SERIES: ALFA Private Investigations Book 1
COVER DESIGNER: Chelle Bliss
COVER IMAGE: Darren Birks Photography
RELEASE DATE: Summer 2015
Boyce watched me, a lit cigarette in one hand and a koozied
beer in the other. We hadn’t spoken since that kiss, other than his usual juvenile
quips during biology—the ones that drove Mel and Mr. Quinn insane and made
Landon smirk and shake his head and had me biting the inside of my cheek to
suppress my smile.
At first, I’d been confused, then disappointed, and then
angry. I’d worked my way to acceptance, like when I’d known I was drowning and
there was nothing I could do. He’d merely gone back to being Boyce Wynn, who
did what he wanted and who he wanted. And I’d gone back to being Pearl
Frank—star student, social royalty, good girl.
But I couldn’t forget that kiss. The fixed glint of his eyes
across the fire said that neither could he.
BLACK IRIS by Leah Raeder
Atria Books Paperback | 384 pages | ISBN: 9781476786421 | On sale: April 28, 2015 | $15.00
eBook: Atria Books | 384 pages | ISBN: 9781476786438 | On sale: April 28, 2015 | $5.99
*This was an ARC provided to me for free in exchange for an honest review. All thoughts and comments are my own.*
I heard a snap and the light cracked on, piercing through my closed lids. My head pounded and I groaned then rolled over, pulling my cover over my head to drown out the source of my pain.
“Get up,” a deep voice commanded. “Get up,” he continued, kicking my shoe.
“Dad,” I rasped. “I’m hungover and feel like shit.”
He was silent for a moment so I pulled the cover down just enough to see his face. He was not amused.
“Ethan, watch your language, get your butt up, and find a job.” I didn’t answer him. I had nothing to say that would please him. “And while you’re at it, stop this ridiculous drinkin’, son.”
I sat up, ran my hands through my long black hair and wrapped the length around my fist. I sat back against the wall, reveling in how cool it was, and tried not to vomit.
“Did you see them today?” I asked him, unable to help myself.
My dad removed his hat and leaned against the jamb, scrubbing his face with his free hand. “You like to torture yourself,” he said, shaking his head then sighing. “You remind me so much of your mama.”
The mere mention of my mother sent me spiraling down once more in depression. We’d lost her a few years before and I was still in agony. That, coupled with the fact that Spencer Blackwell stole my girl right out from underneath my nose, was enough for me to drink to excess every night. I hate him.
“Are they,” I swallowed, afraid of his answer, “are they together now?”
My father sighed again. “Ethan, get dressed.”
“Are they?” I asked again, letting my hand drop to my side. My hair slid with it and cascaded down my back.
“You are a stubborn boy. Yes, okay? Yes, they’re together. All the more reason to move on, son.”
My body suddenly weighed a thousand pounds and I felt my head reeling. So it was true then. They were together and they would probably get married and I was going to have to sit there in that godforsaken small town and watch it all happen. I was going to get a front row seat to my own misery.
I nodded once, rested my hands on my knees for a brief moment, then ran past my dad, shouldering him as I did so and nearly knocking him over before making it to the small bathroom across the hall and retching everything in my stomach into the toilet.
My dad stood in the bathroom doorway shaking his head in disappointment. When I was done, I fell back into the wall. That look shamed me to my core. Any time my dad felt let down, I felt the weight of my disgrace so heavy the only thing I could think to dull the ache was to drink myself into a stupor. It was a vicious cycle.
I let my hair cascade over my face. I heard the old wood floor creak beneath his feet as he left without another word and jumped when the front door slammed. My eyes closed as my head pounded.
The claw foot tub sat to my left so I leaned up and turned on the water, slowly removing my clothing one piece at time. Each movement felt like a hammer slamming into my head.
“God,” I groaned. “I am an idiot.”
I stood then stepped underneath the warm water and just stood in silence, letting the water absorb into my hair and seep into my skin. I breathed in the steam deeply. I was miserable. Not just physically but my heart was the heaviest it’d felt since my mom passed and I had no one to blame but Spencer Blackwell for that.
