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Guess what I did on Saturday? Appliance shopping.

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Nicole shares her thoughts on writing book reviews

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Is it writer’s block or something else? Seriously. That’s the question I’m trying to answer and the reason I’m calling today Manic Monday. At first, I wasn’t worried. I mean, come on. I’ve published 94 books since roughly this time in 2012. That’s 12 years. Doing the math, that’s roughly eight books per year. Not […]

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The title seems to hint at doom and gloom, huh? Well, it’s not. I mean, unless you consider that I was all geared up to have a kick-ass start to my week, only for the power to go out shortly after I sat down in my writing cave to start writing. It’s been out for […]

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Looking back on 2023

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Get your copy! Need something to entice you? Keep reading.

RULE

“What in the ever-loving fuck is this?��

Her voice grated on my nerves, pulling me out of a restless sleep. I shifted, every muscle in my back spasming.

“Don’t tell me you slept here,�� Rhyan scolded, her footsteps heavy as she moved to the windows.

A moment later, I was blinded by the morning sun.

I grunted and pushed to a sitting position, silently cursing the hard fucking couch.

“It’s morning, and we’ve got shit to do,�� she announced as though I didn’t already know that based on the harsh sunlight beaming me in the face.

I leaned back, dropping my head against the wall and closing my eyes.

“Why did you sleep here? Where’s your wife?��

“Why can’t you shut up?�� I grumbled in response.

“You don’t pay me to be quiet.��

“I will if you’ll shut the fuck up.��

Rhyan laughed. “Seriously? Problems in paradise?��

“Get me some fucking coffee,�� I snarled, eyes still closed.

“Get your own fucking coffee,�� she said snidely as she walked out of my office.

I took a few deep breaths, then forced my eyes open. The world came into focus, and the sun wasn’t quite so harsh. I glanced down at the couch and silently cursed the damn thing. My body hurt like I’d gone ten rounds with a heavyweight and lost. I was getting too fucking old for this shit.

“Are you drunk?�� Rhyan shouted from the other room.

I didn’t bother answering her. She knew I wasn’t. I didn’t drink. Not because I didn’t long for the void I could find in the bottom of a bottle. At times, I craved it more than air. The same way I craved nicotine. But I knew from experience a bottle wasn’t going to solve problems, only cause more. I’d witnessed it on more than one occasion, and while I was clearly a glutton for punishment—marrying a woman who tempted me in a way no other ever had just so I could save her from her ruthless bitch of a mother was proof—I wasn’t a fucking moron.

“Why are you here?�� Rhyan asked.

Again, I didn’t answer. I wasn’t about to tell her I’d come here last night to eliminate the risk of fucking Laikyn. I’d wanted to. Fuck, I’d wanted to. And despite my one-and-done rule, I probably would’ve still been fucking her right now because I knew the moment I let myself have her, I would never want to let her go.

There’s a rule about love. To have it, you have to be willing to be hurt. I’m not willing.

Laikyn’s words had been on repeat in my head since I dropped her off at the house, claiming I had business to tend to. I was trying to imprint those words in my brain because she was right. If you opened yourself up to love, you risked getting hurt. I’d spent my entire life avoiding situations that would open me up to the pain. I’d had more than enough for a lifetime. I damn sure wasn’t inviting more.

Until her, I’d never questioned it. Never had the desire to have something of my own. But I felt a connection to her. Like magnets. Her north was attracting my south, and there was nothing I could do. The force was too strong. It was eerily similar to what I felt for Jinx. Thankfully, Jinx wasn’t the sort who needed validation. He didn’t harp on me about the future or what it meant when we were fucking. When we were together, we simply were.

But it wasn’t the same with Laikyn. With Jinx, I knew I would get his friendship in return. I knew he would be there for me because I was there for him. Not as lovers but as friends. Laikyn had made it clear she wanted one thing from me, and though I wanted to fuck her, I could no longer promise I wouldn’t get pulled into her. I refused to do that. For both our sakes.

“H�����.��

I took the white mug Rhyan held out to me—the one that said Fuck Off. I mean, good morning��sparing a glance her way. “Where’s Jinx?��

“On his way in.��

“Good. Did he get what I �Ա�����?��

“He did. Did you get what he �Ա�����?��

I exhaled heavily and got to my feet. “No. Not yet.��

“Until you get that, we can’t get any firm answers.��

I was well aware. Not that I needed a DNA test to prove that Laikyn Quinn was Jeremiah Montgomery’s illegitimate daughter. There was a paper trail that documented that. However, Jeremiah was dead, so proving to Knox Montgomery that she was his sister did require proof. Mostly because the man was going to have to part with a portion of his ridiculous fortune, and without hard evidence, he would merely laugh in her face. Which meant stealing a hair from her hairbrush wasn’t going to cut it. I needed a blood sample or a cheek swab, and since the latter would be a dead giveaway, I had to get creative.

“Have you told Creed yet?�� Rhyan asked.

