The first step to solving a problem...
Brynna Monet is on a man diet for the rest of her life. No more G men, spies, or soldiers, period. Willpower comes easily from the scars on her heart, left by a string of dominant bad boys who have all asked too high a price for her passion: her trust.
But what ransom will she give for her best friend's life?
When the unspeakable happens, Brynn insists on courting temptation in every hot, dangerous sense of the word--times two. In order to save her friend from the captivity of a madman,
Brynn is assigned as a secret consultant on one of the military's riskiest missions, working with a pair of the Special Forces' most notorious bad boys: Rhett Lange and Rebel Stafford.
...is admitting you've got one.
From the moment Brynn lands in the middle of a Texas wilderness with these two, she questions the sanity of her decision--and the survival of her willpower. Like the most decadent dominant dessert, Rhett and Rebel embody everything her body craves--and her spirit fears. Their control unravels her fantasies, their command exposes her desire...and their courage, with themselves as well as the monster they chase, moves her heart.
But, like all dreams-come-true, it's temporary.
Though Brynn submits to her lovers, she knows better than to give up her trust--until the fate of the mission hinges on exactly that. Can Brynn face her biggest fear to save a friend's life--but still know her soul at the end?
Rhett watched the yes fire up her eyes before it lifted her lips. The light, piercing as dawn through autumn leaves, mesmerized him just as thoroughly—until she turned to give its magic to Reb—Who was just as worthy of the words.
Mesmerizing. Magical.
Christ. He’d never seen Moon look like this. The man illuminated rooms no matter where they went, but his luminosity always copied the celestial satellite he was nicknamed after, borrowing the glow from something else. Now, for the first time in their friendship, the joy on Rebel’s face was an inner thing, inspired by something that was purely his…
Magnified as they locked eyes once more.
The guy’s happiness ricocheted at Rhett like a rocket, decimating his chest with its intensity. Rebel had gotten it—thank God. Had understood everything Rhett was trying to communicate with this proposition. Though he couldn’t give Reb that extra step in their relationship—fuck, regularfriendship still wasn’t something he knew how do correctly—this was his way of trying. A bridge, in the form of this beautiful, passionate woman, to at least connect them halfway. And God only knew, all three of them needed reconnection right now. No guilt. No strings. Just heat, desire, bonding, fulfillment. Just this. Just now. It was a win-win-win.
He really liked those odds.
“Rebel?”
Brynna’s query reminded him that Moon hadn’t verbally weighed in on things yet. Psshh. A formality, really. Rhett almost bellowed the hell, yes on behalf of his friend.
Damn good thing he didn’t.
Whoa. Rebel really had become a different person. The usual Moonstormer would have been jumping on this invite like it was engraved in gold from the Playboy Mansion. A let’s-get-naked playdate, with Brynna and him, no regrets or rearviews attached? Why the idiot wasn’t dropping trou this second, instead of taking a step back from them both, was a deepening mystery.
“Reb?” Rhett issued his own cautious prompt. “You down or not?” And did he really have to voice it?
Rebel looked up—exposing the bright blue flashes in his gaze. “Oh, I’m down.” He moved back in, slipping one hand over Brynna’s, before spreading her fingers over his crotch. The swell beneath his track pants visibly jumped, stretching a cock-shaped silhouette into the black cotton.
Rhett barely stopped himself from swaying.
Goddamn, that was a stunning sight.
A gulp pounded down his throat. How the hell had this happened? He’d always been an open-minded guy, but as a whole, cock did nothing for him. In prep schools since the age of ten and cross-country at RIT, he’d been in enough group showers to know it as a sure thing. Pussy was definitely more his thing. Soft. Supple. Tender. Tasty.
But the cock in those pants wasn’t just any cock. It belonged to the guy who knew him better than anyone else. The man who’d seen enough ugliness in his life not to be bothered about the strange journey of his. The guy who understood what it was like to take life in chunks of now instead of pining for the past or stressing about the future, because none of it mattered if a bomb blew your face away. The man who was more his family than the people with whom he shared DNA. His brother in arms, his friend in all times of need—and in so many ways, his soulmate.
Who’d understand, more than anyone, his need to deal with this shit by making light of it. “Looks like you’re up for it too, dude.”
Rebel didn’t laugh. Or react in much of any other way. The fucker was still an enigma, his face a taut mask as he caught Brynna’s other wrist in his hold. He pulled her hands between their chests with a low growl. “Let’s be very clear. I want to do this with you as badly as Rhett does, littlecher…"
“But?” She supplied the implied word.
“But this time, I won’t be able to control myself as much as I did on the airplane. I won’t be able to hide so many of my…special preferences.” One side of his mouth kicked up—finally—when his revelation goose-bumped her flesh. “You’re a very bright girl, aren’t you? You’ve already figured out what they are. Maybe even thought about all the…creative ways…I could play with you.” His thumbs stroked her inner wrists. “Control you. Then pleasure you.”
Rhett palmed the shaft now pushing at his own pants. “And I won’t be able to hide what that does to me.”
Rebel nailed him with a hot glance. “I sure as hell hope not.”
