Kissin' Tell: Rough Riders, Book 13 (48 page)

It’s the perfect plan…until the ties that bind reach into their hearts.

Flanked

© 2012 Cat Johnson

Studs in Spurs, Book 5

Garret James doesn’t need a woman tying him down. Not when the number of buckle bunny notches on his belt—and his position in the pro bull rider standings—are both on the rise. Just when he learns he’s this close to blowing out his bad shoulder, Silver Jordan roars into his life, long, leather-clad legs straddling her Harley. Hell, he might not mind being tied to one woman, if that one woman was her. There’s one problem—she’s his friend’s sister. But once their eyes lock, resistance is futile.

Then Silver offers him a smoking-hot deal. They both get the hottest sex of their lives and he gets access to her health insurance for his career-saving surgery—all wrapped up in a marriage of convenience.

For a while, dodging questions and hiding their arrangement is easy. But in private, they battle emotions between them they never expected to grow. After all, the marriage is only temporary…isn’t it?

Warning: Contains body piercings guaranteed to make you squirm, a very intimately placed tattoo, one clandestine wedding and even more secretive sex.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Flanked:

“You guys dressed?” Aaron’s voice came through the door.

“Yup. Come on in.” Skeeter jumped up from the bed and actually wet his hand with his tongue and ran it over his hair. Garret shook his head and waited for the door to open to see what, or rather who, had Skeeter acting like this.

He didn’t have long to wait. Aaron and—holy crap—his hot-as-hell sister were in the doorway the next moment and Garret understood why the Aussies had run off the road when they got a look at her. If she looked this hot standing in a cheap hotel room, he could only imagine what she looked like straddling a Harley. Her thighs spread wide. The powerful machine between them.

Garret glanced at Skeeter to make sure the kid wasn’t watching his reaction since he was pretty sure his jaw had dropped when he saw her. He needn’t have worried because Skeeter only had eyes for her.

From the top of her head to the tips of her black biker boots, this chick was so not what Garret had expected. Her short dark hair, cut to frame her heart-shaped face, was tousled and messy, likely from the helmet. It made her appear as if she’d just rolled out of bed, but in a sexy rather than sleepy way. Then there were the black leather pants that stretched across her wide hips while pinching in at her tiny waist. He mentally willed her to turn around because he was sure the back view of her ass in those snug pants would be even better than the front view.

Aaron brought her a step farther into the room. He glanced at his sister, not that Garret could see any resemblance between this babe and dorky Aaron, but whatever. “This is Garret and Skeeter.” Aaron pointed to each in turn. “And this is my sister S—”

“Silver.” She didn’t let Aaron finish. Rather, she took a step forward and extended her hand to Skeeter.

When she could finally get her hand back from Skeeter, who pumped it happily while grinning, she stepped to Garret. Silver had a good firm grasp to go along with her other firm assets, both front and back—but they were all attached to a fellow rider’s sister. He had to keep that in mind.

Garret stoically kept his gaze off her leather-clad legs and her cleavage peeking out of the top of her shirt and instead noticed her violet-blue eyes, the color so unbelievably intense he frowned. “Are those colored contact lenses?”

“Uh, no. All mine, just like his.” She laughed and hooked a thumb in Aaron’s direction.

“Oh. Yeah. Um, nice to meet you.” Crap. A girl’s eyes could be his downfall, even without the rest of the package being so enticing. Garret glanced over and saw Aaron frowning at him, and noticed he did have almost the same color eyes. Funny Garrett had never noticed that before, or how angry Aaron could look when his dark brows pulled down low and unhappily over his eyes. Shit, time to change the subject. “Uh, so we all going out now or what?”

Aaron screwed up his mouth. “Maybe. And maybe Silver and I will just hang here. Maybe she’s tired.”

“I’m not tired. I’m up for anything.”

“Great.” Skeeter stepped forward, looking excited at the prospect. “Where are we going?”

