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Dirty English by Ilsa Madden-Mills

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Presents COVER REVEAL Dirty English By Ilsa Madden-Mills

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Meet Declan and Elizabeth in Ilsa Madden-Mills  new fighter romance!

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Release Date: October 12th, 2015

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A scarred fighter.
A girl with rules.
One night of unbridled passion.

There are three things you need to know about Elizabeth Bennett: she’s smart as a whip, always in control, and lives by a set of carefully crafted rules. She’s learned the hard way that people you love the most always hurt you in the end.

But then she meets Declan Blay, the new neighbor at her apartment complex.

A tattooed British street fighter, he’s the campus bad boy she’s supposed to avoid, but when he saves her from a frat party gone bad, all her rules about sex and love fly out the window.

She gives him one night of unbridled passion, but he longs for more.

With only a cardboard-thin wall separating their bedrooms, he dreams of possessing the vulnerable girl next door forever.

One night. Two damaged hearts. The passion of a lifetime.

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About the Author

New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She’s addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she’s a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.

She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education.

When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.

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Ilsa Madden-Mills other books

 

VERY BAD THINGS

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VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS

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VERY WICKED THINGS

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VERY TWISTED THINGS

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VERY TWISTED THINGS

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Sneak Peak: Prologue + Chapter 1

Very Twisted Things A Standalone Briarcrest Academy Novel #3 by New York Times best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills Release Date: March 1, 2015

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A sassy violinist who lives next door. An obsessed rock star who watches her through binoculars. And one night when she bares it all. Life will never be the same in Tinseltown.

Description

Vital Rejects front guy Sebastian Tate never imagined his YouTube music video would go viral, sky-rocketing him to acting success in Hollywood. Okay, maybe he did. After all, he’s a cocky dude who knows he’s hot-as-hell, and it was only a matter of time before his stars aligned.

But life in Tinseltown is never what it seems.

After being cheated on, his only rule to falling in love is simple: Keep Calm and Don’t Do It. Spying on his mysterious new neighbor with binoculars seems innocent enough, but quickly escalates into an erotic game between two very unlikely people.

Twenty-year-old Violet St. Lyons is a world-renowned violinist who’s lost her mojo on stage. She hides away in a Hollywood mansion, trying to find her way through her twisted past in order to make her future.

He’s the life of the party with girls chasing him down for his autograph. She’s the introvert with a potty mouth who doesn’t even know who he is.

When they meet, stars collide, sparks fly, and clothes come off. Yet, giving his heart to a girl isn’t Sebastian’s plan; falling for a guy who craves attention isn’t Violet’s.

Welcome to Briarcrest Academy—Hollywood style—where sometimes the best things in life are VERY TWISTED THINGS.

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Prologue

Violet

“Fairy dust is not real. This I know.” —from the journal of Violet St. Lyons

Boom!
I, Violet St. Lyons, who once believed herself the luckiest girl in the world, was born on the same day that the Violette–Sells comet was discovered. My parents, two avid stargazers, said it was a sign of how special I was and promptly named me Violet. They claimed my life had been blessed with fairy dust.

At the very least, comet residue.

I’d foolishly believed it for eighteen years, until the moment of my death.

Which was now.

Boom! Another explosion rocked the plane and metal ripped away as a section of the aircraft to my right vanished. Luggage flew through the air. People disappeared. The mom with the baby who’d sat in the aisle across from us—gone. The redheaded flight attendant who’d been collecting trash—gone. Disembodied screams echoed from the surrounding passengers as my own scream took up most of the space in my head. Air sucked at us viciously from the outside as a tornado of people banged around the space and one by one got pulled out into the swirling abyss.

I watched, helplessly transfixed, as I sat between my parents, gripping each of their hands as the plane we’d boarded six hours earlier for Dublin spiraled toward the Atlantic Ocean. I was going to die. My mother was already dead, a twisted piece of shrapnel sticking grotesquely from her chest as her head lolled around her neck. Blood had already soaked her shirt, yet I refused to let go of her hand. She’d be okay. We were always okay. We were the St. Lyons family of Manhattan, an icon of old money wealth with deep political ties. Page six of the New York Times featured pictures of us on a monthly basis. We couldn’t die on a plane.

