J. Kenner's Blog, page 44
March 17, 2015
Chapter One of Say My Name by J. Kenner #StarkInternational #TeaserTuesday
It’s Teaser Tuesday and here is chapter one of Say My Name by J Kenner which will be available April 7th.
New York Times bestselling author J. Kenner kicks off a smoking hot, emotionally compelling new trilogy that returns to the world of her beloved Stark novels: Release Me, Claim Me, and Complete Me. Say My Name features Jackson Steele, a strong-willed man who goes after what he wants, and Sylvia Brooks, a disciplined woman who’s hard to get—and exactly who Jackson needs.
I never let anyone get too close—but he’s the only man who’s ever made me feel alive.
Meeting Jackson Steele was a shock to my senses. Confident and commanding, he could take charge of any room . . . or any woman. And Jackson wanted me. The mere sight of him took my breath away, and his touch made me break all my rules.
Our bond was immediate, our passion untamed. I wanted to surrender completely to his kiss, but I couldn’t risk his knowing the truth about my past. Yet Jackson carried secrets too, and in our desire we found our escape, pushing our boundaries as far as they could go.
Learning to trust is never easy. In my mind, I knew I should run. But in my heart, I never felt a fire this strong—and it could either save me or scorch me forever.
Say My Name is intended for mature audiences.
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Amazon ANZ: http://bit.ly/1b7ietr
Chapter One
The thwump-thwump of the helicopter’s rotors fills my head like a whisper, a secret message that I cannot escape. Not him, not now. Not him, not now.
But I know damn well that my plea is futile, my words flat. I can’t run. I can’t hide. I can only continue as I am—hurtling at over a hundred miles per hour on a collision course with a destiny I thought I had escaped five years ago. And with the man I’d left behind.
A man I tell myself I no longer want—but can’t deny that I desperately need.
I clutch my fingers tighter around the copy of Architectural Digest in my lap. I do not need to look down to see the man on the cover. He is as vivid in my mind today as he was back then. His hair a glossy black, with just the slightest hint of copper when the sun hits it just so. His eyes so blue and deep you could drown in them.
On the magazine, he sits casually on the corner of a desk, his dark grey trousers perfectly creased. His white shirt pressed. His cufflinks gleaming. Behind him, the Los Angeles skyline rises, framed in a wall of glass. He exudes determination and confidence, but in my mind’s eye, I see even more.
I see sensuality and sin. Power and seduction. I see a man with his shirt collar open, his tie hanging loose. A man completely at home in his own skin, who commands a room simply by entering it.
I see the man who wanted me.
I see the man who terrified me.
Jackson Steele.
I remember the way his skin felt as it brushed mine. I even remember his scent, wood and musk and a hint of something smokey.
Most of all, I remember the way his words seduced me. The way he made me feel. And now, here above the Pacific, I can’t deny the current of excitement that runs through me, simply from the prospect of seeing him again.
And that, of course, is what scares me.
As if to emphasize that thought, the helicopter banks sharply, sending my stomach lurching. I reach out to steady myself, pressing my hand against the window as I look out at the deep indigo of the Pacific below me and the jagged Los Angeles coastline receding in the distance.
“We’re on our approach, Ms. Brooks,” the pilot says a short while later, his voice crystal clear through my headphones. “Just a few more minutes.”
“Thanks, Clark.”
I don’t like air travel, and I especially don’t like helicopters. Perhaps I have an over-active imagination, but I can’t seem to shake the mental image of dozens of absolutely essential screws and wires getting wiggled loose by the persistent motion of these constantly vibrating machines.
I’ve come to accept that I can’t avoid the occasional trip by plane or helicopter. When you work as the executive assistant to one of the world’s wealthiest and most powerful men, air travel is just part of the package. But while I’ve resigned myself to that reality—and even managed to become somewhat Zen about the whole thing—I still get all twisted up during take-off and landing. There’s something horribly unnatural about the way the earth rises up to meet you, even while you are simultaneously careening toward the ground.
Not that I can actually see any ground. As far as I can tell, we’re still entirely over water, and I am just about to point out that little fact when a slice of the island appears in my window. My island. Just seeing it makes me smile, and I draw in one breath and then another until I actually feel reasonably calm and somewhat put together.
Of course, the island isn’t really mine. It belongs to my boss, Damien Stark. Or, more specifically, it belongs to Stark Vacation Properties, which is a d/b/a of Stark Real Estate Development, which is an arm of Stark Holdings, which is a wholly-owned subsidiary of Stark International, which is one of the most profitable companies in the world, which is owned by one of the most powerful men in the world.
In my mind, though, Santa Cortez island is mine. The island, the project, and all the potential that goes with it.
Santa Cortez is one of the smaller Channel Islands that run up the coast of California. Located a little behind Catalina, it was used for many years as a Naval facility, along with San Clemente Island, which is still operated by the military, and sports an army base, barracks, and various other signs of civilization. Unlike San Clemente, Santa Cortez was used for hand-to-hand combat and weapons training. At least, that’s what I was told. The Navy is not known for being forthright about its activities.
Several months ago, I’d noticed a small article in the Los Angeles Times discussing the military’s presence in California. The article mentioned both islands, but noted that the military was ceasing operations on Santa Cortez. There wasn’t any other information, but I’d taken the article to Stark.
“It might be up for sale, and if so, I figured we should act fast,” I’d said, handing him the article. I’d just finished briefing him on his schedule for the day, and we were moving briskly down the corridor toward a conference room where no less than twelve banking executives from three different countries waited with Charles Maynard, Stark’s attorney, for the commencement of a long-planned tax and investment strategy meeting.
“I know you’ve been looking for potential sites for a couples’ resort in the Bahamas,” I continued, “but I was thinking that a high-end getaway location for families with easier access to the States might have real potential as a business model.”
He’d taken the paper, reading as he walked, and then stopped outside the conference room’s glass doors. I’d come to know his face during the five years I’d worked for him, but right then I hadn’t even an inkling what he was thinking.
He handed the article back to me, held up one finger in a silent demand for me to wait, and then stepped inside the room, addressing the men as he entered. “Gentlemen, I apologize, but something has come up. Charles, if you could take over the meeting?”
And then he was back in the corridor with me, not bothering to wait for Maynard’s reply or the executives’ acquiescence, but absolutely confident that things would go smoothly, and just the way he wanted them to.
“Call Trevor Galway at the Pentagon,” he’d said as we moved down the hall back toward his office. “He’s in my personal contacts. Tell him I’m looking to acquire the island. Then get in touch with Nigel. He’s gone to the Century City site to help Trent with some problem that’s come up during construction. Ask if he can get away long enough to meet us for lunch at the Ivy.”
“Oh,” I said, trying to find my balance. “Us?”
