Emma Cooper is determined to fulfill her
mother’s dying wish to scatter her ashes with Aiden Sheffield in Linx, Texas.
Just one problem. Why Texas and who the hell is Aiden Sheffield? The only clue
is a faded piece of her mother’s stationary. Emma imagines Aiden is a former
love of her mother’s, but when she meets the beautiful, damaged stranger, she
realizes her assumptions couldn’t be more wrong. He’s hot and young. And Emma
is as confused as ever.
Aiden Sheffield would rather go to hell than
Linx. Who does Emma think she is disrupting his carefully built life? The last
thing the Marine needs is to slice open the sealed wounds of his painful past.
Yet, as he gets to know the lovely Emma, a woman who manages to smile even
though she’s lost everything, he changes his mind. He will not let her go to
But neither is prepared for the devastating
evil waiting for them at the end of the road. It might just destroy them.
“May I help
you?” he asks, his smile tight like it’s forced. Struggling to find my voice, I
finally respond. “Aiden Sheffield?” “Guilty. Are you here to adopt?” “No.” The
pit bull whines at that. Without taking his eyes off me, Aiden pulls out a
plastic bag from his pocket and throws him a treat. Unable to keep staring at
him, my gaze shifts down. I get a good look at Aiden’s pal. The dog’s tail
wags, but only one of his ears perks. The other ear is completely missing, and
the poor boy’s jaw is misshapen. Aiden draws my attention back to him. “You’re
making my pack nervous.”
exactly what they look like…a pack. A family where he is the alpha. All the
dogs have now come toward the fence, sitting in a straight line. They seem calm
but curious as they flip their heads between us. “They don’t look nervous.”
They can smell your fear. They won’t hurt you.”
are you afraid of?”
moving forward so we are only inches from each other, separated by the
chain-link fence. His gaze lingers on me, far too long for comfort. He smells
masculine, of soap and sweat and something distinctively him. “Who are you,
mystery girl? Too old to be selling cookies, too young to be from the Gazette,
and too innocent to be spouting religion.”
Cooper. Angela’s daughter.” It’s a flicker in his features, but I catch the
scowl before it disappears. The dogs start surrounding Aiden and stare at me
with suspicion. It’s as if they are protecting him…from me.
you want?” His tone is curt, almost demanding. I shift from foot to foot.
talk?” The dogs stand at attention now.
“Go to the
house and wait for me.” He snaps the words like a command.
Not knowing a word of English, MK Schiller came to America
at the age of four from India. Since then, all she’s done is collect words.
After receiving the best gift ever from her parents—her very own library
card—she began reading everything she could get her greedy hands on. At
sixteen, a friend asked her to make up a story featuring the popular bad boy at
school. This wasn’t fan fiction…it was friend fiction. From that day on, she’s
known she wanted to be a writer. With the goal of making her readers both laugh
and cry, MK Schiller has penned more than a dozen books, each one filled with
misfit characters overcoming obstacles and finding true love.
He was supposed to be my first and only one-night
He was definitely not supposed to become my boss.
I had always been the good girl – the workaholic with every
second of her life mapped out to a tee.
Then I got trapped in an elevator with Julian Hoult.
He was… irresistible. Sophisticated sex in a
crisp white shirt. His voice alone dropped me straight to my knees. What was I
supposed to do?
I can tell you what was I definitely not supposed
I was not supposed to run into him ever again. I was not
supposed to be desperately unemployed, and I was definitely not supposed to
accept his dirty little job offer.
But I couldn’t resist.
As CEO of the Hoult Media empire, Julian will stop at
nothing to get what he wants. So for his next venture with Manhattan’s most
lecherous billionaires, he’s hired me to play the role of bait. And while my
official title is that of Executive Assistant, my actual job requires low tops,
tight skirts and flaunting everything I’ve got till his clients are easy to
bend – till they can barely think for themselves anymore.
It’s sleazy and wrong. Against everything I’ve worked for.