Well, that made things official. Track pants really could be torture devices.
Mesmerizing. Magical.
Christ. He’d never seen Moon look like this. The man illuminated rooms no matter where they went, but his luminosity always copied the celestial satellite he was nicknamed after, borrowing the glow from something else. Now, for the first time in their friendship, the joy on Rebel’s face was an inner thing, inspired by something that was purely his…
Magnified as they locked eyes once more.
The guy’s happiness ricocheted at Rhett like a rocket, decimating his chest with its intensity. Rebel had gotten it—thank God. Had understood everything Rhett was trying to communicate with this proposition. Though he couldn’t give Reb that extra step in their relationship—fuck, regularfriendship still wasn’t something he knew how do correctly—this was his way of trying. A bridge, in the form of this beautiful, passionate woman, to at least connect them halfway. And God only knew, all three of them needed reconnection right now. No guilt. No strings. Just heat, desire, bonding, fulfillment. Just this. Just now. It was a win-win-win.
He really liked those odds.
“Rebel?”
Brynna’s query reminded him that Moon hadn’t verbally weighed in on things yet. Psshh. A formality, really. Rhett almost bellowed the hell, yes on behalf of his friend.
Damn good thing he didn’t.
Whoa. Rebel really had become a different person. The usual Moonstormer would have been jumping on this invite like it was engraved in gold from the Playboy Mansion. A let’s-get-naked playdate, with Brynna and him, no regrets or rearviews attached? Why the idiot wasn’t dropping trou this second, instead of taking a step back from them both, was a deepening mystery.
“Reb?” Rhett issued his own cautious prompt. “You down or not?” And did he really have to voice it?
Rebel looked up—exposing the bright blue flashes in his gaze. “Oh, I’m down.” He moved back in, slipping one hand over Brynna’s, before spreading her fingers over his crotch. The swell beneath his track pants visibly jumped, stretching a cock-shaped silhouette into the black cotton.
Rhett barely stopped himself from swaying.
Goddamn, that was a stunning sight.
A gulp pounded down his throat. How the hell had this happened? He’d always been an open-minded guy, but as a whole, cock did nothing for him. In prep schools since the age of ten and cross-country at RIT, he’d been in enough group showers to know it as a sure thing. Pussy was definitely more his thing. Soft. Supple. Tender. Tasty.
But the cock in those pants wasn’t just any cock. It belonged to the guy who knew him better than anyone else. The man who’d seen enough ugliness in his life not to be bothered about the strange journey of his. The guy who understood what it was like to take life in chunks of now instead of pining for the past or stressing about the future, because none of it mattered if a bomb blew your face away. The man who was more his family than the people with whom he shared DNA. His brother in arms, his friend in all times of need—and in so many ways, his soulmate.
Who’d understand, more than anyone, his need to deal with this shit by making light of it. “Looks like you’re up for it too, dude.”
Rebel didn’t laugh. Or react in much of any other way. The fucker was still an enigma, his face a taut mask as he caught Brynna’s other wrist in his hold. He pulled her hands between their chests with a low growl. “Let’s be very clear. I want to do this with you as badly as Rhett does, littlecher…"
“But?” She supplied the implied word.
“But this time, I won’t be able to control myself as much as I did on the airplane. I won’t be able to hide so many of my…special preferences.” One side of his mouth kicked up—finally—when his revelation goose-bumped her flesh. “You’re a very bright girl, aren’t you? You’ve already figured out what they are. Maybe even thought about all the…creative ways…I could play with you.” His thumbs stroked her inner wrists. “Control you. Then pleasure you.”
Rhett palmed the shaft now pushing at his own pants. “And I won’t be able to hide what that does to me.”
Rebel nailed him with a hot glance. “I sure as hell hope not.”
Well, that made things official. Track pants really could be torture devices.
Bestselling romance author Angel Payne has been reading and writing her entire life, though her love for romances began in junior high, when writing with friends on “swap stories” they’d trade between classes. Needless to say, those stories involved lots of angst, groping, drama, and French kissing.
She began getting a paycheck for her writing in her twenties, writing record reviews for a Beverly Hills-based dance music magazine. Some years, various entertainment industry gigs, and a number of years in the hospitality industry later, Angel returned to the thing she loves the most: creating character-based romantic fiction. Along the way, she also graduated with two degrees from Chapman University in Southern California, taking departmental honors for English, before writing five historical romances for Kensington and Bantam/Doubleday/Dell.
Angel found a true home in writing contemporary-based romances that feature high heat and high concepts, focusing on memorable alpha men and the women who tame them. She has numerous book series to her credit, including the Kinky Truth series, the Secrets of Stone series (with Victoria Blue), and the popular W.I.L.D. Boys of Special Forces series, as well as several stand-alone titles. TheCimarron series and the Once Upon a Sin series both launch in 2015.
Angel still lives in Southern California, where she is married to her soul mate and lives on a street that looks like Brigadoon, with their awesome daughter and Lady Claire, the dog with impeccable manners. When not writing, she enjoys reading, pop culture, alt rock, cute shoes, and hanging at the beach with family and friends.
