A journalist stumbles onto the story of a lifetime. And finds herself falling in danger…

When young, naïve reporter Jessica Brady is kidnapped and held for ransom by the head of an illegal dog fighting organization, undercover police officer Ian Cole realizes he's got his hands full. He's on the verge of busting the ring when he's assigned to babysit her, which isn't an easy feat. She's neurotic, feisty, and also happens to be scared to death of dogs. Now he has to figure out a way to get them both out alive.

Jessica has no idea the thug she's becoming attracted to is actually a cop, but it's clear he's not like the rest of the men in the organization. Particularly Albert Mancini, the disturbed only son of the ring boss, who has an appetite for alcohol and women. Especially Jessica.

When Ian's cover is blown, he's forced to bust the ring early. Weeks later, Jessica can't stop thinking about the experience that has changed her forever. She wonders about the tall, sexy detective who saved her life. And the mobster's prize-winning pit bull, Bruta.

An idea for a story is born. What if these dogs were given a second chance at life?

As Jessica digs deeper into their troubled world, she ends up falling for the police officer who rescued them. And discovers layers of her heart she never knew existed.

But when Albert escapes from jail, her happiness turns to terror. He hasn't forgotten about the detective who put him behind bars. Or the beautiful young woman whose every move has become his obsession.

Content Warning: Contains sensual sex and explicit language

 

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"You don't know me," Jessica said. "You know nothing about me, except what you saw for a few days when you were pretending to be someone else."

"I know enough." His voice softened and so did his expression. He reached out and she ducked away.

"Don't touch me."

Ian reached for her again, this time catching her by the arm. She tried yanking free, but he held on. He was strong and big and warm. Pulling her close, his eyes moved over her.

"Let me go."

"I may have been pretending to be someone else, but it wasn't all an act, Jessica."

She squirmed, her breasts pressed against the unyielding muscles of his chest. "Oh, yeah? Like what?" Her pulse hummed in her ears. One of his arms snaked around her waist, and she instinctively arched her back.

"We almost kissed. Remember that?"

"Barely." She'd always been a terrible liar.

"And I saw you naked. What about that?"

Her body was beginning to react on its own. She let him pull her closer. And didn't turn away when he lowered his mouth to her ear. The lingering effects of the margaritas warmed her blood, even as he warmed her body.

"I remember," he said, his voice husky against her earlobe. "I remember every detail."

Her belly tightened. Her heart rammed itself against her chest bone as if looking for a way through. He moved his lips across her cheek, the stubble from his chin leaving her skin tingling.

She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, a tiny sound escaping her throat. The wind caught her hair and whipped it across her face. He brushed it away and tilted her head back.

"Look at me," he said.

She opened her eyes, every ounce of anger gone, leaving only lust to fill the void. She wanted him. Probably more than she'd ever wanted any man in her life. And she didn't care if he saw it all over her face.

"Say my name," he said. "I want to hear you say it."

Her eyes dropped to his parted lips, the top slightly thinner than the bottom. Strawberry blond stubble darkened their edges. She'd wanted his kiss for so long she could almost taste it.

He remained just a few inches away, his eyes roaming her face, her neck, her hair, as if committing them to memory
.
"Ian," she said. Oh God.

With that, he slid a hand under her tank top, trailing it slowly up her bare spine. At the same time, he bent to kiss her, softly, until she whimpered for more. Closing her eyes, she breathed him in. She caught the faint scent of cologne mingled with the sea air. As she touched her tongue tentatively to his lips, she tasted a hint of the dark, amber beer he'd had with dinner. He caught his breath and opened his mouth wider, luring her tongue in with his own.

She could scarcely believe she was kissing him, here, on the cliffs of the Pacific Ocean. It was like a movie, the moon hanging like a spotlight in the star-speckled sky, the parking lot suddenly the most erotic set on the face of the earth.

His arms were strong and steady around her back, the hand which was up her shirt, warm and rough against her skin. She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, something she'd wanted to do since she'd sat across from him in his office, all cockiness and sex appeal. The soft blond fuzz tickled her fingertips.

Groaning, he pulled her closer, moving his hips against hers until a slow throbbing built between her legs. She reached down and touched him where he strained beneath his clean, starched khakis.

"Jesus."

She smiled against his mouth and caught his bottom lip in her teeth.

Making a raw, visceral sound, he pulled away long enough to look down at her. His eyes were the exact color of the water behind them. Deep and blue, and full of the unknown.