The asshole who rode into my life under the guise of helping his sister only to yank what I thought was a stable foundation right out from underneath me. He stole from me, a bona fide thief, and I wanted to make him pay. No, I needed to make him pay.
But how?
I finished showering and threw a towel around my waist, stepping from the tub and toppling onto my bed when I reached my room and fell to sleep, not even bothering to dress myself. I fell quickly, fantasizing about my revenge.
I must have slept for hours because when I woke, it was pitch black outside. I rolled onto my side and checked my alarm clock. Eleven o’clock. Perfect timing, I thought.
I sat up and tucked my towel around my waist a little tighter, stood and went straight for my dresser. I grabbed a pair of boxers and socks and put those on before heading for my closet and tossing an old, worn pair of jeans on, a thermal and an old tee. I brushed my teeth, grabbed my wallet and keys, threw on my boots and headed toward my piece of shit truck.
I knew exactly where I was going because it was where I planned on going every night until I forgot about Caroline Hunt.
My truck started but barely and I tore out of our driveway not bothering with my seatbelt, kicking up dust and rocks as my tires spun against the loose gravel. I’d replaced my stereo because I couldn’t stand radio, at least not Kalispell radio, and plugged my phone into the audio cable. Bastille’s Dreams remake blasted and I turned it up, letting the painful lyrics wash over me, fueling my desire to get plastered as quickly as possible.
I entertained myself with thoughts of strangling Spencer Blackwell with both hands then beating the crap out of him with my fists. Bastard. I pulled into the local pub and put my piece into park before tucking my left foot into the emergency brake.
I disconnected my phone and the stereo went silent, reminding me of how alone I really was. I turned the engine off and absolute silence surrounded me. I couldn’t take it. My door creaked with age as it swung open and I slammed it shut, unable not to. The fury raging in my blood was more than I could contain.
Before heading inside, my hand went to the empty space between the cab and the bed and searched for the bottle of whiskey I always had wedged in between. I took a large swig, not wanting to spend too much of my savings on the liquor inside the crap establishment. After all, I was going to need it. Revenge was a costly business.
I took one more swig for good measure and wedged it back in its usual place then wiped my mouth on the back of my sleeve. My hair swung heavy in my eyes. It was still a little wet from my shower and I thought about tying it back with the extra leather tie I usually kept in my glove compartment but thought better of it. It helped me hide and I wanted to hide.
I looked around me. The lot was full but I only recognized a few cars this time which was good because I had no intention of making conversation. Regardless, most of Kalispell had stopped trying because I’d rarely done any responding since Cricket cut out my fucking heart and ate it raw. The hair was only insurance.
I took two deep draws of air, gulping it down, desperate for it to soothe me but, of course, it didn’t. I let each escape my lips in shaky breaths and clenched my fists over and over before deciding to head inside.
My boots crunched the gravel beneath my feet as I headed toward the door. When I entered, I ducked my head toward the floor and let my hair cover me, not that it did any good other than to conceal me. I could still feel the heat of their stares, though, still feel the pity in their gazes. I wanted so badly to yell at them to fuck off but I kept as much composure as possible. I couldn’t get kicked out of the only real bar in Kalispell.
I picked a stool at the end of the bar, the same stool I always did in the corner and in the back because it was dark. I sat and met Vi’s eyes. She sauntered over to me, placing her elbows on the bar top, giving me a clear view of her generous chest. I held back my eye roll.
“Hello, darlin’,” she drawled. “You look like shit.”
“The usual, Vi,” I told her as quietly as I could.
“How ‘bout a kiss then first?” she asked, leaning in a bit more.
“Christ, Vi, how many times? Huh? Just get me the gosh damn drink.”
She laughed. “Already worked up then, I see. I like it,” she said, winking.
Vi, or Violet, was thirty-nine years old, had lived in Kalispell her entire life, and had worked as a bartender for over fifteen years. I could tell at one time Vi had been a beautiful woman but I could also tell she had heard many hollow promises from equally hollow men and that she obviously believed them all. Otherwise, why would she still be there? I watched her tired eyes and her slightly too-forced smile. She had the look of someone who used to be chased but had graduated to the chaser. She looked miserable.
