Take a trip to the dark side with 12 books by some of the hottest names in edgy romance, including USA Today Bestselling authors CJ Roberts, Eliza Gayle, and Aleatha Romig!
Pam Godwin – Beneath the Burn
Skye Warren – Wanderlust
Claire Thompson – Enslaved
Cari Silverwood – Take Me Break Me
Annabel Joseph – Comfort Object
Aleatha Romig – Consequences
Shoshanna Evers – The Man Who Holds the Whip
Annika Martin – The Hostage Bargain
Jasmine Haynes – Take Your Pleasure
Eliza Gayle – Play With Me
Pepper Winters – Tears of Tess
CJ Roberts – Captive in the Dark
Addy Michaels, living her careful life on a forgotten back road, thinks she’s safe–that her past and its corpses are long buried. Surely after fifteen years the cops have quit looking for the street kids believed to have kidnapped a baby and killed their prostitute foster mother, Belle Bliss.
Addy couldn’t be more wrong.
A cold case. Hot again, when the missing child’s grandmother hires renowned profiler Cade Harding to find her grandson. Cade tracks Addy to her safe haven in a remote area of Washington state. Their attraction to each other is immediate, dangerous, and badly timed because…
Cade isn’t alone.
A twisted killer, faceless and unknowable, follows in Cade’s footsteps–on the hunt for anyone who can tell the truth about killing Bliss.
All roads lead to Addy.
EXCERPT
Cade looked at Stan and Susan, two aging lovers—and he’d decided they were definitely lovers. Susan’s eyes were wide, expectant. Stan’s were judgmental and pissed off.
Cade turned to Susan, genuinely puzzled. “Why now?” he asked. “After all these years, why ask me to investigate now?”
“Mainly because I didn’t know, until your mother’s funeral, that you could help. It was your wife who told me what you did, how successful you were. She was very proud of you, you know.” She paused. “As for your mother? Whenever I asked about you, she said very little, other than you’d ‘taken off and left her alone, just like your father.”
Cade might have protested, except for the glint of understanding in Susan’s eyes, an understanding that no doubt came from years of her lending his mother money. He didn’t bother defending himself, say how he’d kept in touch with his mother until she died and sent a regular monthly check. His business.
“That it?” he asked, wanting to end the conversation.
“No. The big reason is Frank Bliss is being paroled after serving seven years for manslaughter.”
Stan interjected. “Go back a bit, Susie.”
She pursed her lips. “A few months after the murder, I met with Frank Bliss. I’d hoped to learn something the police hadn’t—stupid, I know—but…” She took a few steps, then turned back to face him, her expression defiant. “Ever since, I’ve felt that boy knew more than he’d told.”
“You ‘felt’?” Even though Cade’s career as a profiler centered on building a whole loaf from discarded chaff, he’d learned to distrust the I felt phrase—so often too close to its sister phrase, I wish, to be worthwhile.
“I figured you’d glom on to that word, but regardless, I’ll stand by it. Frank Bliss was either lying or not telling everything he knew.”
“If you consider his mother was brutally murdered—literally before his eyes—why would he lie? What do you think he’d gain from it?”
“I have no idea,” she said. “But ever since the murder, Frank Bliss has been in jail more than he’s been out. I suspect he lies for all kinds of reasons.”
“And his brother?”
Stan answered. “Dead. Knifed in an alley after a fight in some club. About three years after the murder.”
“Unlucky family,” Cade said. “A good psychologist might say it was his mother’s murder that turned Frank bad in the first place.”
“He’d be wrong,” Susan said, “because Frank didn’t like his mother.”
“He told you that?”
“He didn’t have to. It was in his face, in his eyes. I think he was happy she was dead.”
“Even if you’re right, it doesn’t prove—”
She stopped him with a raised hand, her eyes coal hard and direct. “If he didn’t care about his mother, he certainly wouldn’t care about a sixteen-month-old baby. Whatever his reasons, I think he lied.” She waved her hand in a frustrated action, her voice rose. “Maybe he killed his mother, maybe the lies were to protect himself, or his kid brother—”
“That’s a lot of maybes, Susan.” Cade said quietly. “Besides, you said the police checked Brett’s alibi.”
“They could be wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
The room went quiet, and Stan arched a brow and looked at Cade, his expression bordering on sympathetic. “Susie hasn’t let this case go since she found out about Josh. She’s not about to stop now,” he said.
