  

I did the same.  “So was I.  I took two trains to personally deliver that phone, you know.  And you didn’t have the decency to even come out and say thank you.”

“I didn’t know what was behind the door waiting for me, or I would have come out.”

“A person.  A person was behind the door.  One who went out of her way for you.  If I were a sixty-year-old married woman with blue hair, you should have come out to thank me.”

He sighed.  “I’m a busy man, Soraya.”

“Yet here you are on a weeknight at only 7PM.  Shouldn’t you be working until eight if you’re so busy?”

“I make exceptions when warranted.”

“How big of you.”

He arched an eyebrow.  “You want to look under the table, don’t you?”

coming soon stuck up

Are you ready to meet the STUCK UP SUIT?  

Coming to an e-reader near you on April 11th!

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It started out like any other morning on the train.

Until I became mesmerized by the guy sitting across the aisle.

He was barking at someone on his phone like he ruled the world.

Who did the stuck-up suit think he was…God?

Actually, he looked like a God. That was about it.

When his stop came, he got up suddenly and left.  So suddenly, he dropped his phone on the way out.

I might have picked it up.

I might have gone through all of his photos and called some of the numbers.

I might have held onto the mystery man’s phone for days—until I finally conjured up the courage to return it.

When I traipsed my ass across town to his fancy company, he refused to see me.

So, I left the phone on the empty desk outside the arrogant jerk’s office.

I might have also left behind a dirty picture on it first though.

I didn’t expect him to text back.

I didn’t expect our exchanges to be hot as hell.

I didn’t expect to fall for him—all before we even met.

The two of us couldn’t have been any more different.

Yet, you know what they say about opposites.

When we finally came face to face, we found out opposites sometimes do more than attract—we consumed each other.

Nothing could have prepared me for the ride he took me on. And I certainly wasn’t prepared for where I’d wind up when the ride was over.

All good things must come to an end, right?

Except our ending was one I didn’t see coming.

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Other books from Vi Keeland & Penelope Ward

Cocky Bastard

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1DW9XpB

Amazon UK:  http://amzn.to/1WwPzkC

iBooks: http://apple.co/1J7vbN0

Kobo: http://bit.ly/1UxCSUO

B&N: http://bit.ly/1EjxNpY

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PENELOPE WARD

Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and #1 Wall Street Journal bestselling author. Penelope lives for reading books in the new adult/contemporary romance genre, coffee and hanging out with her friends and family on weekends. She is the proud mother of a beautiful 11-year-old girl with autism (the inspiration for the character Callie in Gemini) and a 9-year-old boy, both of whom are the lights of her life. Penelope, her husband and kids reside in Rhode Island. She is the author of RoomHate, which hit #2 on the New York Times Bestseller list and #1 on the Wall Street Journal Bestseller list. Her novel, Stepbrother Dearest, also spent four consecutive weeks on the New York Times Bestseller list. Other works include the New York Times bestseller Cocky Bastard (co-written with Vi Keeland), Sins of Sevin, My Skylar, Jake Undone, Jake Understood and Gemini.

 

Stalk Her: Facebook | Website | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest | Goodreads | Private Fan Group

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Other books from Penelope Ward

RoomHate

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1WmdZLK

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1PysqdM

iBooks: http://apple.co/1PgsvE7

Kobo: http://bit.ly/1POvSnW

Nook: http://bit.ly/1PLGnSL

Sins of Sevin

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1Qryeok

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1YrHjDx

iBooks: http://apple.co/1K8mzGg

B&N: http://bit.ly/1hTKAKE  

kobo: http://bit.ly/1OaGY3D

Stepbrother Dearest

Amazon  http://amzn.to/1mFNMeg

B&N: http://bit.ly/1taMFjG

iBooks: http://bit.ly/YER0mT

kobo: http://bit.ly/1fJaaBs

Gemini

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1vgk1SE

B&N: http://bit.ly/1KfmLHD

iBooks: http://apple.co/1QTaONj

kobo: http://bit.ly/1BGJ2wu

Jake Undone (Jake #1)

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1dJrHBC

B&N: http://bit.ly/1obAwJ6

iBooks: http://apple.co/1fJayQ8

kobo: http://bit.ly/1SPKl0M

My Skylar

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1obOG2F

B&N: http://bit.ly/SLO1qi

iBooks: http://bit.ly/SLNOTR

kobo: http://bit.ly/1kNrtAB

Jake Understood (Jake #2)