She was referring to my knowledge that Creed’s good friend Knox Montgomery had a long-lost sister.

“N��.��

Rhyan’s hands landed on her narrow hips. “Why the fuck not?��

Because the man I considered my brother would ask questions I wasn’t ready to answer. As it was, he would doubt the validity of my claim. He was friends with Knox Montgomery, and this would look like some desperate attempt at extortion if I came at him without documented proof. I mean, how could it not? At the very least, it would look like I devised some convoluted scheme to deceive a man out of millions, perhaps billions. What were the odds that I would find a woman who was the illegitimate love child of a man whose son so happened to be a friend of a guy I grew up with? It sounded far-fetched, even to me.

“When does she get access to her trust fund?�� Rhyan asked, leaning her shoulder against the doorjamb.

“Ninety days from the date of the marriage,�� I told her, relaying the terms verbatim.

“And you’re positive she doesn’t know?��

�Ԩ���.��

“But her mother does.��

It wasn’t a question because Rhyan knew some of it. I’d never told her the details, but we’d been watching Monica set Laikyn up with numerous guys since Laikyn’s twenty-second birthday, so it only made sense that Monica knew.

“She knows enough.��

“Dumb it down for me, boss.��

I perched on the corner of the desk, took a sip from the mug, then set it down and exhaled heavily. “When we were doing background on Monica after she approached me about…�� I waved a hand, not willing to dredge that shit back up.

“You don’t have to remind me. Go on.��

“It took some serious digging and a stroke of pure luck, but Jinx came across a trust set up in Laikyn’s name. I was arguing with Monica about the stunt she pulled, and I brought it up in the heat of the moment.��

“Oh, shit.��

Yeah.

“Tell me you didn’t give her the details.��

“I didn’t. But she paid someone to dig into it.��

After all, it involved an obscene amount of money, so it only made sense that Monica would take an interest. Especially in her current financial situation. It wouldn’t do well for the world to discover that she was flat broke. It wasn’t easy for a woman who raked in millions to make movies to end up damn near penniless with very little to show for it.

“A�Ի���?��

Get your copy of Rule now!

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Here you go! All of Chapter One! Just for you!

Thanksgiving night��

“Tate! Don’t forget the ornament box!�� Reilly Jameson yelled loud enough for Tate Riggs, her best friend/roommate, to hear from up in the loft space they used as a makeshift attic.

“Which one?�� he shouted back.

“The one with the ornaments,�� she muttered because she had no idea.

When they’d taken down the decorations at her parents�� house last year, Reilly had been too upset to pay attention to the ones her mother set aside for when they moved into their new place. If she had to guess, her mother hadn’t paid much attention either. Their hearts had been too heavy to deal with much of anything.

But she wasn’t going to think about that now. This year, the entire family vowed to keep their spirits up. Reilly knew it wouldn’t be as easy as it sounded, but she would certainly try.

To prove it, she was starting by kicking off her annual tradition of decorating the tree now that they’d scarfed down turkey, dressing, and a ridiculous number of pies, signifying that Thanksgiving was officially over. She’d even bypassed a second piece of pumpkin pie to ensure she wasn’t too full to move.

Of course, she’d snuck a couple of additional pieces when her mother wasn’t looking and put them in Tupperware so she and Tate could have breakfast tomorrow morning.

The kettle whistled on the stove.

“I’m makin�� the hot chocolate,�� she yelled to Tate.

“Make mine a double,�� he called, sounding as though he was no longer buried deep in their boxes of crap.

“A double. Pfft. Like I would ever be that stingy.��

After pouring the hot milk over the powdered chocolate in each cup, Reilly stirred and added a generous helping of Bailey’s chocolate liqueur. Next came the peppermint candy canes. She stuck one in each cup, then shoved her hand into the bag of miniature marshmallows and grabbed a handful. She held her hands over the cups and let the little white puffs of sugary, airy goodness rain down onto both cups, grinning as they piled up and tumbled onto the counter.

She was tossing stray marshmallows in the air and attempting to catch them with her mouth—most of them missing—and drizzling chocolate syrup on the ones in the cup when Tate finally appeared, huffing and grimacing as he carried two enormous boxes and one smaller one in his arms.

“Take one,�� he grunted. “Please.��

Reilly set down the chocolate syrup and rushed over to help her best friend.

“Tell me one of those is the right one,�� he said when she relieved him of the small box before grabbing one of the larger ones.

“P���Dz���������.��

Tate dragged the lid off the box he had set on the coffee table and sighed. “Not this one.��

Reilly leaned over to look in the box and laughed when she saw the ugly Christmas sweaters they’d bought last year. She grabbed the one on top and unfolded it, holding it up to her chest.

“We’re wearin�� these this year,�� she said adamantly as she fumbled for the little controller that would turn the dangling, colored bulbs and Rudolph’s nose on.

