Racing against time, NSA Agent Joaquin Muñoz is searching for a little girl who vanished twenty years ago with a dangerous secret. Since Bailey Benson fits the profile, Joaquin abducts the beauty and whisks her to the safety of Club Dominion—before anyone can silence her for good.
At first, Bailey is terrified, but when her captor demands information about her past, she’s stunned. Are her horrific visions actually distant memories that imperil all she holds dear? Confined with Joaquin in a place that echoes with moans and breathes passion, he proves himself a fierce protector, as well as a sensual Master who’s slowly crawling deeper in her head…and heart. But giving in to him might be the most delicious danger of all.
Because Bailey soon learns that her past isn’t the only mystery. Joaquin has a secret of his own—a burning vengeance in his soul. The exposed truth leaves her vulnerable and wondering how much about the man she loves is a lie, how much more is at risk than her heart. And if she can trust him to protect her long enough to learn the truth.
5 stars!!
Simply Amazing!! Loved Joaquin & Bailey's story. Couldn't put the book down because it had me gripping the edge of my seat! This book contains everything a great story needs..mystery, romance & some hot steamy sex!
NSA agent Joaquin is a hot alpha male that makes you swoon one minute & want to smack him the next. While trying to uncover the mystery of Bailey's past he's also dealing with coming to terms with his need to dominate her. While on the run from an assassin Joaquin & Bailey try to fight their desires but succumb to passion that neither have ever felt before.
Bailey Benson is a ballerina that doesn't understand her frequent nightmares. After being kidnapped & shown evidence of who she really is she also has to deal with not wanting to submit to the hot agent that kidnapped her. Your heart breaks for Bailey as she remembers her past & everything that happened to her when she was only 5. Such an emotional roller coaster as everything unfolds. Definitely a great read!
Shayla Black leaves you wanting more! Can't wait to read more from this author!
You know what they say about curiosity and the cat…but if you still want to know, read below.
Shayla Black (aka Shelley Bradley) is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over 40 sizzling contemporary, erotic, paranormal, and historical romances produced via traditional, small press, independent, and audio publishing. She lives in Texas with her husband, munchkin, and one very spoiled cat. In her “free” time, she enjoys reality TV, reading and listening to an eclectic blend of music.
Shayla’s books have been translated in about a dozen languages. She has also received or been nominated for The Passionate Plume, The Holt Medallion, Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence, and the National Reader’s Choice Awards. RT Bookclub has twice nominated her for Best Erotic Romance of the year, as well as awarded her several Top Picks, and a KISS Hero Award.
A writing risk-taker, Shayla enjoys tackling writing challenges with every new book.
Have something to say? Contact Shayla or visit her on her Facebook page.
WEBSITE * FACEBOOK * TWITTER
New Adult Contemporary Romance intended for readers 17 years
of age and older. Told from dual point of view from Ari and Ryder, this novel
can be read as a standalone or as part of the Living Heartwood series.
Love means fading out so another shines brighter.
Right clothes. Right school. Right fiancé. As a Wyndemere,
Arian’s expected to abide by the rules. The most important: be perfect. But
Arian’s seemingly flawless life is far from it. An embarrassing expulsion from
her father's alma mater spirals an already unhealthy obsession out of control,
exposing a dark truth.
Faced with having to attend a small private college after a
stint in rehab, Arian’s ready to coast under the radar and repair some of the
wreckage, but her father’s looming control is like a vise choking off her air
supply.
When a run-in with Braxton’s beloved star quarterback, Ryder
Nash, puts Arian squarely in the crosshairs of his devoted teammates, the last
of her controlled, orderly world unhinges. As the pranks and paybacks escalate,
Arian and Ryder’s rivalry takes a passionate turn. And once Arian glimpses
beneath the all-star-athlete exterior Ryder projects, she realizes he’s far
more than just a jock.
As their relationship intensifies, outside
forces feel the threat. Outrunning their pasts doesn’t mean history won’t
repeat itself, but Ryder can’t let that happen. He’s just one Championship game
away from breaking the mold. Only one moment, one choice, might change
everything.
From
an early age, Trisha Wolfe dreamed up fantasy worlds and characters and was
accused of talking to herself. Today, she lives in South Carolina with her
family and writes full time, using her fantasy worlds as an excuse to continue
talking to herself.
My name is Matthew Weston. Don't call me anything else,
because I won't respond. And if you think you can get away with whimpering
‘Matt’ while I have you tied to the bed, about to devour you, it'll end up
being your loss.
