NEW RELEASE! TOP BOTTOM SWITCH by Chelle Bliss

★STANDALONE NOVELLA★

ONLY 99 CENTS

Part of the Club Series, featuring interconnected novellas

AMAZON | BARNES & NOBLE | IBOOKS | KOBO | GOOGLE

AMZN UK | AMZN AU | AMZN CA

BLURB

Ret North knows exactly who he is—a Dominant male with an insatiable sexual appetite. He’s always been a top, searching for his bottom…until a notorious switch catches his eye.

Alese Kane has grown tired of her usual partners. She’s been watching Ret for months, wanting to run her tongue along his hard muscles. But his need for total control stops her.

Ret worries that a relationship with Alese would be impossible, but his giant ego and even larger cock tell him otherwise. Unable to deny his attraction to her any longer, Ret convinces Alese to submit to him.

When Ret dominates Alese, will she submit or will she top from the bottom?

EXCERPT

I can almost smell her arousal from across the booth, and my mouth waters from the scent. “Lucky bastard,” I whisper so quietly that only I can hear over the music in the background.

Stella’s body starts to tremble, her creamy skin glistening under the lights. Her breathing changes and she lets out a small moan.

Misha’s hand stops and he whispers in her ear. She nods before his hands start to move again under the table. “Open your eyes, Stella. I want Master Ret to watch you fall apart in my lap.”

Her head slowly moves off his shoulder and her eyes flutter open.

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry when our eyes meet. Without breaking eye contact, and with my hand still holding my hardened cock, I pick up the scotch and watch over the rim. I try to quell the thirst, but it doesn’t work.

I don’t need a drink. I need a submissive.

ABOUT CHELLE BLISS

Chelle currently lives near the Gulf of Mexico and is a full-time writer, time-waster extraordinaire, social media addict, and coffee fiend. Currently she’s written over thirteen books and loves spending her free time with her man, 2 cats, and her hamster.

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Man Candy by Melanie Harlow

Release Date: June 20, 2016

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Synopsis:

He’s back.

Not just back in town, but living in the flat right beneath mine. And he looks good enough to eat, which is just one more reason to stay away from him.

But I can’t resist.

The sex is incredible (pretty sure we’ve shaken the house right off its foundation), but he can’t fool me—not this time. A degree in marketing and five years in advertising have taught me that “true love” is a fairy tale used to sell lipstick, diamonds, and perfume. It doesn’t exist.

He thinks I’m wrong, and he wants to prove it.

I think he’s crazy, so I dare him to try.

It might be the biggest mistake of my life.

Check out our 4.5 smooches review HERE.

Excerpt:

“It’s so good to see you, Jaime,” he said. “You look great.”

“You too,” I said before I could stop myself. I didn’t want him to think I still cared—in fact, I wanted him to know I wasn’t fooled by his charm. I wasn’t that silly little girl anymore, the one who’d doodled his name in her notebooks and blushed when he said hi at school and cried herself to sleep when he asked another girl to his prom. That silly little girl was gone, and in her place was a confident, smart, professional woman who knew her worth and, even better, the truth about love. No more stars in her eyes.

But why did he have to be so hot?

OK, pull yourself together. No drooling.

“I’m so glad this worked out.” Quinn let me go but stood too close, his feet planted wide and his arms crossed over his chest. He wore jeans, a gray knit pullover that hugged his muscular chest and arms, and his feet were bare. His hair was damp and messy on top, just like it had been the last time I’d seen him in person. His full lower lip made me want to bite it. Maybe even draw blood.

“Sorry, I just got out of the shower,” he said sheepishly, ruffling his hair. “Want to come in and catch up? Or maybe go out for a drink? I just need to throw some shoes on.”

“No.” Trying desperately to shove the image of him in the shower from my mind, I elbowed past him and trudged up the stairs. My cheeks were hot, which meant they were probably turning scarlet. They ruined my poker face every time.

“Come on, it’s Friday!”

“I have work to do.” He was naked a few minutes ago. And wet.

“Did you have a bad day?”

“No.” Rivulets of water streaming over those muscles.

“You already have plans tonight?”

“No.” Steam rising as he stroked himself beneath the spray.

“You don’t love me anymore?”

I froze as the shower fantasy exploded into bits, replaced by a humiliation that paralyzed me, one foot on the top step, one hand on the banister. Slowly, I turned my head and glared at him over one shoulder.

