Even if it means we’re wantonly destroying our family . . . I can’t resist him.
I know it’s not right to pine for this man, but those eyes are impossibly dark and his full pouting lips call to me like no other. He’s strictly forbidden from seeing me again, but he’s the one wielding all the power, controlling my body with a single, menacing look. He tells me I can be his dark, little secret and I’m honestly having a hard time saying no.
I’m Izzabelle Spade, the good-girl librarian: organized, anti-social, your average “by the book” kind of girl. Dustin Miller is off limits, with that naturally tanned skin, deep, brooding eyes and broad shoulders. Untouchable, to a girl like me—usually. But not anymore.
When I screw up, a beautiful chaos ensues. I demand a do over, but he has something else in mind. I know I should say no—absolutely not. I should turn around, walk away and never look back. But what do you think happens when he's a “get what I want, when I want” kind of guy and what he wants is me?
Christa Simpson, author of the bestselling Twisted Series, writes contemporary adult and new adult romances loaded with passion, suspense and sarcasm, ranging from sexy to sizzling. Protective alphas are her specialty and they always come paired with a sassy, independent heroine. If you enjoy a light, entertaining read, then you should give a Christa Simpson romance a try.
Be social and visit Christa on one of her author pages!
Dustin's dad sighs harshly. “Do you even know what the word love means, Son?” His fingers still cover his eyes, like he's hiding from someone, then he swipes that hand through his hair out of frustration. “Love is more than the sweet piece of ass you pick up at a bar. It's more than the little bucket of fun you drag home from a wedding. Love, Son, is something else entirely. It's determination and compromise and forgiveness. It's time and effort and money—so much money. Do you think you're really ready for that, Son? Because if you think she’s it, you’d better think again. What you want and what she wants are two very different things; that I am sure of.”
In a world where
human-shifter relations are often volatile and riddled with unfair presumptions
on both sides, Aleigha Daniels finds it difficult to trust. Fairytales are for
little girls because in real life, men cheat. Something Aleigha knows all too
well. There are no enchanted castles and no prince charmings who will sweep you
off your feet. So when she's forced into interviewing the sexy, enigmatic, and
eccentric shifter rock star, Morpheus Wolfe, at his creepy mansion out in the
middle of nowhere, all Aleigha can see is the fear inside her own heart. And
when circumstances trap her there, Aleigha begins a journey she never expected
to take. What she doesn't know is that Morpheus has an agenda, and sometimes
fairytales do come true.
“For fun?” Aleigha looked at him as though she didn’t fully understand
“Fun. Enjoyment. An activity engaged in purely for amusement …
like sex, for instance.” He stared into her eyes, and Aleigha was certain that
he was merely attempting to get a rise out of her.
“Sex is not an activity for pure amusement, Mr. Wolfe. It has a
“Hmm. Procreation of the species.” He nodded his head as his
bright amber eyes bored into hers. “If that’s all you’re using it for, Ms.
Daniels, I’m sorry to inform you that you’re doing it all wrong.”
“How I may, or may not use sex is none of your concern, Mr.
“But it could be, if you’d let me help you out with that little
problem of yours.” His smile was almost salacious as his eyes roamed over her
“Problem? I wasn’t aware I had a problem.” Aleigha glared at him
as she tried to get her temper under control. The fact that she liked the way
he looked at her only served to make her angrier.
“Oh, you have a very big problem.”
“Is that so?”
“What’s my problem, Mr. Wolfe? Please enlighten me.”
“You’re a little uptight, Ms. Daniels.”
“Uptight? I’m uptight?”
“I think you’re mistaking uptight for professional,
sir! I am not a groupie! I know you’re supposed to be some kind of rock and
roll guitar god, but I’m not impressed in the least. I find you rude, arrogant,
and highly inappropriate! You get off on this whole super scary shifter persona
and try to make yourself seem really deep and intellectual, when in reality you
are nothing more than common shifter riffraff!”
“Ah, there it is. Well, that didn’t take long, did it?” Morpheus
eyed her with an expression of triumph.
“What are you talking about? There what is?”
“Your true feelings, Ms. Daniels. I knew they would show up
Aleigha was instantly pissed. “You know nothing about my true
feelings, Mr. Wolfe. You don’t know anything about me!”
“I know you don’t want to be here doing this interview. You’re
only here to save your father’s show. I suspect you don’t want to be anywhere
near me at all, and why would you? I’m a monster, right? I’m the beast you’ve
been warned about. But tell me something, just to satisfy my own curiosity.” He
leaned in close to her, causing Aleigha to draw in a deep breath and hold it as
his amber eyes seemed to look into her soul. “Is it just me who terrifies you,
Ms. Daniels, or is it all shifters?”