Reality dawned as we plummeted. The yellow breathing apparatus dropped and dangled in my face, taunting me with its pointlessness. Fire and black smoke boiled in front of us where the cockpit had been, and my mind recognized that the pilots had to be dead. Just a few minutes ago, they’d come over the intercom and announced that the plane was making its descent into Dublin Airport exactly on schedule.

Then the first explosion had gone off.

Bits of debris flew around, narrowly missing me. My elderly father grabbed my hand and squeezed, his face drawn back in a horrible grimace. Fear and then horror flickered across his face as he saw Mother, but there was no time to comfort him.

Paralyzed in my seat, we spun like a drunken top, and a part of my brain noticed the sun was rising, its pink tinge lending a soft glow, catching the reflection of clouds and making them silver-lined. The rocky coast of Ireland glittered in the distance. Mocking me. We’d been headed there to celebrate my eighteenth birthday.

Just then my violin case flew past my head from the overhead compartment and crashed against the wall of the plane. Shards flew. I shuddered and wanted to vomit. God, help us. We were here because of me. Our deaths were my fault. I spared a glance at the diamond promise ring Geoff had given me before we’d left. Would the Mayor of New York’s son go on without me?

The air was turbulent yet thin, and my chest tightened as dizziness pulled at me. I resisted. Had to stay awake. Had to be with my dad. I was younger, stronger, faster. My eyes went to the gaping hole in the plane. Had to think ahead. Plan. Water would fill up the plane on impact, ensuring we’d sink rapidly.

My fear escalated as the ocean rushed at us, its surface choppy and ominous. I took in a giant breath and braced myself. We hit at an angle, the plane a torpedo as it sliced into the sea. Daddy disappeared, ejected by the impact, and I yanked on my seat belt, unclicking it to go after him. Heart thundering, I sent a final look at my mother. I wanted to take her with me, but she was gone.

Water everywhere, bubbling and gurgling as it filled up the plane. Salt water stung my eyes. People floated by, some alive as they floundered for the opening. I kept my gaze off the dead ones. Focus. Get out. Only seconds left.

I swam from my seat and fought my way out of the large hole in the plane, lungs exploding. Burning. I’d been under too long.

Daddy! I caught a glimpse of his red shirt above me and kicked harder.

Up, up, up. Must get up. My arms moved. My legs kicked. Excruciating pain. Ignore it. Almost there. So close that I could see the daylight breaking through the water.

The hottest fire I’ve ever known lit in my chest. Scorching.

Air. Just want to breathe. Just get to the top. Please.

My body rebelled and I inhaled and swallowed water, the burn racing down my throat making it spasm as I tried to cough it out. I struggled but took in more and more, the cold liquid filling my lungs.

Dark spots filled my eyes. This was drowning.

Exhausted.

Done.

My body twitched. I grew disoriented.

I let go of the fight. My hands floated in front of me.

Oblivion.

Darkness.

No bright lights, no tunnel.

No heaven, no mother, no father.

No comets.

No fairy dust.

Chapter 1

Sebastian

Two years later

“She was music with skin.” —Sebastian Tate

I tapped my foot.

What was taking her so long?

From my backyard patio in the Hollywood Hills, I watched the odd girl next door with a pair of high-powered binoculars. She flicked on her porch lights, and a low whistle came out of me at the sexy red-as-sin robe she wore, its silky material flashing around her long legs as she moved around her patio. Her hair was down, too.

This was new. Where were the usual yoga pants? The ponytail?

She looked like she knew someone watched, but that was impossible since our outside lights were off. Even the light from the moon hit our house at such an angle that she shouldn’t be able to see us just by glancing over. She’d need a high-powered lens to know I was here.

