Title: Hooker (L.A. Liaisons, #2)

Author: Brooke Blaine

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release Date: March 9, 2016

Synopsis

Whoever said singles were missing out by not finding true love and getting married before the age of thirty had never experienced the sheer pleasure of nightly romantic comedy viewings in their underwear while eating one of Licked’s famous Crazy Cat Lady sundaes. Because life just doesn’t get better than that.

At least, it doesn’t for Shayne Callahan. It didn’t take more than a handful of broken hearts after college to solidify that she was better at pairing up those around her than herself. As a matchmaker at the elite HLS—Hook, Line, & Sinker Matchmaking Company—in the City of Angels, she has a knack for finding the other halves of even the most eccentric clients:

Sugar daddy with a foot fetish? Gross, but no problem.

A severe case of nudophobia? Match made before lunch.

But even the most happily independent of women can find their best-laid plans screeching to a halt when they meet that guy. For Shayne, that guy comes in the form of boyishly handsome, suspender-lovin’, dimple-poppin’ Nate Ryan on a pantsless (we’ll get to that later) Metro ride.

Of course, relationships can never be easy. Before the destined lovers can ride off into the sunset, they must overcome a power-hungry and sexual-punning boss, a celebrity scandal and cover-up, and let’s not forget Shayne’s dreadful foot-in-mouth disease—with which there can never be a happily ever after.

Will fate throw Shayne a freakin’ bone? Or will she be destined to live out her life as sexy(ish), single(ish), and L.A.’s finest Hooker (upper)?

Purchase your copy today!

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Excerpt

“Hi,” I managed to say.

Nate nodded toward my legs. “Your pants are making me hungry.”

Aaaand that was the point where I stopped breathing. Except to say, “What?”

His eyes trailed down my body and rested on my thighs. Self-conscious, I looked down, almost sighing with relief when I realized my lower half was indeed covered this time, but that feeling went away pretty fucking fast when I saw the ice cream cones on my pajama pants practically flinging themselves at him.

Yes, I’d gone out in public in pajamas, so sue me. I hadn’t counted on running into…well, anybody.

“Oh. Oh yeah, um…I like ice cream,” I mumbled. “Especially from Licked, my friend Ryleigh’s store, although I have to say, her boozy shakes are unreal, especially the Make Me Quake Shake, which has these amazing pieces of those Ferrero Rocher balls in them, and they just give it the perfect amount of crunch so that you—” I stopped and took a breath when I noticed his grin getting wider. I swallowed and then said, “Not that I go there all the time or anything. Because I don’t. I mean, I’ve only been once or twice. You know…to taste test. Actually, I never eat sweets.”

He laughed then, and those penetrating eyes, tinged with more green than brown today, made their way up my body once more, pausing with what looked like amusement at my full hands. Then his gaze was on me and those dimples were out in full force.

“That’s too bad,” he said. “I’ve got a helluva sweet tooth.”

Wait…was he flirting with me? Was that a come-on? Or just stating a fact?

“Yeah, well, in that case your dentist probably hates you,” I said, readjusting the cold-ass meals in my arms. I’d be damned if I let those suckers go now. I’d tied my jacket around my waist, and my thin tank top would reveal a tit-bit more than I needed him to see.

He chuckled at that. Hmm. He had a nice chuckle. And a husky laugh. Both of which made my eyes zoom in on his throat. I wondered if it was as warm as it looked. He must’ve caught me staring, because he coughed, bringing my attention back to his face. His eyes were twinkling something wicked.

“You might be right about that,” he said. “Maybe I don’t like people telling me what to do. Or dictating what I can and can’t put in my mouth.”

My mouth dropped open, but I quickly snapped it shut. This guy was obviously a charmer, and after dealing with guys like him all day, the last thing I would do was fall prey to another arrogant playboy. Nope. Not me. Not gonna happen.