“Of course we are.�� A goofy grin formed as Tate pulled his out and dragged it over his head. “What do you think?��

They’d gone all out last year and found a couple of rather hideous sweaters in an effort to cheer themselves up. It hadn’t worked—the cheering up part—but they’d struck ugly sweater gold. Tate’s was eye-catching green with little white snowflakes embroidered all over it and green tinsel draped back and forth from arm to arm. The miniature red and green ornaments that hung from the tinsel jingled when he moved.

In contrast to his, hers was red, with Rudolph’s face taking up the entire front. A string of lights was draped on the antlers, a big red bulb nose was in the center, and a green and blue striped scarf dangled down from around his neck.

“I think you look mah-velous, dah-ling,�� she drawled dramatically as she shoved her arms into hers. “And me?��

“Mah-velous, sweetie,�� he echoed before walking over to the Christmas tree to plug it in. “Oh, thank God. They all work.��

Considering the tree was twelve feet tall—something she had insisted on getting now that they had their new place—they would’ve been hard-pressed to string it with lights if it hadn’t been designed with them already on it.

Reilly chuckled. “Best invention ever.��

“The pre-lit tree?�� He turned to face her and put a hand on his hip. “I’m not sure I agree.��

“W���?�� Reilly reached for the other box and opened it to find their ornaments from last year. Her mother had given them the blue and silver ones. As she stared at them now, she wasn’t sure that was the theme she wanted to go with this year.

“For starters, I was thinking battery-operated boyfriends might be higher on the list.��

She peered up at him and nodded slowly. “You might have a valid point there, Riggs.��

“I do, don’t I?��

“Speaking of battery-operated boyfriends,�� she said as she put the lid back on the ornament box and grabbed the small box. “I think—�� She laughed. “Oh, damn. Look at this.��

Tate strolled to the kitchen, returning with both mugs of hot chocolate. “What is it?��

Reilly lowered to her knees in front of the couch, pulling out envelopes and dropping them onto the coffee table, pausing only long enough to accept one of the cups. Each envelope had a year scrawled across the front in either her neat, curly handwriting or Tate’s chicken scratch.

“Are those��?�� He moved around and sat on the couch to her left.

“Our hot chocolate wishes. Yeah.�� Her grin widened as she recalled how they’d sat down every year to write down the one thing they hoped Santa would bring them. It had become a tradition involving massive amounts of hot chocolate and a lot of serious consideration. After all, making a wish was a big deal, right? It had to be perfect.

“Holy shit.�� Tate grabbed one of the envelopes. “This one’s from when we were eleven.��

Reilly glanced at the envelope dated 2011 as she licked chocolate off the rim of her cup. “I wanted…�� She licked the melted marshmallow off her lip. “Probably an iPhone, but I bet I got Monster High dolls that year.��

Her parents had worked extra hard to ensure she didn’t grow up too fast.

Tate opened the envelope. “Yep. iPhone. Both of us.��

She laughed. They’d been best friends since they were in first grade, and for as long as she could remember, they’d wanted the same things for Christmas and birthdays. Mostly. Tate hadn’t been on board with the idea of four-inch sparkly heels she’d been eyeing when they were in ninth grade, but he’d been all over the pink tutu she asked for when she was eight.

“What about this one?�� Tate asked, flashing the envelope with 2016 written on it.

“No doubt, a truck,�� she said.

Tate opened it and looked at the card, then laughed before turning it around so she could see it.

“A brand-new Silverado,�� she read. “I didn’t get that, either. But I did have an iPhone by then.��

“And 2018?�� Tate said, holding up the envelope.

Reilly frowned. “We would’ve been seniors in high school, so�� I don’t know. Open it.��

Tate opened the flap and pulled out the card. He barked a laugh and turned it so she could read it.

Reilly’s cheeks warmed. “For Brady McCord to fall deeply in love with me.��

Yeah. She’d pretty much wanted that every year, but that was the first year she’d been brave enough to write it down.

“Here’s mine,�� Tate said, showing her.

“For Donovan Jameson to look at me like a man, not a cute little kid. And kiss me.�� Reilly scrunched up her nose and did the same thing she did when he first told her he had the hots for her brother. “Eww. Gross. Boy cooties.��

Tate laughed, but his eyes softened as he stared at the card. “A ridiculous wish, huh?��

“Not at all,�� she said with enough conviction she almost believed it.

It wasn’t that Reilly didn’t think Tate was capable of catching Donovan’s eye because she knew he already had, even if he didn’t believe it. She’d seen her brother watching him when Donovan didn’t think anyone was around to notice. And why wouldn’t Donovan be interested in Tate? Tate was mega-cute. She’d always thought so. And back in the fifth grade, she’d thought of him in a slightly different way. The romantic kind of way. Right up until she learned that Tate didn’t like her like that. He didn’t like any girls like that.

Reilly grinned. She still remembered their conversation on her parents�� back porch. Reilly’d been upset because the rumor started that she liked Tate, but he didn’t like her back. It was then that her very best friend in the whole wide world shared the truth with her. And maybe with himself. He’d been so sweet about it, taking her hand and holding it while he admitted he liked boys, not girls.