Now the grin cocked up on one side. “Because you used to, you know. You told me.”

“You need to forget about that.”

“Have you?”

“Yes,” I snapped. “That was a long time ago. Back when I was young and impressionable and believed in love.”

His brows went up. “You don’t believe in love anymore?”

“Not the romantic kind. That’s a fantasy used to sell things like lipstick and roses and diamonds.”

“Pretty jaded for twenty-seven, aren’t you?”

I resumed heading up the stairs. “I’m not jaded, Quinn. I’m just a realist.” And I’ve been burned before, trusting guys way less attractive than you.

He said nothing more, and I let myself into my flat. As soon as the door was shut behind me, I leaned back against it, exhaling and fanning my face.

He still got to me. That was so aggravating.

I mean, how was I supposed to sleep at night? Quinn Rusek was one fine piece of man candy, and I had a sweet tooth for him that wouldn’t quit.

But he’d made fun of me! Again! A nice guy would have at least pretended not to remember what I’d said. Or maybe apologized for humiliating me. Or not have brought it up at all!

What an asshole.

A hot asshole—the worst kind.

Curse you, Alex, and your generous heart.

And curse you, Quinn, for getting under my skin again. You stay away from me.

But a traitorous little part of me hoped he wouldn’t.

(Bet you can guess which part.)

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About the Author:

Melanie Harlow likes her martinis dry, her heels high, and her history with the naughty bits left in. When she’s not writing or reading, she gets her kicks from TV series like VEEP, Game of Thrones, House of Cards, and Homeland. She occasionally runs three miles, but only so she can have more gin and steak.

Melanie is the author of the HAPPY CRAZY LOVE series, the FRENCHED series, and the sexy historical SPEAK EASY duet, set in the 1920s. She lifts her glass to romance readers and writers from her home near Detroit, MI, where she lives with her husband, two daughters, and pet rabbit.

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Jase Jergensmeyer was the bully that tortured me growing up–the kind of boy who would pull my pigtails and call me names in elementary school. He was never supposed to be anything other than a menace. He wasn’t meant to be anything other than the definition of what I didn’t want. 

Things don’t always happen the way we plan, and sometimes we ask God why he puts things in our path, but the most important thing to remember is: Life is an adventure, and if we all knew how it would play out, we never really would be living, would we? 

You know me as Shelby, the eight-year-old girl that went through hell with my sister, Ari, but I have my own story to tell. 

In Your Eyes is a follow-up novel in the Let It Be series. The first two novels, Let it be Me and Let it be Us, do not have to be read first to enjoy this story, but you will get to know the characters involved in this novel if you do.

Arianna Dubray is nothing like the girl she left in Baltimore. Once a Prada shoe wearing, Michael Kors bag carrying, on top of the world seventeen-year-old girl, Arianna knew that her life would never be the same when she got out of the car in middle-of-nowhere Montana.

Canyon Michaels is the keeper of his own dark secrets. Plagued by his family name, he’s forced to prove the town wrong and make it on his own.

The last thing Arianna needs is a reason to stay, but with every passing day the decision to leave becomes harder. Once their paths cross nothing can tear them apart, other than the secrets that start to surface and the nightmares that soon become their reality.

Montana has become everything Arianna Dubray never wanted it be. Home. Now, with every part of her Boston life behind her, she has all she needs to watch her future unfold in her little country life: her sister, Shelby, and the man that captured her heart and never let go, Canyon Michaels. 

But Canyon was sure Arianna was never coming back, and in the midst of his excitement, he doesn’t reveal the one thing that could shatter his dreams of being with her for the rest of his life.

When every secret comes to light, the only thing left to do is to leave their love in fate’s hands.

Author Barbara Speak loves nothing more than being allowed to share her ideas and thoughts through books that so many enjoy. When she’s not writing she’s caring for her son and daughter along side her amazing husband in rural Missouri. She has 5 more babies but these are covered in fur. Bode the boxer, Tucker the beagle and Lily, Callie and Connor her kitties.

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Archangel’s Heart is the 9th book in the

Guild Hunter series

Archangel’s Heart releases November 1st!