But with Julian as my audience, I can’t help but enjoy every second. Thanks to
him, I’m embracing the bad, and I swear…
Stella Rhys is an author of contemporary romance and can't
help but write it hot, steamy and borderline filthy (just kidding, it's just
flat-out filthy). Writing aside, she lives for coffee, the Knicks, the Yankees
and cooking recipes way out of her league. She was born and raised in New York
and now lives there with her husband and charmingly entitled fur babies.
Here’s the first thing you should know: this is not a fairytale.
Happily-ever-afters are fables, and Prince Charming is a sweet little lie.
I know all this because he taught me.
Once upon a lifetime ago, the rich, arrogant, sinfully gorgeous, and tragically
broken dark prince of the Hamptons was my tormentor. My darkness, my shameful
attraction, my all-consuming, forbidden temptation.
I hate Sebastian Crown because nine years ago, for one night, I was stupid
enough to think I loved him. And I’ve been paying for it ever since.
Except now, he needs me to help him save his empire.
…And he’s not taking no for answer.
She’s my nemesis. My addiction. My weakness.
I used to tell myself I hated Anastasia Bell - for being poor, for not
worshipping the ground I walked on, for looking at me like she pitied me for
When the rest of my world always told me yes, she was the ever-provoking no.
She thinks I’m a monster - a tragic, fucked-up, broken beast.
She doesn’t know the half of it.
Because she can’t begin to know the crimes of my past, or imagine the things
I’ve done to her behind the scenes since she left this place.
Years ago, I thought breaking her would fix me.
I was wrong.
Now I’ve got her in my sights again, and this time, I won’t be letting her go.
Even if it means we both go down in flames...
Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author Aubrey
Irons enjoys writing about bold, sassy, and intelligent women and the hot,
cocky, and quite typically forbidden bad boys who love and lust for them.
Gripping stories, guaranteed happy ever afters, and LOTS of heat.
In the real world, Aubrey is kept plenty entertained by her own favorite bad
boy husband, their two adorable kiddos, and the world's most ill-behaved puppy.
Sign up for my mailing list for new release news, author giveaways, ARC
opportunities, and *zero* spam. Plus, get a free bad boy ebook for joining! Use
this link to sign up: http://eepurl.com/bu3-3P
Bad Boy Ballers series finale! Includes an epic novella
length epilogue for Rafe and Peyton, Brooklyn and Delaney, and Calder and
The dark horse of the NFL. A superstar showgirl on the
Vegas strip. Their desire is taboo in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.
Calder Malone. Black sheep. Bad boy. Kicked off the Reno
Ravens and almost suspended from the NFL. The sexy center remains a fan
favorite now that he’s playing for Carolina Crush. And what Calder wants more
than anything is to prove his worth to the team that’s his last chance, the
family he disgraced, and the one woman he fell in love with years ago.
Unfortunately the comeback kid isn’t a boy anymore, and the
babe he wants was never his for the taking—for reasons that make him question
Reggie isn’t just a Vegas showgirl, a pretty face. She’s an
Air Force widow, a strong woman who’s piecing her life back together . . . And
maybe the man she always thought was out of her league and completely
off-limits just became fair game.
Off the field and offstage, what happens when Calder and
Reggie don’t stay in Vegas?
I was in a
bastard of a mood when the doorbell rang after I’d dropped the two
hundred-pound weight onto the rest. My chest burning, my ribs wracked with
agony, I curled up to my feet. Thought about a shirt. Thought, fuck it. It was probably just Brooks.
my watchdog, checking in regularly, inviting me to his place for dinner with
him and Delaney, keeping the door open in case I needed to talk to someone
other than my sponsor.
through the house, I absentmindedly swiped at the sweat on my chest with the
towel I held.
went fully hard in an instant.
the towel in front of me, one hand notched on the doorframe, my chest bare,
Reggie’s chin barely reaching my shoulders.
Reggie. On my doorstep. Showing up out of the clear blue.
flattened as my heartbeat thudded in my chest.
that had broken open in that alley with Brooklyn I’d sealed back under. Until
this precise moment when Reggie lifted a bag in her hand and a smile on her
lips when I was pretty sure I’d never looked more threatening.
some time off. Recuperation.” She angled a leg in tight faded jeans toward me.