Men like me don't talk about feelings. We just don't.
What men like me do is pound. I pound the asphalt with my
running shoes on morning runs. I pound a punching bag in the gym until my
knuckles bleed. And when I need a release, I find a beautiful woman sprawled
out on her bed, eagerly waiting for my cock, and pound her into oblivion. Yeah,
that's me. I don't have feelings, and I don't do love.
At least I didn't, until the night Ella walked into my
office looking like a disgusting junky to interview for a position for The Onyx
Club.
She was like no one I'd ever met before. She was timid,
reserved, and quite plain with her mousy brown hair and dirty clothes. Ella
also had a dark and haunted gleam in her eye. A secret, a past she was
desperate to conceal.
And when she called me ‘Matt’ it didn't seem to bother me.
She came into my life and turned it upside down.
The only question is, can I screw her out of my system, or will my filthy
desire for her keep her by my side?
Sebastian Ex is a native of Sydney, Australia, having grown
up in a tight-knit family mostly surrounded by women. From a young age he had a
passion for all things green and outdoors, when he hit mid-teenage years he did
an apprenticeship as a landscape gardener.
A serial lover of women, Sebastian was
encouraged to pen his words when a lady friend of his compared some paragraphs
from contemporary erotic novelists to his scorching, hot sexts. Now, Sebastian
is about to release his debut novel in a bid to transition from landscaping to
writing full-time.
Author: New York Times best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills
Introductory price of $2.99 on release day for 24 hours only!
A beautiful violinist who lives next door…The obsessed rock star who watches her... And the one night she bares it all. Description:
Vital Rejects front guy Sebastian Tate never imagined his YouTube music video would go viral, sky-rocketing him to acting success in Hollywood. Okay, maybe he did. After all, he’s a cocky dude who knows he’s hot-as-hell, and it was only a matter of time before his stars aligned.
But life in Tinseltown is never what it seems.
After being cheated on, Sebastian’s only rule to falling in love is simple: Keep Calm and Don’t Do It. Spying on his mysterious new neighbor with binoculars seems innocent enough, but quickly escalates into an erotic game between two very unlikely people.
Twenty-year-old Violet St. Lyons is a world-renowned violinist who's lost her mojo on stage. She hides away in a Hollywood mansion, trying to find her way through her twisted past in order to make her future.
He’s the life of the party with girls chasing him down for his autograph. She’s the introvert with a potty mouth who doesn’t even know who he is.
When they meet, stars collide, sparks fly, and clothes come off. Yet, giving his heart to a girl isn’t Sebastian’s plan; falling for a guy who craves attention isn’t Violet’s.
Welcome to Briarcrest Academy—Hollywood style—where sometimes the best things in life are VERY TWISTED THINGS.
When Ilsa said she would be writing Sebastian's story I knew it would be an absolute must read for me!
Sebastian Tate- good lawd I claimed this man a long time ago, and now he's back with all his hotness! When we last left Sebastian he was heartbroken and swore off love and getting close to anybody again. He's carrying around a huge chip on his shoulder because of this. He doesn't want to feel anything like that again, so shutting people out is what he does. He thinks he has closed off his heart....but....just wait!
Violet- a violinist that has moved in next door to Sebastian. She's had tragedy in her life. She's very closed off trying to carry on the only way she knows how by shutting out the world and the people in it. I really loved Violet. My heart broke for her. She feels all alone in the world just trying to find her way that is until Sebastian Tate walks into her life. <----sweet a="" about="" as="" baby="" be="" biggest="" calls="" challenge="" girl="" he="" her="" him.="" him="" his="" hit="" iolin="" is="" jesus="" just="" know="" might="" moment...take="" notes="" or="" sebastian="" she="" show="" span="" t="" thing="" to="" two.="" what="" won="" yet.="">
As their two worlds meet up we get to see just how maybe they can fix each other. It's not all a bed of roses along the way. Things happen that I can't say but you will love these two. The chemistry is off the charts! Their banter back and forth will leave you laughing one minute, and your heart will break at the same time.
I give VTT 5 HUGE stars! Go one click your copy and fall for Sebastian Tate all over again. Must read of 2015!! Ilsa remember he's MINE!! Lol
Prologue
Violet
“Fairy dust is not real. This I know.” —from the journal of Violet St. Lyons
Boom!
I, Violet St. Lyons, who once believed herself the luckiest girl in the world, was born on the same day that the Violette–Sells comet was discovered. My parents, two avid stargazers, said it was a sign of how special I was and promptly named me Violet. They claimed my life had been blessed with fairy dust.
