C.J. Butcher's Blog, page 103

Title: Kingdom of DarknessSeries: Kingdom Journals #2Auth...

Title: Kingdom of DarknessSeries: Kingdom Journals #2Author: Tricia CopelandGenre: YA Paranormal RomanceRelease Date: June 21, 2017
“… the previous night’s vision, or whatever it was, ended with a name I heard clear as day, as if the people were in my room. Ivy, the girl and boy recited together.” – Camille Could her dreams be real? Is she the key to freeing witches from their curse? Of course not, right? Thinking that her only chance at a normal life lay in a new treatment, Camille joins Dr. Antos and a group of teens for a month long camping trip in Iceland. There she meets Jude, a fellow schizophrenic. Dr. Antos invites Camille and Jude to extend their work with him on the island of Sardinia. Camille is suspicious of Dr. Antos’s intentions but her dad goes missing, leaving her no choice but to travel to Italy. Is she walking into a lion’s den or has her illness invaded her reality? [image error]

“HEARTSTOPPING!”

“A much-needed twist to an old genre.”

“Fantastic twist on the paranormal!”

Tricia Copeland grew up in Georgia and now lives in Colorado with her family. Her books include the clean new adult Being Me Series, Is This Me?, If I Could Fly, Thinking You Know Me, and the final installment, Being Me, as well as a young adult novellas, Drops of Sunshine and the Lovelock Chronicles, Lovelock Ones: Native One, published in The Butterfly Box. If she’s not out running, you can find Tricia at www.triciacopeland.com or your favorite social media. a Rafflecopter giveaway
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The Last Guy, an all-new steamy standalone from Ilsa Madd...

The Last Guy, an all-new steamy standalone from Ilsa Madden-Mills and Tia Louise is coming June 12th!
THE LAST GUYBy Ilsa Madden-Mills and Tia LouisePublication Date: June 12thGenre: Contemporary Romance/Romantic ComedyCover Designer: Shanoff FormatsPhotographer: Wander Aguiar Photography Model: David WillsThe first rule of office romance is don’t do it—especially if your dream is to hold the anchor spot on the nightly news and your boss is trying to get you fired.But one look at Cade Hill, the sexy new sports director, and uptight reporter Rebecca Fieldstone is daydreaming about other things.Sex in his office…Sex in the on-set kitchen…Sex in the supply closet…She can’t stop thinking about the former NFL quarterback and how perfect he’d look between her sheets—except he’s an arrogant jerk with a huge… ego.He’s the last guy she’d ever have a one-night stand with.Cade Hill draws a thick professional line on office romance—until it comes to the hyper-focused Rebecca. He wants her, and he gets his wish when a chance encounter has them having the hottest sex of their lives.It’s just a hook-up, she says.When can we do it again? he says.With Rebecca determined to keep Cade in the friend zone, it’s going to be an uphill battle for Cade to convince her he’s the last guy she’ll ever want.THE LAST GUY is the first white-hot CONTEMPORARY ROMANTIC COMEDY from Wall Street Journal bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills and Tia Louise. It features Fireball-fueled hookups, Doritos Locos Tacos, attack monkeys, toddlers in tiaras, and one fabulous drag queen. Prepare for frantic clicking (or page flipping!) and smoking-hot sexytimes all the way to the out-of-this-world happily-ever-after. 
Enter the Giveaway: a Rafflecopter giveaway★ Get an email alert when THE LAST GUY goes LIVE on Amazon: http://smarturl.it/TLGSignup OR★ Get a Text Alert as soon as it’s live! Text “TiaLouise” to 64600 Now.**U.S. onlyADD it on Goodreads: https://goo.gl/2dhXVtSEE the inspiration board on Pinterest: https://goo.gl/ZfBjiqLISTEN to the playlist on Spotify: https://goo.gl/AXnGKeAbout the Authors: Wall Street Journal bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills and the “Queen of Hot Romance” Tia Louise are not a secret duo, but simply themselves. Great friends, former English teachers, and southern gals in real life, they’ve teamed up to bring you laugh-out-loud naughty romances with strong leading ladies and sexy alpha males who know how to please their women… and who sometimes you just want to slap.
Connect with Tia: Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorTiaLouise/Twitter: @AuthorTLouiseStay up to date with Tia Louise by signing up for her newsletter:http://smarturl.it/TLMnewshttps://authortialouise.com/dirtyplayers/
Connect with Ilsa: Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorilsamaddenmills/Twitter: https://twitter.com/ilsamaddenmillsGoodreads: http://bit.ly/2k6L96JAmazon: http://amzn.to/2jjRzlDWebsite: http://www.ilsamaddenmills.com/     

Forbidden Promises by Katee Robert

Have you Pre-ordered Forbidden Promises by Katee Robert yet?




New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Katee Robert delivers the next 
book in her sizzling O'Malleys family series, hailed as "The Godfather meets 
Romeo & Juliet." FORBIDDEN PROMISES features Sloan O'Malley and her 
mysterious new next-door neighbor, Jude MacNamara.

Meet Jude and Sloan!


Pre-order FORBIDDEN PROMISES and add it to your TBR pile on Goodreads! Then keep reading to get an EXCLUSIVE sneak peek at FORBIDDEN PROMISES and to enter the giveaway for a $50 Amazon gift card! Title: Forbidden PromisesAuthor: Katee RobertGenre: Contemporary RomanceRelease Date: May 30, 2017Publisher: Grand Central/ForeverSeries: The O’MalleysPage Count: 336 pagesFormat: Digitial and PrintASIN: B01KT7YSJMISBN-13: 9781455597031

Enter to win a $50 Amazon Gift Card from Katee Robert!a Rafflecopter giveaway

Synopsis:
Some lines should never be crossed . . . not even for love.
Sloan O'Malley just left her entire world behind-her family, her wealth, and even her real name. For the first time in her life, she's free. She can live the "normal" life she's always wanted. A life without fear. But there's nothing safe about her intensely sexy next-door neighbor.
Jude MacNamara has no room for innocence in his life. Only revenge. Still, he's never been able to walk away from the forbidden, and Sloan-who is every inch of pure, mouthwatering temptation-has forbidden written all over her. Only after it's way too late does he discover the real danger: claiming Sloan as his puts a target on her back. To protect her, Jude is willing risk everything . . . and to hell with the consequences.

Pre-order at:  Amazon → http://amzn.to/2oQ7Ikw B&N → http://bit.ly/2nWvcFc iBooks → http://apple.co/2mxsWi0 Kobo → http://bit.ly/2mxvcG9

Forbidden Promises ExcerptCopyright © 2017 Katee RobertUp until this point, Sloan O’Malley has been kind of lost in a sea of the strong personalities in her family. She’s the quiet one. The wallflower. The obedient one. But now she’s out of Boston and out of that life behind, and she’s stepping out to stand on her own for the first time in her life. She wants her freedom, but more than that, she wants to live. What better way to do that than to give into the desire that sparks an inferno between her and the gorgeous guy next door?All her hard-won calm disappeared when she saw Jude lounging in the corner booth. Lounging wasn’t the right word. He looked like a big cat who was as likely to tear out her throat as purr and rub against her.Rub against…She tried and failed to shut the thought down. From there, it was a slippery slope to thinking about what she’d done last night while picturing him.It was almost enough to make her flee into the kitchen again. Or it would have been if not for the knowledge that Marge had given her a chance, and the woman wouldn’t take kindly to her hiding in the back when there were customers to be served.Sloan took a careful breath and approached Jude. “What can I get you?”“I feel like I’m perpetually apologizing to you, but I left abruptly last night and I’m sorry.” He didn’t wait for her to respond. “Come out with me after your shift.”She blinked. Did he just…“I’m sorry, what?”“I’m going to take you out. Tonight.” His intense dark eyes never wavered, though she was wondering how she ever labeled them cold. Right now, they were so hot, they were liable to turn her into a pillar of flame.The only question was if she’d perish in the fire or emerge as something altogether different.That thought should have scared her, but she’d been afraid for so long. Maybe it was time to do more than think about taking the first step into the future. Maybe she needed to actually put herself into motion. Sloan licked her lips, aware of the way he tracked the move. Everything about Jude was intense. He’d toned it down for her last night, but he wasn’t even trying right now. She shifted her stance, still torn. “I’m not exactly in a good place to date right now.”He considered her, and she suddenly got the impression that he was choosing his words with care so as not to spook her. “What is it, exactly, that you think I’m asking?”“I, ah…” She clutched her little notebook to her chest, painfully aware that the handful of diners in the place were blatantly eavesdropping. “I don’t know.”He lowered his voice to the point where she had to inch closer to hear him clearly. “Let me show you.”And, suddenly, she wanted to do exactly that. Sloan found herself nodding even though every instinct she had said that Jude was trouble in the worst way. But, whatever he was, he was vitally different from her brothers and father back home. He might seem brutal and dangerous and intense to a criminal degree, but this wasn’t Boston. This was Callaway Rock. No matter how dangerous he seemed, odds were that he wasn’t a man who had skeletons in his closet—literal or otherwise.That made him safe in a way none of the men she’d ever known were.Jude’s gaze sharpened. “That’s a yes.”“That’s a yes.” Her voice was too breathy, too irregular to pass for anything other than nerves, but she didn’t care. If she fell flat on her face, at least she was living.
Praise for The O’Malleys Series"It can be hard to make a ruthless assassin into a sympathetic character, but Robert handles the task with ease. She also deftly shows Sloan’s transformation from a pampered and protected naïf to a strong woman with a backbone of pure steel. A tension-filled plot full of deceit, betrayal, and sizzling love scenes will make it impossible for readers to set the book down."—Publishers Weekly on FORBIDDEN PROMISES“You will finish it in one sitting and die after you’re done because the next book isn't out yet. This was one sexy ride!”—Reviewer Top Pick, Night Owl Reviews on FORBIDDEN PROMISES“Two story lines end up converging into one explosive finale at the end.  A great read from the talented Robert!” —RT Book Reviews“Katee Robert's has created a fictional underworld of such veracity, that one almost expects the characters to turn up on the front-page news. It never feels over the top or implausible; the author writes extremely well-crafted stories… The romance between Cillian and Olivia is very beautiful, tender and real.”—Fresh Fiction on AN INDECENT PROPOSAL “Will keep you turning pages.”—RT Book Reviews on THE WEDDING PACT “If you like angsty reads, this book is right up your wheelhouse.”—Heroes & Heartbreakers on THE WEDDING PACT "Dark, dirty, and dead sexy."—Tiffany Reisz, bestselling author of The Original Sinners series, on THE MARRIAGE CONTRACT
Other Books in The O’Malleys SeriesTHE MARRIAGE CONTRACTTHE WEDDING PACTAN INDECENT PROPOSALUNDERCOVER ATTRACTION (Coming soon!) About Katee RobertNew York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Katee Robert learned to tell her stories at her grandpa’s knee. Her 2015 title, The Marriage Contract, was a RITA finalist, and RT Book Reviews named it 'a compulsively readable book with just the right amount of suspense and tension."  When not writing sexy contemporary and romantic suspense, she spends her time playing imaginary games with her children, driving her husband batty with what-if questions, and planning for the inevitable zombie apocalypse. 