Lashell Collins is an American author of romantic suspense,
paranormal romance and rockstar romance. She walks to the beat of her own drum,
but that’s okay ’cause she’s got a pretty good sense of rhythm. Basically,
she’s a geeky, quirky, laid-back, rocker-loving kinda girl who’s married to a
retired cop, motorcycle-riding, bad-boy alpha all her own, and she likes to
write about sexy police officers, werewolves and rockstars, or some inventive
combination of the three! When she’s not busy tapping away on her laptop and
living vicariously through her characters, she can usually be found watching
Grimm, rocking out to Slash ft. Myles Kennedy & the Conspirators, stuffing
her face full of Chinese food, or riding on the back of her husband’s
Harley-Davidson. Between her book characters and the ones she knows in real life,
her plate stays pretty full. But she loves to hear from readers, so give her a
This just in: romance takes center stage as West End theatre's Richard Troy steps out with none other than castmate Elaine Graham
Richard Troy used to be the hottest actor in London, but the only thing firing up lately is his temper. We all love to love a bad boy, but Richard's antics have made him Enemy Number One, breaking the hearts of fans across the city.
Have the tides turned? Has English rose Lainie Graham made him into a new man?
Sources say the mismatched pair has been spotted at multiple events, arm in arm and hip to hip. From fits of jealousy to longing looks and heated whispers, onlookers are stunned by this blooming romance.
Could the rumors be right? Could this unlikely romance be the real thing? Or are these gifted stage actors playing us all?
Richard was poking at a chipped teapot on the table for the white elephant stall. “This is junk,” he said, without even bothering to lower his voice.
“It’s a white elephant stall. That’s kind of the point. And who are you, the Antiques Roadshow?” Lainie cast a quick, embarrassed look around. She would estimate the ratio of people staring at Richard to be about ninety percent. It was too much to hope they were all hard of hearing. “If you could develop some sort of filter and a volume button in the next thirty seconds, it would really help me out.”
“Exactly how long do we have to stay?” Richard stared in disbelief as a pig walked past with a blue prize ribbon around its neck.
“Until the last cup of tea is drunk and we’ve helped with the cleanup.” Lainie was rapidly losing her sense of humour about the situation. “These people are kindly giving up their time, money and goodwill to help out a charity that means a lot to me. And sulking at a fund-raiser for children with cancer is a total dick move. FYI.”
Once again, Richard reddened slightly. A week ago, she wouldn’t have thought him capable of changing colour without the aid of cosmetics. He thrust a hand through his tumbled black curls and looked away from her. All broody in an open-necked white shirt, and set against a pastoral background, he looked like a still from Wuthering Heights. She refused to be softened by the image. He could look as handsome as he wanted; it didn’t make his behaviour any more attractive.
And he needed a shave. There was a fine line between designer stubble and scruffiness.
“Of course I’ll support the cause,” he muttered, and then added impatiently, “but I don’t see why we can’t just write a cheque.” He repeated his derisive survey of the merrymaking. “You’ll be lucky to break a thousand quid with this lot.”
Lainie wasn’t sure whether “this lot” referred to the fairground goods for sale or the villagers themselves. It was offensive either way.
“Because there are dozens of people here who care enough to want to contribute—” and a good hundred more who’ve come along for the sole purpose of seeing your sour face, thanks to the social media grapevine “—and they can’t all afford to just ‘write a cheque.’” She had the satisfaction of seeing his flush deepen. “And all of these events help raise the profile of the charity. We’re trying to turn a spotlight on Shining Light. Not on the fact that Richard Troy has opened his fat wallet for something more philanthropic than a new sports car.”
His face was unreadable. “You’ve made your point.”
Not quite. “For the record, you’re behaving exactly the way Will would.”
Not that she would have got Will down here in a million years, PR stunt or no.
A nerve twitched above Richard’s right eyebrow. “Is that blatant insult supposed to make me re-evaluate my life choices?”
She shrugged. “It would make me think twice.”
Lucy Parker lives in the gorgeous Central Otago region of New Zealand, where she feels lucky every day to look out at mountains, lakes, and vineyards. She has a degree in Art History, loves museums and art galleries, and doodles unrecognizable flowers when she has writer’s block.
When she’s not writing, working or sleeping, she happily tackles the towering pile of to-be-read books that never gets any smaller. Thankfully, there’s always another story waiting.
Her interest in romantic fiction began with a pre-teen viewing of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice (Firth-style), which prompted her to read the book as well. A family friend introduced her to Georgette Heyer, and the rest was history.
I was his lucky Penny. He was my light in the dark, hope in despair. Our bond was one of survival, friendship... first love.