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About The Author

You could say Brooke Blaine was a book-a-holic from the time she knew how to read; she used to tell her mother that curling up with one at 4 a.m. before elementary school was her ‘quiet time.’ Not much has changed except for the espresso I.V. pump she now carries around and the size of her onesie pajamas.

She is the author of the international bestselling romantic comedy series, L.A. Liaisons (“Licked” and “Hooker), as well as Flash Point and The Desperate Man series. The latter, co-authored with Ella Frank, has scarred her conservative Southern family for life, bless their hearts.

If you’d like to get in touch with her, she’s easy to find – just keep an ear out for the Rick Astley ringtone that’s dominated her cell phone for ten years.

Newsletter | Website | Facebook | Brooke’s Facebook Group | Amazon Author Page | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest

Licked (L.A. Liaisons, #1)

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Synopsis

Five months in, NHL forward Ryan Wesley is having a record-breaking rookie season. He’s living his dream of playing pro hockey and coming home every night to the man he loves–Jamie Canning, his longtime best friend turned boyfriend. There’s just one problem: the most important relationship of his life is one he needs to keep hidden, or else face a media storm that will eclipse his success on the ice.

Jamie loves Wes. He really, truly does. But hiding sucks. It’s not the life Jamie envisioned for himself, and the strain of keeping their secret is taking its toll. It doesn’t help that his new job isn’t going as smoothly as he’d hoped, but he knows he can power through it as long as he has Wes. At least apartment 10B is their retreat, where they can always be themselves.

Or can they? When Wes’s nosiest teammate moves in upstairs, the threads of their carefully woven lie begin to unravel. With the outside world determined to take its best shot at them, can Wes and Jamie develop major-league relationship skills on the fly?

Check out our 5 smooches review HERE

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EXCERPT:

At long last, I’m twenty paces away, then ten. Then I’m opening our door. “Hey babe!” I call out like I always do. “I made it.” I drag my duffel over the threshold, then toss my suit coat on top, abandoning these things beside the door, because all I need now is a kiss.

Only then do I notice that our apartment smells amazing. Jamie has cooked dinner for me. Again. He is the perfect man, I swear to God.

“Hey!” he calls, emerging from the hallway leading to our bedroom. He’s wearing jeans and nothing else except—and this is unusual—a beard. “Do I know you?” He gives me a sexy smile.

“I was going to ask the same thing.” I’m staring at the sandy-blond beard. Jamie has always been clean-shaven. I mean—we’ve known each other since before facial hair. He looks different. Older, maybe.

And hot as blazes. Seriously, I can’t wait to feel that beard against my face, and maybe my balls… Jesus. The blood is already rushing south, and I’ve been home fifteen seconds.

And yet I’m just stuck there in the middle of the room for a moment, because even though it’s been eight months since Jamie and I started up together, I’m still a little stunned at my own good fortune. “Hi,” I say again, stupidly.

He walks forward, his easy gait so familiar that my heart breaks a little bit. He puts his hands on my traps and squeezes the muscle there. “Don’t go away for so long. If you do that again, I’m going to have to sneak into your hotel room on the road.”

“Promise?” I ask, and it comes out like gravel. He’s close enough now that I can smell the ocean scent of his shampoo and the beer he drank while he waited for me.

“If I ever get a winning lottery ticket and a day off, I’ll do it,” he says. “Hotel sex after a game? Sounds hot.”

Now I’m measuring the distance to our sofa and counting the layers of clothes I’ll need to remove in the next ninety seconds.

Porn Star by Laurelin Paige and Sierra Simone

Release Date: March 8^th

Synopsis:

You know me.

Come on, you know you do.

Maybe you pretend you don’t. Maybe you clear your browser history religiously. Maybe you pretend to be aghast whenever someone even mentions the word porn in your presence.

But the truth is that you do know me.

Everybody knows Logan O’Toole, world famous porn star.

Except then Devi Dare pops into my world, and pretty soon I’m doing things that aren’t like me—like texting her with flirty banter and creating an entire web porn series just so I can get to star in her bed. Again. And again.