Maybe not, but Cade knew they’d stepped hip deep into the realm of conjecture and magical thinking on a murder that occurred fifteen years ago. “It’s a waste of time. Mine and yours,” Cade said. He hadn’t left WSU to get mired in someone else’s problem, someone else’s grief—or to work a case with a serious case of freezer burn. He’d walked this walk before. Swampland in a fog. “I’m sorry,” he said again, more firmly this time. “I can’t help you.”
Again the room fell to silence, broken finally by Susan’s heavy sigh.
“I didn’t want to do this,” she said. “But you leave me no choice.” She met his eyes, her gaze unwavering. “You do this for me, Cade, and I’ll forget what your mother owed me, which over the years came to over sixty-five thousand dollars.”
She might as well have hit him in the gut with a two-by-four. His breath swooshed out, then he shook his head, muttered, “Son-of-a-bitch.”
“No,” Susan stated in a clear, measured tone. “I’m the mother of a dead daughter who’s missing her grandson. Sons-of-bitches don’t even come close.”
***
Addy picked up her paint gear, straightened, and let her gaze drift over Star lake. Ruffled by the wind, it was a blanket of rippling diamonds in the afternoon sun. She swiveled, her gaze feasting on the tiny property: the cabins, ten of them sporting new paint jobs and looking proud and pretty, the fresh gravel she’d laid in the driveway, and the new sign in amusing fifties-style lettering she’d had done for over the office door. All of it her work, her dream, her safety net.
She headed for the maintenance shed, but hadn’t taken more than three steps before she heard a car turn off the highway and scrunch its way along her new gravel.
She looked over her shoulder to see a Cherokee—maybe three or four years old—pull up to the office steps. A man and a dog—probably the same age as the truck—got out. Knowing Toby would handle them, Addy continued on to the shed and stowed her supplies neatly on the shelves.
The man was coming out of the office as she approached. The big yellow dog, who’d been sitting outside the door, got up, wagging its tail and wiggling its rear end as if he’d been abandoned for a month rather than the few minutes it had taken for his owner to check in.
There were three steps up to the office door. From the bottom one, she said, “Friendly?” And nodded at the dog.
The man smiled and patted the dog’s head. “A teddy bear, especially if there’s food around.”
“Does he have a name?” She ran a hand along the silky fur on his back. She really should get a dog… if she stayed.
“Redge.” He shifted his gaze from the dog and met hers. “What about you?”
Her nerves jangled, and she tucked her hands in the pockets of her overalls. “Me?” she said, sounding confused and stupid and knowing she was neither.
“Name. Do you have one?”
She pulled her hands from her pockets, stuck one out straight as a lance, and said, “Addy Michaels. I’m the owner of Star Lake.”
She wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw him blink a couple of times, his eyes sharpen. He definitely hesitated before taking her hand, then smiled as if he was obliged to, kind of cool and polite. “Addy. I’m Cade Harding. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. I take it you’ll be staying with us?” She dropped to one knee to pet the dog, and get out from under his eyes, which suddenly seemed a bit too intense.
“A couple of days at least.” He hesitated. “Maybe more.”
She got to her feet, risked looking up at him. He resembled Gus a little, or how she imagined Gus would look with a few years on him. Dark hair, dark eyes, a bit of stubble around the chin, body on the lean side. Gus’s face would be harder though, colder, not so… bookish or calm. And Gus’s eyes were a strange amber brown, nothing at all like Cade Harding’s, which were a green color that reminded Addy of cedar boughs. “You sound like a man without a destination.”
He didn’t smile this time, but he did tilt his head a bit. Her nerves skittered again when his gaze fixed on her. “As destinations go this will do just fine.”
About the Author:
EC Sheedy
EC Sheedy lives and writes on Vancouver Island in British Columbia. With the ocean a few steps from her door and Zuke, a 110 pound Rhodesian Ridgeback, sleeping on the sofa in her office, she considers herself one very lucky writer. But her real luck is being married to Tim, her first and final husband.
EC writes both contemporary romance and romantic suspense, the latter because sometimes a nasty and conniving villain pops into my head and she just has to get him out.
She dislikes cooking.
She dislikes nosy people.
She dislikes too many rainy days in a row.
She dislikes snakes.
