King by Cassia Leo Excerpt Reveal

About the Book

From New York Times bestselling author Cassia Leo comes a romance about taking chances, double lives, and falling madly in love with the one person you’re supposed to want dead.

Never steal from a king.

Down on her luck in Las Vegas, Isabel “Izzy” Lake turns to the regulated prostitution industry. But her first day on the job ends abruptly when her client dies, and his suitcase contains over a million dollars.

Izzy takes the money and sets off to a small town on the other side of the country, where she attempts to live a low-profile life. A few weeks into her new country girl lifestyle, she finds owning an old fixer-upper isn’t so fun when you’re a city girl with zero DIY skills.

Izzy’s handsome new neighbor, Kingston Jameson, is all too eager to fix her leaky faucet and warm the cold side of her bed. It’s not long before she finds herself falling for King. But is he really the sweet-talking country boy he claims to be, or has he come to collect more than her heart?

***

Kingston “King” Jameson knew he shouldn’t have let Garrett pick up the suitcase full of cash. And he sure as hell never expected Garrett to die at a brothel and get robbed by a prostitute.

King needs to get the suitcase – and the secret item hidden in the lining – before his boss kills him.

He has one problem: The girl who stole the suitcase has hidden it very well. She left her entire life behind in Las Vegas. She’s got nothing left to lose. If King wants that suitcase, he needs to get close to her. Close enough to watch her every move. To know her deepest secrets.

Okay, he has two problems: He’s also fallen in love with the girl he’s supposed to kill.

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About the Author

New York Times bestselling author Cassia Leo loves her coffee, chocolate, and margaritas with salt. When she’s not writing, she spends way too much time re-watching Game of Thrones and Sex and the City. When she’s not binge watching, she’s usually enjoying the Oregon rain with a hot cup of coffee and a book.

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Excerpt

The drive home is relatively silent, save for the occasional heaving noises from Izzy.

 When I pull into her driveway, I make sure to park with the passenger side as close to her front door as possible. Then, I carefully open her door, catching her so she doesn’t tumble out, and carry her up the front steps.

“Try not to collapse, okay?” I say, setting her down gently. “I have to look for your keys.”

“Are you feeling me up?” she asks as I slide my hand into each pocket of her jeans.

Her breath is coated in the sickly sweet scent of whiskey mixed with a trace of vomit. Her hair smells like the smoky atmosphere in the bar. But her body is dangerously warm and soft under my touch.

“No, ma’am,” I reply, pulling a set of keys out of her front pocket.

She reaches up and clumsily traces her fingertip down the front of my lips. “Why not?”

I shake my head. “Believe it or not, I’m not in the habit of taking advantage of women who are too drunk to remember their own name.”

“That’s a shame,” she pouts as I unlock the door. “It’s… It’s Jolene.”

She laughs as I scoop her up in my arms and carry her into the house, where we’re greeted by Steve. The gentle beast wiggles her butt violently as she sniffs me up and down, taking in the smells of the bar.

“Hey, Steve,” I greet her as I use my foot to push the door closed behind me.

“You have to call her Steve-Bella until she’s used to Steve,” Izzy corrects me.

Maybe I should refer to you as Jolene-Izzy until you’re used to your new name.

I lower her onto the worn-in beige sofa, which I assume she purchased second-hand at The Junk Drawer. Taking a step back, I watch with slight amusement as she adjusts a throw pillow under her head and closes her eyes with a big smile on her face.

“How did you learn those fancy moves?” she slurs.

“What are you talking about?” I reply, taking a seat on the edge of the coffee table so I can keep an eye on her for a bit.

I tell myself I need to make sure she doesn’t choke on whatever’s left inside her stomach, but I know I’m only kidding myself.

Her eyelids flutter open, her gaze unfocused as she looks me up and down. “You tackled that guy like a defensive lineman, but you don’t look like a lineman. You’ve got quarterback written all over that hard body.”

I shake my head. “I used to be in the military. How did you learn those fancy moves? That was quite an elbow you dealt that guy.”