It was safe to say she’d fallen in love with him a little more that day, but it was the purest of loves without the complexities of physical attraction to muddy the waters. Reilly had long ago accepted that she would never be what Tate needed in a life partner and vice versa. Needless to say, they’d been even closer since.

But, hello, her big brother Donovan was gay, so why in the world wouldn’t he want Tate?

Tate was the sweet, boy-next-door kinda cute with his curly blonde hair, big blue eyes, and perfect lips. Not to mention a body even she was envious of. At five-six, Tate considered himself short, which, based on the men in this town, he was. However, his trim, compact body was what athletes everywhere would spend hours and hours attempting to sculpt. He didn’t have an ounce of fat on him, and his abs �� washboard was an understatement. And yeah, she was jealous of how easily he’d been able to build that body. No matter how hard she tried, Reilly would never have a sculpted stomach. As far as she was concerned, her hips were too wide, her boobs were too big, and her belly was only flat when she sucked it in. But no amount of sucking it in was going to make her look good in a crop top.

Then again, she could rock a bikini. Or so she’d been told. It was her boobs. Men liked big boobs, and she would be the first to admit hers were rather voluptuous, even if she would’ve preferred a nice C-cup over the double Ds she’d been gifted with.

But their looks didn’t factor into their chances of landing two hot, older men. Her inability to land Brady McCord had nothing to do with her body type and everything to do with the fact that he was turning thirty-nine this year, and she was only twenty-three. There was the same age difference between Donovan and Tate, except Tate’s twenty-fourth birthday was coming up in three weeks.

Not that twenty-four was any different than twenty-three. Not when there was a fifteen-year age gap. To add a visual flare, Donovan and Brady were getting their driver’s permits the year Reilly was born. While her mom and dad were rocking her in a cradle, Brady McCord was out racing his friends on the backroads of Coyote Ridge. So it didn’t matter that Brady looked at her like he wanted to devour her in one bite. She knew he would never give in to that craving.

Not unless he was enticed to do so.

“You know what?�� She turned to look at Tate. “I think we should go for it this year.��

Tate wiped marshmallow off his nose, setting his cup on the table. “Go for what?��

She canted her head and waited for him to catch on.

His eyebrows shot up. “You want me to make a play for Donovan?�� He snorted. “Your brother’s not gonna give me the time of day, and we both know it.��

“You won’t know if you don’t try.��

She could tell he was intrigued by the idea, but she knew Tate. He was overly skeptical. Not to mention a little shy.

“Seriously,�� she said, reaching for the envelope. “Give me a pen.��

Tate hopped up from the couch and hurried to the kitchen, rummaging through the junk drawer. He returned with a pen.

Reilly took it and looked at the logo. It was a pen from M-J Architecture & Interiors, the firm her brother and Brady owned. “Apropos.��

She grabbed the envelope from 2018 and put a line through the year, then wrote 2023 below it. She turned it around and showed Tate.

“You up for it?��

He stared at the envelope for the longest time while she licked marshmallows off the top of her cup.

“Come on, Tate. We’ve got to grab the bulls by the horns. We’re single. They’re single.��

“There’s only one problem with that, sweetie,�� he said, his expression serious.

“What’s that?��

“We’re delusional. They are not.��

Reilly laughed, nearly snorting melted marshmallow out of her nose.

“Live a little, Tate.��

“And what if they don’t go for it?��

“We won’t give them a chance to back down. All’s fair in love and war, right?��

Tate smirked and rolled his eyes.

She added, “There’s no better time than the present.��

“You’re just a little ball of cliches today, huh?�� Tate grumbled, his blue eyes glittering with amusement.

She grinned because she could do this all day. “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.��

“F���Ա�.��

���𲹱�����?��

“Yeah.�� His grin widened. “I’m in.��

Reilly squealed. “Yay!�� She reached for her hot chocolate. “Now let’s drink to the best hot chocolate wishes ever!��

He picked up his cup and clinked it against hers before taking a sip.

��Hwaahh.�� His nose scrunched. “Is this straight liqueur? Jesus.��

“Lightweight,�� she said before taking a generous gulp. Her nostrils flared. He was right. She’d overdone it just a little.

He set his cup down. “You know if we start drinking, we won’t get the tree decorated.��

She placed her cup on the table and reached for her laptop. “Right. Ornaments. We need new ones.��

“Wait. New? Wha—huh? What’s wrong with the ones we have?��

“Wrong color.��

Tate shook his head as he lifted the lid on the ornament box. “Of course they are.��

“I think red and gold will be the theme for this year.�� She pulled up Amazon’s website. “Ooh and look. There’s a sale on a fifteen-foot-tall inflatable snowman.��

Tate flopped back on the couch. “It’s a wonder we ever get anything done.��

$0.99 Preorder Sale!!!*

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Here's your sneak peek of RULE!!! Laikyn Quinn

I could not believe I was standing in the living room at almost five o’clock in the morning, having a conversation about paying someone to dispose of bodies.

