In a dystopian future where humans have foolishly squandered Earth’s natural resources, the few remaining people are becoming desperate. Crowded in huge underground cities, they’ve finally come to the end of the line and they must decide whether or not they will trade the only valuable resource Earth has left… Women.
Being the daughter of a wealthy diplomat, Rose is blissfully ignorant of how the less fortunate live. Desperate to escape to a planet where she can enjoy the sun on her face and swim in clear unpolluted oceans, she vows to make herself the first bride to be mated to off-worlders.
When the Krylon delegation arrives, she realizes that in addition to being good stewards of their planet, eager for female companionship, and polite to a fault, the Krylon males are also drop dead gorgeous. Unfortunately, Earth’s population is vehemently opposed to the galactic mate’s treaty… will Rose and her soon to be Hot Alien Husband be able to make their escape from Earth?
“Barbarians. You were locked away this whole time? How could they…” Turning to gather up a small throw, he made a frustrated trilling noise. “It does not matter. You are here, safe, and from this moment forward, you are mine.”
“Do you mind if I ask about the pressing of lips together. What is this? Why is it important?”
Rose bit her bottom lip, holding back another grin. He was learning to read her facial expressions.
“Would you like me to show you?”
Speechless, he nodded.
Turning to her friend, she pressed her lips to the other woman’s forehead. “This is the gesture for showing affection to children.”
“It is unusual.”
Rose pressed her lips to her friend’s cheek. “This is a traditional kiss for close friends, particularly when we have been separated from one another.”
Before he could speak, her friend pulled her close and pressed her lips against Rose’s lips quickly before pulling back. She made a small happy sound and smiled mischievously. “That is the one that shows romantic interest on our world.”
Rose laughed. “She’s being naughty. Most of us don’t kiss other women that way.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
As a mother of 16 cats and 1 very kooky dog, I am a writer with an incredible support team! As you can imagine, living with my fur family on 5 acres in rural southwest Washington there is never a dull moment. I enjoy taking the scenery, the wildlife, the weather, the adventures and turning them into my literary expose. Each element of my life is lived out in my romantic fiction.
I believe in each writer there is a fantasy thrashing it’s way out in every life circumstance. Releasing that inner animal is what I live my life for. It goes without saying that there’s always a happily-ever-after for my characters, even if there are a few road bumps along the way.
I thank you for joining me in this incredible journey of fun and love during it’s most adventure seeking antics.
Enjoy and feel free to contact me by email/facebook/instagram anytime. I enjoy hearing from my friends in the book world and will look forward to hearing from you too!
Like my Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorCJScarlett/
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She turned and looked at him with shimmering blue eyes. “Um… thanks for the ride and everything. I, uh, guess I’ll see you later.” Her lower lip quivered.
Aw, hell. Legs—Tessa, as he now knew—had been attacked in a parking garage, came home to a trashed apartment, and she thought he was just going to leave? He knew he could be a jerk at times, but he wasn’t heartless.
He blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. Next to him, Burg snickered. The asshole.
“You can go now, Burg.” He walked over and opened the door.
Burg elbowed him on his way out. “See you later, Stanley.”
Gray gave him the finger and closed the door in his face.
“Stanley?” Tessa cocked her head to the side and her mouth quirked up.
“My first name is Stanley,” he mumbled.
“Stanley?” she repeated, a small smile now appearing on her face.
“Stanley Grayson Kingsley.” He stared her down. “You’re one to talk, Misty.”
She had an “oh shit” look on her face. “Are you going to arrest me?” she asked, her eyes wide. She had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. They shimmered. Her lower lip quivered again.
Shit. “Why would I arrest you?” He’d had Burg check her out and knew that she wasn’t guilty of anything illegal. He still couldn’t figure out why she wouldn’t tell him her real name.
“Parking tickets,” she whispered.
“Tickets?” He put his hands on his hips and looked at the ceiling. “You mean this whole time you wouldn’t tell me your name because you’ve got unpaid tickets?”