And the only word she hates is hate—especially when used as a verb.
“Don’t be someone who defines her life by someone else’s death.”
Dee Dee DeMarco’s brother, Alex, was funny, free-spirited and creative. He was also gay. Tormented by bullies, Alex killed himself on his 15th birthday.
Two years later, and now in college, Dee Dee believes getting a summer job working with a college-prep program for disadvantaged high school students is a stroke of luck, until she discovers that the guy assigned to co-lead her group is Cameron Connelly, a star basketball player and one of the bullies who tormented her brother to death. How can Dee Dee possibly spend the entire summer working so closely with one of the boys she blames for her brother’s death?
EXCERPT
I could feel my heartbeat quicken as I entered the auditorium. The kids were talking and messing around as they waited for the class to begin. The other counselors, with the exception of Cameron, were also seated in the audience with the kids. Cameron was standing at the podium with Dr. Jones.
When Cameron saw me walk in, he winked at me. I didn’t know whether to slap him or hug him. Therein was the problem.
Dr. Jones waved her arms to get everyone’s attention. “Quiet everyone. We have a special presentation today. Cameron is going to talk to you about bullying and how it impacted his life.”
“Who would bully him?” one of the kids cracked and the other kids laughed.
“Enough,” Dr. Jones reprimanded. “I expect you to give Cameron your attention and utmost respect.”
Cameron took the podium. “Thank you, Dr. Jones. I’m here today to talk about bullying. Not because I was bullied when I was your age but because I was a bully. And it ruined my life.”
When I looked out over the sea of faces, all eyes were trained on Cameron.
“I thought I had everything. I was one of the school’s first string basketball players. We were all-state champions. I already had a full basketball scholarship to Penn State. I was popular. I had tons of friends. I could get a date with any girl in the school. And I lost it all.”
1. He has a kink for role play. Please tell Lana.
2. He has a weakness for double shot mochas, extra whip. Or maybe, it’s all about the whip.
3. Whenever Lana goes out on surveillance, he sends one his biker brothers to watch over her and keep her safe. But don’t let her know or she’d be all over his sorry ass.
4. The best day of his life was the day he met Lana and threw her out of a sex club. The second best day was the day he threw her out again.
5. He has bought Lana a custom Harley-Davidson Sportster XL883L for her birthday and he has planned exactly how they’ll christen the seat.
With passion at full throttle, there’s no turning back.
When private investigator Lana Parker follows a dangerous biker into an underground sex club, James Hunter is the last man she expects to see. But there he is, all dark looks and chiseled charms, ready to break her heart all over again.
Danger is the name of the game for an undercover cop. And the last thing James wants is for the fiery beauty to come anywhere near the notorious biker gang he’s trying to take down. Yet Lana has no intention of giving up her case, which means he’ll have to keep her close to keep her safe. A risky proposition—especially when their blazing sexual chemistry reignites an unforgettable passion.
But when a dark terror emerges from the past, Lana goes on the run…and James gives up everything to save her. Backed into a corner, Lana must face her fears, including the one thing that frightens her most…her overwhelming feelings for the man whose searing glance sparks her most hidden desires, the man she should not trust, but cannot resist.
Warning: The book contains violence, explicit sex, light BDSM, heavy swearing, motorcycle sexytimes, bad-ass biker naughtytimes, and an exceptionally hot hero who will get down and dirty anywhere but under the covers.
Recovering lawyer, karate practitioner, and caffeine addict, Sarah Castille worked and traveled abroad before trading her briefcase and stilettos for a handful of magic beans and a home near the Canadian Rockies. Her steamy, contemporary romantic tales feature blazingly hot alpha heroes and the women who tame them.
A shiver coursed up Lana’s spine, and she shook her head to loosen her tongue. “I’m meeting someone.”
Rex’s rough, gravelly voice deepened. “Right now, you’re meeting me.” His gaze crawled over her, unleashing a wave of cockroaches under her skin. By the time his eyes returned to her face, a cold, sticky sweat covered her body.
With all the faux bravado she could muster, she gave him a tight smile and took a step back. “And…the meeting is over. Nice to meet you. Goodbye.”
His arm shot out, grabbing her shoulder, holding her in place. “Usually when I see a cop, I get an itch in my trigger finger. I look at you and I get an itch somewhere else. Ditch the boyfriend. One night with me and you’ll forget he exists.”