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1GFdves

B&N: http://bit.ly/1FwJC0z

iBooks: http://apple.co/1DQQwgC

kobo: http://bit.ly/1LQ7Fvk

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vi keeland bio

Vi Keeland is a native New Yorker with three children that occupy most of her free time, which she complains about often, but wouldn’t change for the world. She is an attorney and a New York Times, Wall Street Journal, & USA Today Bestselling author. Over the last three years, ten of her titles have appeared on the USA Today Bestseller lists and three on the New York Times Bestseller lists.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads | Pinterest

Additional Books by Vi Keeland

Life on Stage series (2 standalone books)

Beat

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1MWanfu

Amazon UK:  http://amzn.to/1fczMX5

iBooks: http://apple.co/1DnI6f6

Kobo:  http://bit.ly/1aqrmbS

B&N:  http://bit.ly/1O1Ah0q

Throb

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1BgqIUD

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1CsRg9d

Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1zk882K

iBooks: http://bit.ly/1x5c3P8

Kobo:  http://bit.ly/1slglLN

MMA Fighter series (3 standalone books)

Worth the Fight (MMA Fighter Series, Book One)

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1xC6epE

Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1alpVES

Kobo: http://bit.ly/1dbzZ8R

Smashwords – http://bit.ly/1is0zNX

iBooks: http://bit.ly/1co2ZpF

Worth The Chance (MMA Fighter Series, Book Two)

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1xC71aa

B&N: http://bit.ly/1gwTyJw

iBooks:  http://bit.ly/1gHMCZg

Kobo:  http://bit.ly/1fqQcnj

Smashwords: http://bit.ly/NU2rCR

Worth Forgiving (MMA Fighter Series, Book Three)

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1wbsJEK

B & N: http://bit.ly/1ljdVzb

iBooks:  http://bit.ly/XBTLFX

Kobo:  http://bit.ly/1kWP4ka

The Cole Series (2 book serial)

Belong to You (Cole Series, Book One)

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1fr26W2

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1KRsCVy

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/belong-to-you-vi-keeland/1114962845

IBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/belong-to-you/id639401754

Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/belong-to-you

Made for You (Cole Series, Book Two)

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1Mi0AzQ

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1KRsdCx

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/made-for-you-vi-keeland/1115883225

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/made-for-you/id84550637

Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/belong-to-you

Standalone novels

The Baller

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/23atpbd

Amazon UK:  http://amzn.to/1ZwJnI4

iBooks: http://apple.co/1QM9TfP

B&N: http://bit.ly/1Yi2xmp

Kobo: http://bit.ly/1SEiOhC

Left Behind (A Young Adult Novel)

Amazon US:http://amzn.to/1G9HdDK

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1Rmi3xp

First Thing I See

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1fr3dF7

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1RmihEP

Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1JWFo21

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Chapter Reveal – Covet Not: The Complete Sins of Lethe by Arden Aoide


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Release date March 28th

 

Pre-order links.

Amazon US  Amazon UK  Amazon CA

 

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A gilded cage is still a cage.

 

From the womb, she was owned. Shula Kelley was signed away before her first breath, just like everyone else in secessionist Texas. She was called beautiful like it meant something important. Like it would get her a kind husband, or one less cruel. She hoped Jared Agnesson was kind.

 

And the devil you know is still the devil.

 

As punishment for his son’s rebellion, the patriarch of the Agnesson clan claimed Shula for his own. And she saw only one way out. Shula had a plan, but she didn’t realize it would require a savior.

 

Suffer not the sins of the father.

 

First acts of rebellion open doors that are best left closed. Until Jared walked through it. Her savior. But how can she truly love when she only knows obedience?

 

 

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I

“To die, to sleep.

To sleep, perchance to dream–ay, there’s the rub,…”

William Shakespeare, Hamlet

Human ash was ridiculously difficult to work with when wet, but it was done. She had planned on nice clean lines gently smudged against her dark brown eyes, but the ash proved far too unwieldy. After watching it flake off when it dried, Shula added a drop of oil to a good sprinkling of ash to the palm of her hand. It still didn’t apply evenly, and she looked more like a raccoon than a bride, but her mother would share her big day now and she could take no other method to avoid it.

Though Shula would give her a ‘A’ for effort.

She tipped the urn into her great-grandfather’s rusted cigarette case, messily covering the razor blade taped inside it. She filled it, spilling quite a lot onto the floor, but she would have to get the broom out anyway. She pressed the case shut gently, shook the excess ash into the sink, and put it into her purse on the counter. She washed her hands and wiped down the sink, smearing the ash into pristine caulk, infecting it like mold. She smiled grimly.