She nodded, looking miserable.
“Jesus, Tessa.” He took a step toward her. “Your place is trashed and you’re worried about parking tickets?” He crouched down to look in her face.
A lone tear slid down her cheek.
He scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair, then moved closer, gearing himself to comfort her with a pat on the back. Instead, before he knew it, she’d thrown herself into him and he found his arms full of soft, quivering woman. She made a noise that sounded like a muffled sob.
“Aw, hell. Please don’t cry.” His gut twisted. “I swear I’m not going to arrest you. They’re just fucking parking tickets, hon.”
“I’ve had a very, very bad day!” She sobbed into his shirt.
He pulled her to a nearby armchair and sat down, adjusting her in his lap. Now what? He did not do crying women.
At a loss for how to stop her tears, he clumsily rubbed her back. “Tell me about your day. Get it all out.”
“First I had to dress like a giant hooker light bulb, then I lost my clothes!” She lifted her head and sniffled. “And I had to wear this!” She gestured to her skirt. “And then… And then…” She gulped air. “I couldn’t find my car and got chased through a dark parking lot!” Tears streamed down her face. “I lost my shoooe!” She pressed her face into his chest.
“When did you lose your shoe, honey?” Gray continued rubbing her back.
“When I hit the scary guy with it in the stairwell.” She clutched at Gray’s shirt. “I… I… hid… and…” She gasped. “I hit him when he grabbed me.” She burrowed deeper into his shoulder. “And I…was…really scared!”
“I know,” he murmured.
“All I wanted to do was come home and go to bed.” With her face pressed against him, her voice was muffled. “I can’t even do that!” She took a deep breath. “And I look like a freakin’ prostitute!”
Muse It Up – https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore/index.php/coming-soon/february-2017/pierced-by-venom-detail
She’ll willingly travel the highway to hell to bring back the man she loves.
Gia Adler had it all—a charmed life and her true love to share it with. But moments after she murmurs, “I do,” her ex-boyfriend delivers a lead wedding present into her new husband’s chest, leaving him in a coma and shattering her dreams.
Hell-bent on ruining her future, Gia’s psychotic ex-boyfriend then abducts her, transporting her to an underground world of destruction, drugs, and death. He’s no wicked witch and they’re in no enchanted forest. He’s evil incarnate and she’s submerged in hell-on-earth, a twisted thing of nasty nightmares.
Guided by the spirit of her comatose husband, Gia must fight for her happily-ever-after – and her true love – by facing down her ex and the demons of her past.
The most controversial book of 2017 ~ Carolyn Faulkner
Enjoy seven wicked tales from seven bestselling authors, each more deliciously deviant than the last! This anthology breaks every rule and is extremely taboo. It is so dark that it’s actually black, and definitely not for the faint of heart. This anthology is not your typical romance. You have been warned.
Nothing is as it seems in our dark and twisted fairyland. Princes are not charming and the path to happily ever after is paved with creative punishments and supplication. Do not fret for our fair maidens. These are still fairytales. Love will conquer all in the end.
Included in this anthology are: BEAUTIFULLY PRIMAL
A Beauty and the Beast tale by Zoe Blake SLEEP, MY BEAUTY
A Sleeping Beauty story by Alta Hensley SAVING ELLA
A Cinderella tale by Tabitha Black MR. WOLFFE’S LITTLE RED
A Little Red Riding Hood story by Maggie Ryan GOLDI IN CHAINS
A Goldilocks story by Maren Smith NIGHTMARES IN WONDERLAND
An Alice in Wonderland tale by Addison Cain THE TOWER
A Rapunzel story by Jennifer Bene
*Publisher’s Warning – This anthology is extremely dark, twisted, and will push your comfort level. There are taboo, and high kink level acts, graphic sex, anal play, ménage, age play, and whatever else your darkest mind can think of. Do not buy this book if you are expecting your typical hearts and flowers romance.