Now Available for Pre-order HERE: http://bit.ly/28P4Qel

Add it to your TBR: http://bit.ly/GoodreadsArchangelsHeart

Blurb

One of the most vicious archangels in the world has disappeared. No one knows if Lijuan is dead or has chosen to Sleep the long sleep of an immortal. But with her lands falling into chaos under a rising tide of vampiric bloodlust, a mysterious and ancient order of angels known as the Luminata calls the entire Cadre together to discuss the fate of her territory.

Accompanying her archangelic lover Raphael to the Luminata compound, guild hunter-turned-angel Elena senses that all is not as it seems. Secrets echo from within the stone walls of the compound, and the deeper Elena goes, the uglier the darkness. But neither Raphael nor Elena is ready for the brutal truths hidden within—truths that will change everything Elena thinks she knows about who she is…

Nothing will ever be the same again.

Author Information

Nalini Singh is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Psy-Changeling, Guild Hunter, and Rock Kiss series. She lives and works in beautiful New Zealand, and is passionate about writing.

If you’d like to explore her other books, you can find lots of excerpts and free short stories on her website. Slave to Sensation is the first book in the Psy-Changeling series, while Angels’ Blood is the first book in the Guild Hunter series. The Rock Kiss books are all stand alone and can be read in any order.

STALK HER:  Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Excerpt

Prologue

Sitting at my desk I chew on the end of my pen waiting for Professor Kelly to finish writing on the whiteboard. This class always drags and it being at noon I’m always hungry half way through.

Bored I trace the words stenciled into the top of my desk with my index finger.

‘Lick it before you stick it.’

Where do people even come up with this stuff?

“I love how her hand erases half of what she writes as she moves across the board,” Keegan whispers next to me, bringing my attention from my tracing to Professor Kelly. Sure enough, the sentence on the left is half wiped off as she continues to write along the board.

Keegan is the only person I talk to here at UCLA. I don’t know if I would call her a friend, more of a roommate, and study partner. College isn’t any different than high school and I’d rather stay to myself.  If you’re making friends then you’re a part of the drama. Who is screwing who, drugs, and mean girls, it’s a vicious circle.

Keegan and I click because she’s different. She has tattoos covering her arms and hands, and collects everything unicorn. Not to mention I love her outlook on life. She could care less what people think of her. She’s carefree and it scares people.

“Jacki, do you have your piece ready?” Professor Kelly asks.

Jacki who sits in front of me clears her throat, sitting straight in her seat.

“I’m just about done. I’m waiting for the owner of the restaurant to call me back,” Jacki replies.

I’m majoring in journalism. I figured if I can’t do what I love, I’ll do what comes next. Writing about it.

“Tatum, what about you?” I freeze.

“Yes, my piece is done,” I lie. I haven’t even started. Professor Kelly smiles at me, knowing I wouldn’t disappoint. Little does she know every piece I give her is last minute.

Jacki turns in her seat and eyes me with her fake green contacts. Here she goes. For some reason I am always the target of her bullying. I think it’s because a guy she was interested in sat next to me two classes ago. After ignoring him, he got the hint and moved back to the front of the class.

Either way, Jacki’s antics get old. I usually just ignore her. What is sad is she used to be friendly. Then she started sleeping with everyone and her ego became as big as the hole between her legs.

“Why do you dress like trash? It’s like, an embarrassment to the graduating class.” Her friends laugh and she smiles proud of herself.

“Ignore them,” Keegan mutters.

I always do.

Professor Kelly sits at her desk to work through the articles for the school paper, wasting the last ten minutes of class. Kicking my backpack out from under my seat I pull out my book and start to get lost in the pages of dragons and zombies.

“You know nobody has called me back?” Keegan interrupts my reading.

“All those applications, and not one news station has called. I should just give up, maybe I can be a maid,” she continues, and I know she’s about to go on her rant. I should give up reading, when she gets like this there’s no stopping her. Not one to give up, I narrow my brows to indicate I’m in some deep reading. “Ooh, I could be a sex maid. You know, the ones where I pretend to clean your house but then we have sex?”

I laugh, giving up on trying to read my book and close it.

“Yes, I know the kind.  But don’t give up, the right job will call you back. Besides, you hate giving head and I’m pretty sure that will be a requirement when you’re a sex maid.”

“Shit, you’re right.” She sags in her seat like I just ruined her life goals.

“Speaking of shit, did you buy that bag from someone homeless?” Jacki flips her blonde hair over her shoulder as she eavesdrops.  “I bet your mother is embarrassed to have you as a daughter, I mean, did you get your hair done by a hobo?” She continues to insult.

