Thursday, April 30, 2015

Blog Tour: Indebted #4 THIRD Debt by Pepper Winters








Synopsis:
“She healed me. She broke me. I set her free. But we are in this together. We will end this together. The rules of this ancient game can’t be broken.”

Nila Weaver no longer recognises herself. She’s left her lover, her courage, and her promise. Two debts down. Too many to go.

Jethro Hawk no longer recognises himself. He’s embraced what he always ran from, and now faces punishment far greater than he feared.

It’s almost time. It’s demanding to be paid.

The Third Debt will be the ultimate test...




                                                                                  My 4 Star Review

My Thoughts:
Jethro and Nila are back. In The Second Debt we were left with Jethro begging Nila to go with the police. Nila being torn, knowing what was going to happen to the love of her life when she is gone but Jethro gave her no choice and she was forced to go. Grandma Bonnie made sure to let her know that her family’s debts are far from over.
Things pretty much picked up where we left off. Jethro goes through hell at the hands of his own father and brother. Cut is determined to cure Jethro from being what he is.  Jethro is determined to save Nila no matter the cost. No matter what he does Cut is always one step ahead. Feeling hopeless he gives in and does what his father asks of him. The new pills his father has put him on have helped him numb the pain and Jethro finds complete bliss in being completely numb. His father is finally pleased at what Jethro is becoming and feels that he is finally worthy and believes his son is ready to collect the Third Debt that he believes the Hawk family is owed.
Nila is suffering. She no longer feels at home. Her brother continuously hoovers over her and her father has become a shell of the man he once was. Diving back into her work, nothing seems to be helping her heartache. Nila longs to be in Jethro’s arms again. The only communication she has is their texts to each other. The thing is he never responds. She begs him to come get her. When she finally gets her wish, she realizes that Jethro is no longer the man she fell in love with and that scares her to death.
Nila is desperate to get through to Jethro and he is just as desperate to save her but when his father demands the third debt be paid immediately, Jethro has no choice but to turn Nila over to his family. Nila is absolutely devastated and crushed. All she feels for the man she loves is pure hatred.
Jethro kills me in this installment. He is so torn and tormented to the point he completely shuts everyone out.
Nila is crushed and confused. She does all she can to bring Jethro back and just when she think she has, in the blink of an eye, it is gone.
Pepper Winters really puts the A in the word Angst.. Wholly heck! The emotions. ALL OVER THE PLACE. One minute you’re happy, the next minute you’re mad and then confused and then *BOOM*  you’re shocked!
All I have to say is this ending had me on the edge of my seat and left me there, HANGING ON FOR DEAR LIFE. Then when the dust settles you realize what just happened and BAM! *insertyourWTF!*
I can’t wait to see what happens next. A wonderful installment to this fantastic series!



















Series Reading Order


Debt Inheritance (Indebted #1) FREE

First Debt (Indebted #2)

Second Debt (Indebted #3)

Third Debt (Indebted #4)

PREORDER Fourth Debt (Indebted #5) NOW





About the Author:


Pepper Winters wears many roles. Some of them include writer, reader, sometimes wife. She loves dark, taboo stories that twist with your head. The more tortured the hero, the better, and she constantly thinks up ways to break and fix her characters. Oh, and sex... her books have sex.
She loves to travel and has an amazing, fabulous hubby who puts up with her love affair with her book boyfriends.

Her Dark Erotica books include:
Tears of Tess (Monsters in the Dark #1)
Quintessentially Q (Monsters in the Dark #2)

Her Grey Romance books include:
Destroyed

STALK Pepper: Website | Pinterest | Facebook | Twitter | Blog | Goodreads

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Friday, April 24, 2015

Jasinda Wilder's BIG Love Abroad






Title: BIG LOVE ABROAD
(Big Girls Do It #7)
Author: Jasinda Wilder
Add to  Goodreads




I was finally fulfilling my life-long dream of studying at Oxford University in England. I had a thesis. I had an apartment. The one thing I didn’t have was time for a man. Especially not one as sexy and intriguing and distracting as Ian Stirling. Okay, I mean, maybe I did have a little time for a man. After all, it’s not every day a ripped British sex-god sweeps you off your feet and does dirty, delicious things to you. 

Again and again. And again.

For days. 

The problem is, Ian was just supposed to be a hunky distraction, but now my heart is craving him like my mouth craves cupcakes.