“I used to be in the military,” she replies with a cheesy grin.

“No, you weren’t.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

This girl just made off with 1.4 million dollars cash from a criminal organization. She’s obviously drinking to cope with the sudden loss of her friends and family. Yet, she still remembers to clam up about the details of her former life when she’s drunk.

I’m more impressed with her by the second.

“All right. I’ll let you keep your secrets,” I reply, getting to my feet now that I’m pretty sure she doesn’t need me here to watch over her.

“Thank you,” she says, closing her eyes again.

“For what?”

“For saving me.”

Remind Me by Samantha Chase Excerpt Reveal

About Remind Me

It’s been years since Mallory Westbrook set foot in Magnolia Sound, but the death of her great-grandfather forces her back. Two weeks to get his affairs in order then she would return to her life in New York. The perfect plan, if not for Jake Summerford—her first love who broke her heart.

Jake always regretted the way things ended with Mallory and now that she’s back in town, he’s hoping they can put the past behind them. As they reconnect, old feelings resurface and Jake realizes that friendship is only the beginning of what he wants from Mallory.

With one foot out of the door, Mallory is looking for any excuse to leave Magnolia Sound behind. Forever. Will Jake’s plan to replace the old, painful memories help him finally show her their love deserves another chance?

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About Samantha

Samantha Chase is a New York Times and USA Today bestseller of contemporary romance. She released her debut novel in 2011 and currently has more than forty titles under her belt! When she’s not working on a new story, she spends her time reading romances, playing way too many games of Scrabble or Solitaire on Facebook, wearing a tiara while playing with her sassy pug Maylene…oh, and spending time with her husband of 25 years and their two sons in North Carolina.

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Excerpt

“But we were already hanging out,” Mallory reminded him and the look Sam gave her bordered on hysterical. “What? What’s so funny?”

“We all know I’m the third wheel here and the two of you would like nothing more than to be alone, so…I’m leaving,” he said, walking back into the kitchen to put the beer back in the refrigerator. “I’m gonna go home and tell Mom what the plan is–I’m going out to be a good cousin, while you’re here doing…I don’t know…Jake.” He winked. “You two have fun!”

Jake knew he didn’t let out a breath until the back door closed and he saw Sam walk down the deck stairs from the living room window. “Well…that was…awkward.”

“Just a little,” Mallory agreed. “Ugh…why is my brother such a dork?”

Laughing, Jake shifted them until her head was on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t call him a dork, he’s just a little…”

“He’s a dork. Trust me. We’re twins and I’m allowed to say it.” She shook her head. “He’s going to be snarky about this until he leaves.”

“About what?”

“You and me. Us. The fact that he knows what we’re doing.” She groaned. “Now, every time I mention seeing you or doing something, he’s going to make some sort of doofus comment about how I’m doing you. I’m telling you, he’s the worst.”

But Jake couldn’t help but laugh. He didn’t have any siblings so he didn’t understand the dynamics, but from where he was sitting, it was all pretty comical. The fact that they each other and had such obvious affection for each other was a pretty amazing thing. Maybe it was because they were twins or something. All he knew was that he hadn’t met many siblings with the kind of relationship Sam and Mallory had.  

Plus, he liked knowing Sam looked out for her when he couldn’t.

And that one single thought had him going still.

This wasn’t going anywhere–this was about passing the time and getting her out of his system. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about his feelings or hers. This was temporary. They both saw the end before they started up again, so why was he suddenly feeling concerned about how Mallory was going to be when he wasn’t around?

“Jake?” she asked softly, looking up at him. “You okay?”

He nodded. Right now, he didn’t want to talk. Hell, he didn’t want to think either. All he wanted was to feel–feel Mallory’s body against his. Feel her skin under his hands. Feel her breath mingling with his.

Standing, he gently tugged her to her feet before plunging his hands into her hair and giving her a searing kiss. If she was surprised by the sudden change of events, she didn’t show it. If anything, she kissed him back with equal abandon.  