This could not be my life. It couldn’t.

Of course, being slightly warped and twisted, my thoughts had shifted elsewhere momentarily. Namely on the devastatingly handsome man who had saved me from captivity and was now the one planning the route those dead bodies would take.

But Jesus Christ, this man was so fucking hot, it was difficult to remember he was a criminal. I wasn’t merely talking about the dark hair and eyes, the beard covering his jaw. Not about his stature—at least a few inches over six feet, deliciously muscled—or his domineering air. No, it was the combination of it all. Rule was so darkly handsome that the legality of it was highly suspect. Seriously. Someone should check into that because no one was that physically perfect. I would know. I’d been around some of the most perfect people in the world, all enhanced by skilled hands. Not even the best plastic surgeons in Hollywood could make a face as spectacular as this man’s.

Yes, fine. That was me waxing poetic about a man who got rid of dead bodies for a living. Whatever. He’d saved me at one point, so there had to be some good in him. Maybe. Okay, probably not. More than likely, he was earning his one-million-a-pop fee, and pulling me out of a hole in the ground was all in a day’s work.

And we certainly weren’t going to delve too deeply into why I was regarding him in such a manner when there were dead bodies in the house. That was for therapy.

I forced myself to look at my mother while I waited for her to tell him how she was going to come up with the money. It was evident from her expression that she didn’t have three million lying around. But who did?

“What if we go to the bank first thing,�� I suggested when they continued to stare at each other.

My mother’s eyes snapped to my face. It was then I realized she’d covered the marks on her face, fixed her mascara, and styled her hair into some purposely disheveled knot on her head. And at some point, she’d put on a clean nightgown, a matching robe, and a fucking pearl necklace.

Yeah, therapy was going to be a requirement after all this.

“It’s not that simple,�� Monica said softly.

“Sure it is.��

She shook her head slowly, and tears formed on her lashes. I prepared myself for some sort of sob story. She was really good at that. There was a reason she was an A-list actress.

“I don’t have it, Laiky. I don’t. I wish I did.��

I cringed at the nickname. She might as well announce that she was gearing up to manipulate me because that was how it always began.

“Meaning what?�� I prompted. “You don’t have three million tucked in a sock drawer? Or you don’t have the money at all?��

More tears formed, but they hadn’t spilled over yet. She was holding them back, timing them perfectly.

“We’re done here, Rhyan,�� Rule told the woman wearing blood-covered latex gloves.

“Gotcha, boss.�� She turned and strolled out as though being woken up in the middle of the night for a never mind wasn’t a big deal.

And just like that, the Monica Quinn Waterworks began, tears streaming down her face as she stared at me helplessly. Soon, the sobs came, and my mother crumpled onto the settee, curling into a ball as she always did when things got too difficult for her to deal with.

I refused to console her. I refused to even feel sorry for her. This was a mess she’d gotten herself into all on her own. If she would only go to the police, she could get herself out of it with a simple explanation.

Oh, hell, who was I kidding? I knew the justice system didn’t work like that. It would be national news if Monica Quinn were accused of a double murder, and some glory-driven detective would latch onto this as a highlight of their career. I could hear the reports now, “Monica Quinn kills two in a jealous rage. More at six.�� Unlike OJ, who got away with murder, Monica would probably go down for something she didn’t do.

If she didn’t do it.

While I loved my mother, I didn’t know exactly what she was capable of, and I wouldn’t deny that the scene upstairs looked a little too clean for me. Too simple, even. In my mind, the woman on the bed overdosed, and the husband flew into a crazed rage when he realized she was dead before going on the attack. Monica grabbed the nearest object to protect herself with. Just happened to be a five-inch Wusthof cheese knife with a curved blade and forked tip—translated to: the perfect murder weapon.

Maybe it really was that simple, but there was no doubt in my mind someone could pick it apart and find a dozen other scenarios that would suit the gruesome scene.

I glanced at Rule and noticed he was watching me. It wasn’t the first time. His gaze had lingered on me more than once since he arrived. Like those other times, I couldn’t make out what he was thinking, but that warped and twisted part of me hoped it consisted of the two of us getting naked and dirty together.

“I suggest you call the cops soon,�� he said, nodding before he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

“No. Wait!�� I rushed to catch him before he slipped out into the night, and I never saw him again.

He stopped and peered at me, his hand on the doorknob. Yes, it was wrong of me to be thinking that he had really, really nice hands. The kind that could probably play a woman’s body like a finely tuned instrument.

“Take me,�� I blurted before I could think better of it.