Connect with Katee at: Website | Facebook | Twitter| GoodReads | Instagram

Cheater’s Regret, an all-new sexy standalone from #1 New ...

Cheater’s Regret, an all-new sexy standalone from #1 New York Times Bestseller Rachel Van Dyken is available now on Amazon & Free in Kindle Unlimited!!
Cheater’s Regret by Rachel Van Dyken Release Date: May 23rdGenre: Contemporary Romance
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Rachel Van Dyken returns with a smoking-hot story about the satisfaction of plotting revenge on your ex—until he turns your world upside down again.Austin Rogers’s dreams of domestic bliss involved watching Netflix and eating hot dogs with the love of her life. But then he cheated on her. And dumped her—as if the whole thing was her fault. To maintain her pride and restore her sanity, she decides to get revenge. It feels immensely satisfying to plot her ex’s downfall—but so does kissing him.Thatch Holloway, a plastic surgeon straight out of residency, knows he ruined the best thing that ever happened to him. But not all cheaters are created equal. He got himself into this messed-up situation—true—but he has his reasons for what happened, and he’d do it all again to protect Austin.He’s not over her. And she’s not over him.Austin wants closure, but since Thatch refuses to give it to her, she takes matters into her own hands. She needs to write a human-interest piece for her MBA, so she demands the full plastic-surgery experience. Sparks fly as they’re forced to work together. But Thatch isn’t afraid to play dirty in return. And he’s still hiding something—something that has the power to destroy not only Austin but their second chance at finding forever…

*** Review***This book had me from the very first page and I kept reading through the night.  I loved Austin.  She was a pip.  How many of us have wanted to slash our exes tires?  I know I have!  Thatch...That man just left me shaking my head.  I mean, I don't know if I would have done what he did for the reasons he did them, but in the end, it worked out.  There were many moments in this book that had me laughing out loud...like hiding moon pies and Mountain Dews!  There were places that broke my heart, spots that made me feel sorry for both Austin and Thatch and had me cracking up at their antics.  The spider incident would have been my breaking point....I will not reveal who instigates it or who does it - but if it were me...someone wouldn't have any eyebrows after it was all said and done.  I will NEVER look at the song "Hero" in quite the same way ever again.  I heard it on the radio the day after reading this book and I had to pull off the road because I was laughing so hard.  Some books you just have to love and read again for the fun of it...this is one of them.  Some authors, you can just always count on to have that book that book to make you go...Gotta have all her books!!  Rachel is one of them.  My mother loves her, I love her and seriously, if mom approves - then really, all is right in the world.  Buy it, read it and then write a review because authors need to hear sometimes that their work is touching others!! 
Excerpt:
“You want to do this right now?” He was still whispering as he slowly extended his large perfect surgeon’s hands out to the spider, and suddenly, I realized how this would end. The spider would bite him. Thatch’s bite would get infected. And he wouldn’t be able to do his job. Or pay off his student loans. Leaving him in debt. On the street. Naked. Dead. Thatch was going to die. “Wait!” I slowly lowered my body to the floor. Fear pounded in my ears as I held out my hands and Charlie lumbered onto my palms. It tickled. It would be nice if I weren’t so terrified of spiders. Shaking, I walked over to the bucket and gently set him inside, this time, right side up so Thatch could transport him later. Just as I pulled my hands away, something sharp dug into my skin. “Mother fu—” Thatch grabbed me just before I collapsed against the floor, hands shaking and pain searing through my right thumb. Before I knew what was happening, Thatch was carrying me over to the couch. Soft pillows met my back as he grabbed my thumb and held it close to his face. “Am I going to die?” I whimpered. “Because the Discovery Channel [PS1] said tarantula bites feel like bee stings—they’re liars from the pit of hell!” Thatch narrowed his eyes at the puffy red mark and then slowly dropped my hand to my side. “You’ll live.” “Well, that’s encouraging. Don’t I at least get a sticker? A sucker? For saving your life?” “You?” He chuckled and joined me on the couch. “Saved my life by getting bit by a tarantula?” “Keep up!” Talking was at least distracting me from the throbbing pain. At least it had dulled a bit, though the fact that I had spider venom in my hand made me cringe. “If it bit you, you wouldn’t be able to do your job.” He seemed thoughtful. “You mean I’d finally get a vacation where I’m allowed to sleep for longer than three hours?” “Well, when you put it that way,” I grumbled, and tried to cross my arm, then hissed as pain exploded down my hand. He grabbed it again. “At least the venom is weak, it’s really just the puncture wound from the spider’s fangs that causes the swelling.” “Well, that’s disappointing on so many levels. I save your life and I don’t even get to turn into Spider-Man.” “Tough luck, maybe next time.” He winked. It was nice. Sitting with him on the couch. My legs on his lap. My eyes focused on his mouth. Abort! Abort! I quickly looked away but not fast enough—he caught me staring where I shouldn’t have been staring, and I felt like a complete loser for still lusting after him the way I was. What was it about Thatch? Other than everything? He was brilliant. Hardworking. Gorgeous. And he fought spiders on behalf of a girl he’d dumped. Damn it. “This leads nowhere,” he said in a hollow voice. “You understand that, right?” It was like he’d just handed me the world’s happiest balloon and then popped it with a giant needle. I was utterly defeated and deflated. Even though I knew going into this there was no hope of us getting back together, I’d officially turned into that sad, pathetic clinger. I’d always made fun of “those girls.” And now “that girl” stared back at me in my own stupid mirror. I let out a long sigh and nodded slowly. “This is strictly business, Thatch. You know how important this class is to me, how important getting my MBA is to me.” He looked away, his jaw clenched. “Parents still MIA for the most part?” I nodded. “And the reelection, I imagine your dad wants you to join his mayoral campaign again?” A sick feeling grew in the pit of my stomach. To my parents, I was a trophy. Something shiny and pretty they could trot out to gain votes from families who appreciated their having taken time out of their busy lives to sire a child. Granted, I knew my parents loved me. They just loved me in their own way—the only way they knew how. “I have to graduate,” I stressed again. “The job market’s fierce out there, and an MBA will help with that. The sooner I graduate, the sooner I can start my own life away from all of this.” I lifted my hands into the air. This just happened to be a mansion. A huge mansion. With three interconnected swimming pools. A tennis court. Two movie rooms. And a bowling alley. I think I’d prefer anything but this. If I could choose to live in a dump with my parents and we’d be a family or I could have a mansion and scarcely see them. I’d choose the dump every time. “I’ll do my best to help you.” He lifted my legs off his lap. “But first, we ride.” I blushed. I couldn’t help it. “You can’t do that anymore,” he whispered, his blue eyes piercing. “You can’t blush when I say things like that.” “Sorry.” He muttered a curse and walked away. I could have sworn he adjusted himself near the door, but I was too busy hiding behind the couch to fully commit to ogling him. “Where’s your bike?” he called over his shoulder before turning around. “In the garage. It’s kind of dark now, though, let’s ride tomorrow after work.” I totally said it without stuttering or blushing. “Fine.” He looked exhausted. “Don’t forget the spider.” I pointed at the bucket. “And don’t let it loose in nature. We can’t have that bastard procreating with another, smaller spider and creating zombie spider babies that take over the world.” He just stared at me like I’d lost my mind. And then shook his head as a smile played across his face. “You’re entertaining, I’ll give you that.” “I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you.” “It was meant to be one.” We froze, both of us smiling at each other. “Sleep,” I whispered. “You’ve got a busy day tomorrow.” “Yup.” He gripped the bucket in one hand; the muscles in his forearm flexed. “Take some ibuprofen and ice the spider bite. If you feel any muscle weakness or tightness in your chest, let me know and I’ll prescribe you something.” “Ah, the power of the pen.” He rolled his eyes and waved with his free hand. “See you tomorrow morning at eight, Austin.” He hesitated in the doorway. “Be sure to wear something work-appropriate.” “Oh, so you want me to wear a bike uniform?” He flipped me off and quietly shut the door against my laughter.