At the very least, comet residue.
I’d foolishly believed it for eighteen years, until the moment of my death.
Which was now.
Boom! Another explosion rocked the plane and metal ripped away as a section of the aircraft to my right vanished. Luggage flew through the air. People disappeared. The mom with the baby who’d sat in the aisle across from us—gone. The redheaded flight attendant who’d been collecting trash—gone. Disembodied screams echoed from the surrounding passengers as my own scream took up most of the space in my head. Air sucked at us viciously from the outside as a tornado of people banged around the space and one by one got pulled out into the swirling abyss.
I watched, helplessly transfixed, as I sat between my parents, gripping each of their hands as the plane we’d boarded six hours earlier for Dublin spiraled toward the Atlantic Ocean. I was going to die. My mother was already dead, a twisted piece of shrapnel sticking grotesquely from her chest as her head lolled around her neck. Blood had already soaked her shirt, yet I refused to let go of her hand. She’d be okay. We were always okay. We were the St. Lyons family of Manhattan, an icon of old money wealth with deep political ties. Page six of the NewYork Times featured pictures of us on a monthly basis. We couldn’t die on a plane.
Reality dawned as we plummeted. The yellow breathing apparatus dropped and dangled in my face, taunting me with its pointlessness. Fire and black smoke boiled in front of us where the cockpit had been, and my mind recognized that the pilots had to be dead. Just a few minutes ago, they’d come over the intercom and announced that the plane was making its descent into Dublin Airport exactly on schedule.
Then the first explosion had gone off.
Bits of debris flew around, narrowly missing me. My elderly father grabbed my hand and squeezed, his face drawn back in a horrible grimace.
Paralyzed in my seat, we spun like a drunken top, and a part of my brain noticed the sun was rising, its pink tinge lending a soft glow, catching the reflection of clouds and making them silver-lined. The rocky coast of Ireland glittered in the distance. Mocking me. We’d been headed there to celebrate my eighteenth birthday.
Just then my violin case flew past my head from the overhead compartment and crashed against the wall of the plane. Shards flew. I shuddered and wanted to vomit. God, help us. We were here because of me. Our deaths were my fault. I spared a glance at the diamond promise ring Geoff had given me before we’d left.
Would the Mayor of New York’s son go on without me?
The air was turbulent yet thin, and my chest tightened as dizziness pulled at me. I resisted. Had to stay awake. Had to be with my dad. I was younger, stronger, faster. My eyes went to the gaping hole in the plane. Had to think ahead. Plan. Water would fill up the plane on impact, ensuring we’d sink rapidly.
My fear escalated as the ocean rushed at us, its surface choppy and ominous. I took in a giant breath and braced myself. We hit at an angle, the plane a torpedo as it sliced into the sea. Daddy disappeared, ejected by the impact, and I yanked on my seat belt, unclicking it to go after him. Heart thundering, I sent a final look at my mother. I wanted to take her with me, but she was gone.
Water everywhere, bubbling and gurgling as it filled up the plane. Salt water stung my eyes. People floated by, some alive as they floundered for the opening. I kept my gaze off the dead ones. Focus. Get out. Only seconds left.
I swam from my seat and fought my way out of the large hole in the plane, lungs exploding. Burning. I’d been under too long.
Daddy! I caught a glimpse of his red shirt above me and kicked harder.
Up, up, up. Must get up. My arms moved. My legs kicked. Excruciating pain. Ignore it. Almost there. So close that I could see the daylight breaking through the water.
The hottest fire I’ve ever known lit in my chest. Scorching.
Air. Just want to breathe. Just get to the top. Please.
My body rebelled and I inhaled and swallowed water, the burn racing down my throat making it spasm as I tried to cough it out. I struggled but took in more and more, the cold liquid filling my lungs.
Dark spots filled my eyes. This was drowning.
Exhausted.
Done.
My body twitched. I grew disoriented.
I let go of the fight. My hands floated in front of me.
Oblivion.
Darkness.
No bright lights, no tunnel.
No heaven, no mother, no father.
No comets.
No fairy dust.
Chapter 1
Sebastian
Two years later
“She was music with skin.” —Sebastian Tate
I tapped my foot.
What was taking her so long?
From my backyard patio in the Hollywood Hills, I watched the odd girl next door with a pair of high-powered binoculars. She flicked on her porch lights, and a low whistle came out of me at the sexy red-as-sin robe she wore, its silky material flashing around her long legs as she moved around. Her hair was down, too.