Now that Skeeter had a fake ID so he could get into bars that required proof of twenty-one or over, he was always up for a night out. But Garret had a feeling it wasn’t the prospect of going out that had Skeeter excited tonight. It was definitely Silver. The kid hadn’t taken his eyes off her or stopped smiling since she’d arrived in the room. If Skeeter had been a puppy, his tail would be wagging.

Aaron raised a brow. “Don’t get too excited. Choices around here are pretty slim. It’ll probably be an early night.”

Garret wasn’t sure if the warning tone in Aaron’s voice was for him or Skeeter, or both.

“We’ll find somewhere, I’m sure. I’m just gonna go change. Be right back.” Silver turned, waltzing that heart-shaped ass through the door between their bedrooms.

When she disappeared from view, Garret could finally wrestle his focus back, though the memory of those rounded leather-clad globes of hers remained. He realized the room had gone very quiet. He glanced at Skeeter and found him looking dazed. Then he dared a look at Aaron and found his face screwed up into a scowl.

“I’ll go get my keys.” With one more unhappy-looking glance sent in their direction, Aaron turned and went back to his room, slamming the connecting door shut behind him.

“Told ya sisters are off limits.” Garret looked at Skeeter.

“He’ll get over it.” Skeeter shrugged and turned toward his duffle bag. “Maybe I should change clothes before we go out.”

Garret shook his head at Skeeter, knowing exactly why he was reconsidering what he was wearing. That reason was currently in the next room peeling leather off her hot little body.

Desire as reckless as a fighter jet in freefall…and just as dangerous.

Double Down

© 2012 Katie Porter

Vegas Top Guns, Book 1

As part of the 64th Aggressor Squadron, Major Ryan “Fang” Haverty flies like the enemy to teach Allied pilots how not to die. The glittering excess of the Strip can’t compare to the glowing jet engines of his F-16. But a sexy, redheaded waitress in seamed stockings? Now
she
gets his blood pumping.

Cassandra Whitman’s good-girl ways haven’t earned any slack from her manager ex-boyfriend, or prevented a bad case of frazzle from holding down two and a half jobs. She sure wouldn’t mind letting the handsome Southern charmer shake up her routine.

Their wild weekend lives up to Sin City’s reputation. Especially when they discover a matched passion for roleplaying. For Cass, it’s an exciting departure from her normal, shy persona. But for Ryan, it triggers memories of a time when his fetish drove away the woman he loved—leaving him reluctant to risk a repeat performance.

Except Cass refuses to settle for ordinary ever again. She’s about to show the man with hair-trigger hands that she’s got a few surprise moves of her own.

Warning: This book contains dirty-hot roleplaying, featuring an all-alpha fighter pilot and an ambitious waitress with a fabulous imagination. Also: dressing-room sex, a plaid schoolgirl skirt, and a sprinkling of spankings.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Double Down:

She assessed her appearance in the bathroom’s full-length mirror. For the hundredth time. No change. She still looked like a naughty fantasy.

A French maid. She should’ve guessed.

Her grin took on a distinctly sexual edge, which she didn’t mind at all. The blush too felt right—a little self-conscious, a little anxious. Already the temperature in her blood upped toward scalding.

“You greedy slut,” she whispered to her reflection, the grin broadening. “One great time wasn’t enough.”

Her nerves stretched and stretched as she waited. She’d ordered room service and managed to take a quick shower. Her hair was still wet, but she’d bound it in a sleek bun at the base of her neck. A light application of the cosmetics she’d snagged during a two-minute run through a store in The Paris’s lobby had done wonders to hold back the look of fatigue.

Ryan’s knock, when it came, sped her heartbeat. If she played the French maid, she wondered what he would be. A bedraggled traveler who’d had the buttons yanked off his shirt? A down-on-his-luck gambler?