Now Available on Amazon & Free in Kindle Unlimited!Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2r621ASAmazon UK: https://goo.gl/31MHqfAdd to GoodReads: https://goo.gl/6IjjiJ
Meet the Author:Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor. She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers!
Connect with the Author:Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/RachelVanDykenWebsite: http://rachelvandykenauthor.comNewsletter: http://bit.ly/RVDNewsletterInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/rachvdTwitter: https://twitter.com/RachVDAmazon: http://amzn.to/2cNVwL9Goodreads: http://bit.ly/RVDGRRachel's Rockin' Readers: http://bit.ly/RachelsRockinReaders

Title: CodySeries: Southside Skulls Motorcycle ClubAuthor...

Title: CodySeries: Southside Skulls Motorcycle ClubAuthor: Jessie CookeGenre: MC RomanceRelease Date: June 16, 2017 Cody Miller has just been released from serving 8 years in prison for avenging the death of his brother. His only family are those at the Southside Skulls Outlaw Biker Club, where the girl he loves lives, but he hasn’t heard from her since his incarceration and no one is telling him what he wants to hear… that she still loves him. Macy Linden awaits anxiously for Cody’s return, and how he will react when he learns of her life now. No longer the boy she last saw, Cody is now six foot two and two hundred and thirty pounds of solid muscle, driven by the need to complete some unfinished business. Macy has something else she has been hiding. A big secret that will threaten to drive them apart. Can they still find the love they once had after all their secrets are revealed? This is the second book in the Southside Skulls MC Series. This is a Standalone Romance Novel but is intended to be read after book one - DAX - where characters in that novel are main players in this story too. HEA and No cliffhangers. Intended for Mature Readers.

RELEASING MAY 26, 2017
“Hey, kid, do me a favor and find Jesus, okay?” Dax watched as a slow smile spread across the young man’s face. The burly property officer looked like he was suppressing a smile of his own. He finished putting the possessions in the little cardboard box out onto the counter and slid an invoice over for the kid to sign. He was signing for all his worldly possessions, and they all fit in that box. Cody Miller was twenty-four years old and he was walking out of prison six years older than he’d walked in. The first two years of his incarceration were spent in the Worcester juvenile center and on the day of his eighteenth birthday he was transferred to the medium security Men’s Correctional Institute in Concord. Dax had felt terrible the whole time the kid was in prison, since he knew he hadn’t had any visitors. He wrote to him often and sent him, or had one of the girls send him, a care package every month. He also kept money on his books. Dax and the club were all the kid had. 

Cody’s mother took off for parts unknown not long after he was born. Cody’s father was…still classified as missing, and his older brother was dead. The girl that he’d been in love with since he was thirteen years old was now dating his then best friend. Dax hadn’t had the heart to tell him, but since neither of them had showed up to see him, he thought Cody probably figured it out himself. As he stood in the release center waiting for Cody to finish signing out, he was sure of two things: This wasn’t the same kid that went in, either physically or emotionally, and he was probably going to need as much help as he did at fourteen, or he’d be right back. Dax hoped that he was up to the challenge. So far he hadn’t had much luck with any of the young ones that were getting left behind because of their parents’ lifestyles. He’d been working on how to handle that problem, since it was getting out of hand. So far, he hadn’t come up with any solutions. 

“Jesus ain’t gonna be waiting around for a guy like me to find him,” Cody told the officer. The old man gave him a serious look and said:  

“Son, Jesus don’t wait around for no man. If you want to find him, you’re going to have to look way down deep.” Cody looked like he had a retort on his tongue, but he let it pass. Dax was happy to see that the boy at least had some self-control these days. When he’d gone in, he hadn’t had any, but that was because he hadn’t had anyone that cared enough about him to teach him what self-control was all about and how important it was for a man to have it. Dax thought he might like that property officer. He had never liked correctional officers, any more than he had cops. But after meeting Angel and her family, his opinion of cops was slowly beginning to evolve. Correctional officers like this one just might help change his opinions of them as well. The old man put his hand on Cody’s arm and Dax saw the kid flinch. It was understandable that he’d have a problem with touch, but he handled that well too. He stood stock still as the officer said, “You don’t have to find Jesus to stay on the right path, son, but you do have to find something you believe in.” Cody nodded. Dax had only recently found what he believed in. He hoped that it didn’t take Cody so long. 

“I’ll look for something, Lopez.”

The officer smiled again and used the hand he’d been resting on Cody’s arm to pat the kid on the back. “I have faith that you’ll find it.” He looked at Dax then and said, “Take care of him. He’s one of the rare ones that I see potential in.” 

Dax gave the officer a small smile and a nod. Then he looked at Cody, who looked at him for the first time. Dax could see the difference in the kid’s eyes. He was always a wild one, but before he went in, his eyes were full of life. Now they were cold and hard, and Dax wondered what Cody had seen in there. He knew from his own experience that whatever it was would probably haunt Cody for the rest of his days. And Dax also knew that the kid would probably never talk about any of it. He had a feeling that before things got better for Cody Miller, they were going to get worse, and that would mean trouble for the club. Despite knowing that, Dax couldn’t turn his back on him. The club had taken the kid in on the ranch at the age of fourteen. He was family and now they were the only family he had. 

“You ready?” Dax asked him. 

Cody picked up the pitiful little box of belongings and nodded. Dax gave Officer Lopez another nod, and he and Cody headed for the door in silence. They stepped out into the bright sunlight and Dax slipped his sunglasses down off his head and over his eyes. He pulled a leather case out of his wallet and held it out to Cody. 

“What’s this?”

“Sunglasses.”

Cody looked surprised, but he took the case. He stopped and sat the box down and slid the glasses out into his hand. He looked at them for a long time. Dax suddenly wondered if he’d done a bad thing. When Cody looked up at him his hazel eyes glistened with the tears Dax knew he’d never let fall in front of him. “They’re Keller’s.”

Dax nodded. “He kept them in the saddlebags of his bike. I got the bike back from the P.D. It’s at the ranch. It hasn’t been ridden, but Tool starts it every so often and keeps the fluids in check. I figured you’d want it.”

He looked touched and like he didn’t know what to say. Finally, he slid on the Ray-Bans and said, “Thanks, Dax, for everything.”

Dax only nodded and the two men walked in silence to where Dax had parked Angel’s car. Cody was lost in his own thoughts and Dax was thinking about how much the kid looked like his father…the piece of shit.  

Keller and Cody’s father, Brandt, had ridden with Doc, Dax’s father, for a lot of years. After Doc died and Dax took over the club, Brandt continued to ride with him. The boys had grown up in a trailer park not far from the ranch, but they’d spent a lot of time with the club. Cody wanted to be a Southside Skull since he was five years old. Keller wanted nothing to do with club life. He’d grown up around it like Dax had and it had the opposite effect on him. Keller was always the good kid. He had gotten good grades in school, followed all the rules, didn’t steal or cheat or lie or get into fights. He’d worked hard to become the exact opposite of the man his father was. 

