Each day a group of blogs will present special excerpts from some of the books...look below for the blog hop schedule.
AFFAIRS OF THE HEART
AFFAIRS OF THE HEART
(15 NOVELS AND NOVELLAS FROM YOUR FAVORITE ROMANCE AUTHORS)
Name of cover designer: RENE FOLSOM
Official genre of box set: ROMANCE
Content warning: 18+
Official genre of box set: ROMANCE
Content warning: 18+
Due to mature content, situations and language, this collection is recommended for audiences 18+. Heat levels range from sensual to scorching. All works in this box set have been professionally proofed by Paper Gold Publishing, unless this service was expressly refused by the author. Some stories are written in American, and some in British English. The authors have chosen to stay true to their heritage.
Includes a mix of already released and never-before seen stories, all complete works. Those books which are part of a series can be enjoyed fully without the need to read the complete series (though there is a chance you might develop story-addiction issues—for that, we apologize).
Dive into summer in good company. Affairs of the Heart gives you the chance to make 15 new sets of best friends. Just think about it: 15 hot boyfriends and girlfriends you can lust after, laugh with, or shed a tear for. If there is one thing this set is brimming with is intense emotion. We guarantee you won’t be able to simply walk away, stone-cold, from this collection.
Liam is the envy of all gamers as the lead developer for nZone Studios. Over time, he builds walls around himself, keeping people at arm’s length who only gravitate to him for his material possessions rather than who he is as a person.
With thick barriers around their hearts and their past looming in the shadows, Liam and Maci challenge each other by slowly peeling away their protective layers and seeing each other for who they really are. It doesn’t take long after their chance meeting at a coffee shop for them to become one another’s game changer.
Note: This contemporary romance novel is the first book in the Playing Games series and contains adult situations meant for ages 18+.
Amelie Watts is sick and tired of being treated like a child. She might be willowy and delicate, but she has strength of the kind that doesn’t show on the outside. Plus, she learned all she needed to know so she could cope on her own. Now, if only her big brother would finally release her inheritance! She would fly to the Bahamas and kiss the backwater she grew up in goodbye.
Jason Watts is fed up with picking up the pieces of his little sister’s life. If only she would grow up already and learn to live life without stabilizers! Her latest idea is insane, and bound to be her most enormous failure to date. But how to make her understand?
Enter Rob Tyson, incorrigible bachelor and Jason’s best friend. For a laugh, they make a bet.
Two people, a hastily acquired boat, and a tropical paradise. What could possibly go wrong?
You don't just back out at the altar. Not in Pakistan…
James, a UK based chef, has tried to make a career with EAT-TV, but his womanizing ways aren’t what they’re looking for with their wholesome family style image. However, the producers of a new reality show about single life, The Fixer Upper, think he’s perfect. Against his wishes his agent convinces him to give it a shot. His overpriced bachelor pad is needing a mortgage payment, and he needs a job to support the tween-aged daughter that’s recently been dumped in his lap.
Margaret Dumas is control freak who has micromanaged her marriage to shambles. When she makes a deal with her mother to quit fixing her up if she’ll do this new reality show, she thinks she’s won. No more blind dates, no more friendly advice, no more “chance meetings” with her Mother’s friends’ sons. The only catch is she’s got to go on detestable reality television and expose her dating habits to a total stranger who is supposed to “fix” her and make her a dating machine. As if.
When Margaret meets James, they clash on the surface, but deep down they recognize something in the other that they want. Redemption.
Had been for years. I thought I learned how to live a normal life, but that’s the thing about addiction, it creeps back up when you least expect it. There is no one there for me, no one I can turn to for help. Until I’m given a chance to explore a side of myself I’d always kept locked away. I was lost…until him. I can’t tell you who he is, or why he does the things he’s done. All I can say is I hope one day I behave well enough to take off the blindfold and see the man who controls my addiction. My Master.
My name is John and I am addicted to control.
I tried to deny the dominate side of my personality. I didn’t want to admit how much I enjoyed the power, how much I enjoyed causing pain. That is until the woman I’d been secretly been stalking waltzed into a BDSM club right in front of me. All bets are off. She will be mine.
Together our addictions feed off each other, fueling the fire that burns within. Until suddenly the fire is too hot to handle, burning everything in its path. The pain and scars we’d both come into our fragile relationship with are split wide open, exposing more than either of us can handle, possibly leaving nothing behind to salvage from the ashes.
**Warning: Intended for audiences 18+ due to explicit sex & vulgar language, mention of rape/abuse**
Makeup artist Reggie Reynolds has endured a life as colorful as her ever-changing hair. After a painful childhood and a tragic adolescence, by sheer force of will, she found success – first in Hollywood, then on Broadway. Returning to her hometown offers a chance to help her aging grandfather and realize her dreams, not to mention soothe a broken heart. But even her storied past won't prepare Reggie for what happens in her next chapter.
When reporter Eddie Besson meets Reggie on a flight to New York City, he thinks he's at an all-time high-point in his cushy, perpetual-youth life. Twenty-four hours with Reggie changes Eddie's perspective. Despite the fact she doesn't want anything to do with him when he leaves, Eddie can't stop thinking about the girl from New York City long after he's gone from the Big Apple.
As Eddie's perfectly-orchestrated life falls apart, he has some tough decisions to make, with only one thing certain: there will be consequences to pay for his lackadaisical approach to adulthood. Reggie's own soul-searching reveals some painful truths, including guilt about passing judgment on the guy from Maine. When she runs into Eddie again – this time on his home turf – sparks fly and decisions must be made, choices that aren't universally well-received. Will this unlikely pair go all-in, find a way to balance the scales and live life on their own terms? Or will tragedy tear them apart for good?
Jackson Beaumont prides himself on being a nature-loving, guitar-strumming, carefree sort of guy. When the mysterious Lena Benton walks into his bar looking scared and defeated, it's not something he can ignore. He's immediately consumed by concern for her and driven by his desire to help. She's just so beautiful. So wounded.
After being shuffled from one foster home to another growing up, Lena Benton dreamt of finding her prince charming. When the captivating Troy Harington sweeps her off her feet shortly after high school graduation, she's certain she's found her happiness. Unfortunately, Troy's true colors surface shortly after their marriage and things turn ugly. Lena only has one choice. She has to leave him. She has to run...