She left and returned with an empty glass and a bottle of Jack. She set the glass on the bar and filled it to the brim. She was being generous. She was always this way. She told me once she hoped I would drink it all away and decide to take her up on her offer. I told her that would be a cold day in hell, to which she only laughed.
“Drink up, buttercup,” she said, smiling lasciviously.
“I will,” I told the bar top.
I watched the world around me through the breaks in the hanging strands and six glasses later, I was starting to finally feel numb. I lifted my head a little feeling slightly relieved, feeling like I could breathe a little deeper now that the ache wasn’t so severe. I continued to search the crowd, not knowing who I was really looking for.
A quiet but persistent nagging awareness took residence in my chest for some unknown reason as I watched a girl dance on her own in the middle of the dance floor. Others around her paid no attention to her but she was the first person my eyes were drawn to. I studied her.
Her hair was tucked into a blue scarf, little tendrils peeking through and grazing across her neck whenever she moved. She was extraordinarily tall and her hips and rear end were more indulgent than I’d ever considered before. She turned slightly, giving me her silhouette. Her stomach was flat and her breasts were full. She was beautiful, I could tell, even if I couldn’t see her fully through the low lights.
“Jeez,” I said, swiping a hand down my face. “I’ve had too much.”
But I still couldn’t stop watching her. She wore worn jean cut offs, a fitted button up with the sleeves rolled up her forearms and ankle boots. She rolled her shoulders playfully, enticing someone she knew just off the dance floor. Another girl joined her side and they did the robot. She threw her head back and laughed.
This shocked me almost sober. “That laugh,” I whispered to myself. “That laugh,” I repeated. I knew it but couldn’t quite place it.
She took her friend’s hand and twirled her around the floor vivaciously. She was so full of life. So my exact opposite.
She lightheartedly skipped in place and raised an arm in salute to her friend before turning toward me.
That’s when I got a good, clear look at her. I gasped out loud and placed my hand on the back of my head, my elbow on the bartop, ducking my head down lower to hide myself further.
Please, please, please do not recognize me, I thought, still watching her from the corner of my eye.
She stood two seats down from me. “Vi!” she said, laughing a little. “Vi!”
Vi turned toward her. “Hey, baby! What’ll it be?”
“Can I have a water, please?” she asked, sitting down and releasing a breath of exhaustion. She continued to smile, though, and it ate a little at my gut.
“Of course,” Vi answered and started to pour water into a clear plastic cup. Vi’s eyes pinched a little. “Hey?” she said.
“Yeah?” she asked.
“How come I never see you drink anything harder?”
Her face fell a little but picked right back up. No one would have noticed it but me. “I’ve never had good luck with alcohol,” she admitted a bit sadly.
Vi was quick enough to recognize something there that didn’t want to be said and let it go with a nod, handing over the water without another word.
“Vi!” someone else called out and she walked their direction.
She took a long drink from her water and set it down, turning toward the crowd and surveying the dancers. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, some private joke she shared with herself.
I looked on her for a long time. Long enough for my heart to calm itself. Long enough to struggle with myself in an internal argument. Finally, I decided that I wasn’t watching her because I found her attractive, though I knew she was. Only that I was wondering what she was doing there.
She turned around in her seat after catching her breath and glanced at me. For a moment, I believed she didn’t recognize me but I was wrong. A second scan confirmed it for her. She leaned in and narrowed her eyes. Shit.
“Ethan?” she asked. “Is that you?”
“Hello, Finley,” I answered.
What I wasn’t expecting was her. That fucking gorgeous girl who’d swallowed me whole with just a glimpse.
I’d always remained immune. Until him, Baz. The guy who looked at me as if he wanted to sink inside me, searching for a place to drown. I wanted to let him.
Every muscle in my body coiled with reverence. Gripping me in the tendrils of her storm, the hurricane surrounding her grew fast and fierce.