Shula picked up her father’s tiny grooming scissors and went to work on her hair quickly. She started at the crown, cutting close to the scalp, but uneven in its swiftness. She had a massive amount of thick curls, but they fell quickly and silently, offering no protest.

Once done, the scissors were nearly worthless, but she put them away. She deliberately left several knotted strands stuck, so that her father would see them later and be reminded of this day.

She looked around the bathroom, avoiding her reflection deliberately, picking out things that she hated and she tried to take comfort that she would never see them again. Her stomach lurched in grief, so she finally looked at the woman in the mirror, this stranger no longer, summoning strength with a glance. She looked like a horror and she felt an acute anticipation for her unveiling within the hour.

She’d been told since she was old enough to understand that she was beautiful. Like it meant something important. Like it would give her a choice between a husband with a kind soul or a corrupt one.

For the lucky, beauty got you a larger house to clean and maybe a house full of beautiful children. For her, beauty would be an end. The end.

She was newly eighteen, but she still felt so much like a child. Far too young for what was expected of her. Her naked body, covered in constellations of freckles, goose fleshed and covered in the dark remnants of her copious locks, memories of braids and pigtails and innocence. It felt wrong to curl and primp for a man older than her own father, no matter how many might have coveted the position. Though decorating herself for the day’s final end did seem to amuse her, she wanted his disappointment of her to be profound, not just in their marriage bed, but as soon as he lifted her veil. So, she had brought out the scissors. She wasn’t a girl any longer, and her hair had no purpose as it had served her beauty with ultimate betrayal.

She couldn’t abide traitors.

She watched detached, as she brushed the thick dead clumps that covered her breasts and skimmed her belly, and clung to the hair on her pubis. She brushed it away absently at first, but she found her senses heightened by her nudity and the stimulation of her falling hair. She slid her fingers against her clitoris, smiling at the rush of arousal, and realized that she would miss this. Sexual thoughts were taboo, and unless you had the express consent of your husband, self-gratification was punishable by a life married to Christ, sequestered with the rest of the girls who would never be accused of keeping their hands to themselves.

Naturally, Shula was quite adept with masturbation once she’d discovered her clitoris, and once she’d heard about the sacrament of virginity, she’d tried out every vegetable from the garden. She’d tried candlesticks, her fingers, and even the hilt of a very large kitchen knife, though the horsewhip was her favorite.

She would miss it all. James Agnesson ruined everything.

Earlier in the week, when James had come calling, and he had sampled the food she had prepared for him, she would have poisoned him had she known. As it was, her hatred grew for him, rather than their situation, and her plans for their wedding and honeymoon became quite morbid. She found that her future groom’s frustration wouldn’t be nearly enough, nor her lack of hymen. He would not have the gift of her purity, nor the proof of it, nor would any man now, because even imagining his realization as he’s rutting inside her didn’t bring her pleasure as it had when she imagined it was his son, Jared. She didn’t want to just ruin his day. She wanted to ruin him. For Jared, his confusion would have been satisfactory enough, but for his father…death was preferable than having him touch her.

The day had come, and a more wretched ending was born. She would not have the honor of seeing his face when he gazed upon her in their marriage bed, but like all charity, it’s best not to be selfish in your giving. She would strive for humbleness, because martyrdom wasn’t effective without a captive audience.

Her mother had probably taught her a great many things, the domesticities of their gender notwithstanding, and she’d taken almost all of it for granted. The one thing that she’d always remember though, was the most profane: Sometimes suicide and the Seventh Circle of Hell were a far desired fate if the alternative was life and all the Circles combined.

Today was that day. Her wedding day. Tonight, she would excuse herself early, and he would surely allow it. Women, for she was a woman now, needed time to prepare for bed. To ready themselves for their husbands and their pleasure.

She would pull down the coverlet, open the cigarette case, and fashion a distorted crucifix with her mother’s ashes and the water from the traditional roses she was sure to be beside the bed. She would lie down in the center of bed, pull the razor from the cigarette case and slit both wrists quickly and efficiently. She would spread her arms wide.

It was pure drama, but if one gets to choose their passing, make it memorable.

Make a fucking point.

Her only regret was that she was sure her father wouldn’t see. James was sure to cover it up somehow, the drama of it, even though he’d have no scruples relaying the slit wrists.

Her father would probably never see her bled out on her mother’s ashes and she hated that. She hated her father even more than James Agnesson. She knew it was wrong, but she was prepared for Hell, so all unspoken sins were at the forefront of her mind.