So good, he thought. Kissing Mallory was always so damn good…

When he had invited her to come home with him earlier–before Sam showed up–Jake envisioned them coming in and talking and maybe sharing some lazy kisses before he seduced her into staying the night. But as Mallory pressed up against him and purred, he was pretty sure nothing was going to be slow and lazy, and that he was the one being seduced.

And he loved every minute of it.

Without breaking the kiss, they maneuvered across the room and down the hall, stopping once so he could back her against the wall and grind against her. She tore her lips from his and sighed his name like a plea. Reaching down, Jake lifted her until her legs wrapped around his waist and it took every bit of self-control he possessed not to take her right then and there. Her dress was bunched up at her waist and the barely-there panties would be gone with only the slightest of tugs…

“Bed,” he growled against her throat even as he continued to rub against her. “I want you in my bed.”

“Then take me there,” she said breathlessly.

Easier said than done, he thought, forcing himself to walk the last ten feet to his room. At the side of the bed, he simply let himself fall and kept Mallory in his arms. They laughed and rolled until they were comfortable and then he sank back into the kiss.

Mallory tugged at his shirt and once she had it pulled free of his trousers, her nails scraped up his back and it gave him chills. Sitting up quickly, he ripped the shirt off–buttons flying in every direction.

“Wow,” she panted. “That was incredibly sexy.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, his own breath coming out roughly. “How do you feel about this?” His hand snaked under her dress and he tugged her tiny panties off–the sound of the fabric ripping seemed insanely loud in the room.

“Oh!” she cried as her hips bucked off the bed. Jake knew what she wanted and he was more than happy to give it to her.  In a flash her dress was off. He peeled her bra off with his teeth as she writhed beneath him. “Jake…”

Once he had her completely naked, his self-control completely vanished. His mouth and hands were everywhere. While he licked and suckled at her breasts, his hand was ruthlessly teasing her between her legs. Watching Mallory lose control was one of his favorite pastimes and as he urged her on, he knew it would always be this way. She cried out his name again and again and again and each time it ratcheted his own arousal up more and more.

He hated to move away from her even for a second, but he still had half of his own clothes to discard. Mallory reached for him as he moved away and he smoothed a hand across her stomach. “Soon,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Cry Baby Excerpt Reveal

Check out this excerpt for CRY BABY by Ginger Scott! Don't forget to add it to your TBR!

Cry Baby by Ginger Scott

A Contemporary Young Adult Romance
Release day: June 22, 2018
Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2rjlag4

Blurb

Tristan Lopez is loyal to his brothers. He doesn’t really have a choice, born into a gang that has a chokehold on every kid that roams its streets. He gave his life to them willingly, knowing if he did then one day this kingdom, led by boys drunk with power and ruled by fear, would all be his.

He was loyal through it all. Loyal when prison took his dad away. Loyal when his face was touched by the cold metal of the rival gang’s gun. Loyal even though his mom begged him to run the moment she returned home from rehab.

He thought about becoming someone else. It was hard not to crave the life of a regular 17-year-old. It’s the only reason he stayed in school—to pretend. But he always fell back in line.

Loyal.

Riley Rojas didn’t belong in Tristan’s real world. She should have only been part of the fantasy, one of the many faces he got to pretend with amidst rows of metal chairs and desks and whiteboards with assignments. But there she was, moving boxes from the back of an old pick-up into a house Tristan had shot up on a dare with his friends only a few months before.

Tall enough to look him in the eyes and strong enough to fill his shadow, Riley took up space on his streets, her loud mouth fearless in the face of the gang leaders who terrified everyone else. She pushed Tristan around on the hard court, and she balled better than his friends—better than him
sometimes. She challenged him. She needed him. He liked it. And when her pale blue eyes stared into his, he quit wanting to pretend.

He couldn’t ask her to leave because she’d only dig her heels in deeper. He couldn’t ask because he didn’t want her to go. She was blurring his lines. She was testing his loyalty.

He was falling in love.

And it was going to tear him apart.

Excerpt

The room is so quiet that every small sound sends a jolt of urgency through my body. The refrigerator motor kicks on…then off. The heater rumbles and buzzes a loose vent cover in the hallway. A cricket hidden somewhere inside echoes.