When Keller was sixteen and Cody thirteen, Dax found out that their old man had been beating them for years. Somehow the boys had hidden it from everyone, or the old fucker knew how to hit them where it wouldn’t show. Dax happened to show up at the rundown trailer they lived in one morning, looking for their father, and instead he found an unconscious, bruised, bloody and broken Keller. Dax found out later that when their father came home drunk the night before, Keller had run Cody off and taken the beating he knew their father was looking to give to someone. The kid was half-dead; after he loaded him on his bike and took him to the hospital, Dax came back to look for Brandt. He found him still passed out in the back bedroom. His knuckles and the t-shirt he was wearing were covered in his son’s blood. After Dax doused him in ice from the freezer and woke him up, the old drunk tried to tell him, tearfully, no less, that he didn’t remember beating Keller. Dax had drunk plenty in his life and although he’d been drunk enough to lose his inhibitions, he’d never lost his memory. He thought the asshole was full of shit, and he made an executive decision as president of the club that Brandt wasn’t the type of man they wanted. Then, strangely enough, the man had disappeared off the face of the earth—and even years later, no one had heard from him. Dax was one of only a handful of people on earth that knew Brandt Miller was dead. 

Keller did his best, after the loss of their only parent, to take control of Cody. But the willful teen was too much for his brother to handle and when Cody turned fourteen, Dax took over. Things were going fairly well until Keller ended up dead. It turned out that he was an even better human being than Dax had thought he was. They found out that he’d been paying off some of their father’s old gambling debts…but not fast enough for the loan sharks’ taste. They beat him, probably accidentally, to death. That was when things went all bad for Cody, who found the body. He took off one night and by the time Dax and the guys found him, he was already in a set of cuffs and under arrest for murder. 

Cody had killed one of the men who’d killed Keller and put the other one who was with him in the hospital. The kid stood there in cuffs, covered in their blood still, and right in front of the cops said he was on his way to kill the loan shark when they caught him. He was charged with second-degree murder and assault with intent to kill. The club’s attorney, Nathan, defended him and presented a case of a kid that had shit for a life, with no one to care about him other than his older brother; that day Cody had just stumbled upon the people who killed his brother and he’d lost it. No, he shouldn’t have had a gun on him, but if he hadn’t, he’d probably be dead too, right? That was the way Nathan had told the story to the jury, and they had looked at the skinny teenager with the big, innocent, hazel eyes and they’d bought it. He was sentenced to fifteen years instead of life and he’d been paroled after eight for good behavior. Dax looked at him now and thought there was no way a jury would take pity on him these days. He’d added over fifty pounds of muscle and shaved his head while he was in prison. Tattoos colored his neck and visible arms, and Dax had a feeling that most of the rest of his body was covered as well. Even in a suit and tie, the sight of Cody would cause the average juror to walk down the other side of the street now. 

Dax led Cody over to Angel’s car. The prison was two hours from the ranch and Dax wasn’t sure Cody would be up to that ride on the back of his bike after all this time. When Dax slid the key into the door lock Cody said: 

“Want me to drive?”

Cody never had a driver’s license before he was locked up. Some of the guys had been teaching him how to ride before he got locked up, but Dax wasn’t sure he’d ever done that on his own either. “Not ready to die today,” Dax told him with a laugh. “Get your felon ass in the car.”

Cody grinned and opened the door. After tossing his box over the seat he got in. “The old lady’s car?” he asked Dax when Dax got in the other side. 

“Yeah. Her name is Angel.”

“Hard to imagine the woman that tied you down…especially if everything I heard about her was true.”

“You’ll like her,” was all Dax said. He wasn’t surprised Cody had heard about Angel. His father used to say that the prison grapevine was “faster than a bored housewife on speed.”

Once Dax got them out of the prison gates and onto the road, the two men drove in silence for miles. Cody broke the silence first, and Dax almost cringed as the kid asked: 

“So, have you seen Macy?”

Dax knew this moment was coming. He’d let himself believe that Cody had put two and two together…but even if he suspected, he was obviously still in denial. When the kid asked about her in his letters to Dax, he had “conveniently” forgotten to answer that question. Now, there was no getting out of it. 

“Yeah, she’s…around.” Macy was the daughter of Tank, one of the club members that had been around since Dax’s father’s days. He wasn’t that old—Dax figured maybe forty-five—but he had C.O.P.D. and thanks to all the trouble he had breathing, he didn’t ride much anymore. He still lived on the ranch and he was still an active member of the club. He did handyman and mechanic work around the ranch now, and up until about six months ago Macy had still lived with him. She worked in the bakery owned by one of the club girls in town and she was taking classes at the community college. As far as Dax knew, she was always a pretty good kid. He knew for a long time that she was hanging out with Jimmy Kearns, Cody’s lifelong best friend, but he'd assumed it was just to support each other…that is, until she moved in with him right after he became a prospect. Dax thought about kicking the kid out, but he hadn’t done anything other than fuck Cody’s girlfriend, and that went on in droves around the ranch. Instead, he just hoped that Cody would be over Macy by the time he came home. Obviously, that wasn’t the case.

Cody raised an eyebrow and said, “Well, I have to give her credit for standing by her promise that she was finished with me if I ever went back to jail. I only talked to her once in eight years. I called her the day they transferred me out of the youth authority…on my eighteenth birthday. I was surprised when she took the call. I guess she felt sorry for me or something. She didn’t say too much, just that she hoped I’d be okay. That was it. I’m glad she’s still around, not that she’d ever want to be with me now. I’m a convicted felon, and that will be with me always. She had big plans for her life. Did she go to college?”

“Maybe you can talk to her about all that when you see her,” Dax said. Cody raised another eyebrow. Dax could tell by the look in his eyes that the thought of seeing her both thrilled and terrified the kid. Dax hated the thought of how crushed he’d be when he found out about her and Jimmy. Especially when Cody surprised him by going on to say: 

“You know, she was my first…my only…everything. When I first got locked up all I did was think about her and wonder how she was doing and if she was thinking of me. I drove myself crazy wondering what she was doing and who she was with. I’ve loved that girl since I was thirteen years old. I guess even if she never wants to see me again, I’ll probably keep right on loving her.”

It was in those words that Dax heard how truly young Cody still was. Not just physically; Dax had known many men who went inside as adolescents, came out as legal adults, but somewhere along the way, their development had gotten arrested. Cody was still sixteen years old emotionally, and Dax was afraid of what he’d do when his heart was ripped out of his chest. “How’s her dad?” Cody asked, desperately reaching for something about Macy to talk about, Dax thought. 

“Tank’s good. He’s as ornery as ever. Pissed at the world that he can’t ride anymore. He stays busy fixing things on the ranch.”

Cody was quiet for a few minutes and then he said, “I met a guy from a club out in Cali while I was inside.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. They’re called Cen Cal Commies. You ever heard of them?”

It was Dax’s turn to raise an eyebrow. That club’s reputation stretched all the way back east. They were the kind of hard-core that old Hawk had been trying to make his club, the Sinners. The kind of hard-core that Dax had been trying to get the Skulls away from. They dealt in anything and everything that would turn a profit, and last Dax heard, they’d expanded their territory from the Central Valley all the way up north above Sacramento. “Yeah, I’ve heard of them. What’s the guy in for?”

“He was in for trafficking and weapons charges, and he assaulted a couple of police officers when they arrested him.”

“What was he doing in prison in Massachusetts?”

“He was picked up just outside of Boston. He was only seventeen at the time. He did eight years and got out a couple months before I did. He’s kept in touch. Cool guy.”

“He’s not the kind of guy I’d recommend you associate with if you’re planning on staying out of prison.”

Cody chuckled. “Thanks, Dad, I’ll remember that.” Dax shot him a sideways glance. This kid was definitely going to cause him some trouble. He’d been kind of enjoying the peace and quiet the past six months or so since the war with the Sinners ended and he’d been concentrating on legitimizing their businesses, and on Angel. He gave Cody another glance. The kid was staring out the window now and Dax couldn’t help but notice how young he looked. He was still young enough that this didn’t have to destroy his future. The problem was going to be convincing the kid he wanted one…outside of the club.
Jessie Cooke writes hot romance novels about tough guys, bad boys, bikers, fighters and lovers and the women of strong character who tame them.
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Coming June 5thPre-order exclusively via iBooks HERE Sore...

Coming June 5th

Pre-order exclusively via iBooks HERE























Soren Decker. He’s the epitome of the “bad boy, good man” persona. The best of both worlds. The worst of them too. He’s the type of guy most girls would not mind sharing a confined space with, except my new roommate isn’t all swagger and chiseled abs.

He’s bossy. Messy. Cocky. Infuriating. Doesn’t believe in personal space. Has no qualms about roaming the apartment with a loincloth-sized towel cinched around his waist. Seems under the delusion he’s my personal protector (refer back to infuriating). He plays college baseball and holds down a part-time job—I don’t know where he finds the time to get on my nerves.


We’re got nothing in common . . . except for one thing. Our attraction to one another. And in six hundred square feet of shared space, the tension only has so much room to grow before one of us gives in to temptation. But really, what chance do a couple of young kids chasing their dreams in the big city have of making it?

Since Soren claims I know squat about sports (he might have a semi-point), here’s a stat for him—one in a million. That’s our odds.