Buy from: Amazon US | Amazon UK | Paperback | B&N | iBooks | Kobo 



I let him pull my hips backward yet more, so now I was bent at the waist, leaning forward, my ass presented to Ian. I wasn’t quite breathing, taking short, shallow, sharp gasps of anticipation. 
“Close your eyes.”
I shut them. “Okay.”
“Tell me what you want me to do right now.” His voice was a low murmur in my ear, his erection nestled between the globes of my ass. 
I pushed back against his ass; the words fuck me on the tip of my tongue. But then I realized I didn’t want that, just yet. I wanted something else.
So I asked for it. A simple thing, but with an acquiescence new to me. 
“Spank me, Ian.” 
SMACK! “You like that, do you?”
I lurched forward when his hand cracked across the left globe of my ass, leaving it tremoring and stinging. “Yeah, I do.” 
“Has anyone ever spanked you before, Nina?”
“No. Only you, Ian.”
SMACK! The right cheek, now. And then his fingers slid between my thighs, speared gently into my wet cleft and scissored within me. I gasped, and my knees buckled. Another loud slap to my left ass cheek, timed to a press of his fingers against my clit, and I fell forward so my forehead thunked against the door.
I cried out in ecstasy, ready for the next smack to my right cheek. But when it came, it was on the same side, and was followed by a soft, gently smoothing circle of his palm, soothing the stinging flesh, and I let out a moan. Which was quickly turned into a shriek as Ian scissored his fingers deep inside me and slapped me on the right side, quick, hard, and unexpected. Again. A third time on the same side, and now my flesh there was really starting to smart and I was on the verge of asking him to stop, but then he gave me a third smack and drove his fingertips in and curled them, slid them in and out, creating wet suction sounds, and I felt like I was being ripped in two, sliced open by a sudden rush of clenching heat made all the more delicious somehow for the sweet slight sting of pain on my rear. I let out a breathless moan and Ian switched to the other side, smacking my left globe and finger-fucking me in time with the SMACK—SMACK—SMACK of his big hard hand against my stinging, trembling skin.
An orgasm of continental proportions tore through me, ripping a scream from my lungs, and as I came—knees buckling, breasts swaying and nipples tight, taut, and achingly hard—Ian plunged his cock into me and I lost my breath, lost my capacity to even scream.



Big Girls/Rock Stars Do It series reading order: 



New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Jasinda Wilder is a Michigan native with a penchant for titillating tales about sexy men and strong women. When she’s not writing, she’s probably shopping, baking, or reading. 

Some of her favorite authors include Nora Roberts, JR Ward, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Liliana Hart and Bella Andre. 

She loves to travel and some of her favorite vacations spots are Las Vegas, New York City and Toledo, Ohio. 

You can often find Jasinda drinking sweet red wine with frozen berries and eating a cupcake. 

Jasinda is represented by Kristin Nelson of the Nelson Literary Agency.


GR | Website | Facebook | Twitter | Amazon








Thursday, April 23, 2015

Under The Influence by L.B Simmons






Dalton,
I loved you once. A love I thought irrevocable. A love I mistakenly believed could transcend both time and circumstance. Under the influence of my dimwitted, naïve, traitorous heart, I became intoxicated with what I now know was simply a figment of my self-indulgent imagination. So drunk on the feeling, I couldn’t see what was right in front of my face. So foolishly enamored, I blindly followed my heart into the depths of an emotion that would ravage me. 

Years later, I know now what I wish I knew then. I am stronger. Smarter. Tougher. I will not allow myself to be broken again. 
I loved you.
I raged for you.
I wept for you.
And now, I’m letting you go.



Author’s Note:  Under the Influence is the journey of two childhood friends that spans the course of five pivotal years in their lives. It is a story about their discovery of true friendship as it blossoms into first love, their experience of crucial sacrifice and ultimate betrayal, and their endurance of agonizing heartbreak on the way to finding lasting redemption.








