Take Two (35 page)

“No. I like knowing you’re bare. It’s easy access.” He brushed his nose against her ear. “Now let’s get out of here so I can take advantage of that.”

He took her hand in his and chuckled.

“What?” she asked.

“I was just thinking. I’m Micah Preston, guy who can supposedly get any girl in the world.”

She raised an eyebrow, wondering where he was going, not really caring because all the other girls in the world didn’t matter since he was hers and she was his.

He put his hand on her face, his thumb caressing her cheek. “Yet it took me seven years and two months to finally go home with Maddie from the party.” He paused. “You know what?”

“Hmm?” She covered his hand with her own, enjoying every little touch of the man who was everything—her everything—the man that she had grounded while he gave her flight. The man she loved. The man who loved her in front of the world.

He tilted her chin up. “I never want to go home with anyone else again.”

About the Author

Laurelin Paige is a sucker for a good romance and gets giddy anytime there’s kissing, much to the embarrassment of her three daughters. Her husband doesn’t seem to complain, however. When she isn’t reading or writing sexy stories, she’s probably singing, watching
Mad Men
and
The Walking Dead
, or dreaming of Adam Levine. She is the author of the bestselling
Fixed
trilogy and is represented by Bob Diforio of D4EO Literary Agency.

The spotlight she craves could burn him alive…

Taking Her There

© 2013 Olivia Brynn

When Angeline Rowe emerges from six months in court-ordered detox, she isn’t surprised the paparazzi are waiting for her. But when she ducks into her car, eager to return to the comforts of home, she
is
surprised to see the familiar face of her driver.
 

Now that she’s sober, it’s nice to discover that he’s easy to talk to. In fact, he’s quite a flirt.

Starving artist Andre Salidas had to be begged to come back to work for “Hurricane Angeline”. Yet the snobby actress who fired him in a drunken rage is not the same one sitting in his car now. She’s fragile, vulnerable…intriguing.
 

Once back home, a little push and pull, back and forth pushes their flirtation to the next level. A few orgasms later, Andre has found his muse—until a cold blast from her past threatens to blow out the fire they’ve ignited.

Warning: Contains a mercurial actress and an artist who needs a little heat to get his creative juices flowing. Drop cloths recommended.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Taking Her There:

Angeline stared out the window as Andre took the exit off the interstate and weaved through the streets of her neighborhood. From the time she’d been voted Prom Queen as a sophomore in high school, Angeline had happily taken her place on top of the pedestal society set out for her. She liked it. Being in charge, calling the shots. Who wouldn’t?

Even with her very public downfall, she still had fans all over the world sending cards and letters. That still didn’t make the crowd currently camped out on her corner any more welcome. Several crude words bubbled through her brain, but she uttered only one.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Looks like we may have a problem.” Andre’s voice was steady as ever. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s going to be a long weekend.”

“You want to go through them, then?”

“That’s my house. You’re damn right we’re going through.” She’d tried driving away once. It only made the headlines worse.

The car inched through the mob, and reporters pressed so closely up against the car, she hoped the rear tire would catch a few toes. Their questions all jumbled together and were muted through the car windows, so even if she gave a damn, she wouldn’t be able to understand any one of them.

Andre pressed the button to open the huge gate door. “Is someone waiting for you?”

“No. I don’t have anyone.” Her surly words came out almost too morose. She sat up straighter as the gate closed behind them.

“Sure you do. I read about your family in Indiana. And you always have Percy.”

“Psh. I’m sure he’s e-mailing all his colleagues right now, trying to unload me.”

“You have me.”

Angeline let her mouth hang open while he pulled to a stop, then closed it as he got out and walked to the back door to open it for her. This guy was something else.

With the door open, she slid both bare feet out first, then emerged from the backseat as if she were arriving on the red carpet, to get her first clear look at the man she’d been casually chatting with over the past ninety minutes.

Nothing unusual about his black suit pants and jacket, black tie and crisp white shirt. Though she noticed for the first time how well the pants fit his long legs. When she looked into his face, she caught her breath.

She’d been starved of eye candy for way too long, because she didn’t remember him looking this damn good. Of course she’d probably never looked him in the eye until now. Long, angular features put together into a very appealing shape. Full lips that made her lick her own. Brooding eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat. He looked more like a college frat boy than a limo driver. The ponytail at his nape only added to his European appeal.

“Have a great day. Enjoy your new freedom.” He touched the brim of his cap in an old-fashioned gesture.

“You can’t leave.”

“Why not?”

Why not, Angeline?
“Well…aren’t you going to carry in my things?”

He glanced into the limo beyond her, then raised one eyebrow. “You want me to carry your purse and shoes?”

She cocked her head. “I told you I don’t have any other staff. And you told me yourself I’m paying you extremely well. I think it’s the least you can do.”

With her chin high, she brushed past him and walked toward her house, ignoring the fact that her bare feet sounded anything but proud, and her house keys were inside the purse good old Andre would be carrying. To maintain control, she crossed her arms and waited on the veranda.

Turning to watch his progress, she got a great view of his backside as he bent over to lean into the car.
Percy, I owe you big.
Angeline bit her lower lip and groaned quietly, her hands itching to run through that long, black hair.

Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome looked a bit ridiculous with her glittery handbag in one hand and her strappy heels dangling from the other. Though it did add a little bit of attractiveness when his purely masculine swagger sent them swinging. As he neared, she stuck out one hand, and he passed her the purse.