He released the doorknob and turned to face me fully. “Excuse me.��

“Take me. Make it look like a kidnapping.�� I glanced back at the parlor where my mother was weeping. “She has kidnap and ransom insurance on me. They’ll pay three million easy.��

Rule’s dark eyebrows narrowed. “You know that’s not how it works.��

“Yes, it is. She told me.��

Rule peered past me at the room my mother was in. “They don’t pay the ransom. They pay it back.��

No, he was wrong. My mother specifically told me the insurance company had been putting together the ransom when she found Rule, who said he could get me back faster and for less than what the kidnappers were asking for. Since she was desperate to get me home, Monica chose him.

“Tell me you know this, Laikyn,�� Rule said softly, his dark eyes hard.

I figured now wasn’t the time to argue because he was practically out the door, and I did not look forward to spending the rest of the night explaining to the police that I had nothing to do with the horror show upstairs. Not that they would believe me. That glory-seeking detective would likely toss me into his fictional story, claiming mother and daughter dreamed up the perfect murder only for it to go awry.

Rule glanced toward the stairs. I followed his gaze and saw the woman he referred to as Rhyan standing at the top, staring down at him. She had a leather bag in her hand and a questioning expression.

“I’ll remind you I’ve got two redheads waiting in my bed,�� she told Rule. “Shall I go home? Or do you want me to finish up?��

I met his stare once more, trying to read his thoughts. The man was too guarded, too mysterious. He could’ve been thinking about petting puppies or cutting eyeballs out of doll heads. It was impossible to tell.

“Tell one of those redheads to scope their house, then finish up,�� he finally said, his eyes never leaving me.

“Calling now,�� Rhyan shouted back before disappearing again.

“So you’ll do it?�� I asked, lowering my voice so my mother didn’t hear. “Fake my kidnapping?��

Rule took a step closer, then another, until I swore I could feel the heat of his body. I fought the urge to move back because I was the one who’d instigated this with my request. It really was simple. He could stash me away somewhere and have someone demand a fake ransom. Once the insurance company paid the money, he could have it, and I could go back to living in a world where my mother called fixers when her sexcapades went awry.

That was something I would tuck away in the mental box marked CRAZY SHIT so I could pull it out and deal with later.

I gasped when Rule put a finger under my chin and tilted my head back. I held his stare, noticing for the first time a glitter of gold in his dark eyes. Like stardust sprinkled in coffee. His lips �� those perfectly shaped lips were close enough it would only take one misstep for them to be on mine, for him to rock my world with a kiss.

He remained motionless for a moment, holding my stare. He was so close I could smell the faintest hint of �� I don’t know. It was familiar. While I waited for him to say something—or yes, kiss me—I focused on the smell until I placed it. It only took a few seconds before I realized it was Yves Saint Laurent Libre perfume. He wasn’t wearing it, but it was on him.

Was that where he came from? Some woman in his bed?

Was he married? He wasn’t wearing a ring, but that didn’t mean anything.

Was I over here fantasizing about a married man?

“K and R insurance doesn’t work like that,�� he said smoothly. Too smoothly. “Your mother knows this because it backfired on her once already.��

I frowned, trying to decipher his meaning and get the scent of his girlfriend’s perfume out of my nostrils.

His eyes bounced over my face as though he was waiting for something to click for me. It didn’t. That didn’t make sense.

“Just ask her what happened when the guys she hired to kidnap you the last time learned they weren’t getting paid because she didn’t get the money she thought she would.��

I backed up a step but had nowhere to go. I was trapped between his big body and the wall.

No.

No, no, no.

He was wrong. There was no way my mother would’ve done that.

“She wouldn’t,�� I whispered, even as I realized that was exactly something Monica Quinn would do.

“She did.��

There was nothing in his expression to say he was lying. Why would he? Why would he tell me something like that when I was trying to solve his problem? He wanted his fee, and my mother needed it to make this go away. Fake kidnapping plus fake ransom equals three million dollars. Easy peasy.

Or maybe not because the glint in his eyes said he knew what he was talking about.

The thought that Monica had hired someone to hold me captive in a dark, dank basement, refusing me everything but the bare basics to survive for two weeks, made my stomach turn. She was capable of plenty, but turning on her own daughter? That was a new low. Had she told Diggy to torment me? Was she the reason a cold chill ran down my spine when I heard a loud noise?

My stomach lurched, but I choked down the bile rising in my throat.

“Take me anyway,�� I said, my jaw hardening. “Do whatever you want with me. I can work it off.��

His eyes glittered with amusement, but his expression didn’t change. “Work off three million?��

�Ԩ���.��

“What is it you do that’ll earn you three mil?��

I shrugged. I was an artist, and while my paintings were good, I wasn’t Salvador Dali or Claude Monet, and I never would be. I’d sold every piece I had ever created and even had a few commissioned by a local gallery. Of course, if you asked my mother, she would tell you it wasn’t because I had talent—which I did, thank you very much—but because I was her daughter. People wanted a piece of her, and my art was by proxy. But I wasn’t going to devalue myself entirely. I was capable of earning money. I could do what Rhyan was doing upstairs if I had to.