And just how far would she push this? Cass had spent the last hour trying to get inside his head. There was a huge gulf between a bit of dress-up and full roleplaying. She was almost surprised at how much she wanted it to be the latter. Something that tipped over, deep inside. Something had
unlocked
. She could be anything, say anything, do anything.

The worst he would do is laugh, maybe flash that pulse-pounding smile and tell her to drop the act. He might merely be a guy after something different to look at, but that didn’t feel right, not for Ryan. She had a guess as to what he liked, and she was willing to give it a shot.

His knock was more insistent the second time. Good. She didn’t like to think that he’d give up on her.

Cass took a deep breath and opened the door.

Ryan stood at the threshold wearing a fantastic dress uniform. The dark blue did marvelous things for his healthy tan, and the braided silver trim looked impressively realistic. Navy? No, that wasn’t right. Air Force, maybe?

More than the color and the authenticity of the costume, she loved how it was exactly tailored to his body—tall and lean, long and strong. Only a slack, bewildered expression gave away his response to her maid’s outfit. Otherwise he embodied everything impressive and sexy about a man in uniform.

“Oh!
Monsieur
Haverty,” she said in her best French accent. A year spent studying art in Paris would finally prove good for something. “I hadn’t expected you so soon.
Merci
, come in.”

He hesitated for only a second. Then the reality of what she’d done and said—how she sounded—seemed to click in his brain. “Thank you. I didn’t expect to be kept waiting.”

“My apologies,
monsieur
. I was only just finishing up.”

“I don’t appreciate sloppy service.”

She nibbled her bottom lip, daring to glance up from beneath lowered lashes. He surveyed the hotel room with the air of a man who expected perfection and found it lacking. A curious heat bloomed in her stomach, reveling in his command of the moment.

She’d been right. The man wanted to play.

“Your room-service order is waiting for you in the bedroom,” she said, pitching her voice toward conciliatory. “As you requested.”

“Oh?” He lifted his brows. “I’m curious if you managed to get that right, at least.”

She ushered him into the bedroom where a rolling silver-tone cart was topped with a plate of fresh fruit and a bottle of champagne on ice. She’d ordered the items no matter the sticker shock, figuring they’d sort out paying for it later. Tonight was about living a fantasy.

Ryan strolled to the cart. His expression verged on haughty as he surveyed the assortment. “Good enough.”

“I’m pleased,
Monsieur
Haverty.”

“It’s Major Haverty, actually.”

“Major?”

“Yes. And you are?”

“Cassandra,” she said, briefly shaking hands. That same electric zap they’d shared from the first moment reappeared, only stronger. She almost dropped character. Ryan’s teasing grin made a brief reappearance, as if he too was tempted to laugh.

Then it was gone. He was Major Haverty again.

“Where are you from, Cassandra?”

“Montparnasse, in Paris.”

Dear Lord, he was unbelievably handsome in that uniform. She wondered again where he’d picked it up. Had he returned to the sex shop? Or someplace else? He stood with his shoulders back, his posture firm and solid. The thought turned her on in funny, unpredictable ways. The roleplaying was easy to indulge when he fit the part so perfectly.

“What do you do in the military? Is it the Air Force?”

“That’s right,” he said. “I fly fighter jets. F-16s.”

Cass’s jaw dropped. He could do that all day, adding facts to his character that would’ve seriously jeopardized the absorbency of her panties—had she been wearing any.

No matter how fabulous Ryan looked, her hands were restless for wanting to see him stripped. Something about his expression, however, told her he’d be the one giving orders.

Yes, sir.

“Well, I should finish up my duties.” So breathless now, she heard her accent slipping.

She turned to leave the bedroom, but he called out, “Miss? Could you help me first?”

“My pleasure,
monsie
—I mean, Major.”

He seemed to stifle a private smile. “This coat.” He began undoing the buttons. “It’s too hot in here for it. I won’t be able to get comfortable.”

“I should think not.” She crossed the floor, her knees shaky. “Here, let me help.”