Kyle Brennan needs a break.
After scouring the earth for his mate, he finally found her in the least convenient place possible. Then she was ripped away from him by forces neither of them could control. But the woman who came back to him isn’t the one who left. Kyle doesn’t know this woman, and he’s not so sure he wants to.
Nicola Miller has a big problem.
She can’t remember a single second of her life before she woke up in a hospital bed in Knoxville, Tennessee. Not just that, but she has a huge, hulking man in her hospital room claiming to be her husband – a man she obviously doesn’t remember – who looks at her as if she’ll strike like a snake at any given moment. She’s not sure how things could get any worse.
But the last shards of Nicola’s life are about to be burned to the ground. Because someone has to pay for the sins of the past, and she’s wearing the face of the woman who committed them.
It looks like the last of their luck has just run out.
Shivering in a towel. No, shivering in a goddamn towel, sitting on a toilet seat in a hospital bathroom when I should be getting as far from Kyle as humanly possible.
Oh, that’s right. You’re not human, a snide voice in my head reminded me. Not that I had any frame of reference on what being human meant, but I bet my lily-pale ass it didn’t mean watching my quasi-husband being gutted by a fucking werewolf. Or having visions about said gutting that made my eyes literally bleed.
I needed clothes. I needed a plan. I needed to not be a brainless fucking idiot and get a damn clue.
Preferably in that order.
A soft knock on the door proceeds Kyle poking his head in, a stack of clothes in his arms. Fabulous, one problem down, five million to go.
“I had clothes here for you just in case you woke up,” he says as he offers the small pile of cloth in his hands to me. “You can get other clothes if you don’t like these – just say the word.”
I try to study the bundle in his arms but can’t seem to tear my eyes away from his hands. I don’t know what it is about them that catches my interest. Is it the rough but long-fingered grace to them? Is it the way they seem to have seen the sun and wind and earth of this world and yet seem so gentle?
I know what it is. It’s the way his hand pressed to his belly in my vision. It’s the way the blood oozed in between the gaps in his fingers, staining the webbings red. It’s the way they laid lifeless on the pavement as that fucking wolf ripped into him, only moving with the force from the jerks of its teeth tearing his body apart.
It takes effort to tear my eyes from them and grab the bundle from his hands, mumbling a quick thank you as I turn away. I have to take deep breaths to quell the nausea in my stomach and the bile coming up my throat.
I am the reason. It will be my fault. I have to go, I have to go, I have to go…
Before he leaves me to it, he asks, “You okay, Shortcake?”
Am I okay? Did he not see me cry fucking blood not ten minutes ago?
“I’m bloody fucking super, alright?” I snap and immediately feel bad for it. He doesn’t know what I saw, and if I have any say at all, he won’t know ever.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, “I’m… not dealing very well, okay?”
I wait for him to yell at me and I assume he might or leave me to my bitchy temper tantrum, but he doesn’t. Kyle heaves a sigh before his heat meets my back and his lips brush the top of my hair. “I can understand that. Get dressed, babe, and we’ll work it out, okay?”
KYLE – AFTER
I need to hit something – a face, a wall, anything. I just slipped into bed with her, let her warmth wrap around me and I forgot she doesn’t remember me. Her half-Sasquatch comment cemented that fact.
She doesn’t remember I’m half-Witch. She doesn’t remember the first time we made love. She doesn’t remember what she sacrificed or what Iva did while wearing her skin. She doesn’t know what Iva herself did to me. She has no idea and I don’t want to be the one to tell her.
So I did what I do best. I left her there in that room to heal up while I scoured the house for a dojo or a workout room or something so I didn’t start ripping apart furniture. I found myself in the living room wondering how mad Mena would be if I ripped apart an overstuffed armchair with my talons.
“I have a bone to pick with you,” Mena calls from the kitchen, her back to me as she kneads bread at the counter. What is with the Constantine women and cooking all the goddamn time?
“What did I do now?” I ask, flippant when I probably shouldn’t be.