“You get like that when you live here,” he says, bringing me back to the surface.

“Huh?” I shift my gaze to him and he steps close again, this time sitting on the couch, our knees nearly touching as he turns to face me.

“Paranoid, I guess.” His eyes move between mine as I nod, kind of understanding.

Tristan clears his throat then slides against the corner of the couch, gaining a few precious inches of distance. Probably for the best since we can’t be friends.

“You want to listen to some music?” I ask.

He chuckles lightly and cocks one brow, relaxing his expression when he sees that I’m serious.

“Oh…uhm,” he glances around the empty home. I get why—he wants to be able to hear what’s happening…out there.

“I’ll keep it low. I just thought maybe it would help…I don’t know…pass the time you have to sit here with me? You know, since it’s so awful and we aren’t friends.”

My expression grows hard. That was passive aggressive, but I’m still glad I said it. I see him wince, just barely, and I’m satisfied.

“Music’s good,” he finally says.

I pull my phone from my pocket and open my favorite playlist, starting it then setting my phone on the back of the couch. It’s a mix of everything, which is what I was raised on. My dad’s more of the country and oldies type of guy, and my mom like hard rock. I love pop and rap and pretty much anything, so it works. The first song that plays is from the eighties.

Tristan smirks, then turns my phone toward him so he can read, half laughing.

“Hey, I saw your lips moving with the words to that. You can’t make fun of me when you know the words,” I say, mouthing too-ra-loo-ra along with him.

His mouth curves slowly, and when it’s finally smiling for real, everything in the room shifts.

We begin to sing together, both messing up verses in our own ways, nowhere even close to being on key. When the next song starts and it’s country, Tristan groans, but I catch him mouthing the words to this one as well. I throw a nearby pillow at him and he catches it at his chest, holding it to his body and laughing until the sound fades out and we’re both just looking at each other.
Country turns into Elvis, and Tristan’s lip ticks up on one side as he blinks and looks down. His gaze doesn’t fall for long, though, and in a breath he’s studying me again.

“Careful, we might become friends,” I tease. He doesn’t laugh, and his grin falls a little, losing the dimples on his cheeks. I shouldn’t have said that. He took it seriously.

“Every single time I hear a car drive by, I assume it’s someone coming to kill me.”

My throat goes dry at his words, and my heartbeat pounds in my gut. His eyes flirt with me, moving to and away while he chews at the inside of his cheek. I’m frozen on his face, but in the periphery, I can see him wringing his hands.

He looks up and lets his breath slip away until his lip hangs open and his features droop, almost desperate. It’s a surrender.

About the Author

Ginger Scott is an Amazon-bestselling and Goodreads Choice Award-nominated author of several young and new adult romances, including Waiting on the Sidelines, Going Long, Blindness, How We Deal With Gravity, This Is Falling, You and Everything After, The Girl I Was Before, Wild Reckless, Wicked Restless, In Your Dreams, The Hard Count, Hold My Breath, and A Boy Like You.

A sucker for a good romance, Ginger’s other passion is sports, and she often blends the two in her stories. (She’s also a sucker for a hot quarterback, catcher, pitcher, point guard…the list goes on.) Ginger has been writing and editing for newspapers, magazines and blogs for more than 15 years. She has told the stories of Olympians, politicians, actors, scientists, cowboys, criminals and towns. For more on her and her work, visit her website at http://www.littlemisswrite.com.

When she's not writing, the odds are high that she's somewhere near a baseball diamond, either watching her son field pop flies like Bryce Harper or cheering on her favorite baseball team, the Arizona Diamondbacks. Ginger lives in Arizona and is married to her college sweetheart whom she met at ASU (fork 'em, Devils).

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Memphis Excerpt Reveal

Check out the amazing excerpt of Memphis by Ginger Scott! We are so excited about this release!

Memphis by Ginger Scott

A Contemporary New Adult Romance
Release day: February 23
Goodreads

Blurb:

My mom always said it was just something about the way he moved.