Lena's escape has brought her to Jackson, and he clearly wants to be there for her, but can she trust anyone again after what she's gone through? And will Jackson be able to help her heal without losing his heart?
Cade is on the road to recovery with Francesca’s love and support guiding him. His life is changing drastically, from attempting to mend the rift between he and his father, to trying to have a normal relationship with his now fiancé. Most of all, Cade must find a way to control his urges so he can be completely released from rehabilitation.
Francesca is building her law firm with the help of those she loves most, but when a close friend reveals her true feelings about Francesca's engagement, it sends her emotions into a tailspin. Through all of this, she is forced to put her feelings on the back burner for everyone else, until the anniversary of Josie’s accident rolls around. Francesca must learn to put herself first before she falls apart.
In this novella, join Cade and Francesca as they explore their relationship and begin their lives together.
Having read other books in the series will provide deeper insight, but they are not required to enjoy this story. SURRENDER is the first of many Crimson & Clover Lagniappes (or, bonus stories). You can pick it up anywhere in your series journey.
I hope you enjoy this quick, lighthearted read about the joyful innocence that accompanies first love.
Follow her 'misadventures' and see if this is true or will she find there are more important things that makes a person who and what they are?
Katrina Mitchell was a small-town girl who had big dreams. She was the first in her family to graduate high school, and was determined to go to college. Then she met Jack and found out love did not have to come with a price. They made plans for their future, but it all came crashing down around them.
She lost more than she could ever tell anyone that night. Now Jack needs her help. Can she help him without giving away a secret she had fought so long to hide?
He's got his eye on me and nothing I say will change his mind. Not even when my boyfriend shows up and he finds out the darkest, most embarrassing secret I have. He thinks it's the only one I have, little does he know, I have a bigger, scarier one that I absolutely refuse to share.
**WARNING: CONTAINS ADULT CONTENT - Also, please don't bother reading if you think being in the Marines leaves you unfeeling and cold without the need for comfort when far away from home. Don't read this if you have problems with LOTS of sexy scenes or sex. There is vulgar language used so if that bothers you, probably best to skip this book**
He asked her out, then found himself begging her to keep their first date, the date she had wanted to cancel. Five minutes of her time was all he asked for. He just wanted to see her again. They married and had a perfect storybook love.
But, when Dillon gets in a terrible car accident one morning on his way to work, Nadia’s world crumbles. Life as she knew it changed – perhaps for good.
From amnesia to a lengthy hospital stay to months of physical therapy. The stress of recovery has them questioning the state of their future together.
Will they find their happily ever after?
Carrington Olivia Butler is ready to shine. Always in the shadows of her siblings, she goes away to college to break out of her shell. All Carrington wants is to feel special. Josh's attention is exactly what she craves, but their intense and sometimes volatile relationship is more than what she bargained for.
Josh’s demons return, and Carrington’s feelings fade, but both aren’t ready to give up hope. They give their love one last shot to survive, but hope, may not be enough.
**This book contains adult subject matter. Not intended for young readers**
When Isla and her soul mate cross paths, will they find a happy ever after or will evil intervene?
UNSELFISH LOVE — Desiree A. Cox
A perfect storybook love, until the unthinkable happens… How was it fair for everything to have been so right and happy yesterday and so heartbreakingly wrong today?
~
Chapter 1
We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. The physical attraction was so powerful between us. If there was such a thing as a soul mate, Dillon was mine. We were quickly approaching our sixth wedding anniversary, yet it felt like we were still newlyweds. My relationship with Dillon seemed to get stronger each day. We rarely disagreed, well, not over anything big anyway.
My husband had always been a wonderful, kind, attentive lover. He was caring, sensual, and passionate. Our sex life was scorching hot, just like him.
After dinner, I told him about Liza’s invitation to the girls’ night out, and then we quickly changed the subject to talk about our upcoming anniversary celebration. I tried to pry even the slightest hint out of him about what he had planned, but he was closed–lipped. I eventually just gave up.
We finished watching the news and my favorite sit-com, then decided to watch a movie. He pulled me in to rest against his chest as he held me snugly in his arms.
We paused the DVD and took a break about halfway through the movie to get each of us a glass of soda pop. When we returned to the sofa, Dillon lay down, resting his head in my lap. I ran my fingers through his hair with one hand while the other massaged his arm and back. I just loved touching him.
It didn't take long before I heard him snoring. I sat and watched the rest of the movie before I attempted to wake him.
“Baby.” I shifted under his weight so I could lean down and kiss his forehead. He groaned.
“Baby, come on. Let’s go up to bed.” I ran my fingers through his hair again, and gave it a slight tug.
“Mmm.” He stretched as he pushed himself up into a seated position. I stood up from my seat and held my hand out to him to help pull him up. Instead, he yanked my hand, sending me toppling into his lap.
He held my face in a light hold, touching his lips against mine.
“Did I tell you how much I love you today? Infinite, baby, infinite.” He kissed my lips, then he whispered into my mouth. “Come on. I want to hold you in my arms while I fall asleep.”
****
Each morning I was in awe as I watched him get ready for work. Dillon was absolutely gorgeous to me. He was the love of my life. He stood six feet three inches tall and still had a pretty athletic build. He worked out five or six times a week and had a fantastic muscular chest with a nearly flat stomach – age added a little bit there. He prided himself on his appearance, and I appreciated every bit of his effort, and every inch of him for it. His eyes were green and he had dirty blond, brownish hair. He was a good-looking, clean-shaven man when he left in the morning, but by the time he got home, he had just the slightest scruffiness to his face. I loved that.
After Dillon and I were married, I had gained twenty-five pounds in the first year. Nothing fit right, and what did fit, didn’t look attractive on me anymore – not in my opinion anyway. He never seemed to mind, he always told me how nice I looked. But deep down, the insecure me couldn’t help but wonder if he was being totally honest with me.