I felt like all of my dreams had, or were about to, come true.
​Waved farewell to Podunk hometown? Check.
​Arrived in posh metropolis with luggage in tow? Check.
​Signed to a top agency? Check.
​About to roll up to my swanky new pad? Check.
​The world wasn’t just at my fingertips—I felt like it was clutched in the palm of my hand. All the obstacles—everything I’d had to overcome to get here—and I’d done it. I’d paid the price. Now I was ready to reap the darn reward.
​“Oh, crap.” My heart soared into my throat when I glanced at the taximeter for the first time since leaving the airport. I’d been totally preoccupied with staring at the bright lights and sights of New York City. “Is that how much it will cost for the entire ride? Hopefully?” My eyes widened when the meter tacked on another fifty cents.
​The driver glanced at me through the rearview. He must have thought I was making a joke until he saw my face. “What? You serious, kid?” His meaty arm draped across the passenger seat. “That’s how much it costs to get to right here.” He speared his finger out the window, two bushy brows lifting. “There’s still another mile before we hit the address you gave me.”
​“Pull over. Please. Pull over.”
Digging inside my purse, I counted out what I owed the driver. Which left me with a whole two dollars and some cents to my name. Ever since I was a little girl declaring my plans to make it in the big city, everyone had been warning me that New York City was expensive. I guessed I hadn’t realized that translated to public transportation as well.
​Once the driver had pulled up to the curb, I handed him what I owed. He waited, blinking at me like I was missing something.
​“Oh, yeah.” I pulled out the last two dollars and handful of cents I had left for the tip. Even dropping the last penny to my name in his palm, it was a puny tip.
​Heaving a sigh, he crawled out his door to pull my suitcase from the trunk. The dark streets looked different now that I’d be walking them alone.
“Do you have a map or anything I might be able to have?” I asked as he rolled my suitcase around to me.
​The driver pointed his finger down the street we were on. “Keep going straight one mile. That will get you there.”
​I felt my palms clam up when I realized I was about to attempt to navigate on foot a city I’d never been to, with all of my personal belongings in tow, without a dollar to my name. The small-town girl I’d been wanted to cry and run to the first phone to call home. The big-city woman I was born to be had me clutching the handle of my luggage and lifting my chin. By the time, I took my first step toward my new life, the taxi was long gone.
​Even though it was almost eight at night, the streets were still bustling. Unlike Hastings, Nebraska, where a person could hear the whir of their neighbor’s washing machine by nine every night, New York looked like it was just getting warmed up. Cars whipping up and down the streets, horns blasting, people moving, bikes weaving in and out through it all; this was an entirely different life than the one I’d grown up knowing.
​I loved it.
​I felt like I passed more people on every block than had made up the whole population of Hastings, and the people here were dressed like they were off to a meeting with foreign dignitaries, instead of the 4-H meeting every Saturday morning at The Hastings Grange.
Fashion. God, I loved fashion. Designing it was my endgame, but first, I had to get my foot in the door however I could. Modeling would give me that opportunity.
​By the time I’d rolled myself and my luggage down what felt like a million city blocks, I figured I had another three or four to go. My feet were killing me, since I’d worn heels instead of the comfy flats my mom had suggested when dropping me off at the airport earlier. I’d argued that I didn’t want to arrive in NYC with faux leather loafers, but man, those discount store flats sounded pretty amazing right now.
​Sheer willpower got me through the last few blocks, and I arrived at what I guessed was my destination, afraid to look at my feet for fear of finding them swimming in pools of blood or swollen beyond recognition. Or on fire, based on the feeling coming from them.
​When I stopped in front of the address I’d written down, I had to triple-check that the numbers on my paper matched the ones on the outside of the building. They did, but this sure didn’t look like Big City Living at its Finest, as the classified had listed. It more looked like Big City Living at its Most Primitive.
​Then again, maybe it was one of those apartment buildings that looked like a dump on the outside but was a palace on the inside. You know, to keep the bourgeois away. That had to be it. There was probably a chandelier hanging in the elevator and the hallways were lined with gleaming white marble, but no one would guess that from the outside.
​Doing one final check to make sure I was at the right address, I lugged my suitcase up the stairs. Someone was leaving as I made it to the front door, but either they didn’t see me or didn’t care to hold the door open for the woman in three-inch heels wrestling a monster-sized bag into submission. The door practically slammed in my face, heavy enough it almost sent me sprawling backward. I managed to snag the handle to keep it open long enough to shove inside.
​Okay, so there were a lot of differences between Hastings and New York City.
​I still loved it. A lot.
​It would just take an adjustment period to get used to. Before I knew it, I’d be keeping up with the best of the city girls.
​Once I’d made it past the front door, I paused to catch my breath and take in the interior of the apartment building. So the halls weren’t exactly lined in marble. Or gleaming, whatever surface it was they were covered with. There was an elevator though, but as I took my first steps toward it, I noticed the sign taped to the doors. Out of Order.
​Why not?
​Shuffling toward the bottom of the staircase, I stared up them, thankful there were only six floors to the top. Kicking off my heels, I collected them in one hand and started heaving my suitcase up all six flights, one stair at a time.
The upside to arriving on the sixth floor in a panting, sweating mess? I’d just gotten my cardio in. For the whole week.
​My chest felt like it was about to explode as I rolled down the hall, checking the number on each door as I passed. There wasn’t any marble up here either. Or chandeliers. Or anything that held a semblance of shine, actually.
​There was a smell though—a mix of mildew and garbage and. . . some other scent I didn’t want to assign a name to. A couple of bulbs were burnt out on the ceiling, casting an eerie tone to the environment.
There were noises, too. Music, hammering, talking, screaming . . . other heavy breathing sounds. It was like the walls were made of plastic wrap and painted white’ish to give the illusion of privacy. I could hear every word of the heated conversation coming from the door behind me.
​Number sixty-nine. That was a number nine, right? I checked the piece of paper in my hand just to be sure. Yep. My eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. The door’s paint was chipping, the numbers cockeyed, and from the damage done to it where the locks were, it looked like there’d been multiple attempts to break into it. There was nothing welcoming about this door.
​This couldn’t be the right place. No way. I had to have written something down wrong, or misread the address outside, or something—anything—that would assure me this wasn’t the place where I was about to spend the next six months of my life.
​As I debated knocking on the door or fleeing from it, a door screeched open down the hall.
​“You finally made it.” A young guy emerged through the door, his focus on me. “Have you been waiting there long? When you were late, I decided to swing by Mrs. Lopez’s and give her a hand with a few things.” He was still talking to me as he slid his feet into a worn pair of Converse. His fly was down too, but that didn’t seem to be on his concern radar.
​It looked like he’d decided to give Mrs. Lopez more than just a hand.
​“Oh, god. You don’t speak English, do you?” He exhaled, making his way down the hall. “You’re one of those Eastern European chicks, right?”
​I stepped back as he moved closer.
In another situation, I wouldn’t have been trying to back away from the stranger approaching with a look that could make the most frigid of girls melt. He was easy to look at—a little too easy—walking that ever-so-fine line of cute meets hot. He was cute-hot. Hot-cute. Whatever. He was candy to the eyes, and had we run into each other at the Jolt Café back in Hastings, I wouldn’t have been creeping away from him as I was now.
“Do I know you?” I asked.
He finally realized his proximity was making me uncomfortable, and he stopped right outside of Number Sixty-Nine. “You do speak English. Good. Because I’m not sure I have the brain space to figure out how to say ‘The water bill’s due yesterday’ in Latvian.”
I guessed the look on my face echoed my prior question.
“Soren Decker.” He held out his hand then slid it into his jeans’ pocket when it caught nothing but airtime. “And you are . . . ?”
“Not at the right address. Clearly.”
He leaned into the dilapidated door. “What address are you looking for?”
I had to lift the piece of paper in my hand to remember. Once I read it off, he shrugged.
“You have arrived at your destination.”
That’s what I was afraid of. “I must have the wrong apartment number then.”
The way he was looking at me told me exactly what he was thinking—that I was mental. “What apartment are you looking for?”
Another review of the paper. Just to be sure. “Sixty-nine.”
When his brows bounced, I felt my cheeks heat. I balanced my temporary embarrassment by narrowing my eyes.
“Sixty-nine.” He rapped his knuckle below the crooked numbers on the door. “Home sweet home.”
That was when the obvious started to settle in. “You’re looking for a roommate? You posted the ad I responded to?” I swallowed. “You?”
He glanced down at himself like he was checking for a stain on his shirt. In the process, he noticed his fly was still open. “I really didn’t think this would be so confusing,” he said, pulling his zipper back into place. “Yes, this is the right address. Yes, this is lucky apartment number sixty-nine. And yes, I am the one looking for a roomie, who you replied to last week.”