Something inside of me I thought was dead ignites, swimming through my veins like a wild fire as I pin Jacki with a stare.

“You should probably shut your mouth while you’re ahead,” I warn. Keegan looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. I’ve never reacted to Jacki’s insults. Today, though… I’ve had enough.

“Aww, did I hit a nerve?” Jacki laughs. Closing my eyes I try to push through the violence wanting to be released. “Do you even have a mother, or did she just give up when she had you?” She throws her head back and laughs, revealing the trashy pink lipstick that’s smeared on her teeth.

Anger thrusts through my arms and my hands curl into fists. I’m going to lose it. I’m going to lose my temper and become irate, right here.

“I need to get out of here.” I shove my book in my bag and stand, trying to leave before something horrible surfaces. I have been able to overlook anything and everything that triggers my temper, but my mom… that is one I clearly can’t overcome.

“Aw look, you made her leave.” One of Jacki’s friends taunts. I don’t even remember her name. They all sound alike anyway. Jacki, Judy, Janet.

“Good, maybe she can run back to her momma for some fashion advice,” Jacki continues.

I stall staring at the double doors that lead out of the auditorium.

Just leave. Keep going.

Closing my eyes, something I’ve suppressed for years breaks through it’s cage slamming full force in my chest.

I drop my book bag, and turn on my heel.

“What’d you say?”

Sitting sideways in her seat, tapping her desk with a pencil, Jacki giggles.

“You heard me, you’re a—“

I don’t let her finish. I leap over her friend and grab Jacki by the throat, pulling her from her seat. She screams, her fake blonde hair flailing everywhere as I drag her across the desks to the aisle.

The class screams with excitement as I drop Jacki like the sack of shit she is. God I feel fantastic! Like a tiger at the zoo finally being released into the wild.

I feel… alive. Day after day, I have sat in a chair behind a desk living a mundane boring life. Giving up on family, dreams, and most importantly, myself.

Jacki stares back at me with mascara smeared eyes, the look of fear fueling me to continue. I smile, and strike her in the face, throwing her back on the stairs.

But this, the violence, it’s what I long for.

She wails, cupping her nose. “You crazy bitch!”

Keegan jumps to her feet in her seat looking over Jacki laying in the aisle before looking up at me. “Holy shit!”

“What is going on?” Professor Kelly jumps from her desk making her way up the stairs.

“Run!” Keegan points at the double doors smiling just as big as I am.

Stepping over Jacki, I grab my bag but stop as I look at Jacki who is only a foot from me.

“Remember that next time you want to bully someone. Grow up.” I stand upright, shuffling my bag on my back, and I sprint out of class.

Quickly, I make it to my dorm room and throw what I can into bags. Drawers left on the floor and my mattress overturned, I make a mess of the room. Keegan is going to kill me when she gets back. Swiping my phone off the shelf where we keep the Ramen noodles, a pair of scissors fall to the floor nearly spearing me in the foot and landing on a magazine. I stare at the beautiful blonde on the front of the cover. I took this magazine into the mall months ago trying to imitate the model’s makeup. Hundreds of dollars later and I didn’t feel any prettier. I tried to fit into the LA lifestyle, I really tried but I’m just different. I don’t care about fashion, or chick flicks, or the so called normal shit that girls my age should like. If LA can’t turn me into a prima donna, then nobody can.

I glance up finding Keegan’s giant mirror with unicorn and mermaid stickers plastered all over it, my reflection looking back at me. My painted eyes and fake blush looking ridiculous on me.

Grabbing a couple of Kleenex I rub at my face, pressing as hard as I can to rub the shit off my eyelids and cheeks until my skin is near raw.

I’m done pretending.

Dropping the makeup smeared tissues to the floor I grab my bags and glance at the trashed room one last time.

My heart beats wildly as I flush my journalism career down the drain.

This isn’t what I wanted anyway.

I don’t want to report about the best fighters in the world.

I want to be one.

Meet Tatum and Camden in this

second chance fighter Romance!

Love Tap releases on July 6th!

Add it to your TBR: http://bit.ly/GoodreadsLoveTap

Blurb

All I ever wanted was to be a female fighter.

It was in my blood to smack people around.

Some girls wore pink dresses and makeup, I wore sneakers and bruises.