With Devi, my entire universe shifts, and the more time I spend with her, the more I realize that Logan O’Toole isn’t the guy I thought he was.

So maybe I’m not the guy you thought I was either.

Check out our 4 smooches reivewHERE.

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Excerpt:

I spin around and throw my phone as hard as I can into the pool.

It lands with a small splash, sinking like a brushed-aluminum stone straight to the bottom. My momentary satisfaction is eclipsed by immense regret, because I just got that phone a few weeks ago. Fuck it, I can get a new one tomorrow. If that’s the price I have to pay to keep myself separate from Raven, then so be it.

I take a few healthy chugs of the Laphroaig.

“I hope you’ve got a good warranty,” a cheerful voice says from next to me. Even over the smoky scent of the whisky, I smell her. Cinnamon and sunshine.

I inelegantly swallow the Scotch still in my mouth, turning to face the person next to me. “Devi.”

She flashes me her sunny grin, and then returns the greeting by playfully bumping her shoulder against my arm. Heat flares across my bicep, emanating from the place where our bare skin touched, and the heat slowly migrates towards my chest, independent of the blood now pumping to my groin.

I am suddenly very aware of the fact that Devi and I have never been alone. Strange, given that we’ve given each other orgasms, but Raven’s Real Playdates was the only time we’ve worked together, and there are so many people on a porn set that it’s impossible to feel any sense of alone-ness, even when you’re staring them in the eyes while they suck you off. And even though we’ve seen each other at parties and events since then, we’ve only ever said hi or how are you or where’s the drinks? Not exactly the basis for a deep understanding of one another.

So I should probably explain why I just chucked a brand new phone into the water, and also maybe not reveal the fact that I have a massive crush on her.

I try to muster the casual, flirty guy I was earlier tonight. “Devi, I…”

I jack off to you almost every day.

“…I, uh, didn’t know anyone else was out here. Or I wouldn’t have, you know.” I mime throwing the phone.

She laughs and then bends down to unfasten her leather heel. “If it’s in a good case, it might still be okay,” she says. I watch, transfixed, as she kicks off both shoes, shimmies out of her shorts, and then walks to the edge of the pool. She’s wearing what legally might qualify as underwear, but only just barely.

Have I mentioned Devi Dare’s ass? Because I should. She has one of the best asses known to mankind. Plump and thick and juicy, the kind of ass that invites biting and squeezing, and the way it slopes out from her small waist is pure poetry. And those legs—despite the obvious muscles in her calves and thighs, they still move as she walks, like her ass does, and there’s something so healthy about it, so tantalizing about her body with its wide hips and slightly soft stomach and full breasts. She’s sexy in such a visceral, biological way, the kind of way that says you want to make babies with me. My cock lengthens as I watch her, tens of thousands of years of evolution telling me to haul her off and impregnate her.

She turns, hands on her hips. “Are you going to join me?”

“I was just enjoying the view,” I say, and it comes out a little too raspy, a little too honest, but then I follow it up with a weak grin and then she laughs and jumps into the pool. With a final gulp of whisky, I put the cork in the bottle and then fling myself in after her, clothes, shoes and all.

The water is cool and it’s the best kind of contrast to the dry heat of the night and the warmth of the Scotch in my stomach, and the new kind of warmth that’s agitating in my chest, something frictive and thrilling and pressing up against my anger and my broken heart. Something that started the moment Devi brushed up against my arm.

I jumped into the deep end, and so it’s a few beats before my feet press flat against the bottom and I can push myself back up. I break the surface, sputtering, and awkwardly try to swim over to Devi with one hand still clenched around my Scotch bottle. She treads water as steadily and gracefully as a water nymph, her long hair floating around her shoulders and her gold top drifting away from her skin, giving me just the barest glimpse of one nipple, dark rose and peaked into a tight furl. Water droplets cling to the thick fringe of her eyelashes.

“You’re not very good at swimming,” she points out as I make my way closer.

