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Friday, July 10, 2020

Dirty Deals by Nicole James



Title: Dirty Deals
Series: Devils Kings MC #2
Author: Nicole James
Genre: Romantic Suspense

Release Date: July 9, 2020



Blurb

Rusty—

I’m the president
of the Devil Kings Atlanta MC. With a fractious club to rebuild and a revolving
door on my bedroom, the last thing I need is 5’4” of sex-on-a-stick trouble.
When a
mysterious beauty shows up with her playmate’s body, dark soulful eyes and a
bagful of cash, I’m willing to make an exception.
I don’t
fully trust her, but she needs my help.

Ashlynn—

Things are
finally good. I am one of the best high-roller hostesses on the strip. But I’ve
lived in Las Vegas two years and have yet to unpack my bags. Why? Because shit
always goes sideways.
I should
have known this time would be no different.
When I’m
asked to hostess a private poker game at a mega exclusive hotel penthouse, I
end up in the proverbial wrong place at the wrong time.
I’m the
soul witness to a double murder and I’m suddenly on the run again, but this
time I’m running for my life.
I get as
far as Atlanta before my Porsche blows a tire.
That’s when
he shows up. Dangerous. Drop-dead gorgeous. Scary badass biker. One I can’t
take my eyes off. Maybe this town is as good as any to lay low.
When
trouble tracks me down, I want to run again. But he has other plans.
He’ll
protect me—for a price.
My willing
body in his big bed—all night, every night.
That’s the
dirty deal he offers.
Dare I accept?

Where the
President of the Devil Kings is involved, there are no rules.
But I’ll
stand toe-to-toe with him and make it out of this bargain with my heart intact.
Because in the end, running is what I do best.












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Excerpt

He locks
the door and prowls toward me.
“That’s a
real pretty dress, Hot Rod.” His eyes sweep over me. “You want to keep it in
one piece, you better take it off quickly. If I do it, it’s gonna be in
tattered shreds on the floor. That’s how badly I want you.”
His eyes
promise all kinds of things—dark things, dangerous things. He’s seducing me,
and he hasn’t even touched me yet.
I take a
step back, then another, enjoying the hunt, disobeying his demand. His eyes
fall on the pulse I can feel beating in my throat. He stalks me across the room
until I come up against the dresser. He stops two feet away. He reaches out,
and his callused fingertips glide along my collarbone. My skin tingles in
response, heat flames through my body like wildfire, and I tremble.
“I really
want to see what’s under this dress,” he murmurs, his voice a seductive lure as
he dips his head closer to mine.
“Does every
girl you bring in here fall at your feet?” I whisper, wondering just how
special I am.
Those
hypnotic eyes of his drift along my throat, and his finger brushes where my
rapid pulse beats. He moves closer, inching forward, crowding my space as his
head inclines toward mine. He dips down, his nose brushing along mine and his
voice goes rough. “Want to know what I think?”
“What?” I
breathe.
“I think
you look beautiful at my feet, staring up at me with those dark eyes I could
drown in. Makes my dick hard thinking of the last time you were on your knees,
taking me deep down your pretty throat.” He skates his hand up my neck,
encircling it, cuffing it, bringing my jaw up until our mouths are a breath
apart. “And I think you’re absolutely dying for another taste.”
I lick my
lips. I can’t deny it, any of it.
“Let me see
what’s under that dress, beautiful.” He drags his fingertips along the
neckline, and I’m powerless to resist. I pull the dress off my shoulders, and
it flutters over my body to pool on the floor.
His eyes
drag over every inch of me, and they light up with liquid desire. He sucks in a
breath and steps back to take it all in.
My breasts
are bare, my nipples tight with arousal. I’m wearing a tiny G-string panty
under the garter belt and lace-topped stockings, all in a golden glimmer.
The gold
stiletto heels with their sexy straps finish it off.
“Fucking
hell, woman. You’re a walking wet dream. Every man’s fantasy.
I stand,
slightly at a disadvantage, as he’s still fully clothed. It tilts the power
balance in his favor. Although, seeing the need in his eyes, I may have the
power over him right now. He wants me badly. I up the ante and whisper in a
throaty seductive voice, “I bought it for you, baby.”
His eyes
flare at my words, and he reaches for me.
He threads
his fingers into my hair, fisting it, and tugs, tilting my head until I have no
choice but to meet his eyes. His fingers curl around the back of my neck,
commanding and possessive and my insides melt.