"I can't stand the thought of anyone hurting you," he said. The wrinkle between his brows was back, and he looked so incredibly handsome that her breath hitched in her throat.

She swallowed, trying to choose her words carefully, wanting him to understand and knowing how much rode on this moment. "I'm just…tired of being afraid. It's more than wanting to prove that I'm not like my dad. I need this. For me."

He searched her face and after a long minute, nodded solemnly. Still holding her around the waist, he reached up and brushed her cheekbone with his thumb.

Below, insistent waves crashed against the dark, rocky shore and the breeze kicked up a notch, as if wanting to fill the silence.

"Just promise me one thing," he said.

"Name it."

"Promise me you won't do anything careless."

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A sexy cop with a broken heart is about to be taught a lesson.

Hope Marlow is a twenty-two-year-old seasoned vet when it comes to steamy one-night stands. Hope has had a hard life. From the wrong side of the tracks and abandoned by her mother, she finds herself trying to raise her little sister on a salary that barely pays the bills each month. She's tough, jaded, but when she's pulled over one sweltering summer afternoon for not using her turn signal, she meets her match in a sexually inexperienced cop twice her age.

The day Jack Malone stopped Hope is one he can't forget. It's more than the way she looked in the miniskirt and hot pink tank top, it's her confidence that keeps coming back to haunt him. But Jack is still reeling from his wife's death a year ago, and Hope represents things he thinks he can't have with a woman—passion and a new beginning. Plus, there's the fact that she's practically half his age.

Hope sees things differently. The age difference doesn't bother her, but while Jack craves an emotional connection, Hope has no interest in that. She's an expert at pushing her emotions aside, and she knows that if Jack would let her, she could teach him how fulfilling lust alone can be. With that in mind, she sets out to seduce the sexy cop.

It's only during their first night of passion that they both discover how much they've been missing.

Content Warning: contains sensual sex and some explicit language

 

* * * * * * * *
Hope smiled, ignoring the butterflies that were bumping around in her lower belly. She knew how to seduce a man, but he was different. She wanted him, really wanted him, and didn't want to screw it up. She also hadn't wanted to give him a chance to pull the friendship crap again. And getting completely naked seemed like the safest course of action against that particular scenario.

She licked her lips, never taking her eyes off his. "What's the matter? Don't like what you see?"

He took a step back, visibly shocked. His dark brown eyes fell to her hips and the area between her legs, before coming up to her breasts. She warmed all over. It was as if he were touching her there instead of just looking.

Finally, he shook his head and locked eyes with hers. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm trying to get in your pants," she said matter-of-factly.

"I can see that. I thought I made myself clear the other night."

"Yes, I know. You said you want to be friends. But that's a load of shit. You know it and I know it."

He colored. "I know that a little girl like you is going to get yourself into a lot of trouble one of these days. This kind of thing…" He motioned toward her general nakedness. "…is going to get you hurt. Do you come on to a lot of men like this?"

"No." She shook her head. "Just you." She was being honest. This was a rash new tact.

Taking another step back, he had to hop a little to avoid the scattered flowers. "Is this why you invited me over? It's not your birthday?"

"It is my birthday. I did fib a little though. I'm not having a party." She stuck her bottom lip out in her best sultry pout. She was pulling out the big guns now and he still hadn't laid so much as a finger on her. The sliver of doubt from the other night needled its way into her subconscious. You're white trash, Hope. He doesn't want you.

He was running out of room. Backing up to the north wall of the trailer, he began inching his way around the couch. "Why me?" He looked down at her body again, even though she could tell he was trying not to. "You could have any guy you wanted."

She took a step toward him, running a slow hand over one hip. She didn't care if he meant one word of what he just said. It was the nicest thing she'd ever heard.

"I want you."

"Why?" he asked. She reached out and he caught her wrists. "Why, Hope?"

She was closer now, but he held her at arm's length. She searched his face, liking the soft, expressive crinkles that radiated from the corners of his eyes. Liking the way his jaw was darkened by the promise of stubble. Liking his clean, fresh scent. But most of all, liking the way his skin felt against hers.

"Because. You're lonely."

He watched her, his expression unreadable. Despite his grip around her wrists, she moved forward, so close she could feel the heat of his chest against hers.

"And so am I," she said.

Tilting her head back, she arched her back, pressing against him at last. He was hard, like she knew he would be. His t-shirt slid against her bare breasts, her nipples tightening at the feel. His posture was rigid, aloof, and her throat began to ache along with the rest of her body. If he rejected her again, she didn't know if she'd be able to take it.