For a few years I couldn’t wear the sexy outfits he had loved so much. However, I finally lost that extra weight and was able to dress up for him again. I planned to do it every chance I got. Or at least twice a week. My body wasn’t perfect, but whose was? And technically, I could have stood to have lost another ten pounds or so. At least I had made it back to my wedding day weight. I had often wondered, when you gain twenty-five pounds, how is it that you need to lose more than that to get back to the actual size you were before you gained weight in the first place?
I had two closets for my clothes. The larger of the two closets held all of my day-to-day work and casual clothes. The other closet, which was smaller, was filled wall-to-wall with lingerie. It had my bustiers, teddies, panty and thong sets, stockings, garters, and baby dolls that we had bought over the years. Quite a few of them were the ones that I refused to try on because I knew they wouldn’t fit. I also owned a plethora of sexy costumes from naughty nurse to schoolgirl to sexy cop to voracious pirate. On the floor were countless pairs of shoes and boots. Heel heights ranged from four modest inches to eight inches of super smuttiness that I hadn’t gotten the nerve to put on. The boots were calf-height to mid-thigh high.
Ever since I had realized everything fit again, I loved coming down the front stairs when I’d hear him enter the door. He would step into the foyer and holler my name.
I would make my way down the stairs, then circle around him, teasing his body with my fingertips, wearing thigh-high lace stockings or my stockings held up by garters while wearing six-inch heels. I had gotten pretty good at maneuvering around him without losing my balance in them.
One evening, I had become overly confident and tried to surprise him in the eight-inch heels. I made it down the stairs, and circled about half-way around him, then fell on my ass when I stepped wrong.
That day, instead of helping me up like he had the couple times when I fell in the six-inch shoes, he took advantage of me being on the floor. As soon as I hit the ground, I laughed, but my hip hurt like hell. He smirked as he kicked his loafers off and his foot skimmed across my chest using just enough pressure to hold me down.
“Stay there, don’t move.” He barked at me while he held a stern look on his face. That fierceness in his eyes wasn’t his normal glint when he was playing dominant.
I remained on the floor as he had commanded. I watched him remove his shirt, exposing his gorgeous, muscular, tattooed chest to me. His prominent V was so sexy. He left his pants on as he straddled me – he stood over me. His eyes glared down at me. “Your clumsiness is deplorable.”
He caught me off guard with his tone. I wasn’t sure if he was serious. I was too alarmed to answer him for fear I really had done something wrong. Softly, I squeaked out, “I’m sorry.”
“You will be.” He unbuckled his belt as he continued to tower over and gawk down at me. His face remained expressionless.
He stepped his foot over my body so he was standing with both feet on one side of me. “Don’t move until I tell you to.” He wasn’t able to maintain his firm look and cracked the slightest smirk.
I felt so relieved once I saw his expression change. I was able to fall into the game he was playing once I knew he wasn’t really angry with me. I should have known better than to think he was upset, but, in the past, his attempts to sound stern were followed immediately with his own laughter.
“Yes, sir.” I lowered my eyes to the floor.
We had no idea what real domination and submission was. We’d read a little bit about it, but we made up our own rules for how we thought it should be - domination and submission by Dillon and Nadia. Neither of us was willing to fully submit or totally dominate the other despite having tried it a few times.
He removed his pants and dropped them to the floor. My pussy dampened at the thought of him fucking me on the foyer tile.
“Get up on your knees and put your hands behind your back.”
I scurried into position. As I rose up I could see my breathtaking husband standing before me with his hardness straining against his Calvin Kleins. I could smell his cologne and inhaled deep.
“Is this what you want?” Dillon pulled his underwear down in the front, exposing his thick, beautiful erection to me.
“Yes.”
“Yes who?”
“Yes, sir.” My eyes were fixed on his hard cock. I was trying to use my mind power to will his underwear off him, like that would have actually worked.
“You’re already in trouble for falling, don’t add to it.”
I tried so hard not to laugh. In trouble, indeed. “No, sir, I wasn’t trying to.” I could see the pre-cum forming at the tip. What started as a small little bubble had grown to the point that it dribbled down to the top of his briefs.
“Look at me.”
I glanced up at him before my eyes dropped back down to his penis, the object of my desire.
“What the fuck?” he took two steps over to me, softly grabbed me by my hair, and tugged my head back just enough to raise my eyes back up to meet his. “You’re supposed to be looking at me, not my fucking cock.”
“I - I’m sorry.” I was hoping my punishment would be to suck him off. I wanted him in my mouth more than ever. Instead, he wiped the pre-cum off his tip and rubbed it across my lips.
“That’s all you get because you can’t follow simple directions.” He barked through his smile. He pulled his boxer briefs back up, covering himself. “You’re a bad girl, Nadia.”
As I stayed on my knees, Dillon walked around behind me. He reached his hands around me to rub and pinch my hardened nipples. His pulsing girth rubbed against my back. The wetness was seeping through the cotton material onto my skin. His touch was inciting an agonizing inferno deep in my wet pussy.
He reached both hands up under my chin and pulled my head back to force me to look at him. He bent down and kissed my mouth as he continued to hold my chin. He removed one hand from under my chin and slid it down my chest to my left breast, pulling it loose from the tight, suffocating bustier. He kissed me down my chest and raised my boob, forcing my nipple into his mouth. This fucking man, holy shit! He licked and sucked harder than normal, which caused a pang to run from my nipple down deep into my stomach. He released my nipple from his mouth and kissed me again.
“You know I’m going to fuck the shit out of you, right?” he glowered at me.
I wanted to answer – then just do it – but I didn’t want him to force me to wait longer than I already was going to have to.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, trying so hard to remain obedient.
He released my chin and allowed me to straighten back up. My knees were in a ridiculous amount of pain from being on that damn stone tile. He wrapped my hair in his hands and lifted it off my neck. He slid his underwear down enough to free his erection again. He rubbed his warm, hard shaft against the right side of my neck as he turned my head towards it, stopping on my cheek just short of my lips, then he did the same on the left side. If I had stretched out my tongue, I might have been able to taste him. I wanted it in my mouth, not on my neck and cheek.
“Maybe I should just jack off on you tonight as your punishment.”
Are you fucking shitting me? You try walking in eight-inch heels. “Yes sir, if you think that’s best.”