Nigel made sense. Nigel Ward was the vice-president of Stark Real Estate Development, and was currently overseeing the construction of Stark Plaza, a trio of office buildings off of Santa Monica Boulevard in Century City. What I didn’t understand was why Mr. Stark would want me at the lunch, when his usual practice was to simply fill me in after the fact on any post-meeting details that I needed to track or follow-up.
“If you’re spearheading this project, it makes sense for you to be at the initial meeting.”
“Spearheading?” Honestly, my head was spinning.
“If you’re interested in real estate development, especially for commercial projects, you couldn’t ask for a better mentor than Nigel,” he said. “Of course, you’ll be pulling longer hours. I’ll still need you on my desk, but you can delegate as much as makes sense. I think Rachel would like to pick up some more hours, anyway,” he added, referring to his weekend assistant Rachel Peters.
“Use the business plan that Trent put together for the Bahamas resort as a model, and work up your own draft and timeline.” He glanced at his watch. “You won’t be able to finish before lunch, but you can take us through some talking points.” He met my eyes, and I saw the humor in his. “Or am I assuming too much? I thought that real estate was one of your particular interests, but if you’re not looking to shift into a managerial role—“
“No!” I practically blurted the word, my shoulders squared and my back straight. “No. I mean yes. I mean, yes, Mr. Stark, I want to work on this project.” What I really wanted was to not hyperventilate, but I wasn’t entirely sure that was going to be possible.
“Good,” he’d said. We’d reached my desk in the reception area outside his office. “Call Trevor. Make the lunch arrangements. And we’ll go from there.”
Go from there had led in a more or less straight line directly to this moment. I’m officially the Project Manager for The Resort at Cortez, a Stark Vacation Property. At least I am now.
Hopefully, I’ll still be tomorrow. Because that’s the question, isn’t it? Whether the news that I received two hours ago is going to shatter the Santa Cortez project, or whether I can salvage the project along with my nascent career in real estate.
Too bad I need Jackson Steele if I’m going to pull that off.
My stomach twists unpleasantly and I tell myself not to worry. Jackson will help me. He has to, because right now everything I want is riding on him.
Considering my frayed nerves, I’m especially grateful that our landing is soft. I slide the magazine into my leather tote, then unstrap myself and wait for Clark to open the door. As soon as he does, I breathe in the fresh scent of the ocean and lift my face to the breeze. Immediately, I feel better, as if neither my worries nor my motion sickness are any match for the pure beauty of this place.
And beautiful it is. Beautiful and unspoiled, with native grasses and trees, dunes, and shell-scattered beaches.
Whatever the military had been doing here, it didn’t harm the natural habitat. In fact, the only signs of civilization are right where we’ve landed. This area sports a tarmac sufficient for two helicopters, a boat dock, a small metal building used for equipment storage, and another small building with two chemical toilets. There’s also a bobcat, a generator, and various other bits of machinery that have been carted in so that the process of clearing the land can begin. Not to mention the two security cameras that had been mounted to satisfy both Stark International security and the insurance company.
There is a second copter beside the one that Clark set down, and beyond it is a makeshift path that leads away from this ramshackle work area to the still-wild interior of the island. And, presumably, to Damien, his wife Nikki, and Wyatt Royce, the photographer Damien hired to take seaside portraits of his wife and also pre-development photos of the island.
While Clark remains with the bird, I follow the path. Almost immediately, I regret not taking the time to change out of my skirt and heels before making this jaunt. The ground is rocky and uneven and my shoes are going to end up scuffed and battered. I’d planned to put on jeans and hiking boots, but I’d been in a hurry, and if I can get this project back on track, then I figure my favorite navy pair of heels are a small price to pay.
The ground slopes up gently, and as I crest a small hill I find myself looking down at a sandy inlet nestled against a cluster of rocks. Waves batter the stones, sending droplets of water up to sparkle in the air like diamonds. On the beach area, I see Damien slide his arm around his wife’s waist as she leans her head upon his shoulder while they both look out at the wide expanse of the sea.
Nikki and I have become good friends, so it’s not as though I’ve never seen the two of them together. But there is something so sweetly intimate about the moment that I feel as though I should turn back and give them time alone. But I have no time to squander, and so instead I clear my throat as I continue forward.
I know of course that they won’t hear me. The sound of the ocean crashing against the shore was sufficient to drown out the helicopter’s approach; it’s certainly enough to cover my small noises.
As if to prove my point, Damien presses his lips to Nikki’s temple. Something tight twists inside me. I think of the magazine in my tote — and the image of the man on the cover. He’d kissed me the same way, and as I remember the butterfly-soft caress of his lips against my skin, I feel my eyes sting. I tell myself it’s the wind and the salt water spray, but of course that’s not true.
It’s regret and loss. And, yes, it’s fear.
Fear that I’m about to open the door to something I desperately want, but know that I can’t handle.
Fear that I screwed up royally so many years ago.
And the cold, bitter certainty that, if I’m not very, very careful, the wall I’ve built around myself will come tumbling down, and my horrible secrets will spill out for all the world to see.
“Sylvia?”
I jump a little, startled, and realize that I have been standing there, staring blankly toward the sea, my mind gone far, far away. “Mr. Stark. Sorry. I —“
“Are you alright?” It’s Nikki who speaks, her expression concerned as she hurries toward me. “You look a little shaky.” She’s beside me now, and she takes my arm.
“No, I’m fine,” I lie. “Just a little motion sick from the helicopter. Where’s Wyatt?”
“He set up down the beach,” Stark says. “We thought it was best if he went ahead and got started on the shots for the brochure.”
I wince, because I am over an hour late. The plan had been for me to spend the morning in Los Angeles while Nikki, Damien, and Wyatt came early to the island. I’d arrive later, once they’d had time to complete the private portrait shoot, and I’d spend the rest of the morning working with Wyatt to capture a series of shots that we could use in the resort’s marketing material.
Damien would pilot his copter back to the city, and then Wyatt, Nikki, and I would return with Clark. Nikki and I recently discovered that we share a love of photography and Wyatt has offered to give us some pointers after the work is finished.
“You didn’t bring your camera,” Nikki says, her forehead creasing into a frown. “Something is wrong.”
“No,” I say, then, “okay, yes. Maybe.” I meet Stark’s eyes. “I need to talk to you.”
“I’ll go check on Wyatt,” Nikki says.
“No, stay. I mean if Mr. Stark—if Damien—doesn’t mind.” I’m still uncomfortable calling him by his first name during working hours. But as he has repeatedly pointed out, I’ve spent a good number of hours drinking cocktails by his pool with his wife. After so many Cosmopolitans, formality when we’re alone begins to feel strained.
“Of course I don’t mind,” he says. “What’s happened?”
I take a deep breath, and spill the news I’ve been hanging onto. “Martin Glau pulled out of the project this morning.”