“Never liked it much,” I say, swimming past her and moving to where my feet can touch. With a sigh of relief, I set my feet down, examine the Scotch bottle to make sure no pool water leaked in, and then I take a long drink. I’m on my way to being drunk, but I’m intent on sealing the deal. What can I say? I’m a finisher.

Devi drifts up next to me, holding something in her hand. It takes me a minute to realize that it’s my phone, the entire reason we spontaneously jumped into the pool in the first place. And somehow, miraculously, the pricey case the Apple Store girl talked me into buying has saved the phone. The screen still glows with my unwritten text message.

Somehow, between the pool and the Scotch and Devi Dare with no pants on, I’ve lost the urge to talk to Raven. I take the phone and toss it carelessly onto the concrete and then turn back to Devi.

“You, on the other hand, seem like quite the swimmer,” I say with a smile, offering her the Scotch. She takes it and raises the bottle to her lips.

“I was raised in California, you know,” she says and then takes a drink.

“Well, so was I. But my parents are Boston transplants, so I guess they never saw swimming as a priority for me.”

She hands the bottle back to me. “I think I had floaties before I had a bicycle. My parents are very, uh…” She searches for the right words. “Natural people. They think it’s important to be periodically cleansed of negative energy, and flowing water is one of the best ways to do that. So we went swimming at least once a week.”

I can see the faintest blush coloring the apples of her cheeks, as if she’s embarrassed of what her parents believe. And then I wonder if she’s embarrassed because she believes it a little too.

God, that blush is so sexy. I want to lick it right off her face. And then pin her down and lick her everywhere.

She tilts her head to the sky. “You can see Cassiopeia tonight.”

I look up, following her gaze, but I see nothing other than the golden glow hovering above the city and a smattering of faint, twinkling stars. “Is Cassiopeia a constellation?” I venture.

She laughs and nods, and then she reaches over and takes my head in her hands. My pulse thrums, that warmth in my chest explodes into flames, and I want her to kiss me kiss me kiss me, but before I can turn my head to her, she trains my face to the sky, facing the right direction this time.

“Do you see it?” she asks. Her mouth is close to my neck, and I wonder what it would feel like if she bit me there. “It looks like a letter M.” She traces the shape of it with her fingers, until finally I see it–an underwhelming handful of tired stars.

“You can’t see it this far into the city sometimes,” she continues.

“Cassiopeia sounds like a porn name,” I say frankly and she laughs again.

“Ptolemy named it.”

I give her a blank look. I got pretty good grades in school, but it’s been more than ten years since graduation, and anything not intimately related to film or the kind of math I need to run my business has been filtered out of my brain.

“Ptolemy was a Greek astronomer,” she explains, giving me an amused glance. “He named it after a famous queen in Greek mythology. She was so beautiful and vain and boastful that she brought the wrath of Poseidon down on her kingdom.”

Beautiful, vain, boastful. My mind swerves back to Raven, possibly still in this very house, possibly still being screwed with that evil smile on her face. Where is Poseidon when you need him?

No.

No, I won’t let Raven crowd into my happy, drunk moment with Devi and the Scotch. I speak as much to drive away thoughts of my ex as to comment on Devi’s astronomy knowledge. “You know a lot about this shit,” I tell her, turning my eyes back to her face completely.

And now she really blushes. “I really like astronomy. Stars and galaxies and stuff. It makes life feel so…big…you know?”

The thing is, I do know. That big feeling, I mean. I get it every time I watch an amazing film, every time I imagine my own films with just the right setting and just the right cinematography and just the right score.

“I’ve never met a performer who’s told me anything like that,” I say. And it’s true. Not once have I been around another adult film star and had them confess a purely impractical fascination. A call toward something that makes them feel like life is magical.

She blinks, and the way her long, thick eyelashes brush against her wet cheeks is arresting. “Really?”

“Really. Devi Dare, I do believe you are my first.”