My heart had lodged into the back of my throat from the feel of it. This was the person I’d be living with? This was who I’d be sharing the same space with for the next half year?
He looked part California surfer, part vintage Hollywood film star. Pretty much the type of guy anyone attracted to males and in possession of a functioning set of eyes would drip some degree of drool over. Light hair, blue eyes that projected trouble, matching his smirky smile, good—great—body; he was pretty much the result of creation’s best efforts.
Most girls probably would have been chanting jackpot in their heads, but I gaped at the perfection that was him, freaking out.
“You said you were looking for a girl,” I said.
“I am.” He motioned at me.
I motioned right back at him. “You’re a guy.”
“Wow. Okay. So much confusion.” He shifted from one foot to the other, tipping back the red ball cap on his head.
“Why would you prefer a girl roommate when you’re a guy?”
Again, the look that implied I wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. If he kept it up, I was going to start throwing daggers at him. Provided I had any. Or even one. Which I didn’t, because airline regulations and all.
“For obvious reasons,” he said.
“For obvious reasons like what? A built-in bedmate?”
His expression flattened as he realized what I was getting at. “You think I’m looking for some kind of ‘roommates with benefits’ type of thing?” He rubbed his chin like he was considering it right that moment. “I hadn’t thought about that, but now that you mention it . . .” Whatever he saw when he glanced at me sparked an amused gleam in his eyes. “I’m not looking for that. I swear.”
“Then why insist on a female roommate?”
“Because the female species tends to be neater than the male, ape variety. Plus, you smell better, too.” His hand dropped to the doorknob. Before he opened the door, he tipped his chin at me. “And you’re nicer to look at.” When I didn’t move after he motioned inside the apartment, he leaned into the hall and crossed his arms. “Come on, give it to me. I can tell you’re dying to say whatever it is you’ve been biting your tongue over since I had the nerve to address you.”
The way he said it, I realized I was maybe leaning toward the bitchy end of the spectrum. “It’s just that I thought you were a girl. I didn’t realize the person I’d agreed to room with was a guy.”
“That’s not my fault.” As soon as my mouth opened to argue, he added, “You could have asked. But you didn’t. You assumed.”
My teeth chewed on the inside of my cheek, hating that he was right.
“If you’re uncomfortable moving in because I’m a guy, okay, no problem. I’m not going to force you to move in. Even though I took down the ‘roommate wanted’ ad when you placed dibs. Losing out on a whole week of finding someone.”
My fingers pinched the bridge of my nose as I struggled to form one rational thought. If this guy would shut it for one minute, I could think.
“You know, and what’s this whole thing about gender equality and erasing those lines that used to separate the sexes? You’re pretty much saying you’re okay with moving in with a total stranger, sight unseen, just so long as that stranger doesn’t come equipped with a scrotum.”
“What?” My hand dropped back at my side. “Gross. Just stop talking. Please. Give me a second to try to figure out what is happening right now . . .”
Squeezing his lips together, he tipped his head back against the wall, making a “carry on” motion in my direction.
Okay. Think.
Swanky new pad was more a nasty, biohazardous dump.
Hip New York roommate was more a crass, vile entity of dubious intentions. Who came equipped with a scrotum, as he’d so articulately put it.
I had an appointment in the morning with the agency, potential go-sees right after, and a whole zero dollars and zero cents to my name. A hotel was out. A really shady motel was out. I supposed I could sleep on a park bench, but instead of just one man, I’d have to be worried about the rest of the city sneaking up on me as I slept.
I didn’t have many options.
Actually, I wasn’t sure I had any at all.
Taking another good look at him, he didn’t seem so bad. He wasn’t tattooed from head to toe, didn’t have that predatory look parents taught their daughters to identify from twenty paces back, and he didn’t reek of alcohol or other substances of questionable repute.
He was no Boy Scout, that was for darn sure, but he didn’t have the look of an axe murderer either. Besides, I was a tough chick. If he tried anything, he wouldn’t walk away with that cute-hot face unscathed.
“I’m Hayden.” I rolled my shoulders back and crossed the distance. “Hayden Hayes.”
“Soren Decker. In case you missed it the first time.” He held out his hand as I approached. “By the way, I’m a dude. You know, to clear up any confusion you might have on the subject.”
“One of those creatures that comes with a scrotum?” My eyebrows lifted as I shook his hand.
He cracked a smile as he shoved off of the wall. He didn’t have a terrible smile. Not even a little bit.
“Wow. Dang.” He twisted his cap around so it was backward as he stood as tall as he could. “You are tall. Like, please don’t wear heels around me tall.”
I held up the pair of heels I was still clutching. “Just missed them.”
“Good. I can’t have a girl roommate who’s taller than me. It might emasculate me.”
“More than you already are?”
“A fellow smartass.” He made a face of approval as I moved inside the apartment. “We’re going to get along just fine.”
“So long as I don’t wear heels when you’re nearby?”
“See? You get me. Two and a half minutes into our relationship and you understand me. Why can’t the rest of the girls on the planet seem to get it?” He didn’t give me a chance to fire back my idea on that topic. “Seriously, though, how tall are you?”
“Five ten.” Once I rolled my suitcase inside, he closed the door behind us.
“Liar, liar. Designer jeans on fire.” He waved his finger at me as he moved into the apartment.
These were designer jeans. The one pair I owned and would be living in until I could afford a second pair. It had taken me three months of mucking out stalls to make enough to afford them.
“Fine. Five eleven.” When his brows disappeared into his ball cap, I sighed. “And a half.”
“My six one is suddenly not feeling so big and bad.”
The inside of the apartment was an improvement on the outside. Somewhat. Paint wasn’t chipping off the walls, and the funky odor wasn’t quite as strong in here. Although there was a different one—that sweat-and-dirty laundry man smell with the faintest hint of aftershave or cologne mixed in.
“So. Here it us. My humble abode.”
Emphasis on humble.
​There wasn’t much to see. A shoe-box-sized kitchen was right inside the door—at least there was a stove and a fridge—with a same sized bathroom across from it, and what must have been the main living space, which we were standing in now, was made up of a line of windows, a couch I would not sit on unless a sheet of plastic separated me from it, a couple of room dividers, and a rectangular metal table with four mismatched chairs.
​It was semi-clean and super small.
​“Where’s the rest?” I asked when he stopped beside me, nodding at the space like it was the definition of opulent.
​“What do you mean? This is it.” He indicated the room.
​My gaze circled the space again. A secret hallway. There had to be one of those hiding in here somewhere. “Where are the bedrooms?”
​He made a clucking sound with his tongue, leading me to one corner tucked behind a sad divider. “Here’s mine,” he said, letting me peek behind the divider.
My heart did that hiccupping thing again when I noticed a twin mattress lying on the floor, a whirl of blankets and pillows scattered on it. There was a big plastic bin too, which looked like it served as a dresser.
“And yours is over here.” Guiding me to the corner across from this one, he proudly waved at the empty space behind the second divider.
​There was nothing there. Unless you counted the dust bunnies.
​“You’re kidding, right?” I blinked, frowning when I found the exact same scene in front of me.
​“About what?” he asked, straight-faced.
​“This being a bedroom.” My arms flew toward the empty space. “This is a stall. Actually, I’ve mucked out stalls twice as big back home.”
​His brows pinched together. “Like a bathroom stall?”
​“No, like a stall inside a barn. A horse stall. A cow stall. Shoot, even the pigs get a better deal than this.” My voice was rising, as I realized he wasn’t messing with me. This was supposed to serve as my bedroom, and there were a few big things missing to make it my definition of a bedroom—for starters, a door.
​“Wait. So you’re one of those small-town girls?” He appraised me with new eyes, like everything was finally making sense.
​“Yes, I’m one of those small-town girls, but not small town enough to realize I’m getting the big city runaround.”
​“The runaround?” His arms crossed. “What do you mean the runaround? I didn’t say anything about there being a private bedroom straight out of the Four Seasons, girlie.”
​I tried to remember the “roommate wanted” ad I’d seen online last week. Specifically, the wording. “Yeah? And what about the penthouse views?” I crossed my arms just like he was. “This is the opposite of a penthouse, and the view sucks.” I glanced out the row of windows, where there was a view of the building across the street.
​Soren’s eyes lifted before he moved toward the windows. He waited for me before pointing his finger up. Way up. “Penthouses.” His finger was aimed at the tippy top of the buildings around us. “We have a view of penthouses.”
​My mouth opened. “That’s not how you meant it to be taken, nice try.”
​“How do you know how I meant for it to be taken? Penthouse views. That’s the truth.” He was still pointing out the window. “You make a lot of assumptions. Might want to work on that if you plan on surviving in the city.”
​Turning away from the window, I scanned the apartment. Had it shrunken in size when I’d turned my back? “You said it was a generous living space.”
​He indicated the same apartment I was looking at. “Are you kidding me? This is a generous living space.”
​“Compared to what? A cardboard box?”