But then we were ripped apart and Blake Weston became the memory I turned to when everything else in my life fell apart.
Seven years later, a summer working at Camp Chance is supposed to be my fresh start. Beautiful scenery and the chance to better the lives of foster children--kids like me. But when my eyes land on him across the fire, time stands still and feelings come rushing back to the surface. I thought I'd moved on, tucked him away in my heart. One look into his soulful blue eyes and I know I'm wrong. Blake Weston can heal the broken parts of me. Restore my hope. Love me.
It's our second chance. A sign we are supposed to be together.
I was twelve when I survived the accident that killed my parents. Fourteen when I survived the devil.And sixteen, when I survived a heartbreak of the worst kind.
But in my twenty-three years, Blake Weston might just be the first thing I won't survive.
Marissa didn’t follow me. It was most likely she had pieced together our story after Blake’s song. How could she not? It was as if he had weaved our entire relationship into his lyrics. I could feel his sixteen-year-old self singing every line to my sixteen-year-old self. Although, I was pretty certain the sixteen-year-old Blake I’d known then had no clue how to play the guitar.
After washing the tearstains from my face, I brushed my teeth. It was still early, but I couldn’t face going back out there, so I changed into my shorts and tank top and climbed into bed. Sleep would be impossible, but at least here, I was safe.
Most people felt lonely in solitude, but I welcomed the silence. I embraced it even. Something about the quiet, the knowledge no one else was around, comforted me. I knew it made me different. I didn’t need a shrink to tell me that, but it didn’t change the fact that I found sanctuary in being alone.
I lay there not really allowing myself to think. Thinking was dangerous; it led to remembering, and my memories were stained with pain and hurt and the kinds of things that made most people’s nightmares look like a walk in the park. Instead, I tracked the uneven cabin ceiling. My eyes followed the planes of the wood from one end to the other and back again until they grew heavy.
A knock on the door startled me sending my already restless heart into overdrive and I rubbed at my eyes.
“Hello?” I called out hoping to hear Marissa’s voice, but I knew it wasn’t her. She wouldn’t have knocked; she would have barged right in and demanded answers.
“Penny, it’s me.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, but my mind betrayed me as an image of Blake’s face filled my head.
Forcing myself to sit up, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. He wasn’t going away. Blake—our connection—was something I was going to have to deal with sooner or later, and from Blake’s admissions over the last few days, it seemed that he was making the decision for me.
My legs were like lead as I walked to the door. It swung open and Blake stood there looking at me with such reverence in his eyes I almost crumpled. Maybe I did crumple because, before my head had time to process what was happening, I was in Blake’s arms, and he was holding on to me like he needed me to breathe.
“I’ve missed you so much. I’ve tried to stay away, to give you space, but I can’t. I can’t spend another day feeling like you might slip through my fingers again.”
One of Blake’s hands buried itself in my hair and cradled my head holding me to him. My face pressed up against the collar of his hoodie, and I breathed him in. He smelled familiar, like damp grass and fresh air, of a time when things were less complicated, and my heart ached for us. At that moment, we weren’t two strangers reunited by chance; we were sixteen-year-old Blake and Penny.
And we needed each other to survive.
Contemporary romance and romantic suspense
… written with feeling
L.A is author of the Fate’s Love Series and Chastity Falls Series. Home is a small town in the middle of England where she currently juggles being a full-time mum to two little people with writing. In her spare time (and when she’s not camped out in front of the laptop) you’ll most likely find L. A immersed in a book, escaping the chaos that is life.
CJ Carmichael hasn't been able to get the vivacious blonde he spent four delirious days with off his mind. The blonde who was completely off-limits, but he couldn't deny.
Tell me a secret....
CJ had no intention of pursuing her, but Tara Stevens knew what she wanted and it was him. Now six months later, their time together still haunts him. As much as he's tried to talk himself out of seeing her again, the craving is just too powerful.
Tell me a secret...
Tara is more than willing to spend an entire fantasy weekend with CJ. More than willing to hand herself over to him completely and fulfill his every desire. More than willing to pretend he owns her despite their age difference and Kayne's disapproval.
Tell me a secret...
Sometimes fantasy becomes a reality. Sometimes people fall in love before they even know it- before they even know each other- and after it’s too late.
Tell me a secret...
Sometimes, beneath the sweetest secrets are the most deceptive lies.
M. Never resides in New York City. When she's not researching ways to tie up her characters in compromising positions, you can usually find her at the gym kicking the crap out of a punching bag, or eating at some new trendy restaurant. She has a dependence on sushi and a fetish for boots. Fall is her favorite season.
She is surrounded by family and friends she wouldn't trade for the world and is a little in love with her readers.