I was a loner, stuck to myself because I was different, until Camden Steel moved next door.

I punched him in the mouth, and he saw me through rose colored glasses from that day on.

I had everything I ever wanted.

The boy next door, inspiring career… until I didn’t.

He hates me. I deserve that.

They say you have to fight for what you want… What they don’t tell you… is it’ll cost you more than you’re willing to give to reach the top.

About the Author

M.N. Forgy was raised in Missouri where she still lives with her family. She’s a soccer mom by day and a saucy writer by night. M.N. Forgy started writing at a young age but never took it seriously until years later, as a stay-at-home mom, she opened her laptop and started writing again. As a role model for her children, she felt she couldn’t live with the “what if” anymore and finally took a chance on her character’s story. So, with her glass of wine in hand and a stray Barbie sharing her seat, she continues to create and please her fans.

Stalk Her:  Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Chapter 1

Remi

Plain and simple, this night sucked.

Sadly, it was my honeymoon.

I sighed heavily and gazed around Masquerade, an intimately lit London nightclub where everyone wore black domino masks, some elaborate and some plain, to hide their identity. A few die-hards even sported dark clothing with long, loose cloaks. Not me though. I’d gone modern with a slinky little number and three-inch heels, putting my height at nearly six feet. Yep, I’m the giant in the blue dress, towering over every girl and some guys at the bar.

My top teeth dug into my bottom lip as I gazed around the smoky club, my eyes bouncing off random faces. Even in a room full of party people, music, and strobe lights, I was lonely.

My groom was missing.

That’s right. Hartford Wilcox, Jr., aka Mr. Nice Guy at Whitman University in North Carolina, had jilted me two weeks before the big wedding day as we had dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant, Mario’s.

And now here I was—on my honeymoon and getting trashed with my best friend Lulu who’d decided to skip her beach vacation and come with me at the last minute.

She poked me with her finger as we sat in front of the heavy wooden bar of the club. “Hey, Earth to Remi, get that glazed look out of your eyes and order a drink already. I’m thirsty.” She fluffed her pixie-cut pink hair and straightened her black tutu, eyes scoping out the club. “Dang, the men in here are hotter than a billy goat with a blow torch,” she said in her honeyed southern drawl.

I half-heartedly agreed, not really caring, more intent on scanning the bottles behind the bar. “I want tequila,” I murmured. “A whole bottle.”

Her face snapped back to me and her green eyes widened. “Uh-uh. No way. I know what happens when you drink that crap. You either eat a ton of tacos and puke, or you wrap yourself around some cocky bastard with a well-developed tush.”

True. I did love a tight muscular ass.

But I wouldn’t get one tonight.

A short laugh burst out of me, one of those I’m-miserable-but-pretending-to- be-okay-laughs that I’d been doing a lot of lately. For the past two weeks, I’d vacillated between a sobbing mess and an angry woman who became so incensed that “fuck” was the only word that seemed appropriate in any given situation. Going to the post office to mail he dumped me, but thank you anyway cards. Fuck. Going to the wedding venue and not getting the ten thousand dollar deposit back. Fuck. Realizing I was homeless fall semester—which was in two weeks—fuck. Listening to my mother tell me it was my fault. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The bartender delivered my bottle and poured me a shot. I sucked the tequila down while Lulu watched me warily. It tasted like bad decisions and gasoline, but tonight was about forgetting. The sooner the better.

A few minutes later, Lulu went out to dance with a British guy she’d been making eyes at. I sat glumly at the bar, fiddling with my diamond tennis bracelet, rubbing it like rosary beads. I needed to forget Hartford, and according to Lulu, that meant hooking up with someone.

Was she right?

Fate answered in the form of a beautiful man—and by beautiful I mean drop-dead sexy with a backside so delectable and muscular my mouth plopped open.

I snapped my lips shut and adjusted my velvet half-mask—the annoying feathery plumes on the sides kept sticking to my red lipstick—and turned ever so slightly to check him out, not wanting to appear obvious. He slid into the seat next to me, tall and broad with rippling shoulders and a massive frame.

I checked my appearance in a mirror behind the bar, mentally analyzing the odds of a girl like me snagging a hottie like him.