“No, I don’t. I know that’s not what either of us wants.” He let go of my hair and walked back around in front of me. He had a puzzled look, a look of concern, on his face. “What’s wrong?”
HOPE FOR HER — Sydney Aaliyah Michelle
A love hunted by his demons and held together by her hope… "I'm sorry, Carrington." Tears fell out of his eyes and dropped onto my face to mix with my own. "I love you so much, but I have to fix this."
~
Chapter One
Joshua Elijah Griffin, IV
I stood on these same fraternity house steps fifteen years ago and pledged my allegiance to the Florida State Seminole Nation. I was four years old. All these years later, I craved the innocence of that four-year-old, because walking into my fraternity house after the way I screwed up was not an easy task.
I dragged my overstuffed bag up the steps, praying I wouldn't see anyone.
With each step toward the door, the weight of my family, my name, and my father's influence pressed on me. I half expected my father's six-foot-two frame to be standing behind me, pushing me into the life he expected for me.
"This is your legacy, my boy," he would say. I would nod and tune him out. I’d heard this speech a million times before.
His influence stained the floorboards; his shadow loomed. He probably haunted the place.
"Joshua Elijah Griffin the fourth."
Oh, shit. Dad?
I stopped in my tracks and looked up to see Jackson Mitchell, my oldest friend, standing in the doorframe. A wave of relief washed over me. We’ve been friends since the fourth grade.
"Hey buddy,” he said and chuckled as he approached and hugged my torso.
His bear hug cut off the circulation in my arms, and I dropped my bag at my feet. As the leader and quarterback of the FSU football team, he personified the all-American football player. He stood six-foot-four and was listed at two hundred and twenty pounds. I looked like a twelve-year-old kid standing next to him.
Jackson and I met on the first day of fourth grade at Brentmore Academy, a private school in Orlando, Florida. I attended Brentmore since preschool, so I was given the task of showing our newest recruit around campus. I insulted him for being a former public school kid, he insulted me for my lame insult, and from that moment on we stuck up for each other. Everyone was surprised we became such good friends; we had nothing in common.
I shied away from my family's expectations, but Jackson thrived on his. His father played professional football for twelve years; they moved to Orlando when he retired. As we got older, Jackson’s journey put him on the path to the NFL, like his father, but I had jumped off the path of my father’s destiny a long time ago.
"Welcome to FSU," he said. “And PKP.”
Phi Kappa Pi house, the proverbial and literal center of Greek life at FSU, sat in the middle of the block of fraternity row. Phi Kappa Pi, or PKP as we called it, recruited the wealthiest and most prestigious, but not necessarily the smartest, male students on campus.
As the oldest fraternity in the nation, we wore history and heritage like a badge of honor and relied on that badge to get ahead or get away with stuff, depending on how you looked at it.
I stood next to Jackson looking up and down the street. The exterior of our house, like most on the street, looked like an old Victorian mansion with an ornate front door: white columns, painted shutters, and manicured lawn—rich, opulent, and impressive. Pleasant place to raise a family, if you ignored the horny college frat boys running around with too much money and too much time on their hands.
If people witnessed what went on behind the shutters, they would be disgusted—our parents would be ashamed. But they created most of the current Phi Kappa Pi rituals and excused the debauchery by calling it tradition—my father and grandfather included.
I found the whole thing silly, brotherhood and unity, but I had no choice. I was a legacy. PKP chose me.
My family arrived in Florida around the time the United States acquired it from Spain. The Griffins stepped off the boat and bought everything they got their hands on. Their wealth afforded them a certain level of royalty-like status. As Joshua Elijah Griffin IV, my name carried with it a level of expectation. I started to rebel early against those expectations, but it never worked. My name, time and time again, saved me and put me back on track.
"Come on in. I'll show you around," Jackson said.
I followed Jackson through the front door, and nostalgia hit my brain while nausea clinched my insides.
Why am I always following him?
"This place even smells the same," I said.
The brown leather couches, overstuffed chairs, and dark wood tables gave the place a staged hunting lodge GQ cover feel.
Jackson began his speech.
"We hold meetings in the theater every Sunday night. It's mandatory," Jackson said. I stared at him. “What?”
"J, man, I know. I've been PKP even before I was born."
"Sorry, man. Habit, I guess." Jackson sat down running his hand over his cropped brown hair—a nervous habit since we were kids. "You sure you're up for this?"
My eyes narrowed and I gnawed on my thumbnail. I knew what he meant but waited for him to say it out loud.
"You got out of rehab like a week ago," he said. "You sure you’re ready to be back on a college campus? Not worried about temptations?"
"What temptations?" I asked.
"I don't know. I mean this is a frat house. We drink, and we party hard. Maybe pledges from FU do it different."
"Yeah, FU's PKPs snort pixie dust and sit in a smokehouse in the backyard singing old Negro spirituals."
His smirk made me feel better. Getting shit from Jackson felt like the old days.
In a bitter failed attempted at getting out of my family's—and when I say family, I mean my father's—shadow, I applied and was accepted into University of Florida. It might not sound like a big deal, but it was a huge detour from the status quo. My great-great-grandmother graduated with the first graduating class at Florida State University in 1901. Since then, at least one Griffin graduated from FSU every decade, sometimes two or three. My great-grandfather went to FSU, my grandfather, too. My father, my mother, and both of my sisters—they all went to FSU.
When I told my family my plans to attend the University of Florida, hundreds of Griffins rolled over in their graves.
When it came to Florida State versus University of Florida, we weren’t talking ordinary college rivalry stuff. FSU students refer to the University of Florida as FU, instead of U of F, as in ‘fuck you if you go to the University of Florida’.
The north versus the south, U.S. versus England, North Korea versus South Korea, insignificant compared to the Florida State versus University of Florida rivalry. If a Chinese person married a Japanese person, the Japanese family would disown their child. If an FSU student married a U of F student, the families would disown them both.
I collapsed into the nearest leather chair. "Hey, but, we're all brothers. No matter where I pledged, right?"
I stared at him, waiting for his answer.
"We are brothers," Jackson said and nodded. He stood up. I followed and relaxed, knowing he meant more than our fraternity connection. I missed my oldest friend.