The same swagger Archie Valentine wore in the ring when he took his opponents down followed him like a halo everywhere he went. But make no mistake about it—he was no angel. He was like a drug. My mother was his addict.

I never understood it…how love could make you blind and convince you to drink the poison. Not until I met Memphis Delaney.

At first, it was the familiar form. He’s a fighter, built like a god from the past, the kind of man the universe doesn’t make anymore. His eyes hide a story, and every time I’m in his presence I want to keep reading him until I get to the end. And then…there’s the way he moves. His boxing is violent but beautiful, and his body is a seductive weapon. When he’s in the ring, he wears the stare of a man committed to the battle until his very last breath.

He could end me; turn me into her. Too much of him will leave me as a shadow, and I’ve lost so much of myself already.

But I have discipline. It came the hard way. Lessons learned, scars left behind, and trust stripped away from life.

I will breathe his air, but I won’t fall for a man like him. The only boxer who’s ever going to break my heart is the one who gave me my name.

Excerpt:

“Come here,” he says, calling me with a finger.

I wait a second before giving in, letting my arms fall to my sides as I take the few steps from where I am to where he is. His hands wrap around my biceps as soon as I’m near enough and I breathe in fast, just once. His eyes widen a little.

“You’re stronger than you look,” he smirks.

My gaze is held by his when he speaks. He holds it hostage and when I start to look away, his hands slide down to my wrists and he shakes them lightly until I look at him again. His head tilts, and he waits until I get it.

I’m stronger than I look.

“Thank you,” I say, pulling my lip in tight, so afraid I’m not. I’m stubborn for certain. I’m hardened and jaded. I’m not sure if any of that makes me strong.

My muscles bend to Memphis’s will as he threads his fingers through my right ones and lifts my arm, his other hand holding my elbow into my side. He lets go of my fingers and wraps his palm over my knuckles forming a fist and then moves my entire arm forward slowly, stopping when my body lunges with it.

“Here. You lose everything…right here,” he says, stopping my fist where it is then placing the tips of his fingers on my hips.

Memphis’s eyes are intent on where his hand rests at my waist, and he pauses to take a breath, his tongue pinched by his teeth, his lips twitching up at the corners, his eyes blinking fast—all in a second.

I think about kissing him again right now.

“Your weight is already spent, and you haven’t even made impact with something yet. Think about it,” he says, eyes flitting up to mine.

I shake my head a little from the brief stare and silence we share.

“Okay,” I say, following his lead as he brings my arm back and steps behind me.

“You hit me hard, but that was without everything you have behind it. Imagine,” he begins, adjusting his hold on me, his right hand sliding down my arm and covering my hand, feet straddling one of mine from behind, his chest against my back, his breath at my neck and a thousand beads of nerves dotting my skin.

“You’re here,” he says, his voice low and right at my ear.

My eyes flutter when his left hand runs down the side of my body to my hip, and my breath hitches when he grips it more forcefully.

“Your opponent is standing right there. Do you see him?”

I nod.

“Yes,” I say, my voice barely audible.

“He’s cocking,” he says, and I giggle at the word while his nose moves closer to my skin, tickling against my ear. “You’re such a child.”

I clear my throat and wriggle my hips and roll my shoulders, all under his touch.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” I say, still smiling.

A short breath escapes him in laughter.

“He’s about to swing, okay?” he says, coaxing me to focus.

“Trust me.” His voice falls to a whisper, and my eyes fall closed.

Memphis drives my body, the space between us gone so much that I am lying against him while standing. His hand brings mine up, tucking it close to our bodies. His fingers splay on my thigh, and my leg feels strong. He leans with me, our bodies in sync as we twist to the left, our right shoulders stretching backward, necks rolling until we’re nearly back where we started.

“His balance is off,” he says at my neck. There are no areas of my body that aren’t affected by the vibration of his voice. “You have him. He’s yours. You have balance. His is gone. This is where you win.”