As it was, since she was choosing, she’d rather have the chance of spending an eternity in Hell with her mother than with the likes of James, no matter how horrible.

She wasn’t sure she believed in Hell of the after death variety anyway, but her mother spared two years for her. Shula would never forget the fight, nor the sound of the gun. Worse yet, she would never forget the sound of her mother hitting the floor, nor of her father’s silence.

And his continued silence.

She hated him.

He was going to give her away to that monster and her mother’s death had been in vain. She would have certainly stayed had she imagined this outcome.

Shula had been betrothed to Jared Agnesson since the day she was born and they were to be wed the day after she turned sixteen. She wasn’t much happy about it, but all the girls got married at that age, and Jared seemed nice enough. He was painfully shy, quiet, and probably handsome, if one considered a boy handsome. He’d not quite caught up with his brothers in stature and Shula wasn’t afraid of him like she was of other newly-made men.

James had told her that Jared had disappeared into the woods after he took the death of Anna, James’ late wife, quite hard, and he had shown no signs of returning and fulfilling his contract, so he had deigned to fulfill it himself.

She wanted to be angry at Jared, but found that she didn’t care. He hadn’t owed her a thing. She could not fault him for escaping when he could. At least he had that option.

Her mother had not wanted it. Shula didn’t quite understand as it was normal for girls to marry, and she couldn’t imagine Jared had offended her mother since he was so silent and awkwardly polite.

The morning of her mother’s death, every muttered curse spoke of Jared’s father, and she didn’t know what that had to do with Jared himself. Shula belatedly realized that her mother hadn’t wanted her involved with the Agnesson family at all, but she was never brave enough to ask her father why. They’d barely spoken these last two years, and she didn’t know what her mother saw in him, unless she didn’t have a choice.

Of course she didn’t have a choice.

But, it must have been something terrible for her to take her own life to prevent a marriage to a harmless boy.

She took comfort that she wouldn’t bleed out on her own bed, her grandmother’s old bed, because she would be moving into James Agnesson’s house, but thankfully she wouldn’t be required to be mother to men who were older than her. Surely, he could see the wrongness of it.

A wrongness she wouldn’t tolerate. Shula was pleased she could still feel relief.

Her betrothal to Jared had still been under contract, but the death of a mother, by Law, would postpone any such commitments until she reached majority. Her contract was amended, and signed by both her father and James one day before her eighteenth birthday, replacing the son with the father. If she would have known at dinner before, none would have left the table alive.

That was three days ago, and Shula can’t imagine why it isn’t a scandal. She was appalled when he had married Anna, as they had been close in age and grew up in church together. Shula would be his third. The mother of the five boys: Jacob, Jonah, Josiah, Jared, and Jude, had died during childbirth, and James Agnesson had married Anna, newly sixteen, and she died last year of an apparent suicide. Anna had been the same age as Jude.

The rumor was that Jude had found her in her bed, and that was all Shula had heard about it.

Shula could guess, but that made her feel smug, and she wondered if that even scratched the surface of what her mother might’ve known. Her mother knew something, and her father knew it too, but curious as she was, she’d rather die than know, unless she could find out today.

Two suicides in two years, especially after his last wife’s sudden death, should bring about a much more intense scrutiny. There was a reason her mother hadn’t wanted her in his house, and it had been worth her life. Shula had not forgotten that.

She was relieved in a way. She was lonely, but trusted no one, and it was a scary existence.

She watched herself in the mirror as she touched herself expertly. She always had philosophical thoughts on sin. She liked to list them in her head from ones she deemed not so bad to the worst ones, like cruelty and complacency. She didn’t understand how this God-given pleasure was only a means to tempt and trap.

As a woman, she wasn’t allowed to read The Bible. Only the men were allowed, and it was up to them to explain their sinful natures to them. Sometimes Shula would sneak a few paragraphs when she cleaned her father’s room, if he had it out of the locked trunk. It was paragraphs and paragraphs of confusion, and she would turn the pages quickly, looking for the list of sins that would seem an obvious addition. She never found them.

So, she compiled them in her head. Sins, taxonomy of.

She would write them down, but she hoped that her corpse would display his deepest sins and eat at James Agnesson the way God’s disappointment was supposed to.

After Shula brought herself off, she took a few deep breaths and grabbed the broom behind the door. She swept up the remnants of her youth and the death of it, and when she was finished, she looked toward the dress hanging on the hook on the door.