She reached into the pocket, which was pitifully empty besides her now-expired driver’s license and a six-month-old pack of gum, and pulled out her keys.

Andre said nothing as she opened the door and stormed through. Percy must have hired someone else to air out her house, because it didn’t have the stale scent of abandonment.
Home at last.

She dropped her purse onto a table, then turned again to face him. “Well?”

He held out her shoes but didn’t cross the threshold.

“Just set them anywhere. Then you may return to your other duties.”

His eyes narrowed. A sultry look if ever there was one. He took three slow steps into the room, his focus on her the entire way. Even when he let her shoes drop to the floor, he didn’t look away. Or even blink.

Angeline’s heart thumped, and just as her vision seemed to blur, Andre Salidas showed up in hyper clarity. One more step and he was in her personal space. The twenty-four-inch radius that she rarely allowed anyone into. Alarms didn’t sound, and her ass-kicking instincts lay dormant.

“Do you know what I think?” His voice. God, his voice. Low and rumbly, it washed over her skin to tease each nerve ending with a gentle lick.

She swallowed. “What?”

“I think you do a lot of hiding behind that dominatrix façade you’ve built.” His coffee-tinged breath was warm on her cheek. “I think that’s probably how you get through your time isolated in your glass palace. Probably how you get through your day-to-day life being ordered around by directors and agents and”—he dropped his focus to her mouth when she licked her lips—“boyfriends.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about—”

“I know everything there is to know about you. Your whole life is an open book. You never used that mute button in all the time I’ve been driving you around. If I were anyone else, I’d blush.”

She took a step back “Then you know I don’t—I never hide.”

He took a step toward her, one side of his mouth curled in a knowing grin. “Sure you do. You hide behind your superstar status. Every time you stick your nose in the air, you’re trying to take attention off the lonely woman you really are. You showed the slightest hint of vulnerability in the car when Percy told you he trusted you. Even through that tinted glass, I saw the hardness in your face and body just melt away. It revealed the real you. Human. Feminine. That’s what you hide.”

Before she knew it, her back hit the wall. Andre hadn’t touched her, but rode her chest with barely three inches between them, and she had to curl her fingers into fists to refrain from reaching out to that heat.

“You get home, and that’s when you build your guard back up. You put on your ridiculous mask and put yourself back in charge. I can’t believe you ordered me to carry your fuck-me heels.”

She spared one glance at her shoes, then snapped her attention back on the man she had to crane her neck to see. “You…work for me.”

God, her voice sounded so damn weak. She stuck her chin out but refused to repeat herself.

“I’m your driver. When I’m behind that wheel, and when you’re in the backseat, you can send me in whatever direction you want, and I’ll take you there. But if you think about it…” He reached up to remove his cap, revealing a headful of shiny black hair, a halo of blue enticing her again to release the band at his nape and let the silky-looking strands flow free. “That still puts me in charge.”

A shiver tickled her spine. “What do you want?”

His mouth moved closer to her ear, and she let her eyes slide closed. “I want what you want. I want you to relax. Let me take over.”
 

She’s got the moves. He’s got the heat. Will their hearts catch the rhythm?

The Princess and the Porn Star

© 2013 Lauren Gallagher

Rachel Taylor’s manager has to be kidding. A porn star dancing beside her in her next music video? She didn’t claw her way back from near obscurity in the pop music world only to become a laughingstock all over again.

Yet the moment she meets Lee, a.k.a. the infamous Buck Harder, their chemistry sizzles. There’s much more to the man behind the stage name than the obvious attributes that make him so successful, and soon she’s fantasizing about sharing more than just a stage.

In only a few steps, they find a perfect, dance-floor groove hot enough to melt the camera lens. But when the video’s release blows up in their faces, her record label exercises an obscure but ironclad clause—stay away from each other. Or else.

Meeting in secret seems the most delicious solution. But they can’t hide this kind of heat for long…and when the paparazzi sniff them out, she realizes choosing to stay with the man she’s fallen for could cause her to fall off the pop music map—permanently.

Warning: Let’s just say there’s a reason Buck Harder went into his line of work, and it ain’t his pretty smile. Wink wink.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Princess and the Porn Star:

Thank God Olivia was halfway across the room when I first saw her. And thank God there were people, equipment and cords between here and there, because that gave me half a minute or so to get my tongue untied before I reached her.

It wasn’t like I’d never seen her before. Not in person, maybe, but back when she was famous the first time, I’d been a fan. And maybe, just maybe, I’d kind of had a crush on her. At one time. A long time ago.

So when I found out I’d be working with her, I’d fully expected to be a little starstruck, but this? Holy shit.

The pretty-in-pink image she’d had back then was long gone. Her hair was darker now and longer, tied back in a messy ponytail. And that dress. Christ. It was the kind of look that could be slutty or it could be sexy, and on her, it was definitely the latter. Her breasts weren’t falling out of it, and it wasn’t so short it looked like it was meant for someone half her height. Sexy and provocative but tasteful at the same time.

Olivia Taylor had grown the fuck up.

She looked healthier now too. That last year before she fell off the radar, she’d been scary thin and pale. Even before that, she’d always been just thin enough to keep eating disorder and—especially toward the end—drug abuse rumors flying. She was still slim now, but her face wasn’t gaunt anymore, and the way her hips and waist curved inside that dress made my mouth water. And I was going to be dancing with her? With my hands on her while I wore tight leather pants?