His hand holds my left side still, and his right hand brings me back to swing with a tighter form than I had before. He takes me through the motion once slowly, almost like we’re just part of some intimate ballet performance, then he brings my fist back in and tucks his chin into the side of my neck.

“Again,” he says, this time leading me through the motion faster as his hand slides from its hold on my hip to my diaphragm.

“Breathe out,” he says, and I do slowly at first, but with each swing we repeat, the motion is faster.

My air escapes with my thrust, my body something mechanical now, parts working in unison until I’m able to do it all on my own.

“Keep going,” Memphis says as he steps away. My eyes flit open, and I imagine everything that has ever hurt me. I see their faces—my parents, Enoch, the angry crowds at trials, reporters.

Memphis picks up one of the pads and steps closer as I swing, bending down to hand lift one of my abandoned gloves, eventually holding his palm out for me to pause.

“Put it on, and I want you to hit me now…not like before. Hit me with what you know. Hit me with what you feel, but always there is balance. You can’t give that away. It’s not theirs to have.”

My eyes lock on his as he slides the glove over my knuckles and I form a raw fist with my other hand. He takes two small steps back and readies himself before nodding.

I clear my lungs and consider his words and everything he just led my body through. I was so strong. I’m stronger than I think I am.

My feet shift to find the perfect fit against the mat, and I bring my hands in, fists raised and ready.

“He’s going to swing now,” Memphis says, and I react just as he taught me.

I dodge. The motion so swift and natural I barely remember doing it before my legs steady themselves, my middle twists and my arm swings forward, fist landing in the same spot as it did before only this time my body doesn’t stumble. Memphis does. Inches, but there is reaction to my action.

“Ha,” I breathe out in disbelief. My eyes lift from the fist-shaped dent in the pad to Memphis, and my lips part in awe.

“Yeah,” he says, glancing around to the front of the pad. “You did that by yourself.”

Giddiness takes over my face, my mouth stretching wide with parted lips. Memphis lets the pad fall again, and the physical proof from my force disappears as the padding evens out. It was there, though. I fought back, and left a mark. More than seeing it, I felt it. I still feel it.

“I want to do that again,” I say, blinking as my vision slides from the pad to Memphis’s proud smile.

“Baby steps, Champ. Let me show you a few drills, and then maybe you can punch me one more time before we’re done,” he says, chuckling.

“I wasn’t hitting you,” I say, handing him the glove.

He holds it in both of his hands before bending down to pick up the other glove, pairing them together. His gaze hits mine.

“I know who you were hitting.” Silence settles in for a long second. I don’t have to respond; Memphis doesn’t expect it. 

About the Author:

Ginger Scott is an Amazon-bestselling and Goodreads Choice Award-nominated author of several young and new adult romances, including Waiting on the Sidelines, Going Long, Blindness, How We Deal With Gravity, This Is Falling, You and Everything After, The Girl I Was Before, Wild Reckless, Wicked Restless, In Your Dreams, The Hard Count, Hold My Breath, A Boy Like You and A Girl Like Me.

A sucker for a good romance, Ginger’s other passion is sports, and she often blends the two in her stories. (She’s also a sucker for a hot quarterback, catcher, pitcher, point guard…the list goes on.) Ginger has been writing and editing for newspapers, magazines and blogs for more than 15 years. She has told the stories of Olympians, politicians, actors, scientists, cowboys, criminals and towns. For more on her and her work, visit her website at http://www.littlemisswrite.com.

When she's not writing, the odds are high that she's somewhere near a baseball diamond, either watching her son field pop flies like Bryce Harper or cheering on her favorite baseball team, the Arizona Diamondbacks. Ginger lives in Arizona and is married to her college sweetheart whom she met at ASU (fork 'em, Devils).

Social Media Links:

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Trouble by Avery Flynn Excerpt Reveal

Trouble, an all-new sexy standalone from Avery Flynn is coming June 27th!

Synopsis:

A high school reunion is about to get down and dirty and a whole lot more complicated in this new romance from USA Today bestselling author Avery Flynn.