Her mother’s beautiful, meaningless frock, yellowed with age, and smelling of decay and mothballs. The lace was matted with cobwebs and even blotting it with a washcloth thickened the strands.

She fished out her father’s scissors and snipped the lace from the bodice, eyeing the netting of the veil briefly, knowing it would cover her thoroughly, until it was lifted.

The lace lifted easily and she dropped it carelessly into the trash. She pulled the dress over her head, slipping it onto her naked body, mindful of her mother’s ashes. It was a little too snug, but she knew it would give just a little as the day went on.

She stepped up to the mirror and she still looked terribly young. Even with her neutered hair, and her darkened eyes, and low bodice, she still looked much too young.

It was a tragedy.

The only thing that kept her tears at bay was that this was what James Agnesson would see when he lifted her veil.

He would see who he’d chosen to be his wife.

Shula affixed the veil to her head and covered her face and chest. She grabbed her purse and suitcase, and walked it to the front door where her father was waiting. He opened the door without a word, and led them to the car. The veil was sheer enough for her to see images, and the haze of black from the ashes made the sky look like rain.

Jared Agnesson sat heavily on the front steps of his tiny cabin. He was going to need to build a fence and get a dog. Maybe several of the doberman variety.

He held up the cream-colored envelope that he had found under his feet when he stepped out the door that morning.

Jared Agnesson

He knew what was inside. His father had been threatening it before Anna’s body had been cold to keep Jared under control. His father wanted him to take over the farm, but Jared had a knack for computers. So, he had sought work in the city, independent of his father, but every job or apprenticeship ended up dead.

Luckily, Jared had the foresight to move his trust fund when he turned eighteen to an international bank in the city, one who hadn’t heard of James Agnesson, or if they had, they hadn’t cared. Jared would have enough money indefinitely if he wasn’t foolish. And his current project was lucrative, but he had to be doubly careful.

He inherited a piece of land adjacent to his father’s ranch with the bones of a hunting lodge hidden by the trees. His father spent equal time at the ranch and in the city, but Jared knew Agnes Oaks inside out, so he felt he could hide more effectively in plain sight rather than a city where he would be constantly looking over his shoulder. He’d underestimated his father. The only way to be truly free of him was death, or to find a way to leave Texas, but Texas only granted visas for work. They were temporary, not for families, and never for women.

If you were born here, you died here, and the fate of the women depended on the kindness of their husbands.

Jared wanted to be kind. It took him several months, but he’d built paradise, and he’d wondered if his future bride would like it. But, he didn’t allow himself to wonder for long. He enjoyed deluding himself on occasion. It was safe out in the woods.

As much as he’d wanted Shula Kelley, as much as he’d always known that she was intended for him, he knew that his father would eventually take her from him. The same way he took Anna, and she had only been his friend from church. His father hated their closeness, never trusted it, and he’d left her because his father had become increasingly nasty towards her.

A week later, he’d found out that she’d died. Jared had to think.

His reach was far and wide, and Jared had to be smart. But, now it seemed too late.

His brothers were too complacent and stayed away, moving their families to the city to represent various family businesses. Their father’s fingers were dipped into trade all over the state of Texas, from banking and real estate, to agriculture and energy. Education and evangelism. Jacob and Jonah managed the bank branches from the Austin-San Antonio Metroplex, to one hundred miles east of Agnes Oaks, with smaller branches all over the state, independently managed. Josiah was in real estate, and was rather successful at it.

They had already moved out when Anna came to live with them. Only Jude had remained. He was the one who had found Anna, and avoided everyone anymore. Jared was fairly sure that Jude will be the one running the farm. So long as his father didn’t find out–

His father had eyes and ears everywhere, was highly respected, but there was a quiet cruelty in his every step that made people cautious around him. He believed it was power, and maybe it was, but Jared had no need for that sort of sway.

He wanted better. He wanted a life without fear for the people around him.

So, he would go. He would dress in his Sunday’s best, and try to meet Shula’s eyes, and hope that he could relay in that glance that he would do anything in his power to save her from him.

She would have to be patient and he would have to be strong.

 

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Arden Aoide lives in San Antonio, Texas, with her husband, two daughters, and three cats. Turn ons include men who cry during sex, long walks on the beach, and talking about herself in the third person. Turn offs include mean people and trying to figure out how to write an interesting author bio.

She doesn’t write about the typical men you normally read about in erotic romance novels. She likes her men brainy and just this side of manic.

She’s an introvert, she loves coffee, Internet, British television, and pot stickers. And pie. She loves pie.

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