Title: After Dark (Night Owl Trilogy Book #3)
Author: M. Pierce
Release Date: March 24, 2015
Genre: Contemporary Erotic Romance
Title: Night Owl (Night Owl Trilogy Book #1)
Author: M. Pierce
Genre: Contemporary Erotic Romance
Title: Last Light (Night Owl Trilogy Book #2)
Author: M. Pierce
Release Date: October 28, 2014
Genre: Contemporary Erotic Romance
We made out for a full quarter-hour before I noticed the tent in the living room.
“Matt!” I snickered. He’d moved the coffee table and couch to accommodate the tent. It was new, or new to me—a tall gray and orange dome.
“Aha, she finally sees it.” He stalked over to the tent. Yes, it was definitely new. Matt wore his distinct “Do you like my new toy?” expression, and he circled the tent and folded his arms and studied it, signaling that I should also take a moment to admire it. I did.
“Wow . . . it’s nice.” I touched one of the poles. “So big. So . . .” In our living room.
“Mm. I got it at REI. Had to throw it together, make sure nothing was missing.” He frowned at the mesh-and-polyester palace. “I thought we might take it for a spin this evening, but not in this weather.”
On cue, thunder crackled and boomed outside.
“Oh, babe.” I rubbed his back. “Lemme get into dry clothes and we’ll ‘take it for a spin’ right here, okay?” I kissed his cheek. “Happy Fourth.”
His eyes lit up like a child’s.
“Perfect,” he said, already halfway into the tent.
I peeled off my wet clothes and changed into my Shell Belle Couture chemise, an expensive little gift from Matt. I never bought such nice things for myself. The champagne silk complemented my pale skin and felt luxurious. The lace cups, well . . . I resisted the urge to grab a robe as I felt my nipples hardening. Matt liked the lace cups best of all.
In the bathroom, I untangled my hair with Moroccan oil and washed my face. On my skin, I left the scent of rainwater.
I returned to a living room devoid of pillows.
The tent flap was shut.
“Knock knock?” I said.
With a swift zinging sound, Matt unzipped the door from inside.
“Why, come in.” He was laughing. The tent was tall, but taller Matt stood stooped beneath the dome. All our pillows lay around his feet.
“Don’t mind if I do.” I took his hand and stepped inside.
He stared openly at my chest.
“Oh,” he said.
His expression grew somber. I wanted to burst out laughing.
God, his cuteness . . .
“Very swanky in here.” I sat cross-legged on a pillow and looked around. The tent was cozy, the inner flaps a vibrant orange, and adorable Matt had stocked a wall pouch with snacks and drinks: two cans of Coke and a bag of goldfish. In another flap, two books and a flashlight.
“I was just testing those pouches,” he mumbled, gesturing to the snacks. “Hi.” He shucked off his shirt—yum—and crawled to me. “Hi . . .”
“Hi,” I said, giggling. “Hello. Did I ruin storytime with lingerie?” I slid my fingers up his arms. Whisper of skin on skin. My hands curled over his shoulders.
“No.” He closed in on me, his body pressing mine back and down. He went for my neck with his teeth, like an animal. Bit the column of my throat. Licked away the hurt.
“Ah,” I gasped, arching under him. I pawed at his abs and pulled at the band of his lounge pants.
An electrical pop sounded in the condo and the room went dark.
Matt and I froze.
We laughed in unison, sitting up and holding one another.
Pure darkness. I clung to his torso.
“Well, this is a first,” I said. “Our first power outage.”
“Always be prepared.” Matt groped around until he found the flashlight. He turned it on and hung it from the top of the tent. A cone of light shone over us.
His erection tented the front of his pants. I reached for it, my hand drawn to it. I gripped his head through the fabric. God, I loved seeing him turned on.
“I’m glad that happened.” He flexed into my hand. “Slowed me down.”
“Baby, you don’t have to slow down.”
“I know. I want to.” He caressed the undersides of my breasts and my nipples. The intricate lace of the cups scratched gently at my skin. I twitched and moaned.
He reached up and turned off the flashlight.