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Coming Soon


Releasing September 30

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Author Bio


Nicole James is a USA Today and Wall Street Journal
bestselling author who loves writing about hot alpha men who'll do anything for
the women they love! Her stories are filled with struggle, conflict and real
human emotion. She is the author of the Evil Dead MC series, the Brothers Ink
Tattoo series and more.



Nicole loves to hear from her readers! You can contact her via e-mail, her
website contact form or on her social media accounts.



Author Links

Because of Dylan by Erica Alexander

Title: Because of Dylan
Series: Riggins U, Book 3
Author: Erica Alexander
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: June 30, 2020













⭐️ All 3 paperbacks of Riggins U, signed.
⭐️ A bunch of swag.
⭐️ A dandelion seed necklace.

What you have to do? Read Because of Dylan and post a review by July 31st. Then fill a form with the permalink to the review. That's it. You have the entire month to read and review.

Here's the link to the form and more information: https://bit.ly/Huge2020

(Fine print: No purchase necessary, IG is not responsible for giveaway, winner selected randomly from list of entries by 8/7/2020)



Whoever said the truth will set you free was lying. The truth won’t set me free. The truth will destroy me.

Our relationship is forbidden. 
I should stay away.
He’s a teacher.
I’m a student.

He lives by a code of ethics and truth.

I hide behind lies and misdirection. I have good reason to.

My childhood was a living nightmare. 
It damaged me, hurt me, destroyed me.
No one knows what I’ve been through.
And I won’t let anyone know.

Especially not him.

Cold. Calculating. Judgmental. Professor Dylan Beckett.

But there’s something about the way he looks at me…
The way I feel when his eyes are on mine…
And I wonder what will happen if I open my heart. 
Is a happy ever after ending even possible for someone as broken as me? Or will the truth destroy everything I worked so hard for?

Some lessons can’t be learned in the classroom... 

*****

“Because of Dylan is a standalone, slow burn, forbidden, angsty romance featuring a heroine who is stronger than she realizes, and the cocky-on-the-outside, sweet-on-the-inside hero of her dreams. A satisfying HEA is guaranteed.”












Erica Alexander has been a storyteller her entire life. If she’s not writing stories, she’s daydreaming them. Which has gotten her in trouble once or twice. She has an inclination to use sarcasm and she can make anything that comes out of her mouth, sound dirty. It’s a gift.

When Erica is not writing, reading or daydreaming new stories, she enjoys baking, looking up pictures of hot guys on Pinterest (for research of course) and commiserating with friends over their mutual hatred of laundry.

Erica’s life goals are: to make sure her family is happy and healthy, bring to life all the stories in her head, visit Australia and jump off a plane. Preferably with a parachute.

Erica has degrees in Communications and Computer Science and she loves history, all things Native American, and anything that’s off the beaten path and weird.




HOSTED BY:

Blurred Lines by Victoria Ellis





Title: Blurred Lines

Author: Victoria Ellis

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release Date: July 10, 2020




Blurb



*A Second Chance Contemporary Romance with a HEA and NO
Cheating*




Ava Keyes found love in her favorite record store at just seventeen years old.

Or rather, it found her—in the form of River Jacobs.



While they may have stumbled upon their beginning in The Vinyl Kitty, they
never quite discovered an end. A certain Chicago rooftop had everything to do
with that.



The unforgettable nights of their youth were hard to let go of. So, Ava kept
them, turning what started as a diary into her very own success story. River
wouldn’t relinquish the memories, either. Only he strummed them out, into
melodies he hoped she could hear.



When River drifts back into Ava’s life, she’s faced with the music of her first
heartbreak—while still recovering from her last.



Ava Keyes lost her first love to California dreams at seventeen years old.

Or rather, she thought she had.



ADD TO GOODREADS








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Excerpt

I stop so
suddenly that Hailee runs into the back of me and pushes me straight into his
chest. I breathe him in before quickly stumbling my drunk ass backward. He
smells like he always has— woodsy, spicy, home. I am devastated and elated all
at once. Every single ounce of air inside my lungs suddenly evaporates and I’m
left breathless, like I’ve seen a ghost. How is he here?