Although no one had ever called me beautiful, I did have two—okay, maybe three—things going for me in the looks department. My shiny, golden-brown hair that hung down in waves to my shoulders, my fluffy “pillow lips” as Lulu described them, and lastly, I had an itsy bitsy space between my two front teeth which were otherwise white and perfect. Lulu claimed the gap lent me an exotic look, like Madonna or Sookie Stackhouse. Whatever. I was a True Blood fan. I went with it.

He shifted on the stool, leaning closer to me. His cologne swirled in the air, the smell of expensive Scotch and musk mingling together to create a heady, slightly dangerous scent. I paused, goosebumps rising on my bare arms. The spicy whiff triggered a distant memory just out of reach.

As slyly as I could, I studied his profile from top to bottom. Like me he wore a black mask, although his was more masculine, not hiding his chiseled, movie star jawline. His lips were carnal and luscious, the bottom more plump than the top with a slight indentation in the middle. As I watched, his tongue swept out and caressed it, his top teeth biting it as if he were deep in thought. He raked a hand through his dark, longish messy hair, held it suspended above his head for a few seconds and then released it, letting it swish back into its tousled yet perfect place.

I tore my eyes away.

Something about him sent loud warning bells ringing in every atom of my body.

Danger, danger. Don’t touch that.

But my gaze would not be denied as I took in the tight black shirt and sculpted chest that was obviously used to the inside of a gym, right down to an arm that looked like it could snap a board in half—or me.

Nice biceps, Mr. Beautiful.

The pièce de résistance was the vivid blue and orange dragonfly tattoo displayed on his left arm. It was larger than my hand and took up most of his bicep. My eyes traced the contours of the design from the papery wings to the multi-faceted eyes. A bold black color outlined the insect, giving it a masculine feel.

Gorgeous.

True Religion jeans stretched down long legs and ended in a pair of black Converse without socks, giving him a boyish quality that was in direct contrast to the crazy-sexy-bad-boy vibe he had going on.

Him tonight?

Maybe. He was the polar opposite of Hartford who was blond, lean, and tattoo-free.

I nibbled on my fingernail. How do I get him to notice little ol’ me?

Just then a redhead with fluffy Farrah Fawcett hair strode up to his stool, bold as brass, wearing a tight, white mini-skirt that barely covered her booty. She brought with her the smell of sweet, cloying perfume, the kind I always got spritzed with at the mall.

She flicked her hair over her shoulder, casually rubbed her finger down his arm and struck up a conversation. Her fake, black lashes—which she’d somehow managed to get outside the eyeholes of her mask—batted. She puffed out her well-developed chest.

He smiled back at her with a wicked grin, his relaxed body language telling me he was confident when it came to women. She whispered in his ear, boobs right in his face, but whatever he said back wasn’t what she wanted to hear because a few ticks later, she crossed her arms, glared at me, and stalked away.

I blinked. What had I done?

Then he turned and pointed his devastating smile at me.

Shit, he’d made eye contact—as much as you could with a claustrophobic mask on.

But wait…

Was he crazy?

Because if he’d turned down her flirtation, I didn’t have a shot.

I didn’t know how to do the fingers-tip-toeing-up-his-arm-thing and sexy hair flicking. I didn’t know a thing about applying fake eyelashes. I didn’t know how to make my breasts sit up that high. I looked away from him and took another shot, feeling anxious and strangely off-kilter.

Mr. Beautiful ordered a drink from the bartender, his British accent smooth as silk as it washed over me. I froze. I almost knew that voice—deep with soft rounded vowels that made you tingle in your lady parts.

What was it about this guy that had me all jacked up and hot for him?

Hello, tequila, my inner voice said. But it was more than that.

Getting brave, I pivoted on my barstool, and found Mr. Beautiful’s eyes on me once more, searching my face. As if he too recognized the pull between us.

My heart played hopscotch, jumping against my chest. My skin prickled. I shivered.

Did I know him?

It clicked.

Dax Blay?

It was his voice, the same deep quality, the kind of voice that made you want to hop into his bed and ride him like a cowgirl.

My breath hitched, and I swallowed down the emotion that zipped up my spine whenever I thought of him. He was my one mistake, the time I’d tossed inhibitions and carefully laid plans aside and went with my instincts, only to have them tossed back in my face.

But the man next to me wasn’t Dax. Thank God.

Last spring at the campus-wide end of the year fraternity party with Hartford, I’d seen Dax, and he’d had shorter hair, like always, and zero tattoos. Yeah. No way.