Usually she played facing her rose garden, but this time she walked to the right side of her patio, which faced us. Weird. But she didn’t play. She just stood there without moving. Staring toward our house. Uneasiness went over me.

What was she doing?

Could she see me?

As if it were a fragile bird, she positioned the violin under her chin and began playing, arms bent and wrist poised, making the most exquisite sounds. And I don’t mean classical like Beethoven or Mozart; I mean body-thrashing, blood-thumping, hard-as-hell music that had me rooted to the ground, like she’d slapped iron chains on me.

Dark and seductive notes rose up in the air, and I got jacked up, recognizing a Led Zeppelin song, only she’d ripped its guts out and twisted it into something electric. She pushed the bow hard, upping the tempo abruptly, her movements controlled yet wild. My pulse kicked up and my eyes lingered, taking in the slightly parted toned legs and the way her breasts bounced as she jerked her arms to manipulate the strings.

Her body arched forward in a curve, seeming as if she might break into a million pieces before she finished the piece or climaxed first. Then, her robe slipped off her right shoulder, exposing part of her breast. Creamy and full, it quivered, vibrating as she moved her arms. Her rosy nipple teased me, slipping in and out of the folds of the material, erect from the cool mountain air and deliciously bitable. I pictured my mouth there, sucking, my fingers plucking, strumming her like my guitar until she begged me to—

Stop, I told myself just as an appreciative groan came out. Whoever Violin Girl was, she didn’t deserve me lusting after her while she was pouring her heart out with music.

I zoomed in as far as the binoculars would go, watching her surrender to the music as she bent and swayed from side to side with her eyes closed, black lashes like fans on her cheeks. Every molecule in my body focused on her, hanging on to each note she pulled from her instrument.

She finished and kept her head bowed for the longest time, perhaps letting the emotion wash over her like it had me. Then, she bowed to the banana trees and gnomes in her garden, waving her hands in a flourish as she rose.

The entire event was surreal, yet poignant as fucking poetry.

I let out a deep breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding.

Who the hell plays Stairway to Heaven with a violin? She did.

Bam! She snapped her head up, her eyes lasering in on mine, making every hair on my body stand at attention.

And then …

Standing there in the moonlight, she untied her robe and spread apart the sides ever so slightly, her movements seeming almost hesitant, as if she’d had to work herself up. Unfamiliar jealousy hit me and I panned out and checked the rest of the patio, expecting to see a lover. Whoever it was, I wanted to rip him apart piece by piece.

And didn’t that thought surprise me.

My gaze searched her patio, the backyard, her upstairs balcony. Nothing. No one.

She flicked her dark hair back and stroked the lapels of the robe, her fingers lingering over the lacy material. Suddenly the evening smacked of something more than just music. Her arms moved back and forth across the front, opening the robe halfway and then closing it as if she couldn’t make up her mind.

My eyes went up, trying to read her face. Still as a statue, the only movement was her mouth as it trembled, her full upper lip resting against the pouty lower one. Tears ran down her face, but they seemed more of a defiant act, her jaw tightly set, her shoulders hunched inward as if she’d held it in too long and was giving in, but not without a fight.

Violin Girl was trapped in a cage of darkness.

It still didn’t stop me from holding my breath, silently begging her to bare herself to me. She’d already laid bare her music. Part of me needed the rest of her.

She jerked the robe closed, making me groan in disappointment.

And then she did something completely crazy.

The lonely girl next door flipped me the bird.

© Ilsa Madden-Mills 2015 Very Twisted Things

Mills1

Author Bio

New York Times and USA Today best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She spends her days with two small kids, one neurotic cat, and one husband. She collects magnets and rarely cooks except to bake her own pretzels.

When she’s not crafting a story, you can find her drinking too much Diet Coke, jamming out to Pink, or checking on her carefully maintained chocolate stash.

She loves to hear from readers and fellow authors.