River Jacobs.
My first love.
My first
heartbreak. My first everything.
 “Ava.” His voice is low and husky—the same as
I remember. The way he says my name brings every single emotion I’ve ever felt
for him surging back, making me lightheaded. I allow my eyes to pan up to his,
a green emerald forest I have no problem getting lost in.

“River.” His name
tastes good on my tongue, sweet and sultry. I gulp it down. “How are you here?”
I’m not subtle, and I suppose I have the wine and two vodka shots to thank for
that. I hope I don’t look as messy on the outside as I feel on the inside.

When he smiles
his crooked, perfect smile, I melt into myself. I know that smile so well and
God, I’ve missed it. I’ve tried to convince myself I don’t but, the truth is,
I’ve never been able to get him out of my head. He’s always been there, far,
but his lasting impact remained relentless. “Don’t look so surprised, Ave.” He
chuckles. It’s a deep, throaty laugh and I’m reminded of yet another thing I’ve
missed infinitely. “I’m back visiting my sister, trying to sort things out. Long
story.” He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs.

Hailee sits down
at the table with the three men, and I signal to River that we should go
outside. It’s loud as hell in this place. I don’t want to have an awkward I
haven’t seen you in five years conversation over Bon Jovi’s screeching. So, when
he nods, I reach for his hand and lead him out of the bar. The alcohol swimming
inside me gives me the confidence to take the lead, even after all this time. I
glance back at Hailee, giving her a look so she knows I’ll be close by if she
needs me, and she grins back at me.

Once we’re
outside, River says, “I’ve missed you, Ava.” The gaze he’s holding and the
honesty in his voice, mixes with my buzz, making everything in this moment blur
together. I look at him, really look at him, for the first time in over five
years. His emerald eyes glisten in the dark as headlights roll over his face,
cars whooshing past us. I want to tell him I’ve missed him, but something stops
me. My pride? My new jaded self? “I’m so surprised to see you.” I glance away
from his face because it’s too perfect, even after all this time, and I’m
suddenly shy in his presence. So much has changed. There’s been so much time
and distance and hurt packed into these years, but now he’s too close to me and
all I can think about is getting my hands on him and letting them speak the
words that I can’t right now. “But you did tell me you’d find me again someday,”
I say, remembering it as I smile up at him.

“Yeah, and you
stopped taking my calls. That hurt.” He looks away from me for a moment and
then turns back toward me. “I mean, I understand why. I really do. It was hard,
though. I get that it was my choice to leave but that didn’t mean I wanted to
lose you. I just—”

“Let me make it
up to you tonight,” I interrupt him. With us, it was never just about the sex,
but it had been a beautiful bonus. I’d be lying to myself if I said I hadn’t
thought about it multiple times over the years. Seeing him now makes me feel
like I’m seventeen again, and the rush is more intoxicating than alcohol could
ever be.

“Do you want to
get out of here?” he asks, as we stand on the sidewalk outside the bar. My eyes
widen at his question and he quickly says, “That wasn’t supposed to sound like
a lame attempt to take you home with me.” An uncomfortable laugh escapes his
lips. I boldly reach out to cup his face in my hands, bringing my mouth to his
to allow my actions to do what words can’t, losing myself in the moment as I
taste the nostalgia on his lips.

Tonight, I don’t
care about consequences.
I don’t think
about the mess this might make for us in the morning.
Tonight, I want
him in his entirety. “Who says I want you to take me home, River Jacobs?”






Author Bio



Victoria started
out writing primarily thrillers but slowly transitioned into both poetry and
contemporary romance. Now, she is a multi-genre author that publishes
Psychological Thrillers, Suspense, and Romance novels. She is also the author
of two poetry collections.

Victoria is the
founder of Cruel Ink Publishing, LLC.

She resides near
Chicago, Illinois with her husband, newborn daughter, and an abundance of
animals.



Author Links

Black Skies Riviera by Catherine Wiltcher





Title: Black Skies Riviera
Author: Catherine Wiltcher
Genre: Mafia Romance
Release Date: July 28, 2020





Blurb


They call
this place the Billionaires’ Playground.
I, Aiden
Knight, staked my claim the minute I arrived.
I crossed
every line.
I painted
their Rococo ceilings with blood. 
Now my
casino is the hottest church in town,
And vice is
the only confession required.
My house.
My rules.
Until the
past comes calling with an offer I can’t refuse:
One week to seduce and break her.
All this
for the name of the man who killed my father.