“You’re lucky I have flour all over my hands, dipshit, or I’d illustrate just how pissed off I am. Sit your big ass down,” she scolds, her back still to me.
Deciding it was better to sit than risk my hide, I pull a barstool away from the island and plunk down, crossing my arms in defiance.
“I saw the scar on Nicola’s hand. Did you or did you not bind her, Ky?” she asks but it isn’t a question so much as a threat. She already knows the answer; she just wants to see if I’ll admit it.
I’m not ashamed of what I did. I’d do it again.
“Did you actually ask her, or did you just do it on your own? I’d venture a guess you bit her when she couldn’t answer you. Why else would she have a bite on her hand instead of her neck?” she asks, finally looking up at me, her eyes flicking back and forth between green and amber.
“I did it while she was unconscious. I did it when I thought she would either die or never wake up. I would have spent the rest of my life sitting in that hospital chair waiting for her. So you can be pissed at me all you like, I’m still not sorry.”
Defiance suits me best, so I stick with it, unapologetically staring her down. If I hadn’t held her eyes, I wouldn’t know how worried she is.
“What happens when she never remembers? What if this Nicola never loves you? What then?” she asks softly.
I hate that she asks this. I hate that she takes the one fucking thing I’m insecure about and needles it until I want to punch a hole in every single wall I can find.
“Then I have the rest of forever to change her mind. Either way, she’s still mine,” my voice a rumble of possession.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Annie Anderson is a military wife and United States Air Force veteran. Originally from Dallas, Texas, she is a southern girl at heart, but has lived all over the US and abroad. As soon as the military stops moving her family around, she’ll settle on a state, but for now she enjoys being a nomad with her husband, two daughters, and old man of a dog.
In her past lives, Annie has been a lifeguard, retail manager, dental lab technician, accountant, and now she writes fast-paced paranormal thrillers with some serious heat.
Perfect for readers of Madeline Hunter, Lisa Kleypas, and Sabrina Jeffries, the Rebellious Brides series continues with a sizzling tale of forbidden love between a socialite and a scholar—who might just be an infamous spy.
Lady Elinor Dunsmore made the mistake of falling for her older brother’s best friend, who vanished after a night of unbridled passion. Six years and a lifetime later, their eyes meet across a Paris salon. Her friends and family believe she’s dead, but Elle is very much alive. She’s now associated with a ruthless general, who wants her to seduce the man who broke her heart in order to learn his deepest secrets. Is Will a mild-mannered scholar—or the notorious agent they call The Razor?
The bastard son of an earl and an actress, Will Naismith always knew he was an unsuitable match for Elle Dunsmore, no matter how powerfully he ached for her. And yet he almost allowed his desires to spoil her glittering future. After the agony caused by Elle’s supposed death, Will has devoted himself to the Crown, but his entire life has been leading up to this unexpected reunion. As much as he still wants her, though, he must not succumb to lust once again. For his mission is delicate—and Elle is delectably dangerous.
“I didn’t think it possible to find you more appealing.” She interlaced her fingers with his and breathed his scent deep into her lungs. “I found you extraordinarily appealing when you were just a bookish clerk. But now—”
His voice was husky. “Your opinion has changed?”
“Most definitely.” She pulled her hands away from his to dig the tails of his shirt from his breeches. “I find the idea of you as a master of intrigue and leader of men very . . . exciting.”
He lifted his arms as she pulled his linen shirt over his head and tossed it away.
He slammed the door shut behind him with a resounding bang. “Lady Elinor, you are full of surprises.”
“As are you.” She ran her hands up his arms and over his bare chest, marveling at the quiet power of his smooth, taut form covered with lightly defined curves of muscle. He carried no extra flesh to speak of. “This is definitely not the body of a clerk who stands at a desk all day.”
He removed his spectacles and placed them carefully on the bench with his tailcoat. “My work sometimes requires physical exertion.”