I see the change in Damien’s face immediately. The quick flash of shock followed by anger, then immediately replaced with steely determination. Beside him, Nikki isn’t nearly so controlled.
“Glau? But he’s been nothing but enthusiastic. Why on earth does he want to quit?”
“Not want to,” I clarify. “Has. Done. He’s gone.”
For a moment, Damien just stares at me. “Gone?”
“Apparently he’s moved to Tibet.”
Damien’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. “Has he?”
“He’s sold his property, shut down his firm, and told his attorney to let his clients know that he’s decided to spend the rest of his life in prayerful meditation.”
“The son-of-a-bitch,” Damien says with the kind of contained fury I rarely see in his business dealings, though the press has made much of his temper over the years. “What the hell is he thinking?”
I understand his anger. For that matter, I share it. This is my project, and Glau has managed to screw us all. The Resort at Cortez might be a Stark property, but that doesn’t mean that it’s fully financed by Damien, or by Damien’s companies. No, we’ve worked our tails off over the last three months pulling together a Who’s Who of investors—and every single one of them named two reasons as to why they were committed to the project: Glau’s reputation as an architect, and Damien’s reputation as a businessman.
He runs his fingers through his hair. “All right then, so we handle this. If his attorney is notifying clients today, the press is going to get wind of this soon, and everything is going to unravel fast.”
I grimace. Just the thought makes my skin feel clammy, because this project is mine. I conceived it, I pitched it, and I’ve worked my ass off to get it off the ground. It’s more than a resort to me; it’s a stepping stone to my future.
I have to keep this project alive. And, dammit, I will keep it alive. Even if that means approaching the one man I swore I could never see again.
“We need a plan in place,” I say. “A definitive course of action to present to the investors.”
Despite the situation, I see a hint of amusement in Damien’s eyes. “And you have a suggestion already. Good. Let’s hear it.”
I nod and tighten my grip on my tote bag. “The investors were impressed by Glau’s reputation and his portfolio,” I say. “But that’s not something we can replicate in another architect.” As the moving force behind some of the most impressive and innovative buildings in modern history, Glau was a bona fide starchitect — an architect with both the skill and celebrity status to ensure a project’s success.
“So I suggest we present the one man who by all accounts is poised to meet or surpass Glau’s reputation.” I reach into my bag and pull out the magazine, then pass it to Damien.
“Jackson Steele.”
“He has the experience, the style, the reputation. He’s not just a rising star in the field—with Glau out of the picture, I think it’s fair to say that he’s the new crown prince. And that’s not all. Because even more so than Glau, Steele has the kind of celebrity element that this kind of project can use. The kind of publicity potential that will not only excite the investors, but will be a huge boon when we market the resort to the public.”
“Is that so?” Stark says, his voice oddly flat. I see him catch Nikki’s eyes, and can’t help but wonder at the quick look that passes between the two of them.
“Read the article,” I urge, determined to prove my point. “Not only is there a rumor that the story surrounding one of his projects is going to be adapted into a feature film, but they’ve also produced a documentary on him and on that museum he did last year in Amsterdam.”
“I know,” Damien says. “It’s premiering at the Chinese theater tonight.”
“Yes,” I say eagerly. “Are you going? You could talk to him there.”
Damien’s mouth twists with what I think is irony. “Oddly enough, I wasn’t invited. It’s only on my radar because Wyatt mentioned it. He’s been hired to take the red carpet photos and some candids of the guests.”
“But that’s my point,” I press. “It’s a red carpet event. This guy has celebrity sparkle all the way. We need him on our team. And the article also says that he’s looking to open a satellite office in Los Angeles, which suggests that he’s trying to move more into the West Coast market.”
“Jackson Steele isn’t the only name in the pot,” Damien says.
“No,” I agree. “But right now he’s the only one with a serious spotlight on him. More than that, I’ve already looked into the few others who might be appealing to the investors, and none have current availability. Steele does. I didn’t present Steele as a possible architect in the original development plan because he was committed for the next six months to a project in Dubai.” At the time, I’d been grateful that Jackson had been unavailable because I didn’t want to be in exactly this position. Now, however, things have changed.
“The Dubai project fell through,” I continue. “Political and financial issues, I guess. It’s all outlined in the article. I did some quick research, and I don’t believe Steele has another green lit project, but it won’t stay that way for long. Jackson Steele can save the Cortez resort. Please trust me when I tell you that I wouldn’t suggest him if I didn’t absolutely believe that.”
And wasn’t that the god’s honest truth?
“I believe it, too,” Damien says. “And I agree with your assessment of the situation. If we don’t get Jackson Steele on board right away, we’ll lose our investors. The only other way to keep the project alive is if I fully fund the project, either using corporate assets or my personal funds.” He draws in a breath. “Sylvia,” he says gently, “that’s not the way I do business.”
“I know. Of course I know that. That’s why I’m suggesting we approach Jackson. I mean Steele,” I correct, biting back a wince at my unintentional familiarity. “This is a high profile project—exactly the kind of thing that he’s focusing on these days. He’ll sign on. Everything about it is what he’s looking for.”
Once again, Damien and Nikki share a look, and worry snakes through me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “But is there something I don’t know?”
“Jackson Steele has no interest in working for Stark International,” Nikki says, after a brief hesitation.
“He—what?” It takes a moment for the words to sink in. “How do you know?”
“We met him when we were in the Bahamas,” Nikki explains. “He made it very clear that he doesn’t want to work for Damien or for any of Damien’s companies. He says that Damien casts a long shadow, and he’s not interested in being caught under it.”
“Trust me when I say that we won’t be landing Steele for this project,” Damien says. He glances at his watch, then at Nikki. “I need to get back,” he says, then returns his attention to me. “Call the investors personally. This isn’t the kind of thing I can sit on. I’m truly sorry, Syl,” Damien adds, and it’s the nickname that drives home how real this is. The project is dead. My project is dead.
I tell myself I should be relieved not to risk the memories. That I’ve been a fool to think that I have the strength to taunt my nightmares. That I should just let this project go rather than walk right back into everything I once ran from.
No.
No. I’ve worked too hard, and this project means too much. I can’t just let it go. Not like that. Not without a fight.
And, yes, perhaps there is a part of me that wants to see Jackson Steele again. To prove to myself that I can do this. That I can see him, talk to him, work so goddamn intimately with him—and somehow manage to not shatter under the weight of it all.
“Please,” I say to Damien, as I squeeze my hands into fists and tell myself that the staccato beat of my heart and the clamminess of my skin stem from fear of losing the project and not the thought of seeing Jackson again. “Let me talk to him. We need to at least try.”
“There will be other projects, Ms. Brooks.” His voice is gentle, but firm. “This isn’t your last opportunity.”