Issa Dubov
is the queen of cloudy diamonds:
She’s a
hard truth concealed beneath a pall of lies.
I’m an
Armani black suit of spades:
Determined
to bury both her and my demons.
I never
asked to see the shape of her heart.
I never
asked for her to fill the blank spaces of
mine.  

But the
mafia wants her secrets. 
I wasn’t
the first she betrayed.
And Issa?
Sweet, not-so-innocent Issa?
She’s gone
and left me with a debt no sinner can pay.








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Chapter

Have you ever noticed how the mesh bits in lace look like
the intersecting bars of a prison cell?
I did. Five minutes ago. As I was sat on the edge of a
strange bed in a strange room, in a strange wedding dress, with a strange
perfume smothering my senses like a designer rag.
My fingers won’t stop playing with the delicate trim on the
bodice. It’s as if I’m trying to find a weakness in the yarn so I can plan my
escape.
It’s beautiful.
Beautifully oppressive.
It’s a Dorian Gray mirror gone askew. The material is
stupidly fussy and over-detailed, and it makes me look about twenty years older
than I am. Still, at least it covers the bruises…
“Come, Ielena. The car is waiting for you.”
Marie enters the room clapping briskly, as if the force and
sound will unchain my heavy heart from the bed and propel me to my feet. Her
face is a painted mask of encouragement, but it reminds me of a colombina I
bought in Venice once. The initial dazzle concealed the flaws. The cracks in
the porcelain grew wider and more obvious as the truth clawed its way to the
surface.
That was the day I learned that nothing is what it seems.
Marie’s claps grow louder in my ears. “Up! Up, lazy girl!
What are you waiting for?”
A knight on a white horse?
A miracle?
Reluctantly, I stand for her inspection. I’m not sure when
or how Marie first entered my father’s life, but her presence is more
front-and-center than my mother's these days.
I loathe her.
She's brittle and calculating, and our relationship is a
Ping-Pong match of mutual hostility. Unfortunately, since Karina disappeared,
Marie’s winning most of the shots. She’s subtle about it, though. Her words are
well-fed piranhas. They’ll take tiny bites here and there, leaving me stung and
permanently unsettled.
She stops in front of me, a smoky swirl of coral-pink
chiffon, and I brace myself for more teeth.
“Oh dear.” She casts a critical eye over my wedding dress.
“Oh dear, oh dear… Still, it’s the best I could do at such short notice. You
have no idea the strings I had to pull to get you something suitable in time.”
If she expects me to thank her for it, I’d rather choke on
the lace.
Her assessment moves up to my face and she tuts out even
more disapproval. “Good grief. Your make-up is abysmal. Antoinette!” Her maid
appears in the doorway like a dutiful pet. “She needs less rouge on her cheeks.
And that red lipstick is wrong. She looks like a whore, not a virgin bride.”
There goes my one shot at individuality.
Is this really happening? Has it really only been
twenty-four hours since Papa announced I was to marry a man I’d never even met?
A one-minute, formally worded deposition slotted in between his business
meetings. He takes longer to peruse menus in restaurants.
Come to think of it, it’s the longest conversation we’ve
ever had.
“Dressing table,”
barks Marie, giving me a not so gentle shove in that direction.
Gritting my teeth,
I allow myself to be ‘de-whored,’ by Antoinette. On the plus side, marriage
means leaving Marie behind. Even she wouldn’t dare disrespect the wife of Luca
Zaccaria…
 I should have known she wouldn’t go out
without a fanfare, though.
“I don’t see why
we’re bothering with this charade,” she mutters, driving an extra pin into the
base of my chignon and scraping my scalp on purpose.
“What do you mean?”
I catch her eye in the mirror, instantly wary of the cruel green glint that I
find there. “This is what my father expects of me.”
I’m rewarded with a
cold smile for my curiosity. “I mean why go to so much trouble to look the part
when the ceremony room will be empty.”
“But Signor
Zaccaria’s family will be in attendance.”
I’ve read all about
mafia families and the eight billion aunts, uncles and associated offspring who
get wheeled out for occasions such as these. Kind of like a Bratva wedding when
a sibling’s disgrace hasn’t double-booked the venue.
Her eyes widen for
a beat, and then the chill in her smile drops a couple of hundred degrees.
“What makes you think you’re marrying into La Famiglia, child? What
makes you think you’re good enough for one of Zaccaria’s precious sons? Your
sister has polluted you, like she’s polluted your father’s reputation, and
today you will pay the price for her disgrace and his resurrection.”
My stomach lurches.
She’s right. My father never actually confirmed who my groom was.
I assumed.
I just assumed.
“Who am I supposed
to be marrying?” I whisper.
She shrugs, as if
the detail is insignificant. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
“I don’t believe
you! He wouldn’t do this! Where’s Papa?” I rise to my feet, but her bony
fingers clamp around my upper arm to stop me.
“Sit down, stupid
girl.” I wince as her grip tightens; her coral pink nails digging crescents
into my skin. “Your father has no desire to see you. He left for Paris an hour
ago.”
My mouth snaps shut
when I realize I’m gaping at her. “But he’s walking me down the aisle! I’m