“Sore tendon. Figured you’d know how to put me back together right as rain with
your PT background.”
Hooking the end of the towel into the waistband of my shorts, I rasped my hands
across the dark shade of stubble on my jaw, and she watched every goddamn
stroke. “You don’t look injured.”
Her gaze—challenging—dropped to the bruise on my ribs.
to check up on me.”
“So what if
I did?” She shrugged one shoulder.
have to worry about me anymore.”
just turn it off, Calder.”
need or want your help.” I tried to maintain the barrier, nearly snarling at
cast her eyes beyond me. “Are you going to invite me inside like an old friend
Old friend. Old pain.
under my arm. Smiling.
door, I sealed my body against it. “What are you really doing here?”
said you’d accept my calls.” She dropped her bags. Stood with hands on hips.
“You lied to me.”
I do, sweetheart.” Determined to piss her off so she’d leave because danger
lurked in the dark spaces of my mind.
forgotten she reacted like a lioness when cornered.
steps, Reggie was up against me, in my face.
Protect and dominate. The two different impulses swarmed
I wanted to
serve her up on a silver platter and plant my face between her thighs.
her against me in my bed, blankets all around, my arms a cradle.
hooked mine with nothing but unwavering intensity. “You have driven everyone away, Calder.” Her stance
blended her against me, and she had to feel the heat—the need and arousal—she
spiked in my body.
“I will not fucking let you go down one more
time.” Bleak, no longer dreamy eyes, rose to mine. “I’m not losing you to
self-pity or self-loathing or any other kind of hate you keep wrapping around
I’d met my match.
it all along.
“One man is
enough to lose.” Her voice dropped, but her finger pointed at my chest before
she spread her fingers over my careening heart. “And you have a choice in the matter.”
Rie is the badass, sassafras author of Sugar Daddy and the Don’t Tell series–a breakthrough trilogy that crosses traditional publishing boundaries beginning with In His Command. Some of her latest endeavors include the Carolina Bad Boys and Bad Boys of Retribution MC series.
A Yankee transplant who has traveled the world, Rie started out a writer—causing her college professor to blush over her erotic poetry without one ounce of shame. Not much has changed. She swapped pen for paintbrushes and followed her other love during her twenties. From art school to marriage to children and many a wild and wonderful journey in between, Rie has come home to her calling. Her work has been called edgy, daring, and some of the sexiest smut around.
He's arrogant, sexy and aloof. And now I have to write his book.
Jack Willis is every bit the start-up prodigy—seriously smart, inventive, and
totally sexy. With his incredible mind, extraordinary body, and a bank account
with more zeroes than you can count, he would give the sharks from Shark Tank a
run for their money. Everyone from Wall Street investors to drooling house
wives wants a piece of him. Everyone except Libby Hanson, that is.
Libby Hanson is a crafty, curvy bombshell, more accustomed to macrame and
crochet than fine dining and stealth engineering. She reads, she writes, she
drinks wine with her cat...and she's never even heard of Jack Willis until she
lands an interview that will change her life forever.
Jack needs a book written—and fast. His sexy new car is about to be released on
the market, and a New York Times bestselling book would be the perfect
marketing push to get his business to the next level. He could have any writer
he wants: but he wants Libby. She's feisty, gorgeous, and has a way with words
like nobody else.
To write his book, Libby has to see everything he does. She gets thrust into a
brand new world of A-list red carpet events, meetings with executives, and long
nights in the workshop that grow increasingly intimate. But to write a
bestseller, Libby needs more. Their connection is off the charts, but she'll
need to discover the real Jack—the man behind the inventions, the man who's
steadily stealing her heart. Jack has secrets—lots of them—and Libby will do
anything to get the scoop. With Jack's true nature coming to the surface, Libby
finds herself torn—will she expose the man everyone is dying to get the dirt
on? Or will she protect the man she is slowly but surely falling for?