She ran a light finger over a fading scar high to the left of his rib cage. “I can imagine.” She put her lips to it, her tongue running over the raised puckered skin.
He inhaled sharply. “Perhaps I should have mentioned the exact nature of my work sooner.”
“Must I allow viscounts and dukes and earls to dance attendance upon me before soundly rejecting them to prove myself worthy?”
His lungs ached at the way her clear eyes sparkled at him. She was worth ten of him. A thousand. He took another swig of the bottle. “You will feel differently once you have a better understanding of the ways of the world.”
“Don’t treat me like I’m still in the nursery.” She spoke with uncharacteristic sharpness. “I am well aware your father wasn’t married to your mother. That’s hardly your fault.”
“Perhaps not.” His face burned to be discussing his low birth with her. “But the world views children born on the wrong side of the blanket in a different light. I’m a bastard. As the daughter of a marquess, you are expected to marry much higher than me.”
“You are the son of an earl.”
“And my mother was an actress who tread the boards.”
“An actress!” Her face lit up, and delight supplanted her irritated expression. “I never knew that. She must have led a fascinating life.”
Her mercurial nature both mystified and enchanted him. He was strong, steady, and dependable, like a workhorse that plowed the fields, while she was wondrously ethereal and ever changeable—an earth nymph and vibrant butterfly all rolled into one.
Just looking at Elle made his lungs ache. He wasn’t for the likes of her and never would be.
Diana Quincy is an award-winning former television journalist who decided she’d rather make up stories where a happy ending is always guaranteed. Fans of Madeline Hunter, Lisa Kleypas and Sabrina Jeffries will love her Regency world of dashing dukes, irresistible rogues and the headstrong, determined women who capture their hearts. New York Times bestselling author Grace Burrowes says SEDUCING CHARLOTTE is “Sweet, steamy, and thoroughly enjoyable…Equal parts action, passion and fun.” Growing up as a U.S. Foreign Service brat, Diana visited and lived in many countries including France, Panama, Bolivia, Peru, Egypt, Morocco, Jordan, Thailand, Jamaica and India. She is now settled in Virginia with her husband and two sons. When not bent over her laptop or trying to keep up with laundry, she enjoys reading, spending time with her family and dreaming up her next travel adventure.
Savannah Lyons has her secrets —she buried them in the past long ago and she’d like to leave them there. She never talks about her past with anyone — especially wickedly handsome restaurant owners like the guy next door.
Casey Moore has met women with moves and instincts like hers before but not since he was a teenage runaway. He lost his best friend to the streets and for once, he hopes his razor-sharp intuition is dead wrong because there’s just something about Savannah that turns him from a tough guy to a tender heart.
Abigail Garsson feels trapped in her safe, boring, conventional life. Desperate to escape, she signs up for an adventure vacation on the Portuguese island of São Miguel.
Santos Carregado enjoys introducing tourists to his tiny island in the middle of the Atlantic. At first he barely notices the unassuming Abigail. He soon finds her meek exterior hides a vibrant woman who teases his senses and ignites his passion.
Abigail is stunned to discover the handsome, confident Santos is attracted to her, but his fiery kisses and searing caresses convince her to accept a sensuous invitation.
Will the realities of life shatter Abigail’s holiday daydream? Or can the shifting sands of a short-term fling become the rock on which a life-long relationship is built?
Her fingers bumped gently across the globe. The surface was irregular, as if it truly was a miniature world―Everest shrunk to the height of a fingernail, the waves of the oceans smoothed to an infinitesimal roughness. Its high gloss finish glared where the light from the floor lamp struck it.
“Abigail?” Martin’s shoes clicked briskly across the hardwood floor. “Your guests are wondering where you are.”
She kept her gaze on the globe. Guests? It was her mother’s funeral, for God’s sake, not a party. She wondered vaguely who had thought to put a globe in the serenity room of a funeral parlour.
“We’re already behind schedule.” His voice was firm, no-nonsense. Usually his confident control made her feel safe. Today, it grated down her spine like claws on a granite cliff. “It’s time you took your seat.”