“I believe you,” I say. “But I’ve never known you to walk away from a floundering deal if there was any chance of saving it.”
“Based on what I know of Mr. Steele, there isn’t any way.”
“I think there is. Please, let me try. I’m just asking for the weekend,” I rush to add. “Just enough time for me to meet with Mr. Steele and pitch the project to him.”
For a moment, Damien says nothing. Then he nods. “I can’t keep this from the investors,” he finally says. “But it’s already Friday, and we can make that work for us. Call them. Let them know we need to update them about the project, and schedule a conference call for Monday morning.”
I nod, quick and businesslike. But inside, I am jumping with glee.
“That gives you the weekend,” Damien continues. “Monday morning we’ll either announce that we have Jackson Steele on board. Or that the project is in trouble.”
“We’ll have him on board,” I say, with a confidence borne more of hope than reality.
Damien’s head tilts ever so slightly to the left, as if considering my words. “What makes you think so?”
I lick my lips. “I—I met him. About five years ago in Atlanta. Right before I came to work for you, actually. I don’t know if he’ll agree, but I think he’ll at least hear me out.” At least, I thought he would before I learned that he’d already turned down a Stark project.
Now, the entire playing field has changed. Before, I’d thought I was bringing him a kickass project on a silver platter. Me, doing a favor for Jackson. Me, in control.
Now I know the opposite is true.
He can walk away. He can say no. He can lift his middle finger and tell me to stay the hell out of his life.
I think about the last conversation we had—a conversation that had ripped me apart.
“I need you to do something for me,” I’d said.
“Anything.”
“No questions, no arguments. It’s important.”
“Whatever you need, baby, I promise. You only have to ask.”
He had kept his word, then. He’d done as I asked, even though it had just about destroyed us both.
Now there is something else I need.
And I desperately hope that once again I only have to ask.
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Sharable snippets!Read Ch1 of SAY MY NAME by @JulieKenner NOW Tweet BufferMeet JACKSON STEELE - Read CH1 of SAY MY NAME by JulieKenner NOW Tweet Buffer
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Would you like to submit your book to be included in our Hump Day feature? Click here for more information!
Where do you want to go next?
The Stark Series ... bestselling, swoonworthy erotic romance. Have you been Damienized?
The Most Wanted series ... dark, edgy, sexy badboys. Need we say more?
Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom ... oh, come on. The series title says it all!
The Dark Pleasures Series ... dark, dangerous ... and immortal.
Protector Superhero series ... fun, flirty paranormal romance.
The Blood Lily Chronicles ... dark, sensual urban fantasy.
The Shadow Keepers ... edgy and sensual paranormal romance
Devil May Care ... who will the next ruler of Sin City be?
and more stories to come ...
Looking to meet JK?
Got a question for JK?
You'll find contact info and FAQs here!
Subscribe with your email address:
March 8, 2015
Before you meet Jackson Steele, there are 31 things to know… (1-7)
Before you meet Jackson Steele in Say My Name by J. Kenner on April 7th, 2014 – there are 31 things you need to know…
Oh the many traits of the Sexy Alpha Jackson Steele – are you ready?
Meet him in SAY MY NAME #StarkInternational April 7, 2015!!
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Hump Day books from Erica Ridley, Evangeline Anderson, Kitty Bucholtz, Suzanne Rock, Deb Marlowe, Delilah Devlin, Ava Stone, and Seressia Glass!
Please enjoy eight new Hump Day books, including Erotic, Historical, and Contemporary Romance!
The Captain’s Bluestocking Mistress (Dukes of War Book 2)
New Regency Romance for 99¢!
Find out more at Erica Ridley’s website!
A warrior sold as a slave against his will… bought by a woman forbidden to love him.
Visit Evangeline Anderson at her website!
A Very Merry Superhero Wedding (Adventures of Lewis and Clarke)
A new superhero urban fantasy novella in the Adventures of Lewis and Clarke series!
Connect with Kitty Bucholtz at her website!
At His Service is a new eserial that has been called the modern-day, erotic, Downton Abbey. Get the first installment for only $1.99!
Visit Suzanne Rock’s website!
A Waltz in the Park: A Half Moon House Novella
New Release! Regency Historical in the Half Moon House series!
More at Deb Marlowe’s website!
Something’s on the rise in Two-Mule, Texas and it ain’t just the temperature…
Find out more at Delilah Devlin’s website!
Live Like You Mean It (Desolate Sun Book 1)
New NA Contemporary Romance!
Be sure to visit Ava Stone’s website!
SPICE (SUGAR AND SPICE NOVEL #1)
Temptation comes in many flavors….Spice, now available in audio!
For more from Seressia Glass check out her website!
Would you like to submit your book to be included in our Hump Day feature? Click here for more information!
Where do you want to go next?
The Stark Series ... bestselling, swoonworthy erotic romance. Have you been Damienized?
The Most Wanted series ... dark, edgy, sexy badboys. Need we say more?
Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom ... oh, come on. The series title says it all!
The Dark Pleasures Series ... dark, dangerous ... and immortal.
Protector Superhero series ... fun, flirty paranormal romance.
The Blood Lily Chronicles ... dark, sensual urban fantasy.
The Shadow Keepers ... edgy and sensual paranormal romance
Devil May Care ... who will the next ruler of Sin City be?
and more stories to come ...
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March 1, 2015
Beware of the Ides of March $.99 SALE (14 Books)
The authors of Red Door Reads are celebrating the Ides of March with a $.99 SALE!!
Check out all the titles that are on sale for only $.99
Finally Finding Faith by Tammy Falkner - http://amzn.to/1ECJif9
Wish for You by Marquita Valentine - http://amzn.to/1aH9zxn
A Waltz in the Park by Deb Marlowe - http://amzn.to/1M0Mql8
Miss Wheaton’s Whiskers by Susan Gee Heino - http://amzn.to/18B6dv6
Find Me in Darkness by Julie Kenner - http://amzn.to/1EYa6Eq
Heroes Returned Trilogy by Ava Stone - http://amzn.to/17Ifoce
The Farmer’s Wife by Lori Handeland - http://amzn.to/1vO8P32
To Walk in the Sun by Jane Charles - http://amzn.to/1wE4Hh4
Lady Mistaken by Aubrey Beck - http://amzn.to/1E68EBp
Much Ado About Dutton by Claudia Dain - http://amzn.to/1zv9Qbo
Tiara Wars by Caren Crane - http://amzn.to/1GDc2Ds
Hell Fire by Dee Davis - http://amzn.to/1zvatlk
The Daring Debutantes Box Set by Jerrica Knight-Catania - http://amzn.to/17IgzbF
Knave vs Spy by Michelle Marcos - http://amzn.to/1wE7vuy
Where do you want to go next?
The Stark Series ... bestselling, swoonworthy erotic romance. Have you been Damienized?