Chapter 1
Dalton
I am not a good person.
And I don’t pretend to be.
There may have been hope for me at one point but now, as I stare back at the hardened face and vacant eyes in front of me, there’s no denying the truth. All hope for me was lost years ago, stripped clean from my mind as they broke me. The life I’m indebted to now is one packed with corruption and polluted with lies.
I try to breathe in deeply as I rinse the freshly spilled blood from my hands, but the bitter pang of disappointment begins to compress my entire chest. It seeps along the previously etched grooves that line it, burning the hollow channels that were created with each punch to my stomach and blow to my ribs.
I rarely have these moments of weakness, when I wish I hadn’t allowed myself to be drawn into the darkened path that is this life. But right now, I find myself wishing that I had been strong enough to brave my childhood on my own. That I had been able to fend off the monsters that lurked in dark rooms and reeked of alcohol, able to protect myself from the multitude of broken bones and black eyes inflicted by the hands of those who were supposed to fucking protect me.
But I wasn’t. And now I’m stuck, hopelessly adhered to a life in which I have chosen to forgo conscience for security.
Little did I know the day I met Darius Roe, I would be making a deal with the devil. That I would be forever bound to a life from which there is no escape.
Although I started out as his lackey, I grew quicklyboth physically and within the hierarchy of his organizationto become his weapon. Not only his muscle, but a tool which has many uses. His most prized possession.
And now here I am at eighteen years of age, long since graduated from errand-boy. I watch the familiar streaks of someone elses blood swirling around yet another porcelain sink. Someone who also made a deal with the devil but didnt deliver on his end.
I always deliver.
After drying my hands, I curl my fingers over the lip of the sink and place my palms flat on the cool ceramic surface, silently watching the reflection in the mirror. Cold, dead eyes stare back at me. Not a spark of life left in them.
Not anymore.
In fact, the only bit of humanity I permit myself is that of Spencer Locke. Shes the one thing, the one person whose mere presence provides some sort of sense of relief from the constant feeling of asphyxiation that encompasses me. 
She is my reprieve.
My air.
Spencer Locke is the one slice of happy I have in this shit pie I call life. Darius Roe is a ruthless motherfucker.
The two will never cross paths.
I would, with absolutely no hesitation, lay down my life to make sure that never happens. Spencers safety has been and will always be my concernno, my priority. And in order to assure that safety remains, she must never know the real me. The cold, calculated, hardened criminal that I am. She will only know the Dalton Greer I permit her to know.
Just like everyone else that I come into contact with.
To Rat, I’m the entertaining best friend. To Spencer, I’m the overprotective big brother. And to Darius, I’m the lethal weapon. 
None of them truly know me.
Because the truth is, theres nothing more frightening in my world than those who know youwho really know you. The ones who know your deepest, darkest secrets. The ones who know what youre going to do before you do it. The ones who know not only what buttons to push when they seek your attention, but also the ones that can be used to completely incapacitate you.
They can be your strength.
But they can also be your weakness. 
And just as a chameleon changes color to blend for protection, I’ve learned to evolve into the person I need to be in order to survive the situation at hand, all while keeping people at arm’s length.
Yet sometimes I cant help but wonder what my true colors would have been had I not been subjected to this life. I question what it would be like to just let someone in, to tell them all of your unforgivable truths and discover they still love you in return.
I find myself utterly fascinated, awe-struck even, that there are people actually capable of truly loving someone without wondering when and how they will be betrayed. However, the knowledge of their existence also saddens me because the cold reality is, I will never know that type of love. I will never know the freedom to just be with someone, without pretense or fabrication, without the endless lies and untruths.
Maybe that’s why I keep holding onto Spencer when I know I shouldn’t. When all my instincts scream for me to let her go, to cut those ties and just let her be.
I cant.
I’m too selfish.
Therefore, I will plaster on my over-protective, big-brother face so that I can see her again, just to get my fix on the relief she provides. And in turn, I will continue the lies.
I will continue telling myself the only reason I insist on my frequent visitation is because I want to see to her protection.
I will continue convincing myself the things I say to her are merely pretenses which accompany my façade.
But in this rare moment, I will also concede that like a moth to a flame, I’m drawn to her.
To her innocence.
To her kindness.
To her ability to love…
To all the things I wish I was capable of but have sacrificed in order to survive.
Because just seeing her demonstrate those capabilities with me and willingly share them with others, the knowledge that the ability to do so actually exists in a world outside of mine somehow frees meno matter how temporarilyfrom the chains that bind me here, in this suffocating place.
Yes, Spencer Locke is indeed my air.
I just hope the immorality I’ve chosen to bury deep within my soul doesn’t one day pollute her very essence.








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L.B. Simmons is a graduate of Texas A&M University and holds a degree in Biomedical Science.  She has been a practicing Chemist for the last 11 years.  She lives with her husband and three daughters in Texas and writes every chance she gets.






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Tuesday, April 21, 2015

The Complete Wild Side Trilogy by R.K Lilley



THE WILD SIDE
(The Complete Trilogy)
Author: R.K. Lilley






The Wild Side (The Wild Side #1)

Buy from Amazon

Alasdair Masters is in a rut. He just hit forty, has been nearly celibate for the past year, and his life has turned into a daily sequence of lonely patterns that revolve around avoiding human contact. 