playing the role of the good Bratva daughter for him... The least he can do is
guide me through the scene.”
“Be quiet!” Her
mask cracks, just like my colombina did, but this time spite comes pouring out.
“The only things accompanying you to that altar, child, are shame and solitude.
You are all alone in this world now, Ielena. Your sister has deserted you, and
your stupid mother is soaking your memory in gin.”
I have Maxim.
Please tell me I still have Maxim.
“Let go of me,
Marie!” 
All alone,” she mouths back.
Shrugging her off,
I sit back down at the dressing table. My hands are shaking as Antoinette pats
away the last of the red Chanel before smoothing on a dash of Vaseline, and
then painting my lips a pale mauve.
Even that seems
wrong. I need a shot of color confidence to bring my fair skin and frozen
expression back from the brink, not something that’ll fade me out even more.
I’m only a half-measure, remember?
An image from
yesterday slams into my mind, one with raging battlements of contempt in his
eyes.
Aiden Knight.
The man I couldn’t
stop thinking about all of last night. The beautiful cruel memory who tempted
my fingers between my thighs at the break of dawn.
What was it he said
about me again?
“Stupid rich, bored,
empty, unemployable, unsalvageable…”
I am not my mother.
I am not my mother.
Karina’s voice is
in my head suddenly, telling me to hold on to my rainbow, no matter what. We
made promises to each other the night she left. The kind you cross your hearts
with, schoolgirl style, and keep until you die die die.
“Are you finished?”
I catch Marie’s eye in the mirror and hold it. Screw her. Screw my father. They
could marry me off to a beggar on the street and I’d still find a way to paint
us gold.
She scoffs and
nods.
“Good,” I say,
firing back a Ping-Pong shot of my own.
I was right to feel
that sense of satisfaction earlier. I’m not some little girl she can push
around anymore. My new groom may not be Luca Zaccaria, but my father’s choice
for me would have been tactical. He’ll be a man of standing in the criminal
world.
“Good?” she mocks.
“You won’t be saying that in an hour’s time.”
“Aren’t you going
to wish me luck?”
Without waiting for
an answer, I rise to my feet and sashay from the room as elegantly as my badly
fitted shoes—thanks again, Marie—will allow.
Heart pounding, I
make my way down the elegant marble staircase, feeling like Scarlett O’Hara in Gone
With The Wind,
but with the whole world, not Rhett Butler, declaring that
they don’t give a damn about me anymore.
I reach the lobby
to find the tall, stoic figure of my father’s Brigadier waiting for me. There’s
another man standing there, too. He has his back turned, his black-suited
shoulders blocking out most of the light from a nearby window. I’m so relieved
to see Maxim I barely glance at him.
 “You’re here!” I take the last couple of steps
too fast and nearly lose my footing.
I knew he wouldn't abandon me as well.
He turns at my
voice—eyes hooded, expression bleak. “Issa.” He catches me as I stumble into
his arms. “Careful, zvezda moya.” He sets me right before sweeping his
gaze downward. “Why, you look beautiful.”
“You’re the
sweetest liar.” I step back to break his embrace, embarrassed by my lack of
poise. What’s worse, there’s a masculine scent in the air that’s aiding and
abetting that emotion, whipping up memories I’d rather forget. “Marie chose the
dress so you can draw your own conclusions from that.”
“Tsch, Issa,” he
chides. “She chose well.”
“Liar, twice over,”
I say with a shy smile.
“She’s right, it’s
hideous,” drawls a deep voice in perfect Russian. “But it’s nothing a bottle of
Saint-Émilion couldn’t fix.”
Colors.
All the damn colors.
The same man from
the bar and my late night fantasies is smirking down at me, his cerulean-blue oceans
churning with the same derision. My lungs stutter and lose function as I
finally place the scent in the air.
“You,” I gasp out.
“Me,” he says
flatly. 
“W-what are you
doing here?”
“My presence was
requested so it’s a good job I had another suit to wear.”
I can’t seem to
process his words. It’s not just the size of him that’s throwing me off kilter.
Those oceans are shark-infested, and I’m the bloody bait. 
My head swings to
Maxim for answers, but the scars on his face offer me nothing so I find it
swinging back to him. It’s magnetic. I couldn't stop it if I tried.
“Monsieur Knight,” I say, pulling myself together. “How
lovely it is to see you again.”
He barks out a rough laugh. “You could strip paint with the
acid in your voice, princess. Your insincerity is corrosive.”
“Who knew a gentleman could be so vulgar,” I counter
quietly.
“Who knew you had the brains to come to that conclusion all
by yourself.”
“Have you two met before?” Maxim looks confused, trapped
here in our blazing crossfire.
Aiden Knight cocks his handsome head and grins at me, but
his eyes are like chips of ice. “Let's just say we had a difference of opinion
over some home truths and a bottle of red yesterday.”
Instantly, my heart
is a drum and bass beat inside my chest. I hate how British men have the whole
archetypal bastard thing down to a fine art. His accent is a poisoned arrow
with a fin-shaped fletching of contempt. He’s dressed in black Armani again
today, though he’s swapped the black dress shirt for white.
Colors. Colors. He wears them like a warning.
 