Buy Her Books:

Ilsa Madden-Mills – Amazon

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Very Twisted Things

VERY TWISTED THINGS

Series: Briarcrest Academy #3 (all novels are standalones)

Author: Ilsa Madden-Mills

Release Date: February 2015

Cover Model: Drew Leighty

Genre: Hot New Adult for 18+

 

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A sassy violinist who lives next door. An obsessed rock star who watches her through binoculars. And one night when she bares it all. Life will never be the same in Tinseltown.

 

Description:

Vital Rejects front guy Sebastian Tate never imagined his YouTube music video would go viral, sky-rocketing him to acting success in Hollywood. Okay, maybe he did. After all, he’s a cocky dude who knows he’s hot-as-hell, and it was only a matter of time before his stars aligned.

But life in Tinseltown is never what it seems.

After being cheated on, his only rule to falling in love is simple: Keep Calm and Don’t Do It. Spying on his mysterious new neighbor with binoculars seems innocent enough, but quickly escalates into an erotic game between two very unlikely people.

Twenty-year-old Violet St. Lyons is a world-renowned violinist who’s lost her mojo on stage. She hides away in a Hollywood mansion, trying to find her way through her twisted past in order to make her future.

He’s the life of the party with girls chasing him down for his autograph. She’s the introvert with a potty mouth who doesn’t even know who he is.

When they meet, stars collide, sparks fly, and clothes come off. Yet, giving his heart to a girl isn’t Sebastian’s plan; falling for a guy who craves attention isn’t Violet’s.

Welcome to Briarcrest Academy—Hollywood style—where sometimes the best things in life are VERY TWISTED THINGS.

 

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Prologue:

 

Then he came along, and like a twisted piece of metal that’s burned beyond recognition, I emerged from the fire. Different. Changed.” –from the journal of Violet St. Lyons

 

This wasn’t happening.

Clad in a pair of red lacy bikini underwear—his favorite—I sipped on tequila—not my favorite—and glared at Sebastian Tate, sexy rock star and billboard model. Wearing low-slung jeans and nothing else, he paced around my chair in tight circles, his tall frame blocking most of my vision, the lion tattoo on his back heaving as he took deep breaths. Blonde and sporting faint stubble on his chiseled jawline, he looked like the heartbreaker the tabloids said he was.

Bad, bad boy.

But, oh, so good.

He sent me a hard look. Pissed.

From my living room in the Hollywood Hills, I gazed out the window at the Santa Monica Mountains, my eyes everywhere except on the glossy nude photos he clutched in his hand.

Of me. Of him.

Of us.

He swiveled his ice-blue eyes at me. Earlier today they’d burned with another kind of fire, but things change fast in Tinseltown. “These will be in the papers. Get ready,” he said, tossing down the pictures on the table, making me cringe.

I gazed down at them, my eyes lingering over one of us on my patio, him on his knees with his mouth between my legs as my body arched in ecstasy. My skin burned at the memory, echoes of the passion we’d shared—and now everyone in the world would see. My family. The society people in New York. The board of directors for the orphanage. My stomach heaved at the thought, bile threatening to rise up.

Another caught my eye, this one a full color close-up of me crying black mascara tears as I played my violin. Nude. It looked depressing as hell although in truth it had been love that made me emotional.

“Remind me to pass on the make-up next time. And to not have sex outdoors. Obviously,” I said, forcing my shoulders to move in a nonchalant shrug like I didn’t care, but he knew the truth. I was devastated by these.

And so was he.

Because we weren’t supposed to be together.

He said my name in that husky voice of his, the one that made me crazy, the one that made me want to rip his clothes off. “Violet—”

“Stop,” I said, clenching my fists. Because whatever he had to say didn’t matter. These pictures ruined us, ensuring that he’d leave me for her, the beautiful Bubble named Blair. Bubble, bubble, bubble. I wanted to pop her.

Why did I always come last with him?