Goodreads

Catch up with Logan O’Toole HERE

Enjoy a sneak peek of Porn Star’s Logan O’Toole now on iBooks: http://apple.co/1Vlrew9

About the Authors:

Laurelin Paige is the NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Author of the Fixed Trilogy. She’s a sucker for a good romance and gets giddy anytime there’s kissing, much to the embarrassment of her three daughters.

Sierra Simone is a USA Today Bestselling former librarian (who spent too much time reading romance novels at the information desk.) She lives with her husband and family in Kansas City

Connect with the Authors:

Laurelin Paige

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Website

Sierra Simone

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Website

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Ginger’s Heart by Katy Regnery

Date of Publication: March 22, 2016

Blurb

Available From

About Katy Regnery

Katy Regnery, award-winning and Amazon bestselling author, started her writing career by enrolling in a short story class in January 2012. One year later, she signed her first contract for a winter romance entitled By Proxy.

Now a hybrid author who publishes both independently and traditionally, Katy claims authorship of the six-book Heart of Montana series, the six-book English Brothers series, and a Kindle Worlds novella entitled “Four Weddings and a Fiasco: The Wedding Date,” in addition to the standalone novels, Playing for Love at Deep Haven and Amazon bestseller, The Vixen and the Vet.

The Vixen and the Vet is included in the charity anthology Hometown Heroes: Hotter Ever After, and Katy’s novella “Frosted” will appear in the upcoming (Jan ’15) anthology, Snowy Days Steamy Nights. Additionally, Katy’s short story, “The Long Way Home” appeard in the first RWA anthology (Feb ’15), Premiere.

Katy lives in the relative wilds of northern Fairfield County, Connecticut, where her writing room looks out at the woods, and her husband, two young children, and two dogs create just enough cheerful chaos to remind her that the very best love stories begin at home.

Find Katy Regnery Online

Teaser

Excerpt from Chapter 1 of Ginger’s Heart, a modern fairytale, by Katy Regnery. All rights reserved. Used with permission.

Just about everyone called Woodman “Woodman” except Gran and sometimes Cain. Gran insisted on calling him by his Christian name. Cain used “Josiah” and “Woodman” interchangeably with no real rhyme or reason that Ginger could follow.

“Rumor is you’re gonna marry Josiah someday,” said Gran, her sixty-something blue eyes merry. “But what do you say?”

Ginger giggled self-consciously, thinking about her grandmother’s question, something clenching in her twelve-year-old heart as she thought about marrying sensible Woodman and abandoning her wild feelings for his cousin, Cain.

“I don’t know,” she said, feeling her forehead crease in confusion.

“Or maybe you’re thinkin’ you want to marry…Cain,” said Gran softly.

Cain, with his jet black hair and ice blue eyes, appeared like a vision before her, and Ginger’s heart thumped faster. The way he’d run off to see Mary-Louise Walker this afternoon made her brown eyes spitting green with jealousy. The way he swaggered made her breath catch. Woodman was so predictable, so safe in comparison.

Then again, Woodman hadn’t exactly been predictable this afternoon, had he? He’d surprised her with the gift and even more with his words. His body had been hard and warm when he’d held her, the embrace awakening something new and foreign within her. Something she wasn’t sure she wanted. Something that didn’t feel safe and even scared her a little bit. She pulled her fingers away from the charm bracelet and faced her Gran.

“What do I do if I love them both?”

Her grandmother’s eyes, which had been mostly teasing, flinched, and her mouth tilted down in a sympathetic frown, which made her face seem so serious and sober.

“Choose, dollbaby,” said her Gran. “Someday you’ll have to choose.”

The same feeling that she’d had in the barn, when Cain had yelled, “Jump to the one you love the most, darlin’!” flared up within her—a fierce refusal to love one cousin more than the other, to give up one in lieu of the other.