We headed up the curved stairs; the house was empty this time of day. I would meet the others soon enough.
"This is you. I'm next door."
I peered into the room and surveyed my surroundings. The room looked like a nondescript hotel room with a queen-size bed and two nightstands in the same oak as downstairs. A small sitting area with a couch and two chairs was situated in the corner near the window. The rich garnet comforter, with its gold accents, reminded me of my childhood bedroom, including the family portrait sitting on the nightstand. I walked straight for it and put it in a drawer.
"Natalie sent this stuff up last week with detailed instructions, including a sketch for reference." Natalie Palmer was the latest twenty-something blonde-haired, blue-eyed idiot vying for her turn as the next Mrs. Griffin. I dropped down on the bed.
"What are the guys saying?" I asked as I rubbed a hand across my forehead.
"The guys are happy you finally came to your senses." Jackson leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.
"You're a terrible liar, Jackson."
"It will take some time, but the guys will come around. It's not like you're the first brother who did something stupid."
"Yes, but I did something stupid as an FU student."
"As if being an FU student wasn't stupid enough," Jackson said and laughed.
"Thanks man," I said.
"What are you thanking me for?"
"For vouching for me."
"Well, don't make me look like a dick," he warned, heading out of the room and closing the door behind him.
I leaned back and squeezed my eyes shut. I should be grateful, having a place to go at all, anything to avoid going home.
Even after getting kicked out of U of F for substance abuse and spending the last three months in rehab, my brothers of PKP had to take me. My dad offered to remodel the game room, so fair trade.
I met with the Dean of Students this morning and listened to his speech on responsibility and second chances. I saw it in his eyes. The lecture, a futile attempt to assert his power, but he knew it, and I knew it, too. None of us had a choice in the matter.
FSU had to take me; no matter how much I messed up—another privilege of being a Griffin. No matter how misguided and off the path I went, I always managed to get back on track. Even though sometimes I was dragged back kicking and screaming.
When I left rehab, the head counselor sat me in his office and talked to me about taking advantage of my second chance. He had it wrong. This was my last chance.
You figure I'd be more focused on getting it right this time.
***
Carrington Olivia Butler
As we turned into campus, I stared out the window, tuning out my mother and brother in the front seat musing about nothing and everything. It had been this way since we left Dallas yesterday. Actually, it has been this way my whole life. My mother and I were never as close as she is to my brother, and this drive cross-country marked her final obligation as my mother. She was finally getting rid of me.
"The campus is really lovely," Mom commented as she followed the signs to my dorm.
"Much bigger than SMU," David, my brother, said. He turned around in the seat and stared at me.
"What?"
"Nothing. I'm just surprised you decided to go so far away from home."
He turned back around.
I knew it sounded ridiculous and childish, but I swore my mother grew more and more giddy the closer we got to Tallahassee.
I wasn’t a problem child. Quite the opposite, actually, I never got into any trouble at all. I was the youngest in my family, by almost ten years, and I had ruined my parents’ plans to travel the world once my brother left home. They liked to blame me, but maybe the fact that my mom’s diaphragm never made it into her luggage on a weekend trip to Jamaica eighteen years ago was to blame.
I applied to several schools, both in Texas and Louisiana. But, as I discovered that more and more of my high school classmates were going to those schools, I set my sights on someplace farther away from home. I wanted to go someplace where no one knew me, so I applied and was accepted into Florida State.
"I think this will be good for you. Give you a chance to meet new friends," Mom said.
She never liked my high school friends. I had friends; I wasn't a freak or anything. My close-knit group of six friends had been together since junior high, and consisted of three girls and three guys.
I grew up in an upper-middle-class white suburb outside of Dallas and had the uncanny ability to remain invisible in a sea of people who looked nothing like me. I never quite fit in. I blamed it on my skin tone, ignoring my other strange quirks, like my aversion to silliness.
I considered my high school experience normal, in the strictest sense of the word: normal activities, normal parties, and normal boyfriends. My girls and I even infiltrated the cool kids’ club occasionally. My junior year I had caught the attention of Matt Brennan. His popularity extended to me due to our relationship, and I held popular girl status by association until graduation.
I got along with everyone, but I never fit in with anyone.
Most of the African-American kids in my school stuck together, but I was an outcast because my boyfriend was white. I was different.
"I guess we are here." Mom parked in front of Broward Hall, my home for the next year. It appeared bigger than the photos. The red brick gave the place a European feel and was surrounded by a lush green campus; I smiled for the first time since leaving Texas as I watched the other students unpacking cars and scanning the campus with wide-eyed optimism. We were all thinking the same thing—welcome to our new world.
For the first time in my life I felt a kinship with other kids. We arrived on campus with similar emotions; excited, but scared shitless. I grabbed a box and headed into the dorm. My mom and brother followed a few steps behind.
With my dorm assignment in hand, I headed up the elevator to the fourth floor. I approached my room and voices spilled through the open door.
"Did you see the cute tall guy with the curly brown hair?" A girl making her bed spoke to another girl sitting on the floor folding clothes.
"Hello," I said as I stepped into the room.
"Oh, hey, you must be Carrington." The blonde girl dropped her sheet and turned, while the other girl struggled to stand up.
"I'm Melinda, and this is Jessica." She held out her hand, but the box I was carrying prevented me from taking it. She giggled, grabbed the box, and handed it to Jessica. She put her arms around my shoulder and hugged me. The awkward maneuver made me giggle as I found myself eye level with her enormous chest. She stepped back, gathered her blonde hair into a ponytail, and went back to her bed.
Jessica stood there with my box in her hand, but it seemed weird to take it back.
"We put you over here. I hope that's okay," Jessica said. She spoke to me but stared at Melinda as if seeking her support.
"Yeah, wherever is fine," I said.
Jessica set the box on my bed.
"Carr, where do you want me to put this," David asked as he walked in carrying my trunk.
"At the end of the bed," I said. He bent over to sit it down. His shirt rode up and as he stood up to adjust it, he found my roommates staring and salivating over him. The minuscule amount of flesh he exposed rendered my new roommates catatonic.