​His mouth snapped open, but he closed it before whatever was about to come out, did. He rolled his head a few times, his neck cracking in a way that made me cringe. “Listen. You are obviously from a different world than I am. I grew up in Brooklyn. My definition of generous is clearly different than yours.”
​“I grew up in Hastings, Nebraska, raised by a single mom with a high school education after dear old dad bailed on her and his three daughters.” I paused, staring at him. “I was not raised in the lap of luxury, nor am I a spoiled brat, but this . . ..” My hand waved between his and my “bedrooms,” my stomach churning when I counted off maybe ten feet of separation between them. “This is not generous living space.”
​“Then fine. Don’t move in. It’s not like you’ve unpacked your things. You’re the one looking for an apartment, not me. Go find some other place to live in the heart of the city for less than eight hundred dollars a month. Good luck with that.”
When he started toward my suitcase, I intercepted him. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. No friends. No family. No money. My first rent check here wasn’t due for a couple of weeks. Accepting that should have made this place seem much more appealing, but instead I felt more like an inmate resigned to their cell.
​“It’s been a long day. There have been lots of surprises. I’m feeling overwhelmed.” I rolled my suitcase toward my barracks so he didn’t roll it out the front door.
​“You’re not in Nebraska anymore. You’re in New York City.” He indicated out the windows before storming toward the kitchen. “Buck up, buttercup.”
​I bit my tongue when I wanted to fire something right back. My life had not been easy, and I hated that he assumed it had been because I was shocked I’d be sharing a room with a strange boy. This wasn’t normal. This was five thousand percent not normal.
​“You want a sandwich?” he called from the kitchen as he started tossing things onto the counter.
​“A sandwich?” I repeated. Hadn’t we just been in a moderately heated conversation? And now he’d moved on to sandwich-making twelve seconds later?
​“You know, meat, cheese, condiments? Two slices of bread holding it all together?” He shot me a smirk as he twirled open the bag of bread.
​My stomach answered for me. “Actually, yeah. Thanks.” Leaving my suitcase behind the divider, I moved toward the kitchen.
​“What brought you to the biggest city in the country from Nebraska?” he asked, glancing at me.
​I stopped behind one of the plastic chairs around the table. It didn’t feel right to just make myself at home . . . even though this was my new home. “Modeling.”
​He made a sound like everything made sense now, then stalled with the knife in the mayo jar. “So when you say you want a sandwich, you mean two pieces of celery smashed together?”
​My eyes lifted. I’d been called a stick, a twig, a pole, a beanpole, accused of being anorexic, bulimic, a drug addict, you name it, because I was genetically predisposed to having a thin frame. Now that I was officially a model, it was only going to get worse, I guessed. “I hate celery.”
​Soren spread a thick layer of mustard on one piece of bread. “Too many carbs?”
​“You’re annoying.”
​“So I’ve been told.”
​Of course my roommate would be one of the few people on the planet who was capable of getting under my skin. Who better to share a six-hundred-square-foot space with than someone who couldn’t look at me without triggering mild irritation? The more he talked, the less cute-hot he became. Silver linings. I didn’t need to harbor some minor attraction to the guy I was sharing an apartment with.
​“Don’t you have any questions for me?” I asked after a minute.
​One shoulder rose as he layered on what looked like pastrami. “You don’t smoke?”
​“Nope.”
​“You don’t stay out late partying, getting your drink on, and come home smelling like the city barfed on you?”
​“Definitely not.” I wasn’t straitlaced, but I wasn’t a hot mess either.
He pulled a couple of plates from a cupboard, tossed the sandwiches onto them, and moved toward the table. “You aren’t prone to stealing other people’s property? Namely my Nutter Butters?”
It didn’t seem like a serious question. The look on his face told otherwise. “No,” I answered.
He held one plate toward me. “Then we’re good.”
When I took the plate, my stomach growled. The last thing I’d eaten was the pretzels on the plane.
“Thanks,” I said, feeling a stab of guilt for the way I’d acted since meeting him. He was the only person in New York who’d offered me a place to live, and he was giving me a free meal.
“You don’t look like you could afford to miss one more meal,” he said. I didn’t miss the way he inspected my arms as I took a seat. “So now that you’ve had the grand tour, do you have any questions for me? And by that, I mean actual questions, not accusations.”
When I shot him a look, he gave me a big smile right before stuffing his sandwich in his mouth. Let’s see. I knew his name, his gender, where he’d grown up, that he was a smartass, and that he was cute-hot when he wasn’t talking.
“What do you do?”
He lowered his sandwich. “I model,” he said, his expression flat. “Men’s underwear mainly. Sometimes women’s. If they pay me enough.”
I smiled at my sandwich as I lifted it. “I thought you looked familiar. I just didn’t recognize you without those big wings and the million-dollar diamond bra.”
He chuckled, tearing off another bite of his sandwich. “I play ball,” he said, still chewing.
“Like dodgeball?” I took a small bite of the sandwich he’d made me so it wouldn’t seem like I was starving.
He shot me a tight smile. “Like baseball.” He waved his sandwich toward his “bedroom,” where a big red duffel was, a mitt and bat hanging out of it. “I play at one of the junior colleges close by since none of the D1 schools wanted to take a risk with me.”
​“A risk?” I took another bite, this one bigger. I wasn’t usually a fan of pastrami or mustard, but dang, this was the best sandwich I’d ever had.
“Let’s just say I was a bit of a hothead in high school, and D1 schools would rather have the golden boy with some talent than the wild card with mad talent.”
“Hothead . . .?”
“I got into a few fights at some games.”
I circled my sandwich in the air. “Like pushing, name calling type fights?”
“Try fists flying, dust spinning type of fights.” He must have guessed where my mind was taking me. “Don’t worry. I never have or never would put my hands on a woman like that, and I’ve calmed my shit down a lot since then. Nothing like being forced to eat a slice of humble pie at junior college to get a player in line.”
Nibbling off a corner, I curled my legs up onto the chair. I’d been too busy freaking out over my new living arrangements to notice how chilly it was in here. I couldn’t see my breath or anything, but it felt only a few degrees away from that.
“What are you studying?” I asked.
He dropped the last piece of sandwich into his mouth before wiping his hands on his jeans. “I’m just banging general requirements out of the way right now. I don’t care about becoming an accountant or a project manager or whatever the hell else other guys go to college for. I want to play ball. I go to school because it’s a package deal.”
“So your plan is to transfer to a D1 school to play ball after you’re finished?” I asked, like I knew what I was talking about. Which I didn’t. Sports weren’t my thing. Watching or partaking in them.
“I want to get drafted by the best professional baseball team in the whole wide world. That’s my plan.” He shoved out of his chair, carrying his plate into the kitchen.
“You want to play professional baseball?”
“No. I’m going to play professional baseball. And the one good thing about playing at a junior college is that I can be drafted any time they want me. I don’t have to wait until I graduate like I would have if one of those D1 schools had recruited me.” He rinsed his plate in the sink before setting it on a drying rack. He hadn’t used soap, but I supposed it was better than licking it clean and sticking it back in the cupboard. “Want anything to drink? Another sandwich?”
I lifted what was left of my first sandwich. It was only halfway gone and I was already feeling full. It wasn’t because I was a small eater either—he made his sandwiches like he was entertaining a team of linebackers. “I’m good, thanks.”
He lifted a package of Nutter Butters, one hanging from his mouth, a half dozen clutched in his other hand.
“I just promised I wouldn’t steal your Nutter Butters.”
“But I’m offering you one. There’s a difference.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. Looks like you need them.” I eyed the stack in his hand as he stuffed the package back on the top shelf.
“I play ball two to four hours a day. I go to school four to six hours. Homework on top of that, and a part-time job in between. I have to take advantage when I have a minute to stuff my face.” He padded back to the table and set one cookie from the pile in his hand on my plate. “For dessert.”
I thanked him, even though I wasn’t a fan of Nutter Butters. I was more a chocolate person than a peanut butter one.
“You want a hand bringing up the rest of your stuff? I’ve got some time before I should hit the books. I have a biology test tomorrow morning.” His nose crinkled as he stuffed another cookie in his mouth.
For his apparent love affair with cookies, he sure didn’t have the body of a cookie enthusiast. Thanks to his light-colored tee, which hugged particularly nice parts of the male anatomy, he looked like the type who ate egg whites and kale in his sleep.
“Oh, I don’t have anything else. Just my big suitcase and me.” I set my sandwich down after taking one more bite.
“So you don’t have any more stuff to move in?” When I shrugged, he frowned. “No more stuff as in a futon or mattress or . . .?”
My head shook as I moved toward my suitcase. I needed to throw on a sweatshirt before I gave myself frostbite. “They don’t let you check mattresses or futons on the airplane. But I brought a pillow and a sleeping bag.” Setting down the suitcase, I unzipped it and pulled out those very items.
“Hardwood floors.” His foot tapped the floor.
“I’ve slept in barns, train depots, and the backseat of a ’77 Malibu.” Shaking the sleeping bag open, I shot him a smile. Whatever had happened or was about to, I was chasing my dreams. Life was pretty damn good. “Buck up, buttercup.”