I stood and faced him, tossing back the last of my shot. “First off, I wish we’d never met.” I held my hand up. “No. Wait. I don’t wish that because then I wouldn’t know Spider or Mila. I—I wish I’d never fallen in love with you. Loving means losing. Always. And I was stupid to forget it. I may have to sell this house and move to another freaking country to get away from you, but I’ll do it. I’ve done it before.” I sucked in a breath. “I’ll be fine without you.”

Lie. I would likely end up drunk on Mexican tequila, nursing what was left of my heart.

He closed his eyes, a dazed expression on his face as if my words crushed him.

“We were doomed from the very start,” I reminded him. “You want to be a star, and all I want is you.”

He stopped his pacing, a muscle jerking in his cheek as he leaned down until his nose was level with mine. “Then this is goodbye, Violet? You’re giving up on us already?”

Did I hear a break in his voice? Impossible.

“If I don’t say goodbye first, then someone else will.” Truth.

He’d never be mine, simply because he didn’t belong with me. I was a washed-up freak who had nothing but a mansion and a Maserati; he belonged on the silver screen with a pretty starlet on his arm.

We were over. Kaput.

I smiled, a bitter thing, and sashayed past him, enjoying the hiss of breath when I let my hand drift over his crotch. “This moment is begging for a soundtrack, don’t you think?” I said, coming to stop by the stereo system and cranking up Kurt Kobain’s Smells Like Teen Spirit. Holding my hands up in the horns rocking out signal, I bobbed my head to the beat while he watched, anger flickering across his face. I danced and twirled around, closing my eyes, the music vibrating through my body, my fingers itching for my violin.

Bam!

My eyes flew open. He’d strode over to me and clicked the stereo off, chest still heaving.

He shoved his hands in my hair and dragged my face to his, and I groaned at the fire that blazed in my body. I felt the warm heat of his skin and pressed closer and inhaled. He smelled like bourbon and sex—a rock star’s diet—and I panted, cursing myself at the same time.

How would I ever get over him?

He pressed his thumbs across my mouth. Gentle. But his voice was cold. “You can’t wait to high-tail it back to Manhattan to your lawyer boyfriend, can you?”

“I plead the fifth,” I said, staring at his full lips. I licked my own. “But you can kiss me goodbye if you want. I don’t mind.”

We stared at each other until he exhaled heavily and put his back to me, his muscles as taut as the guitar strings he played. He verged on breaking.

Yeah, well, welcome to my world.

Yet at the same time, I reached my hand out to him. Stupid hand.

But of course, he didn’t see it.

“So long, V,” he said soft as a whisper, staring at the ground as if I was breaking his heart, when all along it was the other way around. He took a step from me, then another, then another, until finally, he was nothing but a speck.

I clutched my chest and wanted to fall to the ground and rail on it. Alone. Again.

But tough girls like me didn’t cry over black-hearted boys.

Although in his defense, I owed him a thank you for saving me.

To show you, I’d have to start at the beginning, the day I lost everything.

 

© Ilsa Madden-Mills, NYT and USA Today bestselling author

–Unedited and may change before publication

 

Available Now on Amazon

Very Bad Things

Very Wicked Beginnings

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Author Bio

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

 

She spends her days with two small kids, one neurotic cat, and one husband. She collects magnets and rarely cooks except to bake her own pretzels.

 

When she’s not crafting a story, you can find her drinking too much Diet Coke, jamming out to Pink, or checking on her carefully maintained chocolate stash.

 

She loves to hear from readers and fellow authors.

 

★ Sign up for her newsletter★

 

Receive a FREE Briarcrest Academy novella ($2.99 value) plus get insider info and exclusive giveaways!

 

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Intense 2 Anthology

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Book details:

Title: Intense 2 ( A Collection of books from some of today’s bestselling authors)
Release Date: December 1st
**On sale for a limited time only & at a special low price**
Format: Ebook Only and Exclusively at Amazon
Genre: New Adult Romance
For a complete list of titles in this anthology please see book blurb*

Synopsis:

One book from one bestselling author is exciting, but when you put ten all together what you get is something more.

Something Intense.