"Hi girls,” he said and winked.
"Hi, I'm Melinda." She stepped up to him and extended her hand. My brother took it. Jessica stared.
"David, these are my roommates."
"Nice to meet you."
"Where do you go to school?" Melinda asked. She licked her lips and tossed her hair, and I watched my brother squirm.
"I graduated college some years ago, but thanks for the compliment," David said as he turned to me. "I'll go get the rest of your stuff."
"Oh my God, he is gorgeous," Melinda gushed as he walked out the door. "How old is he?"
"Thirty."
"What does he do?"
"Lawyer."
"Oh, wow, thirty's not too old for me, right?"
Jessica laughed at Melinda’s joke, but I turned to my side of the room and started to unpack, hoping they would get the hint and stop talking about my brother. I knew he was gorgeous; everyone knew he was gorgeous. He lived a charmed life and never experienced a moment of self-doubt or insecurity. I would hate him if he wasn’t such a great guy.
I continued to unpack as I watched Melinda pull out a pair of six-inch stilettos. I admired her long toned legs as she tried them on. Jessica pulled her long wavy brown hair into a ponytail and winked at me as she stretched. Her perfect perky breasts seemed to increase two sizes with her graceful, sexy moves. I looked down at my average size breasts and my average length legs and panicked. How was I supposed to compete with them?
I felt like background decorations all over again.
LIES AND TRUTH — Elaine May
Two soul mates torn apart by sheer evil… “There is something about you, Rosa, and I can’t stop thinking of you.”
~
CHAPTER ONE
Present Day
Isla could not remember a time when she did not awake from a nightmare, the fear she felt as she relived every horrid memory as fresh as the day it had happened. Perhaps when she was a child she had slept more peacefully.
Back then, her life had been simple; she had been so carefree when life had made sense. Now she was living in her own personal hell, and as far as she was aware there was no way out. This was her life, this was her reality, she hated every moment of it, and she knew deep in her soul there was no way to change it. Each night she was forced to go through the horrors that plagued her and relive every moment.
Her nightmares would always start the same way, and once they did, there was no way to stop them.
Isla was five years old. She and her father William were enjoying a beautiful afternoon at the Bryant family estate. The Bryants thought of William as another son, and so thought of Isla as a granddaughter. The three Bryant men all worked together with her father at their business, Bryant and Holmes. They were all in the rear grounds of the estate, enjoying the beautiful weather. Isla was being spun around by Joshua, the Bryants’ youngest grandson. She was having so much fun, loving every moment of it.
“Higher, Joshie, higher,” she shouted.
“Joshua Jackson Bryant, my daughter will be sick if you keep spinning her like that,” William called from his chair.
“She loves it, Uncle Will.” Josh laughed whilst still spinning Isla around.
Black clouds started coming in and cleared just as quickly, and as they did, the picture started to change.
Isla was at the park with the Bryant grandsons Jack and Joshua. She sat on the swing, crying, as one of the girls from school was picking on her because her Mommy was in heaven.
“She was not my Mommy, she was my Mummy. Just because she is in heaven and is an angel doesn’t mean she doesn’t love me!” she cried.
Joshua must have said something to the other little girl, because she soon ran off crying herself. He came over to Isla, picked her up in a big cuddle and said, while wiping away her tears, “Are you all right, baby girl?”
Isla pulled herself away from him and stomped her foot. She placed her arms across each other in front of her stomach, a frown on her little face, as she said, "I am not a baby, Joshie Bryant. I’m a big girl."
Joshua laughed and gave her a smile and a wink as he said, "You will always be my special baby girl, Isla, and I will always love you. Tell me what the matter is."
“Why do I call her Mummy and not Mommy?” she asked.
“Your Mummy came from England, baby girl, and that's what they call their moms over there. She always wanted you to call her Mummy. Don’t let that little girl upset you. You are so special, Isla. Don’t let anyone tell you different”.
Not knowing really what he meant, Isla moved towards Joshua and gave him a kiss. From the sidelines, they could both hear Jack Bryant laughing. It was a laugh which would always haunt Isla.
“Thanks, Joshie. Love you.”
The dark clouds began to roll in again, and as they cleared, another picture started to form.
Isla had recently turned twelve years old, and once again was at the Bryant family home. She was sitting on the bottom step, listening to her father and the Bryant brothers shouting at one another. Isla could tell that they were shouting over the business; something had happened that her father and Uncle Adam did not approve of. Joshua came over and sat beside her.
“Are you okay, baby girl?” he asked.
“They are shouting again. It is Grandpa Jackson’s funeral and they are shouting. Why are they always shouting, Joshie?” she said as tears started to fall from her eyes.
The picture started to change again, and this time she woke up in a limo. Her father and Joshua’s parents were with her, but something was not right. The adults seemed to be stressed and panicked. The limo seemed to be going at quite a speed, and there were too many sharp left and then right turns. It started turning around, and Isla got the feeling that she was falling. They came to a sudden stop. Mrs Bryant was screaming and William tried to calm her while checking his daughter and best friend. There was something funny about the sudden smell, but she had no time to dwell as she felt two big arms grab her and pull her out of the limo, and then fling her over a very hard shoulder. She started to scream.
“Daddy, save my Daddy.”
She kept screaming while trying to kick and hit at the body which was taking her farther and farther away from the limo and her father, and then she heard the sound that changed her life forever.
BANG.
The dream changed for the last time, and Isla found herself bound to a chair in a place she did not know. She had arrived back in the United States from her English boarding school (the same one her mother had attended) but she had no idea where she was.
“Did you enjoy your time at boarding school, Isla? I’m sorry to say that life won’t be the same for you now, sweetheart.”
Such a cold, nasty voice, but Isla was unsure where it had come from until she heard the creak of a door and then saw a shadow walking into the room where she was being held. The shadow got closer to her, and then, when she could make out the features of the shadow's face, her heart beat faster against her chest as realisation dawned on her. She knew this person; this man was the only family Isla had left. It was the man she’d always thought of as an uncle, the man her father thought of as a brother, John Bryant. He bent down on his knees so they were face to face and grabbed her chin with his thumb and forefinger. Isla could see the anger and hatred in his dark, cold eyes as he spoke to her again.