Choose? Her memories skated back through a dozen years on McHuid’s Farm that had always included Cain and Woodman. When they were little children, they played together, swimming buck naked in the creek and racing over the green hills and pastures in impromptu games of tag. As the boys grew up, they started working with Cain’s daddy, Klaus, who was her father’s right-hand man, mucking out the stables and grooming the horses. She’d run down to the barn every day after her lessons to see them, working right along beside them until they were all covered in hay, dust and barn grime.

Though the Wolframs weren’t generally included in the McHuid’s active social life, the Woodmans were, which meant that in addition to seeing Cain and Woodman on the farm, she also saw Woodman at every holiday and birthday party…and they always managed to slip out unseen with some smuggled sweets for Cain.

They were the Three Musketeers of McHuid’s Farm and Ginger knew both boys as well as she knew herself—Cain’s smirking, hot-headed, impulsive ways, and Woodman’s level-headed patience, caution and kindness. Regardless of their differences, she also knew that as the only children of twin sisters, Cain and Woodman were much closer than most cousins. Genetically speaking, they were half-brothers, and while they surely liked to tease and torture each other, they wouldn’t hesitate to jump into front of a train to save the other’s skin either.

In Ginger’s mind, she envisioned them like two halves of the same coin that she held carefully in the palm of her hand.

She loved them both desperately.

Choose?

No, her heart protested. Impossible.

“What if I can’t?” she whispered, leaning back and resting her head on her grandmother’s comforting shoulder.

“Then you’ll lose them both,” said her grandmother softly.

Ginger’s shoulders fell, relaxing in surrender as she closed her eyes against the burn of tears.

“But don’t let’s think about that now, dollbaby,” said Gran, leaning her head upon her granddaughter’s, the constant tremble of her unpredictable body almost soothing to Ginger as they rocked side by side in the twilight. “You’re just twelve today. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”

Hosted by:

You met her family in The Burke Brothers Series now it is Leila Burke’s turn. In a brand new standalone from Emma Hart comes a wild and free American and hot Brit!

Emma Hart brings you Dirty Little Rendezvous releasing on May 10, 2016.

Sometimes the past becomes the present… And he’s hot, cocky, and British.

Leila Burke expected a lot of things when she joined her brothers on tour in Europe. He wasn’t one of them.

​Jase Masters had no idea what to expect when he agreed to support Dirty B. on tour. She definitely wasn’t it.

It’s been eighteen months.

He remembers that night a little too well.

She insists she has no idea who he is.

He’s rugged and determined.

She’s wild and free.

Together, they’re a tornado.

Keeping it from touching down is the least of their worries.​

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Every city needs a hero, but Detroit’s white knight just might be a villain.

A rough childhood branded Jasper Storm trouble. A bad boy. Not worth a damn. His love of cars was the only thing that could battle his delinquency. With the need for speed in his blood, he overcame his wayward ways. Mostly. All grown up, the broken city of Detroit hails him their shining star. And the man behind a new cutting-edge automobile is ready to turn this bankrupt town around.

Everything he does in life is fast. He talks fast, f*cks fast, and drives fast. But when one reckless turn brings him face-to-face with the childhood he has tried very hard to forget, he finds himself on the edge of wondering if he shouldn’t slow down.

Charlotte Lane was the tomboy who lived next door. She was his best friend. He was her protector. Then tragedy struck and she disappeared, forever—or so he thought.

Jasper has many reasons to hate Charlotte and keep his distance, but she’s infiltrating his every thought and he can’t stay away. Back in town with an agenda of her own, she should push him aside. Make him turn around. Walk away herself. Yet she can’t.

With the past lurking between them, they proceed with caution. That is until one sex-filled night leads to murder. When Detroit’s biggest ally suddenly becomes suspect number one, will Charlotte—the girl Jasper once kept safe—be the one to save him?

Check out our 5 smooches review HERE.

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Set the Pace

Excerpt

© 2016 by Kim Karr

Charlotte Lane

Buzz. Buzz.

Startled, I jump and quickly place the frame back in its place.

Buzz. Buzz.