“You have no idea what I do, do you?” I asked her point
blank. No point beating around the bush for much longer. And I was curious how
she’d react. Most people would stutter and immediately deny their lack of
I wasn’t surprised when Libby’s reaction was different.
Everything about her was different.
She laughed, the sound a little nervous and a little
sheepish. “I don’t, I’m sorry,” she confessed. “I don’t like to come so
unprepared, but I’m afraid no one was very forthcoming with details about the
job. Just that someone needed a ghostwriter.”
“Only you didn’t know who that someone was,” I leaned back,
I couldn’t help it. There was something about her that
captivated me. And I was the kind of man that paid attention when my gut told
me to. I wouldn’t have gotten as far as I had if I hadn’t developed a pretty
damn good set of instincts. And my instincts were saying that Libby Hanson
deserved a closer look.
Two red spots had appeared on her cheeks. “I’m afraid to say
I didn’t know who you were when I walked in. And I still don’t.”
Even my name hadn’t sparked any recognition. Either Libby
had been living under a rock for the past few years or she just didn’t travel
in the kind of circles that discussed the latest tech inventions. Or the latest
millionaire gossip mill. It was incredibly refreshing. Everyone else I had
interviewed for the ghostwriter job had nearly fallen over themselves, quoting
other articles or pieces that had been written about me, trying to impress me.
And that was if they were men. If they were women, they tended to start batting
their eyelashes and making unsubtle attempts to display various body parts.
Even though it had been happening for years – ever since my name and photo were
on the cover of Forbes – I still couldn’t get used to women throwing themselves
at me with such aggression. I’d always been lucky with the ladies, but the fame
and the money made it out of control. I didn’t like fawning, I just found it
annoying. And I really didn’t want to work with someone who was going to try to
flatter and butter me up, even if it was for the sake of the book. A book which
I had been loathed to do in the first place. I hated talking about myself. I
wanted to talk about the work, about what I wanted to accomplish, not which
supermodel I was rumored to be dating or all the money I was making. My
personal life was just that – personal. And I intended to keep that side of me
out of the press and out of this book.
Which is why I found Libby’s lack of information appealing,
and I saw the opportunity to avoid the usual pitfalls I often found when being
interviewed. She didn’t know me, didn’t know my reputation. She would be able
to approach this book without any preconceived notions. Without any agenda. It
could actually be about the work, and not about me.
For the first time the book didn’t seem like the worst idea
“You’re hired,” I told her.
Maggie Riley is a contemporary romance author whose
interests include red wine, sushi, strolls through Central Park, and steamy
men- both real and imaginary. She lives on the Upper East Side with her German
madame_angel [10:25 AM] *All y’all doing these MFM menages are so totally missing out. Three guys is so much better than just two…*
I mean, spice it up, add an extra M into the MFM. Make it MFMM. Extra pair of hands. Extra pair of lips. An extra uhm.…well, you know :wink:Like what woman doesn't wanna get totally consumed by three big dudes that just put her on a pedestal and take her to paradise? Just focused entirely on her and making sure she's just twitching with pleasure by the end of it, ya know?Is there a story in all this fun times?Sure. There’s a really great story in here about love, betrayal, jealousy, all capped with a HEA and no cliffy’s at all. Lana and I had a lot of fun writing it, but I mean the hot scenes were what totally made us late in putting this out because we kept having to take 'breaks'.And with good reason too. Like add an extra M into the mix and you really do go 'mmm' ya know?In fact, I guarantee that MFMM is so hot and sizzling that you’ll never be able to go back to plain ol’ vanilla MFM anymore.If you have any babies after reading this, they better be named Abby!Just sayin’ :wink:
Abby Angel is actually two dirty angels who got together to write some filthy words. Lana Hartley, when she isn't writing Abby Angel, writes dark romance under her own pen name as well as contributes to Dark Angel. Alexis Angel, writes erotic contemporary romance under a variety of names - she's forgotten them all at this point. They both write under Naughty Angel publishing and wanted to create a pen name to provide exclusive MMF content! To receive a free dose of filth from the archives, sign up for the Naughty Angel newsletter at http://eepurl.com/cvgi4v.