His necktie is a brilliant crimson, the same red as the
lipstick I chose for myself until Marie instructed Antoinette to scrub it off.
He’s stolen it. How dare he! I find
myself hating him more for that than I do for his insults.
“Is it true Papa left for Paris an hour ago?”
I mean to direct it at Maxim, but I can’t seem to tear my
gaze away from my nemesis. He’s coolness personified, with the kind of hard
arrogance that hazardous men exude. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me
either, as if I’m a cornered fox and he’s the Master of the Hunt.
“Why? Are you worried he took his credit card with him?”
"That's enough, Knight!" growls Maxim.
I blush right to my roots as my father’s confidante proceeds
to curse in both French and Russian at my English invasion.
It’s a bi-language of reproach, but Knight just shrugs it off. Clearly, his
ninety-nine problems don't include Bratva Brigadiers who'd be more than happy
to use his head as target practice.
Is this man completely impenetrable or just plain
indifferent?
“Jesus, you talk a lot of shit, Maxim,” he says in a bored
voice, cutting him off mid-flow. “If you’re quite finished, her chariot
awaits.”
Her?
I watch him stalk through the open front door, down the
stone steps and into one of the waiting Escalades without so much as a backward
glance at me.
Who is this vile, rude, arrogant man?
I meet Maxim’s heavy stare with unspoken questions in my
eyes. “Marie told me I’m not betrothed to Luca Zaccaria anymore.”
“No, zvezda moya.”
“Then, who?”
“Issa—”
“Please, Maxim,” I beg. “If our friendship means anything, I
need you to be straight with me. Who the hell am I marrying today?"
My only ally in this world curses and swipes a hand across
his jaw. It’s as if he's disinfecting his next words for an unclean revelation.
I then watch in mounting, escalating, soul-crushing horror as his gaze shifts
to the vehicles outside. Or rather, to one in particular...
Please.
God.
No.

© Catherine Wiltcher
2020






Author Bio


Catherine Wiltcher is a bestselling author of ten dark
romance novels, a former TV producer, and a self-confessed alpha addict. Her
writing is best described as sinfully sexy, and her characters always fall hard
and deep for one another.



She lives in the UK with her husband and two young daughters. If she ever found
herself stranded on a desert island, she'd like a large pink gin to keep her
company. Cillian Murphy wouldn't be a bad shout either…



For book and blog updates, please visit www.catherinewiltcher.com


Author Links