Nicole Williams is the New York Times and USATODAY bestselling author of contemporary and young adult romance, including the Crash and Lost & Found series. Her books have been published by HarperTeen and Simon & Schuster in both domestic and foreign markets, while she continues to self-publish additional titles. She is working on a new YA series with Crown Books (a division of Random House) as well. She loves romance, from the sweet to the steamy, and writes stories about characters in search of their happily even after. She grew up surrounded by books and plans on writing until the day she dies, even if it’s just for her own personal enjoyment. She still buys paperbacks because she’s all nostalgic like that, but her kindle never goes neglected for too long. When not writing, she spends her time with her husband and daughter, and whatever time’s left over she’s forced to fit too many hobbies into too little time.Nicole is represented by Jane Dystel, of Dystel and Goderich Literary Agency.
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Worth the Ride by Casey Peeler

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Single father, Weston Parker is set in his ways, and raising his daughter is his top priority. But his ten-year-old feisty little girl is growing up faster than he ever realized. Her go-getter attitude is one he's seen before--mainly on himself. When she starts trading in her ponytails for makeup, Weston realizes he just might be in over his head.

Dedicated and driven veterinarian, Timber Sellers always knew that she'd head back home, but she wasn't quite ready for it to happen so soon. Running into the stubborn and bossy Weston from her high school days doesn't make it any better either. But when she meets his spunky daughter, Timber knows she's right where she's supposed to be. As Timber grows closer to Weston's daughter, his rough exterior softens. Suddenly, the heat between them explodes and neither can deny the attraction. Weston always goes after what he wants, and this time, he wants a future with Timber.




















Taking the last of the charts to the back room, I begin to put them away when I hear a slight knock. Turning around, I come face-to-face with a certain cowboy, and my heart goes wild like the horses he tames.
“Hey,” I say flatly.
“You got a minute?”
“Nope. I gotta get these damn things filed. I don’t know why he won’t go paperless.”
As I toss the folder on top of the filing cabinet, I hear a chuckle. Turning, I see Weston holding his hands up in surrender and trying his best to refrain from any more laughter but his lips deceive him and he tries to cover it up.
“Go ahead. Let it out. I know that was one of the dumbest things I’ve ever said. My daddy going paperless? Hell, he can’t wait to throw the flip phone in the lake when he retires.” Pausing, I look at him. “What you here for anyways?”
He takes his perfect hardworking body and props himself in the doorway. “I came to apologize for earlier. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Damn right,” I say as I stare him down and watch him try to form the words he wants to say. “Look, just spit that shit out. You sweating bullets isn’t your best quality.”
He takes his hand and rubs the back of his neck and my body betrays me. What the hell? “So I know you’re coming to help Bryndle get ready for the dance Friday. I was wondering if I could take you to breakfast after I dropped her off at school?”
“Really? Is this your way of asking me out?”






































Casey Peeler grew up in North Carolina and still lives there with her husband and daughter.

Growing up Casey wasn't an avid reader or writer, but after reading Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neal Hurston during her senior year of high school, and multiple Nicholas Sparks' novels, she found a hidden love and appreciation for reading.  That love ignited the passion for writing several years later, and her writing style combines real life scenarios with morals and values teenagers need in their daily lives.

When Casey isn't writing, you can find her near a body of water listening to country music with a cold beverage and a great book.

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Goaltending by Jami Davenport

Hot Single Dad ALERT! Preorder Goaltending by Jami Davenport now!
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WANTED: Single dad needs nanny--In more ways than one. Martin "Brick" Bricker is living the good life. He's playing the sport he loves, has all the women he can handle, and parties like a rock star. At twenty-six, he has no interest in slowing down or taking anything seriously--except hockey, of course. Then a knock at his door changes everything.Suddenly he's the single father to a five-year-old daughter he didn't know he had, and he's trading his playboy ways for Barbies. Amelia Stacey struggles to make ends meet and juggles her day-care job with a full load of college classes. When she's offered a temporary, two-week nanny position making more money than she imagines, she jumps at the chance. Before she knows it, she's in over her head, not just with her five-year-old charge but with the girl's hot single father. Brick always goes after what he wants, and he wants Amelia. Only responsible Amelia doesn't want anything to do with the party boy. Struggling with fatherhood and his unexplainable attraction to his nanny, Brick has to figure out where his daughter and Amelia fit into his life.If they fit at all. But one thing's for sure: Brick can't block this shot straight to his heart.


 

About the Author:USA Today Bestselling Author Jami Davenport writes sexy contemporary and sports romances, including her two new indie endeavors: the Game On in Seattle Series and the Madrona Island Series. Jami’s new releases consistently rank in the top fifty on the sports romance and sports genre lists on Amazon, and she has hit the Amazon top hundred authors list in both contemporary romance and genre fiction multiple times. Jami ranked Number Seven on Kobo’s Top Ten Most Completed Authors, an honor bestowed on the year’s “most engaging” authors based on an average page completion rate by their readers. Jami lives on a small farm near Puget Sound with her Green Beret-turned-plumber husband, a Newfoundland cross with a tennis ball fetish, a prince disguised as an orange tabby cat, and an opinionated Hanoverian mare. Jami works in IT for her day job and is a former high school business teacher. She’s a lifetime Seahawks and Mariners fan and is waiting for the day professional hockey comes to Seattle. An avid boater, Jami has spent countless hours in the San Juan Islands, a common setting in her books. In her opinion, it’s the most beautiful place on earth.

Connect with Jami! Subscribe to my newsletter to receive a free novel and be notified of new releases, special sales, and contests: http://eepurl.com/LpfaL
Website Address: http://www.jamidavenport.com
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Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1637218.Jami_Davenport

Coming June 13thAmazon iBooksNookKoboGoogle PlayAVA The m...

Coming June 13th

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AVA

The meek shall inherit the earth, they say.

Bullshit. Look at me now. What do I have? Nothing.

I thought I wouldn't get past a second heartbreak. I was wrong. I never should've closed myself off in tears when Lucas told me he loved me. I should've had faith he wouldn't betray me.

Regaining his love will mean throwing away my pride, my armor and laying myself completely bare. I have to trust that he won't crush me at my most vulnerable.

The attempt will leave me bleeding. It might just kill me. But I definitely won't survive knowing that I didn't fight for what I wanted: my future.

A future with the only man I ever loved...a man more important than the very air I breathe...


LUCAS

You gotta put yourself out there to get what you want.

My ass.

I bared my heart to Ava. I begged for her trust, her love.

Instead she shattered my soul.

She's circling me, her pretty eyes vulnerable. She won't fool me this time. I'll never give her another shot. I'll break her before she breaks me...

Note: The last book in Lucas and Ava's epic love story! No cliffhanger.

















New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Nadia Lee writes sexy, emotional contemporary romance. Born with a love for excellent food, travel and adventure, she has lived in four different countries, kissed stingrays, been bitten by a shark, ridden an elephant and petted tigers.

Currently, she shares a condo overlooking a small river and sakura trees in Japan with her husband and son. When she’s not writing, she can be found reading books by her favorite authors or planning another trip.

Stay in touch with her via her website, www.nadialee.net, or her blog www.nadialee.net/blog/




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Title: Damaged GoodsSeries: The Redemption SeriesAuthor: ...

Title: Damaged GoodsSeries: The Redemption SeriesAuthor: L. WilderGenre: Romantic SuspenseRelease Date: June 8, 2017
Nitro-With one look, she became my obsession. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to have her, even if that meant risking everything I’d worked so hard to build. I put it all on the line and did what had to be done – for her.I’m determined to have her in every way. But it’s not that easy. Like me, she’s damaged through and through, scarred by a past that haunts her very existence. She resists me, rebelling at every turn, but I can’t let her go. She doesn’t realize she holds the key to my salvation. She’s the only one who can calm the beast that rages within me. Tristen-Nathan James is every girl’s fantasy—rich, powerful, and devilishly handsome. I should be happy that he came to my rescue, saving me from my worst nightmare, but I’ve just exchanged one hell for another. He was the highest bidder, and now he thinks he owns me. He gave me my freedom. He gave me a second chance that I thought was stolen from me. He’s given me everything, except the one thing I truly want—his heart. Will their love heal the wounds of their past, or will they both remain damaged goods? Leslie Wilder grew up in a small town in West Tennessee. A country girl at heart, she’s always thought that life is too short, but she had no idea how short it really was until her brother passed away in 2014. She’s always been an avid reader, loving the escape only a great book can give, and wondered if she had what it took to write one of the wild romances she’d come to adore. With the support of her family and friends, she published Inferno: A Devil Chaser’s MC, one year after her brother’s death. With him in mind, she fulfilled her lifetime dream of writing. Since then, she’s completed the Devil Chaser’s Series and continued on with the Satan’s Fury MC Series. She has so many stories in her head, and can’t wait to share each and every one.Leslie has been blown away by the support of her readers, appreciating every message, review, and encouraging word she’s received over the past year. She looks forward to continuing this journey with them for years to come.
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