The Most Wanted series ... dark, edgy, sexy badboys. Need we say more?
Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom ... oh, come on. The series title says it all!
The Dark Pleasures Series ... dark, dangerous ... and immortal.
Protector Superhero series ... fun, flirty paranormal romance.
The Blood Lily Chronicles ... dark, sensual urban fantasy.
The Shadow Keepers ... edgy and sensual paranormal romance
Devil May Care ... who will the next ruler of Sin City be?
and more stories to come ...
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February 25, 2015
Hump Day books from P. T. Michelle, Melanie Marchande, Brenda Hiatt, Alice Bramley, Julianne MacLean, C.J. Archer, Lynn Raye Harris, and J. Kenner!
Please enjoy eight new Hump Day books, including the third novel in J. Kenner’s Stark Ever After Series!
Mister Black: A Billionaire SEAL Story (In the Shadows, Book 1)
Get it now for only .99c
Be sure to visit P. T. Michelle’s website!
Enjoy 16 brand-new stories from your favorite NYT Bestseller and USA Today Bestseller romance and romantic comedy authors, plus a few fresh new faces.
More at Melanie Marchande’s website!
Feb 24 release! The electrifying conclusion to the Starstruck series, pre-order and week of release just $2.99.
Find more info at the Starstruck Series website!
Stephanie’s in for the wildest, weirdest, dreamiest Valentine’s date ever!
Be sure to visit Alice Bramley at her website!
The Color of Joy (The Color of Heaven Series Book 8)
New Release!
More at Julianne MacLean’s website!
New release! 9 books, all free!
See more at CJ Archer’s website!
Hot Shot (A Hostile Operations Team Novel – Book 5)
Only $.99 For A Limited Time!
Connect with Lynn Raye Harris at her website!
Play My Game: A Stark Ever After Novella
I never imagined that anything could top our honeymoon, but life as Mrs. Damien Stark is sweeter than any fantasy. Yet no matter where we go, the ghosts of our pasts follow. Even on Valentine’s Day, neither of us is safe.
The third novel in the Stark Ever After series!
For more visit J. Kenner at her website!
Would you like to submit your book to be included in our Hump Day feature? Click here for more information!
Where do you want to go next?
The Stark Series ... bestselling, swoonworthy erotic romance. Have you been Damienized?
The Most Wanted series ... dark, edgy, sexy badboys. Need we say more?
Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom ... oh, come on. The series title says it all!
The Dark Pleasures Series ... dark, dangerous ... and immortal.
Protector Superhero series ... fun, flirty paranormal romance.
The Blood Lily Chronicles ... dark, sensual urban fantasy.
The Shadow Keepers ... edgy and sensual paranormal romance
Devil May Care ... who will the next ruler of Sin City be?
and more stories to come ...
Looking to meet JK?
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February 18, 2015
Hump Day books from Julia Gabriel, Dee Davis, Kate St. James, Crystal Green, Lauren Hawkeye & Tawny Stokes, Barbara Meyers, Lacy Williams, and Lisa Mondello!
Please enjoy these eight scintilating Hump Day books, including all of The Last Chance Trilogy by Dee Davis, and an Inspirational Romance boxed set!
Sexy New Romance!
More at Julia Gabriel’s website!
All three Last Chance books for one low price! Plus bonus novella!!
Be sure to visit Dee Davis at her website!
Sugar Rush (TEASE Sizzling Romps Book 2)
New Release! Super-hot erotic novella!
Connect with Kate St. James at her website!
Hot new adult romance, available now!
Be sure to visit the Aidan Falls website!
The Other Brother Part 1: Forbidden: Stepbrother Billionaire Romance
99 cents preorder, price goes up when it goes live on Feb 24th!
Visit Lauren and Tawny at their websites!
New Romantic Comedy!
Visit with Barbara Meyers at her website!
First Kisses: inspirational romance boxed set (Inspy Kisses Box Set Book 1)
Discounted for one week only – from NYT and USA Today bestselling inspy romance authors!
Visit the First Kisses website!
The Knight and Maggie’s Baby, a contemporary romance (Fate with a Helping Hand Book 3)
A New York Times and USA Today Bestseller! Only 99¢ for a limited time.
For more info check out Lisa Mondello’s website!
Would you like to submit your book to be included in our Hump Day feature? Click here for more information!
Where do you want to go next?
The Stark Series ... bestselling, swoonworthy erotic romance. Have you been Damienized?
The Most Wanted series ... dark, edgy, sexy badboys. Need we say more?
Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom ... oh, come on. The series title says it all!
The Dark Pleasures Series ... dark, dangerous ... and immortal.
Protector Superhero series ... fun, flirty paranormal romance.
The Blood Lily Chronicles ... dark, sensual urban fantasy.
The Shadow Keepers ... edgy and sensual paranormal romance
Devil May Care ... who will the next ruler of Sin City be?
and more stories to come ...
Looking to meet JK?
Got a question for JK?
You'll find contact info and FAQs here!
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February 17, 2015
Damien Stark is back!! PLAY MY GAME #StarkEverAfter by J. Kenner Available NOW!!
Damien Stark is back and celebrating Valentines Day with is new wife… find out what games he has in store for her in PLAY MY GAME #StarkEverAfter Available NOW!!
I never imagined that anything could top our honeymoon, but life as Mrs. Damien Stark is sweeter than any fantasy. We are forever bound by our love and our desire. His touch is my greatest treasure—and is purely mine alone.
Yet no matter where we go, the ghosts of our pasts follow. We can’t escape our secrets, or the people who desperately want to bring us down. Even on Valentine’s Day, neither of us is safe.
I’ll do whatever it takes to protect Damien, to fulfill his every need. His kiss is my calling, his passion my truest bliss. The dangers we face, we now face together—and nothing can make me run.
Read the Newsletter - http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameNewsletter
Read Chapter 1 - http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameCh1
Amazon/Kindle http://amzn.to/1z1pXTC
AmazonUK http://amzn.to/1qE4qHZ
Amazon AU http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameAmazonAU
B&N/Nook http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameNook
Kobo http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameKoboUS
Kobo UK http://bit.ly/KoboPlayMyGame
iBooks http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameiBooks
iBooks UK http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameiBooksUK
iBooks AU http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameiBooksAU
Google Play http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameGooglePlay
Where do you want to go next?
The Stark Series ... bestselling, swoonworthy erotic romance. Have you been Damienized?
The Most Wanted series ... dark, edgy, sexy badboys. Need we say more?
Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom ... oh, come on. The series title says it all!
The Dark Pleasures Series ... dark, dangerous ... and immortal.
Protector Superhero series ... fun, flirty paranormal romance.
The Blood Lily Chronicles ... dark, sensual urban fantasy.