Yeah, sure you can. If you’re so brazen, why does the thought of cleaning up a crime scene send your stomach into an alligator death roll?

I ignored the stupid voice and focused on Rule’s question.

“Whatever you want me to do,�� I whispered, refusing to back down. If I did, I would probably fall apart, and while my mother was a good actress, I wasn’t. It was going to get messy, but I was tired of being the fucking pawn on the chessboard, used and discarded for someone else’s gain.

“You’re willing to sell yourself to clear your mother’s debt?��

�Ԩ���.��

I held his stare, refusing to acknowledge the butterflies that had erupted in my belly. I wasn’t scared of this man. He wasn’t going to hurt me. He had no reason to.

The question was: would he help?

I saw the moment something clicked for him. “Under one condition.��

“A�Բ�ٳ󾱲Բ�.��

“We have to get married.��

Well, the good news was he wasn’t married. That or he didn’t realize bigamy was a crime.

The bad news was he was batshit crazy.

I stared, waiting for the punchline because surely I didn’t hear him correctly. Why in the world would he want me to marry him? I didn’t understand what that would possibly gain either of us.

“W���?��

“That way, you can’t back out.��

Why he thought I might, I didn’t know. Plus, marriage didn’t mean forever and ever, amen. Not in the world I grew up in. Didn’t he know divorces were all the rage in California? For every marriage, weren’t there like five divorces? It seemed like a reasonable guesstimate, at the very least.

“This was my idea,�� I countered. “I won’t back out.��

“I know. Because you’ll be my wife.��

“I don’t even know you.�� I wondered if he heard the rhythmic thump of my heart. It was so loud, banging against my ear drums with every breath, and it had nothing to do with fear. This man was basically manipulating me the way everyone in my life had, but for some stupid reason, I was okay with it. Something told me I shouldn’t be, but being left behind to deal with a woman who paid someone to kidnap her own daughter was the worst kind of hell I could imagine at the moment.

Kinda sad since �� you know, dead bodies and all.

“You’ll get to know me,�� Rule said. “We have time. Do we have a deal?��

I pretended I was giving this serious consideration, but there was no way I could. People didn’t do this. They didn’t barter and trade themselves to pay debts or as an excuse to escape a shitty situation. Or maybe they did, and I was as sheltered and clueless as the media portrayed me to be.

“Couldn’t we maybe start slow? As friends?�� I asked, still not sure what the marriage angle did for either of us because his excuse was flimsy at best. Divorce was always an option.

“No,�� he said firmly, standing tall.

His dark eyes were determined, as was the set of his jaw. I knew this wasn’t a negotiation, and if I didn’t give him the answer he wanted in the next five seconds, he was going to walk out that door and leave me to clean up my mother’s mess and risk beating my mother to a pulp for what she’d done to me. An image of both of us in orange jumpsuits came to mind.

“Fine,�� I said because I didn’t look good in orange. And because I could tell he was expecting me to refuse.

I swear his eyes softened, and the hint of a smile pulled at his mouth. “Good girl.��

That alligator death roll my belly had been doing stopped suddenly and reversed, sending my heart rate into hyperdrive. Though manipulative and misplaced, his praise filled my chest with helium and momentarily lifted my feet off the ground. Sad, I know. But I couldn’t remember a time anyone had praised me for anything. Unless you considered my mother telling me she was proud I’d watched my calorie intake while imprisoned in some lunatics basement. Not exactly the same thing.

Before I could ask him what I was supposed to do to prepare for the upcoming nuptials, Rule took my wrist firmly in his hand and led me back to the living room, where my mother was still weeping while she peeked through slitted eyes to see if anyone was watching. Sure enough, as soon as we walked in, the sobs became more intense.

“The fee’s been taken care of,�� Rule told her.

My mother sat up, her expression instantly smoothed. “What? How?��

“Your daughter took care of it for you.��

Monica’s eyes widened. “You have money?��

I shook my head. “Not three mil, no. But it’s fine.��

My mother launched to her feet, the skin on her face tightening. “What did you do?��

I thought the question was for me, but her glare was pinned on Rule.

He didn’t answer, something I realized he was ridiculously good at.

“Go upstairs and pack a bag,�� he instructed me. “You’re leaving with me.��

“I need more than a bag,�� I countered. I had canvases and paints that needed to be packed up. I would rather take those than clothes.

“I’ll send someone for the rest when it’s daylight.��

“What did you do?�� my mother shouted more insistently this time.

“Go,�� Rule snapped, urging me toward the door.

I stumbled a few steps, but this time, I did as he said. I hurried upstairs to grab clothes, pretending I didn’t hear the raised voices that followed.

It was easier to tell myself that my mother was heartbroken that I was leaving, but I knew Monica Quinn. She didn’t do heartbreak. She didn’t have it in her.

Coming November 28, 2023

Days Hours Minutes Seconds Available Now!

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Do you know what today is? 

It’s release day! 

Are you ready for more Brantley and Reese?