She gripped the globe with the tips of her fingers and gave it a whirl. She couldn’t blame her dizziness on the blurring world before her. The last few days she’d been lightheaded, disconnected, out of touch. Not that anyone would have noticed. She’d been careful to act her normal sedate, organized, earnest self.
But inside she was screaming. Screaming so hard she couldn’t hear herself think.
“Abigail.” Impatience coloured Martin’s voice.
She turned her head. He stood at her shoulder, his well-cut, dark grey suit masking a desk-job belly, appropriately sober tie, his thinning blond hair brushed straight back from a high forehead.
“In a minute. I need another minute.” What a lie. She needed more than a minute. She needed…she wasn’t sure. But she knew she had to figure it out. And soon.
“I’ve always wanted to travel. Just once, somewhere exotic, unusual.” She swallowed a sob, guilt and grief rolling together. “But I couldn’t leave Mom. She hated being alone.” It had been more than a simple preference. It had been an illness, one her mother had struggled with for years.
Abigail closed her eyes and stopped the globe with a finger. Squinting through her lashes, she was disappointed to see her finger well below the tip of Greenland, lost in the nothingness of the Atlantic. She spun the globe again.
“Tobias is out there alone. He needs you.”
She hunched her shoulders, the stiff taffeta collar of her black dress scratching her neck. Martin knew her weakness. She’d do anything for her younger brother.
“Tell him I’m coming.” The coloured sphere revolved on its tilted axis, too fast for her eyes to follow. “In one minute.”
“Fine.” Martin’s disapproving huff fanned her cheek. “One minute, Abigail, and that’s all.” His footsteps faded away.
The globe circled, slower and slower. She closed her eyes once more, held out her finger. Taking a deep breath, she pushed forward, and stopped it. When she opened her eyes, her shoulders slumped in despair. Again she’d stopped the spin in the middle of the Atlantic. She’d been looking for a sign, and she had it. She was going nowhere.
Tiny printing on the shiny surface caught her eye and she leaned forward. There, right next to her neatly rounded fingernail with its modest clear coat of polish, was the word “Azores” surrounded by small black blobs.
She paused, considering the nine tiny specs in the vast blueness, then straightened her shoulders and headed for the door.
There’d be time to think in the weeks ahead. Too much time. Right now, she had to go to her mother’s funeral.
They set off single file, and Santos found his eyes drawn to Abigail’s trim hips, snug in her black shorts. She was the exact opposite of the bold, curvaceous, confident women he normally flirted with, but the way she attacked the hill with grit and determination struck a chord in him. And he was fascinated with her voice, the rasp of it, the way it seeped into his blood.
She raised herself on the pedals for more leverage. Santos swallowed a groan at the tight, wiggly little ass directly in his line of vision. A bike was not the most comfortable place to have an erection. He swung to the outside and pulled up next to her, away from the distraction.
“Are you sure you don’t want to walk for a bit?”
“I can do this.” She leaned over the handlebars, wobbling slightly with each determined push on the pedals, but kept her balance. “I’m going to do this.”
He dropped back again, keeping his eyes scrupulously on the road.
A few moments later she careened to the left, well into the lane of traffic, over corrected, and teetered back to the right. Before he could react, her handlebars caught on the high earthen berm through which the road ran and she stumbled to a stop, almost tumbling to the ground. He braked behind her.
She panted with effort, head bent, chest heaving, and he watched with rising frustration. Stubborn woman. “That’s enough.” He swung his leg over his seat. “We’re walking.”
She dismounted slowly and he could see the tremors in the muscles of her thighs. “Damn it,” she rasped as she pushed the bike up the hill. “Damn it, I wanted to ride it, ride it all the way.”
She was silent except for the hiss of her breath, and defeat dragged at her shoulders, but her eyes were dry. “Get back on,” he said abruptly. She looked at him in surprise and he softened his tone. “Get back on, and I’ll help you.”