The Shadow Keepers ... edgy and sensual paranormal romance
Devil May Care ... who will the next ruler of Sin City be?
and more stories to come ...
Looking to meet JK?
Got a question for JK?
You'll find contact info and FAQs here!
Subscribe with your email address:
February 15, 2015
How does Mr. #DamienStark spend his first Valentines with the Mrs.? PLAY MY GAME by J. Kenner – Feb. 17th
PLAY MY GAME #StarkEverAfter – Only 2 days away!!
How does Mr. #DamienStark spend his first Valentines with the Mrs.?
By playing a game of course!
I never imagined that anything could top our honeymoon, but life as Mrs. Damien Stark is sweeter than any fantasy. We are forever bound by our love and our desire. His touch is my greatest treasure—and is purely mine alone.
Yet no matter where we go, the ghosts of our pasts follow. We can’t escape our secrets, or the people who desperately want to bring us down. Even on Valentine’s Day, neither of us is safe.
I’ll do whatever it takes to protect Damien, to fulfill his every need. His kiss is my calling, his passion my truest bliss. The dangers we face, we now face together—and nothing can make me run.
Read Chapter 1 - http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameCh1
Amazon/Kindle http://amzn.to/1z1pXTC
AmazonUK http://amzn.to/1qE4qHZ
Amazon AU http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameAmazonAU
B&N/Nook http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameNook
Kobo http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameKoboUS
Kobo UK http://bit.ly/KoboPlayMyGame
iBooks http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameiBooks
iBooks UK http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameiBooksUK
iBooks AU http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameiBooksAU
February 11, 2015
Play My Game #StarkEverAfter J. Kenner – EXCERPT
Play My Game Stark Ever After by J. Kenner
Who is ready for Valentine’s Day with Damien and Nikki?
Amazon/Kindle http://amzn.to/1z1pXTC
AmazonUK http://amzn.to/1qE4qHZ
Amazon AU http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameAmazonAU
B&N/Nook http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameNook
Kobo http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameKoboUS
Kobo UK http://bit.ly/KoboPlayMyGame
iBooks http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameiBooks
iBooks UK http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameiBooksUK
iBooks AU http://bit.ly/PlayMyGameiBooksAU
Play My Game - J. Kenner
Chapter 1
Sunlight pours into the kitchen from the east-facing windows, and through the open glass doors on the west side of the house, I can hear the rhythmic pounding of the Pacific as it batters the Malibu shore.
It is just past seven on a Sunday morning in February, and though I had awakened with both a smile and a plan, the smile is fading and my plan is floundering. I fear that it is time to face the terrible, horrible, inescapable truth—I can’t cook my way out of a paper bag. And my plan to treat my husband to breakfast in bed is crashing and burning.
Or maybe just burning, I amend, as I realize that my waffles are doing just that.
I use the built-in handle to flip the waffle iron over, then open the top with the tines of a fork.
The thing inside doesn’t resemble any food product I’ve ever seen. It’s black and bumpy and looks vaguely like the underside of a hiking shoe.
“Well, shit,” I say, then add on an even more colorful string of curses when I realize that the eggs are burning and that smoke from the bacon is going to set off the fire alarms any second now.
I lunge sideways toward the stove and hit the button for the vent, then narrow my eyes toward the ceiling, daring the alarm to start screeching. Because even if breakfast consists of black coffee and dry toast, I am going to manage it. And nothing—not a smoke alarm, not the scent of burning batter, not even my muttered curses—is going to roust my husband of almost three weeks out of bed before I am ready to surprise him.
A heartbeat later, I know just how wrong I am.
I have not yet turned around, but I don’t have to. I know that he is awake, and I know that he is standing behind me. I didn’t hear him approach. I didn’t catch his scent. There is nothing tangible to announce his presence to me. But that doesn’t matter.
I simply know.
Maybe it’s a shift in the density of the air.
Maybe it’s the way that the heat from his body makes the molecules around him spin faster.
Maybe it is the simple fact that he is Damien Stark, my husband, my love, and I could no more be unaware of his presence than I am of my own body.
For a moment, I simply stand there, my back still to him. I had wanted to surprise him, and so I will admit to a small tingle of disappointment. But that is quickly conquered by the desire to see him. To savor him. To let the image of him that fills my mind now fill my reality.
I turn slowly to find him leaning against the half-wall that separates the third floor kitchen from the rest of the open area. He is wearing a pair of thin gray sweatpants tied loosely at his hips and absolutely nothing else. His athlete’s body glows with a lingering tan, courtesy of the island that was the last stop of our honeymoon, and the light on his burnished skin highlights the sculpted planes of his chest and abdomen.
Damien’s prowess in business came after his fame as a professional tennis player, and looking at him, it is easy to see how he excelled at both. He is power and strength and beauty combined, and I stand like an idiot, absorbing the sight of him, then sigh with the same kind of full, sensual pleasure brought on by a sunset or a symphony or the stars filling a country sky. Damien Stark is a feast for the eyes, a concerto for the senses. And though I know him intimately—though he is mine, and I am his—I still go weak at the sight of him.
“This is an exceptionally nice sight to wake up to.” His eyes skim over my inappropriate cooking attire. Bare feet, one of his dress shirts, and a white apron with a rather unoriginal Kiss the Cook logo.
“Funny. I was just thinking the same thing.” That’s an exaggeration, because the truth is that I’m having a hard time thinking at all. Or, rather, my thoughts are all primal in nature. Need. Want. Take.
He closes the distance between us in three long strides, then slides his arm around my waist. His grin warms me like sunshine, but when he pulls me to him and closes his mouth over mine, I am warmed by a much more dangerous kind of heat. “Good morning, wife.”
My lips tingle from the intensity of his greeting, but I respond in kind, loving the way these words sound. “Good morning, husband.”
He trails his fingertip along my jawline. “You have batter on your face,” he says, before slipping his finger in his mouth. “Tasty.”
I roll my eyes as he leans in to kiss my ear.
“And flour in your hair.”
“I would have managed eventually,” I say. “You’re the one who got out of bed and spoiled my surprise.”
He glances behind me to the brick of a waffle. “Believe me, I’m surprised.”
“Careful, mister,” I say, but I’m laughing. We both know that my cooking skills are non-existent.
“It’s the thought that counts,” Damien says. “And I like this thought very, very much.”
He pulls me in for another long, slow kiss. The kind that makes me think that getting up early on a Sunday morning was really not one of my more stellar ideas.
“I know how to fix this,“ Damien says.
“Does it involve getting naked and going back to bed, and you assuring me that you didn’t marry me for my culinary skills?”
“Actually, no, though I think that should definitely be added to the day’s activities.”