An itch? She suspected it might have to do more with his extramarital affairs and visits to the Seymour Street brothels than a desire to hump and pump with a curvy redhead in a dirty cop costume. Talk about putting a girl off.
Rex smiled, all nicotine-stained teeth and ashtray breath. “Yeah. I can see it in your eyes. You know what I’m talking about.”
What did he see exactly? Fear? Disgust? Or her desperate need to find the number for the local STD clinic?
Lana gave him a vacant smile as she considered her options. Option #1: Find a boyfriend. Heart thumping, she looked around the bar for a pseudoboyfriend—someone big, strong and sufficiently threatening. No one measured up except…maybe…Master Tony? She raked her eyes over the tall, broad frame of the club’s owner, but when he turned to greet someone at the door, she gave a little sigh. He had been less than pleased the last time she’d sneaked into the club. She doubted he would help her once he discovered she’d sneaked in again.
Option #2: Run. Excellent option. Lana wrenched herself from Rex’s grasp and took a step toward the door.
Damn.
Three bikers, two wearing the Hades patch, and one so young he had to be a prospect, were making their way through the crowd toward Rex. Blocking her path.
Lana’s pulse pounded in her ears. Rex was bad enough. But four bikers? It was almost like being back in the Wolverines’ clubhouse with Levi all over again.
The tallest of the three had swept back his long, dark hair and tied it at nape of his neck in a ponytail. Dark eyes, olive skin and a broad, hard body to match the strong planes of his striking face. Yum…even though he was a biker.
“Ryder.” Rex shook the hand of Mr. Deep, Dark and Delicious.
Ryder’s gaze flicked to Lana. He tilted his head to the side, giving her first a considered look, and then a sympathetic smile. He turned back to Rex. “I thought we were here for a meeting, not to pick up fender fluff.”
Lana grimaced at the backhanded compliment. She knew the slang. He thought she was pretty. Anything less and she would have been a “fender bunny” or even worse, a “mattress cover”.
Lucky her. Well, at least he hadn’t made fun of her hair. Usually men made some reference to the inferno on her head—Carrots, Ginger Snap, Big Red, Fire Bush, Rusty, Copper Top, Flame Brain, Matchstick Head or her current favorite, Red Zilla.
“You know what they say, ‘red in the head, fire in the bed’.” The second biker, a barrel-chested thick-necked bruiser with crazy dreadlocks gave her a lascivious wink and an oh-so-enticing crotch grab.
“Good one, Bones.” Rex thumped the thick-necked thug on the back. “I was thinking that myself.”
Lana rolled her eyes. Oh ha-ha-ha. So funny. As if she hadn’t heard that one before. Some day she’d meet a man who could insult her hair with some originality.
“Leave the girl alone. We’ve got a meeting to get underway.” Ryder gave her a wink and stepped to the side, clearing her path to the door.
Rex gripped Lana’s arm just as she took her first step to freedom. “You jealous, Ryder? Been a long time since you had a back warmer.”
“Maybe he’s bent.” The prospect, a blond Adonis who looked like he should be playing high school football instead of pledging to join a biker gang, gave Rex an obsequious smile and was rewarded with a slap to the head.
“You’re an idiot, Kickstand,” Rex growled. “You don’t disrespect a full-patch brother when you don’t even have the right to breathe without his permission.”
Kickstand stumbled into Lana from the force of the blow, knocking her off balance and out of Rex’s grasp. With incredible dexterity, Kickstand caught her before she fell.
“Sorry,” Kickstand murmured as he helped her balance. “I don’t usually make a habit of knocking down pretty girls just to get their attention. Every time I’m around these guys I do something wrong.”
She gave him a soft, reassuring smile, but her heart went out to him. He was trying so hard to fit in. She’d seen dozens of prospects like him during her time with Levi—young and desperate to be part of what they perceived to be the glamorous word of bikerdom. Very few were accepted and fewer still earned their patch. Kickstand would never make the cut. Too good-looking, too kind-hearted and too eager to please. What the hell was he doing with Hades?
While Rex, Bones and Ryder lamented the lack of good prospects in the biker world, Lana edged her way toward the door, only to be cut off again, this time by a late arrival.
Almost as tall as Rex and Ryder, the new biker was lean, lithe and powerful, with a narrow waist and long, hard thighs. His thick, dark hair just brushed his collar. His eyes were an unusual steel blue.