“Everything changes now, sweetheart! You belong to me. You see, as soon as your dear old daddy tried to ruin my father’s business and my brother was too stupid to see it, they sealed your fate. I have worked very hard to get it back to where it was. Because of all that extra work on my part and the millions I have had to spend I think my son and I deserve a reward, and besides, do you know how many lives your father ruined on his little mission? The number of people who would take revenge on daddy by harming you? It’s just easier for the world to think you are dead, sweetheart.”
Her heart was thumping against her chest and she couldn’t get her head around the words that had been spoken. Isla did not understand how her father had tried to destroy their business. What had he done that had been so awful? She was now paying such a high price for what? She was so consumed by her thoughts that she did not realise when the second pair of hands placed the gag between her lips and began to untie her from the chair. She tried to get away from him but he was too quick and grabbed hold of her.
She was being carried, and the arms were so strong that struggling was pointless. She was thrown onto a bed, and the men tied her hands and ankles to the frame. She lay there on the bed, arms and legs spread across it, naked. How did she become naked? She couldn’t remember what happened to her clothes, but she had a horrible feeling she knew what was coming next.
She didn’t want it to happen like this. She had always hoped it would be Joshua, that one day they would be in a serious relationship and he would become her husband and would take her virginity. That it would be taken with love and not force.
The second figure came around so she could see him, and it was the laugh she recognised first. It was Jack Bryant, the boy she thought of as another cousin.
She pulled at her restraints and began to shake her head, to plead with him not to hurt her, but she stopped when she heard John speak.
“Hope you have fun with her, Son.”
Isla woke up screaming. Her breathing was fast and heavy as she tried to sit up. She was covered in sweat and her heart was thumping so hard against her chest, the sheets she lay on every night twisted around her body like a snake. Isla had just had the same dream she always had and she awoke in the same small room in the basement of the Bryant estate, where she had lived these last few years.
They had told her earlier that things were going to start to change, but how?
November 24
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Rene Folsom, author of contemporary and paranormal, lives in Florida with her husband and three kids. She has officially diagnosed herself with creative ADD and often has a million and one writing projects going at once. In addition to writing, she is also a graphic artist who enjoys creating custom book covers for indie authors. She is definitely an artist at heart and would love nothing more than to be elbow deep in clay during her waking hours.
Rene believes that all fiction is based on some form of reality—otherwise we would never have the inspiration or knowledge to dream up the realistic situations we portray with our words. She is proud to say that her personal experiences have been inspirational, though perhaps not always identical to that of her fictional characters. Where reality and fantasy diverge, however, must remain her little secret…
Ella Medler is a U.K. author and free-lance editor. She writes fiction in more than one genre, in a seemingly vain attempt to slow down her overactive brain enough to write non-fiction on subjects she knows a thing or two about. She also does not believe in the starchy use of English, and ignores the type of rule that doesn’t allow for a sentence to be finished in a preposition. Her books are action-driven, and well-developed characters are her forte. Loves: freedom. Hates: her inner censor.
HA Kay I was in grade 7, and bunking PE when I read Tolkien’s Two Towers from the LOTR trilogy.
I know what you’re thinking. Certified nerd! I remember what I was thinking. Where had this book been all my life?!
I loved it. I can’t recall the scenes I’d read then but I remember how transfixing Tolkien's Middle Earth was. I instantly wanted to write something like it.
But such dreams are easily forgotten in the wake of building a real career.
I went ahead and enrolled in a business college and did my MBA with tinselly rainbow colors, making a tiara out of my nerd cap. It was a good day. And it was a good year at the bank. But the best time was when I landed at an ad agency’s creative department to write jingles and slogans and slaughter both my languages (Urdu and English) in the process. I learned a lot there. I wrote a lot there. And I became apt in the art of killing my own brainchildren a.k.a. self-editing.
Then, I got married. Moved to the United States and started a family.
For two years I was a good stay-at-home mom. Then, I thought I could be good at something else too. I couldn’t decide on what exactly till I stumbled upon my old diary – a leftover from my baby and teen years. I read all the poems and stories I’d written therein, ranging from an ode to Mom to a soul-searching monologue. I realized I wasn’t bad. If I worked on my talent I could turn it into a skill. And perhaps be able to write like the numerous authors who’d inspired me for years. A lost afternoon in the school library from so long ago made its way into my present and I remembered the perfect Legolas. I remembered the imperfect Quasimodo, the roguish Rhett Butler and the ruthless Rory Frost too.
Suddenly, I wanted to create such characters and write their stories instilled with M. M. Kaye-like descriptions and Crichton-like research and Grisham-like authenticity, all tied together with intense moods borrowed from Victoria Holt. Tolkien’s magic dust and King’s dark secrets would just be the cherry and powdered sugar on top.
I enrolled in a writing program immediately and earned my diploma. Next I wrote and edited for a newbie magazine. I wrote two children’s books (5 Kids and 5 Snowmen and Boondon Ka Khel: The Playful Game of the Tiny Water Droplets), and co-authored a trilogy under the title Aoife and Demon.
Now, it’s Love Me Do.
I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it.
Anne Conley has written her entire life and has the boxes of angst-filled journals and poetry to prove it. She's been writing for public consumption for the last four years. Currently she is writing three romance series. In Stories of Serendipity, she explores real people living real lives in small town Texas in a contemporary romance setting. In The Four Winds, she chronicles God's four closest archangels, Uriel, Gabriel, Raphael, and Michael, falling in love and becoming human. In Pierce Securities, she gives us Ryan, Evan, Miriam, Zack, Quinten, and Simon. She lives in rural East Texas with her husband and children in her own private oasis, where she prides herself in her complete lack of social skills, choosing instead to live with the people inside her head.
Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this story, sign up for my newsletter to receive news on new releases, extras, and random stuff!
Rachael Orman Mother by day. Writer by night. I spend a majority of my day with my children and reading while my nights are filled with the sound of the keyboard as I work on my next work.
I have written in nearly every LBGT category as well as the traditional erotic romance category.