It’s the call button from the lobby. I’m not sure what to do. I should probably ask Jasper if he is expecting anyone before I let whomever it is up.

The hallway he disappeared down is fairly long and at the end are two doors. Both are slightly ajar. I can hear the shower running and music playing. I try to place the song. Just as I go to knock, I pause, and then grin, it’s Led Zeppelin—the same music that used to blare from his garage when he was out there with his father.

Somehow in my absentminded quandary, my fingertips have nudged the door open just enough that I can see inside the bathroom. Perfectly. In my direct line of sight is a huge glass wall and he is just beyond it.

My pulse is beating so hard I can feel it pounding at all my pulse points. I should leave. I don’t need to bother Jasper. Whoever it is buzzing to come up can just come back later. Yet, I can’t move. Or maybe it’s more like I don’t want to move.

Steam hovers in the air but there’s not nearly enough to obscure anything. And there he is, naked in the water, head bent as it sluices over him. His eyes are closed. One hand is on the wall. The other slides slowly down his belly and lands between his thighs.

Oh, God.

Now I really can’t move. I’m frozen in place. His hand is on his cock. I swallow the noise my throat tries to make, but I’m sure I don’t do a good job of it. Thank you, Jesus, he doesn’t seem to notice. No, he definitely doesn’t notice because oh, my God, now he’s stroking himself. Slowly. Deliciously. Up, then down, and a twist of his palm around the head of his cock.

I shouldn’t be watching this, and yet I can’t look away. This is private. For him only, and yet I have to wonder if it’s because of me. Is it his attraction to me that made him step back just moments ago? Made him have to relieve the desire he was feeling? Then why did he say he wouldn’t kiss me again?

When he moves his wrist faster, I have to stifle my sudden harsh breath with my hand. My eyes are glued to his body and although I should leave, I can’t. I just can’t. Jasper, doing this to himself, is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen in my life. The only thing stopping me from reaching between my own legs is my perverted fascination with wanting to watch him come. Oh, and of course the terror of getting caught.

His mouth opens, water filling it and overflowing when he tips his face into the spray. I want so much to be in there with him, share the water, and feel that mouth on my body, but I’m not sure that’s ever going to happen. We seem to be dancing around the attraction we feel for each other. Like both of us are afraid to take that leap from a two-decade-old friendship to intimacy. Afraid perhaps of where it might lead, or maybe where it won’t.

I can’t be sure.

Then again, it could be that the ghosts that accompany us are just too strong to bear.

Soon he’s fucking into his fist with a deliberation that makes me weak at the knees, and I watch. I watch the way his muscles cord in his arms, the way his cock moves within the confines of his fist, the way his face contorts into pure pleasure.

Looking at Jasper, watching him about to come, it opens up something within me. The feeling is hard to describe and I can only think of one word that is fitting—primal.

His cock disappears inside his curled fingers and this stroke seems somehow more determined. Up, down, a twist around his crown, and then another twist. This time his head dips down, and then lowers still.

I press my thighs together to ward off the ache of arousal that is flooding me. I can’t hear him, but I wish I could. I know what he’s feeling, though, because I can see his mouth open and his face contort with satisfaction. He’s close. I can tell. And then soon enough, his taut belly strains, the muscles in his legs bunch, and then it happens—his desire jets out.

Never in my life have I wanted to make myself come like I do right in this moment. No, that’s not true. Never in my life have I wished for a man to take me the way I wish for Jasper to take me right now. Still, this is all kinds of wrong. I shouldn’t have watched him. I know this. Chiding myself, I lick salt from my upper lip and slowly, cautiously take a step back.

“Is there a show going on that I wasn’t invited to?”

That voice. I know that voice. The cynicism behind the tone.

Oh, God.

No. No. No.

Kim Karr is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author. She is a daydreamer. So much so that if daydreaming could be a hobby it would be her favorite. It’s how her stories are born and how they take root. An imagination that runs wild is something to be thankful for, and she is very thankful.