A familiar steel blue. Her heart stuttered in her chest.
James?
No, it couldn’t be. She blinked her eyes. Once. Twice. Was it him? Two years had passed since she’d last seen Heartless Bastard. The man in front of her had the same physique, strong nose and chiseled jaw. But the James she knew had kept his hair military short and would have been appalled to sport a five o’clock shadow, much less three days’ worth of stubble over his unyielding chin. James was a cop through and through. No way would he ever join Hades.
As if sensing her perusal, he frowned. “Take off the glasses.” The velvet rasp of his deep baritone voice sent tiny quivers of need straight to her core.
Heart pounding, she took a step back and inadvertently hit Rex’s chest. “Take them off, pet,” Rex snapped. “Ice isn’t a man who asks twice.”
Ice. He had a road name, and from the mini salivating puppies on the front of his jacket, he was full patch. He was no prospect, like Kickstand, currying favor in the hopes of being allowed to join the club. He was a fully initiated member of Hades.
Swallowing hard, Lana removed her glasses and stared down at the fishnet stockings peeking out of her boots like a hundred crisscrossing lines of black gunpowder. One of the garters was still loose, leaving her even more exposed—as if that was possible—to the explosive heat of his gaze.
“Look at me,” Ice demanded. His rich, husky voice rolled through her, stirring longings she had hidden away in the darkest recesses of her memory. Heat settled at the juncture of her thighs, her nipples tightened and her mouth went dry.
Disconcerted by her body’s responses and unable to meet his gaze, she looked away.
Ice cupped her jaw and firmly turned her face toward him, pulling her away from Rex. Her gaze locked with eyes now as deep blue as the ocean. Commanding, captivating eyes. Framed by thick lashes. But it wasn’t his eyes that finally sparked her recognition; it was the aura of pure power that hit her like the painful thud of her heart when she had realized he was never coming back.
He stroked his thumb over the apple of her cheek, the gesture at once comforting and familiar. A tangled web of emotions swept through her body like a firestorm. The world fell away.
James.
Heartless Bastard.
Lana swallowed hard and fought the warring urges to kiss him and slap him across the face.
For a split second, his breathing hitched and his eyes widened. He glanced over at Rex and back to her. His expression shifted from curious to considering, and she caught a gleam in his eyes. Calculating. Determined.
Did he recognize her? Two years ago she had been twenty pounds heavier, her pale complexion marked with freckles and her curly hair just brushing the top of her shoulders. Two years ago she had been stupid and naive, thinking she had found a man she could actually trust—someone who would never hurt her.
Now she knew better. And that kind of knowledge changed a girl. Made her immune to a Heartless Bastard’s bone-melting cheek stroking and irresistible charms.
She slapped his hand away and, boy, did it feel good.
“Roxie.” His sharp tone snapped her out of her reverie, but not as much as his warm hand clasping her own. “What the hell are you doing here, dressed like that? I almost didn’t recognize you.”
With passion at full throttle, there’s no turning back.
When private investigator Lana Parker follows a dangerous biker into an underground sex club, James Hunter is the last man she expects to see. But there he is, all dark looks and chiseled charms, ready to break her heart all over again.
Danger is the name of the game for an undercover cop. And the last thing James wants is for the fiery beauty to come anywhere near the notorious biker gang he’s trying to take down. Yet Lana has no intention of giving up her case, which means he’ll have to keep her close to keep her safe. A risky proposition—especially when their blazing sexual chemistry reignites an unforgettable passion.
But when a dark terror emerges from the past, Lana goes on the run…and James gives up everything to save her. Backed into a corner, Lana must face her fears, including the one thing that frightens her most…her overwhelming feelings for the man whose searing glance sparks her most hidden desires, the man she should not trust, but cannot resist.
Warning: The book contains violence, explicit sex, light BDSM, heavy swearing, motorcycle sexytimes, bad-ass biker naughtytimes, and an exceptionally hot hero who will get down and dirty anywhere but under the covers.
Recovering lawyer, karate practitioner, and caffeine addict, Sarah Castille worked and traveled abroad before trading her briefcase and stilettos for a handful of magic beans and a home near the Canadian Rockies. Her steamy, contemporary romantic tales feature blazingly hot alpha heroes and the women who tame them.