His tidy life is turned on its head when a hot young blonde at the gym that’s been pseudo-stalking him decides to rock his world. A very young blonde. Way, way too young for him. The problem is, he can’t seem to tell her no, and she just keeps coming back for more. 

It doesn’t help that he’s ninety percent sure she’s a criminal, and still, he can’t seem to turn her down.  What is a dull introvert to do when a chaotic cyclone that oozes sexuality comes twisting into his life? 

At first, he thinks she’ll give him a heart attack, but after his twenty-year marriage ended a year ago, he’s been a little lost, and when she comes crashing into his life, he realizes that he’s never felt more alive. 

Is a walk on the wild side just what he needs to get his on track or a disaster in the making? Is it possible for someone that much younger to be just what he needs, or is she a fortune hunter, as everyone keeps telling him? Is it his hormones telling him that the mysterious younger woman is the one, or could it be more?







IRIS (The Wild Side #2)
Add to Goodreads
Buy from Amazon 

ARE YOU READY FOR A TWIST? 

Who is Iris? Where did she come from? Where has she gone? 

Alasdair Masters has more questions than answers about his new, too young obsession, and when he finds out she’s been lying to him, from their first meeting to their last one, he’s more confused than ever about her feelings, her intentions. 

And what’s just as confusing are his own feelings. Has he turned something purely physical into something emotional in his own head? Is any of it mutual? 

The only thing he doesn’t question is whether he’ll keep going back for more. 

DAIR 
Me, I was simple. I was order. A very neat, efficient machine that ran on nothing but air. 

Me plus anyone else, well, that was another matter. And me plus Iris, that was a monster of a machine, with all gears going at different speeds, some spinning off their hinges, just going mad, but it was a wonderful madness, at full throttle, misfiring in all directions. 

It felt wonderful and dreadful. 
I was breaking down, and it felt amazing. 
And terrifying. 

This book is intended for readers 18 and up







Add to Goodreads
Buy from Amazon 


ARE YOU READY FOR THE TRUTH?

I’d started writing everything about her down. I didn’t want to forget.
The color of her hair. The depth of her eyes. The stubborn shape of her jaw. The way her lips shaped words with such expression. The way her voice made my chest ache. The way she gave advice beyond her years. 
The way she listened like she cared about every word.

The way she made me feel—Alive.

Every curve and hollow of her body was recorded, in my mind, and now my hard drive. 
There was a bit of truth in every lie, and even if it had only been fed to me in the smallest increments, I wanted, needed to remember the real Iris.

Because in the end, there was one irrefutable thing that I couldn’t deny.

Hostage or hustler, sinner or saint, whatever she was or wasn’t, whether she lied to my face or taunted me with hints of the truth, all of this seemed always to defer to the more pertinent fact at hand.

She was mine. 
Inconceivably. 
Undeniably. 
Mine.

After yet another shocking discovery, followed by a disturbing letter, Dair is almost certain Iris has left his life for good. He tries his best to move on. 
Easier said than done, and when an unexpected and dangerous opportunity arises for him to find out what happened to her, he doesn’t hesitate to take it. 
As usual, with Iris, the answer leaves him more lost than the question. 
Every revelation is shrouded in mystery, and every disclosure leaves Dair more in the dark than ever. 
And when finally, the messy truth is revealed in its entirety, will he be ready for it?

This is the final installment in Iris and Dair’s story
This book is intended for readers 18 and up.





DAIR

TWO MONTHS AFTER THE FALLING OUT


I had a bit of a nervous breakdown after Iris left without a trace. 

It was the strangest thing, but I suddenly didn’t like my own company so much. 

In fact, I began to hate it, even at home. 

I still went to the gym at the exact same time, every single day, in the small hope that she’d show again. She didn’t, but I kept going, because I wanted to see her again. 

She hadn’t been in my life for long, but I missed her. 

Being that I couldn’t stand my own company, I began to reconnect with old friends, people I hadn’t talked to since the divorce, the friends I’d chalked up to losses in the breakup; Tammy’s assets when we’d been chopping our combined life in half. 

For some reason, they all seemed very happy to hear from me. I felt like a jerk for going into full hermit mode and attempted to have something of a social life again. 