Plus, last I heard, he was in Raleigh where his father lived.

Yet…

Dax was British. He could have family here. Maybe he got a tattoo?

Nah. I mean, what were the odds of us both being at the same club on the same night in a country where neither of us lived?

I tore my eyes off Mr. Beautiful and waved at a bartender for more limes, but somehow my tennis bracelet snagged on the bodice of my dress, leaving my wrist dangling like a wet dishrag in a most inappropriate place.

I wiggled my arm.

Jiggled it.

Even went so far as to jerk, but it wouldn’t separate.

Sweat popped out on my forehead. Holding my breath, I twisted and tugged the bracelet, forcing the delicate material in my bodice to stretch beyond normal limits.

“Well, hell,” I breathed, pausing to assess.

Skin-tight with a plunging neckline, the dress was mostly a stretchy fabric held together by sequined straps and a zipper on the side. Slated as part of my honeymoon wardrobe, it was a Tory Burch and had cost four hundred dollars, the most I’d ever paid for a fun outfit, and no way did I want to damage it. I might have to return it to rent an apartment at Whitman.

Lulu. I needed Lulu. She was a whiz with wardrobe malfunctions.

I spun around on the barstool and used my free hand to wave at her, but she was slinging herself around dancing, having a great time and completely oblivious. I resorted to flapping both hands at her, one high and one low. Several people waved back with baffled expressions, but Lulu didn’t notice. Dammit.

I groaned and slumped down in my seat, ready to scream. Now what? Go to the bathroom and repair it there? Good plan.

But the club tilted when I stood, the strobe lights making me squint as they flashed in my face. I wobbled in my leopard print heels—that Lulu had insisted I wear—and grabbed the stool to keep my balance. `

I sucked in a breath to gather myself, but I couldn’t think straight. The room spun, and I was suddenly queasy, and why did I slam all that tequila, and oh my god, my wrist is currently attached to my tit like a T. rex arm.

I had to get out of here before someone noticed what an idiot I was.

Trying to be stealth like, I reached across the bar to get my beaded clutch, but because it was my left hand and not my right that I used most of the time, I got off balance and stumbled—and my ankle folded in on itself. I yelped as my shoe catapulted off my foot and vaulted off toward the dance floor, while I fell forward, straight into Mr. Beautiful’s lap.

Filthy English (unedited excerpt)

Copyright Ilsa Madden-Mills

The British are HERE!  

Are you ready for Filthy English?

Add to your TBR for a July 11th release here: http://bit.ly/28MpTlk

Blurb

A smokin’ hot British player…

A jilted girl…

One night of mistaken identity…

Two weeks before her wedding, Remi Montague’s fiancé drops her faster than a drunken sorority girl in stilettos. Armed with her best friend and a bottle of tequila, she hops a plane to London to drown her sorrows before fall semester begins at Whitman University.

She didn’t plan on attending a masquerade party.

She sure didn’t plan on waking up next to the British bad boy who broke her heart three years ago—the devastatingly handsome and naked Dax Blay. Furthermore, she has no clue how they acquired matching tattoos.

Once back at Whitman together, they endeavor to pretend they never had their night of unbridled passion in London.

But that’s damn hard to do when you live in the same house…

One night. Two damaged hearts. The passion of a lifetime.

*A modern love story inspired by Romeo and Juliet*

**no one dies in the writing of this novel**

About the Author

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 all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, 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.

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:

You can stalk her on her website as well as get signed books: http://www.ilsamaddenmills.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorilsamaddenmills?pnref=lhc

IG: https://instagram.com/ilsamaddenmills/

Twitter: @ilsamaddenmills

Ilsa Madden-Mills’ other books:

VERY BAD THINGS

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1RH9CJY

iBooks: http://apple.co/1gl5Yaj

BN: http://bit.ly/1bOyH2g

Kobo: http://bit.ly/1D0BVw5

VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1K5NvX8

VERY WICKED THINGS

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1NvRIr5

iBooks: http://apple.co/1mVS3Wo

BN: http://bit.ly/1mT1cDB

Kobo: http://bit.ly/1C9EZt3

VERY TWISTED THINGS

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1cvvkkh

iBooks: http://apple.co/1eN7Clh

BN: http://bit.ly/1KK0ljh

Kobo: http://bit.ly/1BHcK4R