“If you ever get a book published, I’m gonna buy myself a Harley.”
Yes, you read that right. With the kind of twisted masculine logic women struggle to understand, the Hubs decided to reward my achievement by buying himself a present. In his mind, if he is happy, he can make other people happy, and what can make anyone happier than the classic tribute to steel and chrome. Little did I know I would find inspiration in his passion, and a fondness for the heavy vibrations of the Harley Road King Classic.
Unfortunately publishing success meant that the Hubs acquired not one but two Harley Davidson motorcycles within a short period of time. They now have pride of place in the garage, meaning cars, bicycles, wives and children must be rearranged to accommodate not just the Harleys but the “buffer zone” that ensures the Harleys may be seen but not touched.
Of course, it wasn’t enough to just buy the Harleys. Oh no. He needed the leathers, and the helmet, then the gloves and boots. Rain gear, winter gear, heated gear, bags and luggage, keychains, eyewear and chaps. And don’t get me started on the accessories: racks, bars, pegs, race tuners, headers, slip-ons, stage one mods. It never ends.
We visited a dizzying array of bike stores and as a reward for my patience, the Hubs offered to buy my choice of biker T-shirts for my pillion rides: “Daddy Rides a Hog, “Biker Bitch”, “This Bitch Doesn’t Fall Off”, “All Bitch. No Pleasure”, and my personal favorite, “Biker Bitches do it Best”.
Of course he couldn’t ride alone. So I did what all biker bitches do. I put on my “Best” T-shirt and climbed on for a ride. And then another. And another. And another. There is something to be said for having over 800 pounds of vibrating metal between one’s thighs while plastered to the back of a leather-clad weekend warrior. Already the seeds of an erotic romance had been planted in my dirty l’il mind.
But it wasn’t until we drove several hours out of town to a well-known biker bar that Barely Undercover came to fruition. We sat in a corner, drinking our iced teas, watching the “real” bikers come and go. I was entranced by their confidence, the creak of worn leathers, the tight bonds they had with their “brothers” and their total disregard for any biker wannabees who tried to take up the stools. Oh…and did I mention the chaps?
Desperate to get to the heart of biker culture, I discovered that the best way to meet bikers is to join the mutual bike appreciation society. This involves studying another biker’s bike, nodding many times, and then asking questions like: What polish did you use on your chrome? Stage one mods? Who did the artwork on the fender? In return, the biker will “appreciate” your bike which gives a quick-witted author the opportunity to ask a few choice questions about biker life, from work to relationships, accommodations to…er…grey zone activities.
Now that it’s winter, the bikes have been polished until they shine, parked and covered and I’m hard at work on my next biker romance. The Hubs has been banned from purchasing additional Harleys, gear or accessories, except for passenger pegs for my feet and a nice pillion backrest for those moments when I just can’t take any more vibrating and need to sit back and enjoy the ride. Oh…and he bought me a new T-shirt: “Biker Writers write it Best.”
About Barely Undercover
With passion at full throttle, there’s no turning back.
When private investigator Lana Parker follows a dangerous biker into an underground sex club, James Hunter is the last man she expects to see. But there he is, all dark looks and chiseled charms, ready to break her heart all over again.
Danger is the name of the game for an undercover cop. And the last thing James wants is for the fiery beauty to come anywhere near the notorious biker gang he’s trying to take down. Yet Lana has no intention of giving up her case, which means he’ll have to keep her close to keep her safe. A risky proposition—especially when their blazing sexual chemistry reignites an unforgettable passion.
But when a dark terror emerges from the past, Lana goes on the run…and James gives up everything to save her. Backed into a corner, Lana must face her fears, including the one thing that frightens her most…her overwhelming feelings for the man whose searing glance sparks her most hidden desires, the man she should not trust, but cannot resist.
Warning: The book contains violence, explicit sex, light BDSM, heavy swearing, motorcycle sexytimes, bad-ass biker naughtytimes, and an exceptionally hot hero who will get down and dirty anywhere but under the covers.
Recovering lawyer, karate practitioner, and caffeine addict, Sarah Castille worked and traveled abroad before trading her briefcase and stilettos for a handful of magic beans and a home near the Canadian Rockies. Her steamy, contemporary romantic tales feature blazingly hot alpha heroes and the women who tame them.
Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2014 Margaret Margaret