"Please." She tilted her head even further, her long curls tickling the skin on her lower back. She imagined him wrapping his hands in them and telling her more of the things she was surprised she wanted to hear. He was a nice man. A strong, sexy, capable man. And he was good. To the core. But was she good enough for him? It looked like the jury was still out on that one.

His hold on her wrists gradually loosened, until he let go, his hands dropping to his sides. She recognized the look in his eyes—hunger, longing, pain. And for a second, Hope felt something so powerful it scared her, before she ended up pushing it down again to go blessedly numb. The way she preferred it. The only way she really knew how to be.

"I can't," he said.

But he didn't push her away. And that was enough.

Very slowly, she reached up and snaked her arms around his neck, pressing herself into him, feeling the firm ridges of his body through his clothes. "I know," she said, standing on her tiptoes to lay a kiss on his neck. "So I'm going to."

* * * * * * * *

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A wife leaves her abusive husband, but soon realizes nothing will keep him away. Not even death.

Josie Collins is the wife of a world famous rock star and the envy of nearly every woman in the country. But the horrific truth is her husband wants nothing more than to see her dead.

Josie finally summons the courage to leave her famous, abusive husband and returns to her hometown among the winter wheat of Kansas. When her husband is killed in a fiery car accident while on his way to find her, she thinks she has escaped him at last, but she's wrong. It quickly becomes clear that even in death he has no intention of letting her go.

As Josie develops a rapport with sexy police chief, Paul Stark, trouble begins to brew. There's something special about the tall, mysterious officer with the long jagged scar down his face. But Josie soon learns that he's haunted by a nightmarish past.

Sparks fly in their small, Midwestern town, and as their attraction grows, so does a dead husband's fury. In order to smother this dark, sinister spirit, and perhaps find true and lasting happiness with each other, the living must learn to let go, give in, and leave their ghosts in the past.

Content Warning: Contains sensual sex and some explicit language

 

* * * * * * * *
"You've got to tell me if you want this, Josie," he said, his voice low and thick. "Or tell me to stop. Because if we go much further, I don't think I'll be able to."

"Don't stop," she whispered.

Paul's gaze slid down to her lips. It lingered there for a moment before falling further down to the swell of her breasts beneath the puckered neckline of her dress.

Still, he didn't move to touch her again. Her muscles quivered with anticipation. The electricity between their bodies sparked and crackled until she felt like she was being set on fire. She throbbed with heat.

"Touch me, Paul." It was the first time she'd called him by name. It felt dangerous on her tongue and sounded even better. Now, as she saw his pupils explode into shining blackness, she knew he'd wanted to hear it.

He did touch her then, just like she'd imagined a thousand times before. He ran rough fingertips along her jawline, gently tracing the curve of her chin and the outline of her parted lips.

She tilted her head back as he ran his hand down her throat, over its delicate hollow and finally into the stretchy neckline of her dress. Her face grew hot as the blood in her veins gave up and caught on fire too.

He cupped her breast and rubbed his thumb in circles over her nipple, coaxing it into a nub. She closed her eyes and gasped.

Pushing her against the wall, he moved closer. The faint scent of a musky cologne on his skin teased her to the point of dizziness. She opened her eyes to see him watching her with a distinctly male hunger.

"God, you're a beautiful woman." He brought his lips down to where they barely touched hers, his sweet breath caressing her skin. "I've wanted you since the first time I saw you." His voice was husky and raw.

He opened his mouth softly against hers and teased her with his tongue, touching it to the insides of her lips just enough so she could taste him. Every time she leaned into him, he leaned back, forcing her to go slow. She stood quaking, barely able to take a normal breath.

Outside, lightning lit up the sky, and for a second, lit up his face with it. She thought then, if she could have devoured him whole, she would have. Unable to resist a second longer, she came the rest of the way and kissed him urgently, shamelessly. She parted his lips with her tongue, until she met his, warm and wet.

He answered with an urgency of his own, kissing her back with such skill she could barely catch her breath. She moaned and pressed closer, feeling his erection on her hip.

His mouth moved down to the base of her neck and suckled the sensitive skin there until she was writhing against him.

She slid her hands up his chest. His navy shirt was crisp and starched, and she felt the rigidness of the bulletproof vest underneath. How he could need it was beyond her. This was the strongest, most capable man she had ever laid eyes on. It seemed impossible that he could be vulnerable to anything.

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