“Oh, really?” I lean closer, relishing the way his arms tighten around me, pulling me against him so that I can feel him hot and hard and close. “And what else is on the agenda?”
He slides one hand down over his shirt until he finds my bare thigh, then slowly trails his fingers up, under the light cotton. “It’s our last day before we get back to the real world.” His voice is as soft as his caress, and I moan softly as his hand moves between my thighs, and his fingers stroke and tease me. “I want to spend it making love to my wife. Touching her. Caressing her. Burying myself deep inside her.”
My knees are weak, and it’s a good thing that Damien is holding me up. “I approve of your plan for the day. I approve so much, in fact, that I think we should get started on that right now.”
The tip of his tongue traces the curve of my ear, sending shivers racing through me. “But first, we’re going to go get breakfast.”
It takes a moment for my fuzzy brain to register his words. “Go?”
“I told you. I can fix this.” He kisses me lightly, then releases me. I sigh in disappointment at the loss of contact even as Damien nods at the rather unappetizing mess I’ve made in the kitchen. “Pastries and coffee and fresh-squeezed orange juice. After all, we’ll need energy to survive the rest of the day I have planned.”
“I like the sound of that,” I admit. We’ve been back home from our honeymoon for a few days, but neither one of us has gone back to work officially yet. I’ve done some coding at home, but not much. Just minor tweaking of a few of my smartphone apps. And Damien, of course, has fielded dozens of phone calls and read god only knows how many emails. But considering all he usually handles in the course of running the universe, his work activities over the last several weeks have been nonexistent by comparison.
He takes my hand to lead me out of the kitchen and toward the bedroom, then pauses in front of the stack of cat food that I’ve moved from the pantry to the counter.
“Please tell me that’s not your secret ingredient.”
I know he expects me to laugh, but I just can’t manage it. Instead I lift a shoulder. “I’m going to box it up to take to Jamie.”
Damien presses a soft kiss to the top of my head, obviously understanding my mood. “I know, baby. I miss the fluff ball, too.”
Technically, Lady Meow Meow belongs to both Jamie and me. More technically, she belongs to Jamie, who was the one who actually rescued her from the shelter when she was a one month old ball of white fur. I’d taken temporary custody when Jamie rented out her condo and set off for Texas to get her shit together.
That didn’t work out as planned, though. Texas turned out to be more of a pitstop than a relocation, and not long after she’d moved in with her parents, she was back in LA. She’d come for my wedding. She’d stayed because of Ryan Hunter, Damien’s security chief, who as far as I can tell is head over heels for her. And the feeling, thank goodness, is mutual.
Now, it’s the two of them and the cat living in the tiny Venice beach house that Ryan has rented for years. According to Jamie, it’s a temporary arrangement until her tenant moves out in a few months. Then she’ll move back to the condo.
She hasn’t said as much, but I expect that Ryan will go with her. We had drinks with them the day after we got back to California, I’ve seen the way he looks at her. More important, I’ve heard the way she talks about him. And I couldn’t be happier for both of them.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not sad about losing the cat.
I tilt my head back and smile up at Damien. “I’m fine. It’s all fine. I just saw all the food in the pantry and it made me sad. Besides, it gives me an excuse to have lunch with Jamie,” I add with a devious lilt in my voice. “I haven’t seen her alone since we got back, and I have to fill her in on just how spectacular our honeymoon was.”
Damien laughs. “Two best friends discussing a honeymoon. Why do I feel like I’m facing a performance review?”
My grin is pure wickedness. “Don’t worry, Mr. Stark. As always, you scored a perfect ten.”
He kisses me again, long and lingering, then pulls me close. I sigh happily and lean against him, trying as always to absorb the fact that this is my life now. He is my life now.
“I love you,” I say softly, then feel the tightening of his arms around me in response to my words.
“You’re my everything, Nikki. And I love you desperately.” He takes my hand and leads me back to our bedroom. He tugs the apron over my head, then slowly unbuttons the shirt I am wearing. He eases it off my shoulders, and it falls gently to the floor behind us. I’m naked beneath it, and the material caresses my back as it falls, making me shiver from both the sensuality of the moment and in anticipation of Damien’s touch.
He doesn’t disappoint. He tilts his head down as if to kiss me, but then only brushes his lips across mine in the lightest of touches. I want to protest, but the words die in my throat as he moves to trail kisses down my body. The curve of my neck. The sensitive skin along my collar bone.
He pauses at my breast long enough to tease my nipple with his tongue. It is as if he has opened a conduit, and threads of electricity go racing through me, making my nipples tighten with need and my clit throb with demand. I close my eyes and part my lips, concentrating on breathing. On not losing all control and begging him to just take me right there.
But then his kisses move lower, and his tongue dances down my abdomen, then over my pubic bone, and then—oh, dear god—his tongue flicks over my clit, and I have to reach back and grab the iron footboard of our bed in order to remain upright.
I spread my legs, wanting and expecting more, but he pulls away, letting his fingers trail sensually up my body as he stands. I am gasping. Hot and needy. But when I reach out and brush my fingers over the erection that is straining against those goddamn sexy sweatpants, Damien just takes a step back and shakes his head. “Later,” he says, making the word sound like both torture and a promise.
“Christ, Damien. How am I supposed to do anything today other than want you?”
“Sweetheart, there’s nothing else today that you need to be doing.”
I take a moment to gather myself while he heads into the bathroom. I find him in the closet, where he hands me a pair of capris and my favorite light sweater.
“I should grab a shower,” I protest as I watch Damien slide into a pair of jeans and a threadbare Wimbledon T-shirt.
“Casual Sunday morning,” he says. “And you look amazing as always. Besides,” he adds with a wicked gleam in his eye, “if you want a shower later, I’ll be happy to help you out. Make sure you get very thoroughly clean.”
“I bet you would.” And though I’m laughing, I already know that’s an offer I absolutely will not refuse.
We’re both hungry, and so we drive to the Upper Crust, a charming local bakery about a mile up the beach. It’s one of my favorite places in Malibu, and while Damien orders, I find a table on the wooden deck with a wide-open view of the ocean.
Damien’s house—our house—has an equally stunning view, but is set much further back from the beach. One thing that I love about the bakery is that it is built practically on top of the dunes, so that all you have to do is descend the stairs at the back of the deck to be on the sand.
I mention that to Damien when he returns with big mugs of coffee and two flaky chocolate croissants.
“Then we’ll build a bungalow right at the edge of the property. I’ll talk to Nathan about drawing up plans,” he adds, referring to Nathan Dean, the architect who designed the main house.
I gape at him. “I was just making conversation.”
He looks almost confused. “So you wouldn’t like that? I would.” He reaches out to wipe a stray bit of chocolate from the corner of my mouth, then licks his fingertip. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to strip you naked on that beach, and yet I had to wait until we were all the way up the hill. But if there was a conveniently located bungalow …”
I shake my head in mock exasperation. “Clearly I’m going to have to watch what I say around you, Mr. Stark. I mean, what if I’d said that I wanted a pied a terre on the moon?”