She settled back in the saddle and he placed his hand in the small of her back. Moist heat seeped through the thin material of her shirt into his palm. “One, two, three, go.” They pushed off together and he could feel her muscles flexing with effort. “That’s it, keep going.” Her foot bobbled off the pedal but she quickly recovered. He concentrated grimly on pushing her up the hill. The sooner they reached the top, the sooner he could stop touching her, and the sooner he could forget his odd, irritating reaction to this wisp of a woman.
“Meu Deus,” Santos groaned against Abigail’s breast.
She squirmed, and he could feel her sultry dampness through the cloth of his trousers. He dropped a hand to each of her thighs and held her. “Calma.” He struggled to find his English as she wiggled under his restraining hands. “Be still. Be still, meu amor.”
His pulse drummed furiously and he panted for air. Good Lord but he wanted to take her, right here, on the counter, on the floor, wherever he could. But it wouldn’t be right. “We must stop. This isn’t the time, or the place.”
“It is. It is.” Her hands moved restlessly over his body, leaving a lava-like trail of need.
“No, minha querida.” He caught her hands, clamped them at her sides, and waited. The hectic pace of his blood cooled agonizingly slowly. Abigail’s breathing steadied, and her tense muscles gradually relaxed. He loosened his grip. He couldn’t see much in the dim light sneaking in the narrow window, but he thought he might have bruised her alabaster skin.
“I hurt you.” He skimmed a fingertip delicately along her inner thigh. “I’m sorry.”
“I won’t break.” An oddly triumphant note in her voice drew his eyes to her face. She slouched languorously against the wall of the hut, her dress about her waist, her torso and breasts bared to his gaze. “I don’t want you to treat me gently. You make me feel fierce, wild, uncontrolled.” She licked her lips, swollen from his kisses. “I like it.”
AUTHOR INFO AND LINKS:
Brenda Margriet write contemporary romances with heroes you’d meet at the grocery store. And by that she means real-life men – sexy, smart and looking for the love of their life. Her heroines are bold, savvy and determined to accept nothing less than the man they deserve.
A voracious reader since she was old enough to hold a book, Brenda’s idea of the perfect holiday involves a comfortable chair near the water (ocean, lake or pool will do), a glass of wine, and a full-loaded e-reader.
She lives in Northern British Columbia with her husband (as well as various finny and furry pets) and has three adult children.
Don’t miss this collection of more than twenty unique twists in paranormal romance and urban fantasy, providing over one million words of supernatural suspense that will transport you to new worlds with smoking hot action and heart-throttling adventure!
The DARK LEGENDS boxed set includes: Mermaids, Sirens, Shifters, Vampires, Dragons, Sorcerers, Warriors, Angels, Faeries, Demons, Witches, Psychics, Ghosts, Mythology, Folk Tales, Legends, Dark Magic, Time Travel, and More!
T.F. Walsh with Demon’s Mark
Monica Corwin with Soulless
J.L. Weil with White Raven
Laxmi Hariharan with Redemption
JA Culican with The Keeper of Dragons, The Prince Returns
Charlie Winstead pushes aside the pain and anguish she suffers daily and puts all her energy into her women’s softball team, the Regulators. If only temporarily, the abuse bestowed upon her by her boyfriend halts for the time that she is behind the plate. Hensley has been her boyfriend for three years and the relationship progressed into a domestic nightmare. Realizing this, Charlie does what she needs to do to protect herself.
Whiskey Williams is a patched member of the Chosen Legion motorcycle club. He finds himself running from a dark and dirty past, looking for a new start. He relies on his brothers from the mother charter to help him. Once he arrives in Rudy, he sees Charlie and knows something must be done to help her. However, seeing as she is fresh out of her abusive relationship, she wants nothing to do with men.
Will the attraction between the two be enough to make Charlie give the troubled biker a chance? Or will he strike out?
The game of love is not as easy as three up, three down.