I’d often meet up with another writer friend for coffee or lunch after my workout, telling myself that if I just kept working at it—being a normal person, with normal social habits—it wouldn’t feel so forced. 

And it was true. Two months post Iris, and I was looking forward to having coffee with my friend, Benji. 

He was already sitting at a table as I entered the café a few shops down from my gym. 

I waved at him, saw he had an extra coffee for me, and bypassed the line to go directly to him. 

He slid me the cup as I sat down. 

“You make your deadline?” I asked him. Like me, he was a neurotic, work obsessed writer, and so we always had something to talk about. It was good. Distractions were good. The more the better. The more plates spinning the better, these days.

He nodded with a grin, pushing his thick glasses up high on his nose, and sweeping his light brown hair away from his face. He was a good seven years my junior, with a lean, nerdy look that I thought suited him. He wore it well. “How about you? I know you were early on your publisher’s deadline, but how is your indie project coming along?” 

“Good. Good. My word count is flowing faster than ever. I should be done in about four weeks.” 

He whistled. “Will you sell it to the publisher, if they decide they like it and make you a good offer?” 

I shrugged. “I doubt it. This whole project is an experiment for me. It won’t be much fun if I don’t get to at least see how making seventy percent compares to making, yanno, eight.” 

He shook his head, smiling wryly. “You’re forgetting your advance. You can’t tell me they don’t give you plenty up front.” 

I shrugged again. “Like I said, this one is an experiment. I doubt even my publisher can sway me, and it’s not exactly written in the genre I’m known for, so they wouldn’t write me a big check for it, anyway.” 

“You’re probably right.” He sighed. “I envy you the flexibility to do what you want. Some of us are still writing just to pay the bills.” 

We sipped coffee and talked shop for a bit. We were just getting ready to leave when he suddenly trailed off mid-sentence, looking at something behind me. 

I turned to see what it was, and an electric fire went off in my brain at the sight that met my eyes. 

Setting my jaw hard, I turned carefully away. 

So the back of that blonde woman in line resembled Iris, so what? 

This wasn’t the first time my brain had tricked me into thinking she was somewhere close. 

But it was never her. I’d see some young blonde thing out of the corner of my eye and turn to stare until I met a stranger’s blank stare. 

Not today. Today I was going to ignore the urge to obsess. It wasn’t her, just some young woman with a great body. She wasn’t even dressed correctly, wearing a pleated skirt and a belted, collared blouse. 

Iris wouldn’t be caught dead in business attire. 

“Holy fucking shit, man. Did you see that chick?” Benji asked, his tone reverent. 

My mouth quirked up in a rueful smile. Even the most civilized men turned into mouth-breathers if a hot enough woman walked into the room. 

“I did.” I took a long sip of coffee, watching Benji, who just kept watching the woman in line, forcing myself, with great effort, to stifle the urge to turn around again. “Nice ass,” I noted. 

“Yes. But you need to turn around and check out the rest of her. Huge titties, man.” 

I rolled my eyes. There was a bit of a generation gap between us. My generation thought shit like that, but then we kept it to ourselves, like grown-ups. 

“Big soft tits,” he continued, “in a semi-sheer white blouse. Fuuuck. She’s got a tan. How many articles you think I need to write to bang a chick that out of my league?” 

“A lot,” I mused, still staying firmly with my back to the woman in question. 

“Like how many is a lot?” 

“What do you make? Like five hundred an article? I’d say about two thousand of those, minimum. If she’s as hot as she looked from the back, though, you’d need to be well into the millionaire club before she’d give you the time of day, so more like five thousand articles, realistically.” 

His eyes were wide as he finally looked away from the hot chick and back to me. “Really? That is fucking depressing, dude.” 

I shrugged. “Yeah. But the really sad part is you’d have to spend a good chunk of that cash on her, if you wanted her to stay around for any length of time.”

He shook his head. “I think you’ve gone cynical, after Tammy.”

I couldn’t dispute that. Not a bit. “You may be right. What can I say? Divorce messes with your head.” I didn’t bring up Iris. I hadn’t told him about her. “Why don’t you go ask her out, if you’re so certain I’m wrong?” 

He laughed. “I didn’t say you were wrong, I said you were cynical, and so am I. That chick is out of my league, period. I need more money to bag a woman like that. Or at the very least, better looks and a bigger dick. And look at that, fuck, she’s already leaving. I was hoping she’d sit down to drink her coffee, and let me look at her for a few more minutes.” 

“Maybe you were creeping her out. You’ve barely taken your eyes off her since she walked in the door.”