“I’m certain that can be arranged.” He twines his fingers with mine, then kisses my knuckles. “I think this is my favorite part of being married.”
“Croissants?”
“Spoiling my wife.”
I only smile. As ridiculous as Damien building a bungalow because of an offhand comment might be, I can’t deny that it makes me feel all warm and gooey inside. Then again, simply being with the man makes me feel that way.
“Do you want another?” I ask, nodding at his chocolate-stained plate.
“Offering to wait on me?”
“Anything you want,” I say. “Anything you need.”
He squeezes my hand. “I have everything I need.”
My smile is so wide that it almost hurts. Around us, I see other customers watching us and grinning, too, as if our passion is infectious. I recognize a few as neighbors, who undoubtedly know that we are newlyweds. Then again, considering how much the tabloids and social media report on our every move, I imagine that the whole world knows we’re newlyweds.
I swipe my finger through the chocolate that is left on Damien’s plate, then lift it to his lips. His brows rise ever so slightly, and then he draws my finger in, lightly sucking and sending such sparks of ecstasy through me, that it’s a wonder I don’t moan with pleasure.
When I pull my finger gently away, I can’t help my smile of victory. I’m quite certain that at least someone on this deck has a smartphone and a Twitter account, and that picture will be all over social media within the hour. Normally, that would bother me.
Right now, I not only don’t care, I want it.
I want the world to see us in love. To see the way we look at each other. The way we complete each other.
I’m happier than I’ve ever been, and if I can’t shout it from the rooftops, then I’ll just let the world shout it for me on social media.
“You’re smiling,” Damien says.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Good point.” He stands. “Ready?”
I nod, then start to head for the door into the bakery. He tugs me to a stop and nods for the stairs. “I’ll come back for the car when I go for a run later. Right now, let’s walk home.”
I love Southern California. Although it is technically winter, the temperature is already in the mid-sixties, with the forecast expecting highs in the seventies. I take off my shoes, and Damien does the same, and we walk in the surf, where the water is frigid no matter what the season.
We hold hands and talk about everything and nothing as we walk home. “Hard to believe we’re already into the second week of February,” I say, thinking that we’ve just come back from our honeymoon and now it’s almost Valentine’s Day. I feel a bit like a kid whose birthday is the week before Christmas. “I wasn’t even thinking about the timing when we picked our wedding day.”
“You mean the weather? It’s usually a bit colder this time of year, but it’s always comfortable.”
I glance sideways at him, wondering if he’s really that clueless. His expression, however, is entirely unreadable.
“I just mean—“ I cut myself off, frustrated.
His brow furrows. “What?”
Communication, I think. Marriage is all about communication.
“I was just thinking that our first Valentine’s Day is almost here.”
“Not even close,” he says.
“Um, less than a week. That’s right around the corner.”
I don’t realize that he’s stopped until I’ve gone a few more steps. I turn back. Damien actually looks a little worried, and I confess I’m surprised. This will be our first Valentine’s Day together, and knowing Damien and romance, I’d anticipated him doing it up big. I tell myself it’s stupid to get my feelings hurt, especially since there’s a week to go, and Damien could pull off amazing with only five minutes notice.
Still, I can’t help feeling disappointed. Which is completely and totally unfair, but there you go.
I draw in a breath and plaster on one of my best pageant smiles. “Actually, you’re right,” I say. “As far as you and I are concerned, a week is a practically a lifetime.”
“Nikki. Come here.” His voice is low and apologetic, and I keep my face bland because now I am certain that he forgot. He just … forgot.
People forget things, though, right? Even newlyweds.
Even Damien Stark.
I move into his arms, in part because he asked me to, but also because I want to be close enough to him that if I tilt my head down he won’t see the stupid, foolish, idiotic tears that are starting to well in my eyes.
He slides his hands over my arms, moving them until I’m cupping his ass—along with the small, square box tucked into his back pocket.
“Take it out.” His voice is firm, but I think I hear a faint hint of amusement.
I blink, then do as he asks. It’s a small, white cardboard box, the kind that department stores use to package jewelry. Confused, I look up at Damien, and I no longer wonder if he’s amused. It’s very clear that he is.
“Open it.”
I’m starting to feel very foolish, but I do as he asks and gently tug off the lid to reveal a necklace on which hangs a tiny glass bottle. Inside the bottle is a rolled up piece of paper.
I look up at Damien, confused. “It’s lovely.”
“Take out the scroll.”
“Really?” I don’t wait for his reply, but use my fingernails to pull out the tiny cork. The paper is harder to get out, but Damien fishes a little army knife out of his front pocket, then passes the tiny pair of tweezers to me. I realize as he does that he’d brought the knife in anticipation of this moment.
Even with the tweezers, it takes some skill to fish out the paper. I finally manage, though, and I unscroll it, then squint at the tiny writing.
For my wife for Valentine ’ s Day,
A proposition, if I may —
Three clues for you,
You know what to do —
And if you want your present to claim,
You ’ re going to have to play my game
Now here ’ s the clue that I speak of:
Tell me, darling Nikki, what is sweeter than Love?
“Damien.” My voice is soft, muted by the happy, astounded tears that have clogged my throat.
“I can’t claim to be a poet,” Damien says, though I think the poem is charming, and all the more wonderful because Damien wrote it.
He hooks his finger under my chin and tilts my head up so that there is no way I can hide my tear-filled eyes. “Three clues. Six days. I think you’ll make it.”
My heart has swollen so much it seems to fill my chest, cutting off my ability to breathe. “You didn’t forget.”
The softness I see in his eyes just about slays me. “Oh, baby. I could sooner forget my own name than our first Valentine’s Day.”
“I love you.” The words seem thin compared to the emotion that pours through me.
“And I you. But Nikki,” he adds, and now his voice takes on a harder edge, belied only by the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You doubted me. I think that deserves a punishment.”
I cock my head, wary, then squeal when he smacks my bottom. I laugh, and take off toward the house at a run.
But not too fast. After all, I’m hoping that Damien will catch me.
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Where do you want to go next?
The Stark Series ... bestselling, swoonworthy erotic romance. Have you been Damienized?
The Most Wanted series ... dark, edgy, sexy badboys. Need we say more?
Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom ... oh, come on. The series title says it all!
The Dark Pleasures Series ... dark, dangerous ... and immortal.
Protector Superhero series ... fun, flirty paranormal romance.
The Blood Lily Chronicles ... dark, sensual urban fantasy.
The Shadow Keepers ... edgy and sensual paranormal romance
Devil May Care ... who will the next ruler of Sin City be?
and more stories to come ...
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