This was new. Where were the usual yoga pants? The ponytail?
She looked like she knew someone watched, but that was impossible since our outside lights were off. Even the light from the moon hit our house at such an angle that she shouldn’t be able to see us just by glancing over. She’d need a high-powered lens to know I was here.
Usually she played facing her rose garden, but this time she walked to the right side of her patio, which faced us. Weird. But she didn’t play. She just stood there without moving. Staring toward our house. Uneasiness went over me.
What was she doing?
Could she see me?
As if it were a fragile bird, she positioned the violin under her chin and began playing, arms bent and wrist poised, making the most exquisite sounds. And I don’t mean classical like Beethoven or Mozart; I mean body-thrashing, blood-thumping, hard-as-hell music that had me rooted to the ground, like she’d slapped iron chains on me.
Dark and seductive notes rose up in the air, and I got jacked up, recognizing a Led Zeppelin song, only she’d ripped its guts out and twisted it into something electric. She pushed the bow hard, upping the tempo abruptly, her movements controlled yet wild. My pulse kicked up and my eyes lingered, taking in the slightly parted toned legs and the way her breasts bounced as she jerked her arms to manipulate the strings.
Her robe slipped off her right shoulder, exposing part of her breast. Creamy and full, it quivered, vibrating as she moved her arms. Her rosy nipple teased me, slipping in and out of the folds of the material. I pictured my mouth there, sucking, my fingers plucking, strumming her like my guitar until she begged me to—
Stop, I told myself. Whoever Violin Girl was, she didn’t deserve me lusting after her while she was pouring her heart out with music.
I zoomed in as far as the binoculars would go, watching her surrender to the music as she bent and swayed from side to side with her eyes closed, black lashes like fans on her cheeks. Every molecule in my body focused on her, hanging on to each note she pulled from her instrument.
She finished and kept her head bowed for the longest time, perhaps letting the emotion wash over her like it had me.
The entire event was surreal, yet poignant as fucking poetry.
I let out a deep breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding.
Who the hell plays Stairway to Heaven with a violin? She did.
Bam! She snapped her head up, her eyes lasering in on mine, making every hair on my body stand at attention.
And then …
Standing there in the moonlight, she untied her robe and spread apart the sides ever so slightly, her movements seeming almost hesitant, as if she’d had to work herself up. Unfamiliar jealousy hit me and I panned out and checked the rest of the patio, expecting to see a lover. Whoever it was, I wanted to rip him apart piece by piece.
My gaze searched her patio, the backyard, her upstairs balcony. Nothing. No one.
She flicked her dark hair back and stroked the lapels of the robe, her fingers lingering over the lacy material. Suddenly the evening smacked of something more than just music. Her arms moved back and forth across the front, opening the robe halfway and then closing it as if she couldn’t make up her mind.
My eyes went up, trying to read her face. Still as a statue, the only movement was her mouth as it trembled, her full upper lip resting against the pouty lower one.
Violin Girl was trapped in a cage of darkness.
It still didn’t stop me from holding my breath, silently begging her to bare herself to me. She’d already laid bare her music. Part of me needed the rest of her.
She jerked the robe closed, making me groan in disappointment.
Author Bio
New York Times and USA Today best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.
She’s addicted to dystopian and all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroines. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she’s a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.
She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education.
When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.
I had a very definite plan for the rest of my life, and it mostly consisted of getting laid by random strangers and never having to deal with the possibility of anyone getting close enough to hurt me again. Now, after one stupid mistake, I couldn't quit thinking about him, and I knew it was just going to get worse from here.
When twenty-two year-old Jenna Lang went in to Archer Enterprises for a job, she doesn't expect her entire world to be turned upside-down. Now, she can't get wealthy CEO Rylan Archer out of her mind and she has a bad feeling that he's just as intrigued by her. As his intentions become clear, she must decide if she's willing to risk everything on the chance he's different.
Including the steamy prequel, Broken Pleasures, M.S. Parker's new scorching Pleasures series is not to be missed. See what Forbidden Pleasures has in store.
M.S. Parker is a USA Today Bestselling author and the author of the Erotic Romance series, Club Privè and Chasing Perfection.
Living in Southern California, she enjoys sitting by the pool with her laptop writing on her next spicy romance.
Growing up all she wanted to be was a dancer, actor or author. So far only the latter has come true but M. S. Parker hasn't retired her dancing shoes just yet. She is still waiting for the call for her to appear on Dancing With The Stars.
When M. S. isn't writing, she can usually be found reading- oops, scratch that! She is always writing.