He didn’t even seem to hear me. “Oh, no, wait, she’s only going to the bathroom. I thought it was weird she was leaving without her order. Did you see her shoes, man? Those are some ‘fuck-me’ stilettos. And her hair is in this tight bun, and she’s wearing sexy librarian glasses. Will you please turn and look when she comes back out? I will drop the subject if you will just get a better view of her and agree with me that she’s a ten.”

“Nope. Not doing it. That poor girl does not need us both creeping out on her. I’ll take your word for it.”

That seemed to settle the matter. He dropped it.

His phone rang; he checked the screen and started cursing. “I’ve got to run. Same time next week?” 

I nodded, and he left. I didn’t move and still didn’t turn around. I had that feeling, a tingle on my neck, like I was being watched from behind, and I was again talking myself out of obsessing about Iris. 

But burned in my brain was the image of the back of that woman, and in spite of myself, I was comparing. 

And a small part of me was enjoying the torture of imagining it could be her, that she would find me again. 

Finally, I cracked, turning to look, thinking that the woman must have left, so I should just get it over with, like pulling off a Band-Aid. 

And there she was. 

There was Iris, standing only feet away, holding a cup of coffee and watching me, her expression very blank. She was wearing sexy librarian glasses, her hair in a tight bun, just like Benji had said. 

And it really was her, in the flesh. 

She wore white, and her clothes were fitted enough to show off every lush curve. Her mouthwatering breasts were clearly outlined, the buttons of her blouse open enough to show an extravagant amount of cleavage. 

How had I forgotten just how stunning she was? How captivating? 

Her large breasts were even more exceptional than I remembered, as though I’d dreamt her up as a comic book version of herself. 

Iris squared. 

The moment our eyes met, she began to move, walking with easy grace to sit across from me.

She looked cold, so icy blonde and beautiful, like some mix of Marilyn Monroe and Grace Kelly. 

Terrible and beautiful. 

It felt like fatal voltage to my chest just to look at her like that.

It was Iris, but Iris as a stranger. No, it was worse than that. It was like she was a curious, wild, imaginary creature, with the pieces of her just now put together, invented for my eyes, not how I remembered at all, because even when she’d been angry, she had never been cold.

Then she smiled, and it was her again, all traces of the cold stranger gone. 

Which one was the real Iris?

“Hello, Dair.” 

I swallowed hard and saw her eyes dart to my throat.

“Hello, Iris.” 

“God, I missed the sound of your voice.”

“The sound of my voice?” My voice caught on the question awkwardly, breaking slightly on the last word. 

She had such a talent for catching me off guard.

“Yes. You have the best voice, like a stern school teacher.”

My brain short-circuited for a bit before I could respond. “You say the most outrageous things.”

She laughed, and its tinkling sound felt like velvet across the back of my neck. “Is that all you have to say to me, after all this time?” she asked quietly. 

“I’m sorry for all the things—”

“I don’t want you to take those things back, if you still believe them, and besides, that’s not what I meant. Don’t you have anything else to say to me?” 

I took a few deep breaths. “Where have you been? And why are you back now?” 

“That’s not what I meant, either. And I don’t want to talk about that. Didn’t you miss me?” 

She reached a hand across the table, and I found one of mine grasping it, lacing our fingers tightly together. 

My eyes squeezed shut. It felt very good to touch her again, even just her hand. “Yes, Iris, I missed you very much.” 

“There you go. Was that so hard? I missed you, too. You look good.” She tugged her hand away, and my eyes opened to follow its retreat. 

“Why are you dressed like that?” 

She looked like she was trying not to smile. “Like what?” 

“Like a professional. Why are you wearing glasses? What are you doing? Where did you go? Where have you been?” 

She glanced around, and the way she did it struck me as more than a little paranoid. “Want to go for a walk?” 

My heart started pounding hard. 

I didn’t hesitate. 

“Of course I do,” I said, absolutely no thought required. 

I’d take a walk with her anytime, anywhere. 

She smiled, taking off those sexy glasses. “Well, then, let’s get out of here.”









R.K. Lilley lives in Colorado with her husband and their two beautiful sons. She's had a lot of interesting jobs, from being a first class flight attendant, to being a stablehand, but swears she never knew what hard work was until she had children. She's been addicted to both reading and writing fiction since she can remember. She loves to travel, read, hike, paint, game, watch anime, and make the most of every single day. She is the author of the erotic romance novels In Flight, Mile High, Grounded, and the novella, Lana.