Brains and a badass attitude. That’s all troublemaker Leah Camacho took with her when she left Catfish Creek. She’d promised herself she’d never go back, but when the invite to her tenth high school reunion arrived along with the chance to show everyone who doubted her what a success she’s made of herself, she couldn’t resist. However, when she discovers a 15-carat, stolen diamond in her rental car’s glove box, there’s only one man she can turn to for help—the same sexy, stubborn domineering man who’d smashed her heart all those years ago.

Sheriff Drew Jackson knew a long time ago that Leah Camacho was nothing but trouble and has sworn to never get caught up in her again—no matter how damn sexy she is or how badly he’d failed to forget her. But, when the woman who test drove his heart right into a concrete wall rolls into Catfish Creek with some serious bad guys on her tail, it’s up to him to keep her safe—even if that means guarding her hot bod 24/7 without giving into temptation or losing his mind.

Excerpt:

Spinning the wheel as he hit the brakes, he came to a stop behind the sports car at an angle that blocked it from reversing. Drew got out of his truck, keeping the open door between him and the other car and flicked open the leather strap on his hip holster that kept his sheriff's office-issued 9mm locked in place.

"Get out of the vehicle," he hollered.

The car's driver's side door opened wide. The first part of the driver to appear was one shapely leg wearing skin-tight denim punctuated with scuffed up black Doc Martens. Some sort of danger alarm sounded in Drew's head, but not the kind that warned of bullets or other bodily danger. A woman got out, facing away from him, her hands up and her dark hair a long silky curtain that led his attention straight down her back to the high curve of her ass poured into those jeans. Parts of him that had no place in police business sat up and noticed. Her ass was a testament to the reason why society required women to wear full dresses for so long—because men were weak, lust-addled idiots when it came to asses like the one that looked more than a little familiar to Drew. His gaze snapped back up as his internal alarm went from quiet buzz to all-out blare. He knew that ass, that hair, and those damn boots.

"Turn around," he ordered.

She did. Her lush mouth—one he knew far too well—was compressed into a tight line, her attention focused on something behind him. Leah Camacho was back and with her always came trouble—for him, for his sanity, and for the part of him that still thought of her at opportune moments in the shower.

"Drew," she said, making his name sound like a curse and a promise. "Get on the other side of the door."

Listening to Leah Camacho was the last thing he should be doing, but he did it anyway for reasons he didn't understand. Just as he rounded the door, an extended cab pickup truck turned the corner. The tires were big, the windows dark, and the speed was slow. As it puttered by, Drew looked it over and mentally confirmed it didn't belong to any of the usual suspects in Catfish Creek. Of course, the high school reunion was bringing in lots of folks who hadn't been here in a while. At the corner, the truck sped up, peeling away from the stop sign and taking a hard right back toward the highway.

"Who was that?" he asked, the smell of burnt rubber drifting back toward them.

"No fucking clue but they've been on my ass for the past hour," she said, reaching up and winding her long hair into a knot on the top of her head—the move emphasizing her amazing tits and making Drew's mouth go dry. "I didn't realize I'd be stopping on your turf."

He bet not. After what happened last time they were together, she'd made avoiding him into an art form. However, the fact that he was the law in town, however temporarily, meant avoiding her was an impossibility because wherever Leah Camacho went, trouble was sure to follow. He glanced down at exhibit A.

"What happened to your tire?" he asked.

"No clue," she said, her voice tight with a lie. "I must have run over something."

Drew squatted down and took a closer look at the tire. It didn't have a tear, it was just gone as if it had been a blow out. If Leah had run over something big enough to do that, she would have realized it.

"What in the hell is going on, Leah?"

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About the Author:

Avery Flynn is an award winning, USA Today bestselling romance author. She has three slightly-wild children, loves a hockey-addicted husband, and is desperately hoping someone invents the coffee IV drip.

She was a reader before she was a writer and hopes to always be both. She loves to write about smartass alpha heroes who are as good with a quip as they are with *ahem* other God-given talents. Her heroines are feisty, fierce and fantastic. Brainy and brave, these ladies know how to stand on their own two feet and knock the bad guys off theirs.

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