I love to try new things and learn from every piece of work I write. I'll write just about anything once to learn from it. I've even ventured out of my normal erotica genre into Monster Erotica. Doubt you'll find me writing anything not erotic as you can barely get me to even read something out of that category, but then again, you never know what I might try next.
Never stop learning. Try everything at least once.
Lucy Gage started her writing career under another name, but the same vivid imagination and love of books still fuels her daily life. When she's not writing, you can find her spending time with her family in her home state of Maine, experiencing a life that helps shape her writing.
Look for her website in 2015. Book six in the Ward Sisters Series will arrive in 2015 and book 1 in the Vega Brothers Series – a Ward Sisters spinoff – launches later in the year.
Susan Griscom I grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania, spending most of my time daydreaming or playing around in the mud. I grew out of the mud play, well, most of the time, a good soak in the mud is always fun. I still daydream often and sometimes my daydreams interrupt my daydreams. So I write to remember them. If I didn't write, I think my mind would explode from an overload of fantasy and weirdness. To the annoyance of my friends and family, my characters sometimes become a part of my world. During my childhood, I would frequently get in trouble in school for daydreaming. Eventually, my vivid imagination paid off and I had the privilege of writing and co-directing my sixth-grade class play--a dreadful disaster, though not from my writing, of course. I'm pretty sure it was the acting.
I enjoy writing about characters living in small quaint towns and tend to lean toward the unusual and edgy.
My paranormal playing field delves into a different milieu, abandoning vampires and werewolves, but not discounting them. Someday I might like to write a novel about vamps and those furry creatures. But for now I like the bizarre mixed with romance. A strong hero or heroine confronted with extraordinary forces of nature, powers and capabilities gets my blood running hot, as does a steamy contemporary romantic suspense.
Felicia Tatum was born and raised in Tennessee. She always loved reading, and at the age of twelve began writing. Her passion for creating stories grew and in May 2012, she finally wrote her first novel, The White Aura.
She still lives in Tennessee with her daughter and her kitty. She loves cooking, books, and animals are some of her best friends. She watches a lot of Disney channel and often dreams up new book ideas. She's currently working on various projects. She's the author of the White Aura series, Scarred Hearts series, and Intoxicating Passion series.
Sarah M. Cradit is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Paranormal Southern Gothic series, The House of Crimson & Clover, born of her combined passion for New Orleans, and the mysterious complexity of human nature. Her work has been described as rich, emotive, and highly dimensional.
An unabashed geek, Sarah enjoys studying obscure subjects like the Plantagenet and Ptolemaic dynasties, and settling debates on provocative Tolkien topics such as why the Great Eagles are not Gandalf's personal taxi service. Passionate about travel, Sarah has visited over twenty countries collecting sparks of inspiration (though New Orleans is where her heart rests). She's a self-professed expert at crafting original songs to sing to her very patient pets, and a seasoned professional at finding ways to humiliate herself (bonus points if it happens in public). When at home in Oregon, her husband and best friend, James, is very kind about indulging her love of fast German cars and expensive lattes.
Julie Elizabeth Powell I cannot ignore my dreams, so many of them, with names and places and ideas that spark my imagination and compel me to write; to create stories, whether fantasy or horror, or mystery or psychological thriller or murder or even humour and adventure. So, my garden is sown, flourishing, with all manner of growth, and still the dreams come.
Julie Elizabeth Powell, my soul lingering within my imagination; maybe you’ll join me?
Lynda Kaye Frazier I’m an avid reader of romantic suspense and started writing after a vivid dream. I know, sounds cliché, but that’s how it started. I work full time at a Cardiology clinic, then at night you will find me in front of my computer, writing. I grew up in Pennsylvania, but now live in Arkansas, surrounded by the Ozark Mountains where I get to enjoy the four seasons without a long, cold winter. Other than spending time with my wonderful family, my favorite things to do are writing, reading and listening to music, but my most favorite is going to the beach. Surf, sand and a good book, my stress relief.
Desiree A. Cox was born and raised in Iowa. She married her high school sweetheart and moved to the Philadelphia area after high school and has been happily married for over twenty-five years. She’s the mother of two sons and a daughter.
Writing has always been a part of her life. It started as a way to cope with her childhood shyness, allowing her to communicate without talking. Now she talks and writes … and talks. Desiree also enjoys traveling and spending time at the beach.
Over the past two plus years, she’s been working to get her thoughts in print. She is finally writing what she wants to write. Twisted by Desire, her debut novel, was published in December 2014. In March 2015, the sequel in the Lust, Desire, and Love Trilogy, Jaded by Desire, released. She also has a short story, Fantasy Come True, in the Wickedly Exotic Spring Erotic Wonderland box set that benefits the National Autism Association with 100% of the proceeds.
Look for Reclaimed by Desire, Book 3 and the final installment in the Lust, Desire, and Love Trilogy, later this summer.
Sydney Aaliyah Michelle is an Adult Contemporary Romance writer, a voracious reader, and movie fanatic who hails from Texas.
After surviving 5 1/2 years living in China, she had the courage to finally pursue her passion and become a writer.
Sydney has been blogging at sydneyaaliyah.com for three years, where she interviews people about their tattoos, discusses her favorite movie quotes, reviews books (New Adult & only the ones she loves) and journals about her writing and editing process.
An active tweeterer, she is also a JuNoWriMo (3x) and NaNoWriMo (2x) winner who notes the sci-fi action flick “The Matrix” as the best representation of her life in the past. She is blessed to be awake now and doing what she loves.
She can recite the entire script for the 80’s teen comedy/drama The Breakfast Club and loves any and everything associated with the Avengers movie, especially Tony Stark.
When it comes to books, Sydney reads many different genres, but some of her favorite writers are Stephen King, Cora Carmack, Alex J. Cavanaugh, Cassie Mae, & Emily Bronte. The Great Gatsby, Under the Dome, Losing It, CassaStorm, Switched, & Wuthering Heights are her favorite books.
Elaine May is my Author name. I live in the West Country of England with my two beautiful daughters and yummy hubby. I love reading dark and twisted tales that mess with your head. I love to travel and spending time with my family. My dream is for people to like what I've written and hopefully get to go to a book signing event as an author.
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