Atria Books | Paperback
On-Sale: 03/10/15
Paperback ISBN: 9781476791456, $16.00
eBook ISBN: 9781476791463, $7.99
320 pages
*This was an ARC provided to me for free in exchange for an honest review. All thoughts and comments are my own.*
Some secrets should never turn into confessions. I know that better than anyone.
[yasr_overall_rating size=”medium”]
Opening my car door, I slide into the driver’s seat, turn to put the key in the ignition and—
“Ahh!” Jumping back, I thwack my open palm against the gigantic body of pure muscle seated in the passenger seat. “Dammit, Jack! You scared me!”
“Good morning.” He grins.
“What are you doing in my car?” I snap, throwing him some serious stink eye.
“I’m going with you to Louisiana.” He nods to a large duffle bag in the backseat.
I blink. “Uh, no you’re not.”
“Uh, yes I am.”
“Like hell.”
He crinkles his brow. “I’ve never understood that phrase. But okay. I’ll go with you ‘like hell,’ whatever that means.”
“Get out of my car.” I point to the door.
“Oh, Jenna.” He clucks his tongue. “This will be good for both of us. Listen.” He casually leans against the passenger window and pierces me with his gray eyes. “For reasons beyond my control, I need to go back home. And for reasons beyond your control, so do you. And since our ‘homes’ are right next door to one another, I figured we’d carpool to Louisiana and you can just drop me off at Little Vail on your way to New Orleans.”
He gives me that little-boy smile of his and it’s all I can do not to lean forward and soak it in. I hate me.
“I don’t see how that’s good for me,” I say. “At all.”
He shrugs. “You get some company on the road.”
I nod with a clenched jaw. “And you get a free ride.”
His smile grows and I instantly realize that was the wrong thing to say.
“Precisely,” he says.
I can’t afford to spend any excessive time with Jack. Not just because we fight, but because of what happened last year. It was one crazy night when we were both drunk, and we never spoke of it after the fact, but our “friendship” has been tense ever since.
“Well, I don’t need any company,” I say, shaking my head.
“Sure you do,” he says easily. “Everyone needs company.”
“Not me. So get out.”
He grins. “No.”
God I hate him. But not really.
God I hate that I don’t hate him.
I jut my chin and stare him over. “Fine. If you won’t remove yourself…” Exiting the car, I stomp around the hood to his door, yank it open, and wrap my hands around his bicep. Then I start pulling.
He doesn’t budge. Like, he literally doesn’t move an inch as I tug at his oversized arm and grunt like I’m trying to move a massive piece of hardwood furniture and not a human being.
His eyes dance as he watches my struggle. “What’s your plan here, Jenna? Haul me out of the car and leave me in the street?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound friendly at all,” he says, flicking the lever to recline to seat a bit so he looks even more relaxed than before.
“I wasn’t trying to be friendly,” I grit out.
“Clearly.”
I try pulling him out again, to no avail. He’s giant and solid, and honestly, just touching him is turning me on.
I drop my hands and glower at him. “You can’t just tell me that you’re coming along on my road trip.”
He cocks his head. “Would you feel better if I asked?”
“Not especially.”
“Jenna.” He leans forward and his gaze bores through me, down into the deepest parts of my being. “Will you please let me join you on your trip to Louisiana?”
For a moment, I’m lost in his eyes, debating with myself. I don’t trust myself around Jack. Not at all. But I did spend half the night tossing in my sleep with nightmares about traveling alone so maybe having Jack tag along might not be so bad after all. Maybe.
Pulling back, I straighten my shoulders and relent, like usual when it comes to Jack.
“Fine,” I huff out as I stomp back to my side of the car in climb in. “But no talking,” I say, hoping I haven’t just made a huge mistake.
He grins and I turn away.
Surely I can manage to keep my panties on around Jack for a few days…right?
TITLE: That’s a Lie (Promises, Promises #2)
RE-RELEASED: February 27, 2015
In the face of my most recent tragedy, I have to decide whether forgiveness is something I can give. But even if that’s an option, can I be forgiven?