How about a sneak peek?

Atticus knew he was making a mistake leaving with Spencer. He knew it, and he did it anyway.

Or, at the very least, he was considering it with his final decision weighing heavily on the getting laid side. For that to happen, he had to go with Spencer.

So why the hell was he even second-guessing himself?

Because going will be a silent “fuck you�� to Slade.

Goddamn. Why the fuck did he go and grow a conscience now?

Did he really give a shit about Slade?

The answer to that was not really, but even so, Atticus had no business getting in between Slade and his family drama. Which meant decorum dictated that he cut his losses and either go home alone or go back inside the bar and get shit-faced.

Shit-faced or laid?

Shit-faced or laid?

Which is it gonna be?

Atticus squared his shoulders. Decorum could go fuck itself because tonight he was thinking solely with his dick.

“Follow me back to my place. That’s me right there,�� Spencer said, pointing toward a candy-apple red Camaro.

“Where do you live?��

“Not far.��

With one last chance to do the right thing, Atticus looked at the bar. He recalled the look on Slade’s face when Spencer rubbed it in that he’d fucked his wife. It was a dick move; that was for damn sure. Worst part was Spencer wasn’t the least bit apologetic. In fact, there might’ve been a glimmer of victory in Spencer’s eyes. Atticus was all for bucking the system, but did he want to go down that road? Where he no longer gave a shit about other people’s feelings?

“You comin�� or not?�� Spencer called out as he opened his car door.

Could he do that to Slade? Could he put a rift between them so early in their relationship? They were only co-workers, but it wasn’t like they worked in an office building and would only see each other on occasion. Atticus would have to see the man every damn day. And hell, there was a good chance that one day, he might have to rely on Slade to have his back.

Atticus found himself shaking his head. “Actually, no. I’m not comin��.��

In more ways than one, he thought as he started toward the bar.

“Your loss,�� Spencer shouted after him.

Yeah. It probably was, but Atticus’s dick had gotten him into trouble more than once. Only once when it had mattered, though. A couple of years ago. Turned out the guy he’d gone home with had been helping a friend evade arrest. Atticus ended up losing a large bounty thanks to thinking with the wrong brain.

Sure, sex was a great way to take the edge off, but it wasn’t a requirement. He didn’t need to get fucked. He simply wanted to.

With a sigh of regret that he’d missed an opportunity, Atticus opened the door and stepped inside. A round of greetings echoed, and like usual, no one looked up. Had they, they might’ve said, “Welcome back.��

He scanned the room, looking for Slade or Brantley. He found Slade standing near the hallway that led to the bathrooms. He had a beer in his hand and a scowl on his face.

Atticus made a beeline for him. With each step, his frustration grew until he found himself up in Slade’s face. He ignored the fact that he had to go up on his toes since Slade was several inches taller.

“The next time you wanna protect my fuckin�� virtue, don’t.��

Slade stared at him, his brown eyes glittering. “Virtue? Among other things, that’s one thing you’re lackin��.��

Great. And now Slade was going to take his anger out on him.

Atticus rolled his eyes. “And to think, I gave up gettin�� fucked for you.��

Slade’s expression changed, and for a moment, Atticus thought he saw a hint of remorse. If he had, Slade had no intention of apologizing because he walked away, heading back to the table where Ethan and Beau were once again watching them.

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Was it the “surprise�� that got your attention?

I hope so because it’s real. This is a surprise announcement.

For those of you who check out

“What I’m working on��

�� if you’re one of them, then you’ve probably noticed that I haven’t started writing Chain Reaction yet. Don’t worry. It’s still on schedule. I actually finished a little earlier than planned, and I had a couple of extra weeks, so I thought I would write a short, naughty holiday story about fan favorites. 

I kinda did that.

Or at least that was my intention.

ONLY THIS HAPPENED

Short Full-length, naughty holiday story about fan favorites new characters.

AND THEN THIS HAPPENED

If you’ve read , then the Jameson name is familiar. After all, Curtis married Lorrie Jameson, right? And Lorrie has many siblings. And those siblings have many children.

When reviewing the Walker family tree to figure out who I wanted to write about, I ventured to the Jameson family tree simply to reacquaint myself with it. That’s when I decided to write about Reilly Jameson, the youngest daughter of Owen, Lorrie’s youngest brother.

I was only one chapter in when I realized Reilly’s love interest was Brady McCord, a.k.a. her older brother’s best friend.

But that’s not all.

Did I mention Reilly has a best friend �� Tate Riggs �� and he happens to have a crush on Reilly’s oldest brother, Donovan? Well, he does.  

Make sense? 

Simply put, this story turned out to be about two separate couples.

That’s twice as much naughtiness and two separate HEAs. Not to mention the kickoff of a new series because I found myself so immersed in the Jameson family I’m not ready to let them go.

Now for the next surprise! 

If you preorder it, you’ll get it for $0.99!

I hope you’re as excited about this as I am! 

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