Intense 2 is a collection of ten unique stories from eight authors who bring their A game every time they sit down with a blank page. Combined together you get a limited edition read jam-packed with passionate encounters, powerful alphas, and romance that will keep you warm at night.

This is a must read for any romance reading, page turning book addict. Download it now before it’s gone!

This collection includes:

Cambria Hebert – Text (novel)

Julie Richman – Bad Son Rising (novel)

Tijan – Brady Remington Landed Me In Jail (novel)

Ilsa Madden-Mills – Very Wicked Things (novel)

S. E. Lund – Drake Restrained 1 (novella) / Drake Restrained 2 (novella)

Liv Morris – Love Handles Club (novella)

J.l. Mac – Reach Me (novella)

Author Kailin Gow – The Blue Room (novella) / Heat (novella)

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23593205-intense-2

 

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TEASERS

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Brady Remington Landed Me In Jail By Tijan

EXCERPT

He was different when he was with me. If we’d been at the party, he would’ve had the hard edgy look to him. He liked his tattoos to be seen, but I saw that he had pulled a blanket to cover the tribal tattoo on his stomach. The one on his shoulder was hiding in the shadows.
“It’s not that I don’t like her. It’s just that…she’s one of them.”
“One of what?”
“You know. Your girlfriends.”
“My what?”
“Your girlfriends.” I didn’t think that I needed to spell it out. “She’s…I don’t know. She’s cool and confident and…she’s not the type of person that I’m friends with.”
“You’re friends with me.” His voice was quiet.
The air shifted again. Here we were…I knew that I needed to tread lightly, very lightly. I met his gaze, swallowed over a knot in my throat, and felt that we were talking about something different.
“You’re different. I mean…we’re not normal, Brady.”
A scowl formed at his mouth. “What are you talking about? We’re not normal?”
“You know—you’re…one of them and I’m…not.”
“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” He threw himself off the bed and stalked towards me. “You are just like me. You are no different than me. You are no different from Clarissa.”
“Yeah, but…” I was pressed against the door frame as Brady towered over me. “I’m not one of your girlfriends.”
His chest was in front of mine. Another step, just an inch, and we’d be pressed against each other. His gaze was glued to my lips. I kept looking from his eyes to his lips, but then I felt something strange wash over me when he murmured, throatily, “You’re more than that.”
I sucked in a large breath, I couldn’t let it out. I stood there, frozen in place. He skimmed the side of my face with his hand, then tucked my hair back and cupped my cheek. He moved close and slowly, so slowly, rested his forehead against mine. His breath tickled my lips. “You’re my best friend, Ray.”
My hands had lifted to his arms. I felt his muscles shift underneath my fingers and I clasped harder. I couldn’t fall.
“What are you doing?” The words wrangled out of my throat.
Brady didn’t answer. He closed his eyes and nuzzled his mouth against my temple. My hands slid from his arms to his shoulders and then behind his neck. One of his hands cupped the back of my neck where he applied pressure and arched my head back. The other hand skimmed the side of my robe. When his fingers spread out, the top of his thumb brushed underneath my breast.
“Brady, I don’t…” I couldn’t talk anymore, but I knew there was something that I needed to say. I knew it, but…
“Shhh.” His lips touched mine. They rested there, but there was no pressure, no demand from him.
Then his lips opened over mine. A surge of need rushed through me and I clasped him tight. Brady pushed me against the door frame and he urged my leg to wrap around his waist. I couldn’t get enough of him. It was like before, but this time it was different. I knew what would happen.
I never thought I’d do this or be like this, but it was Brady.

Julie RichmanTeaserfor Intense2

Teaser Drake 1 restrained- Intense2

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Intense 2 Anthology

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BOOK & AUTHOR INFO:

Title: Intense 2 ( A Collection of books from some of today’s bestselling authors)
Release Date: December 1st
**On sale for a limited time only & at a special low price**
Format: Ebook Only and Exclusively at Amazon
Genre: New Adult Romance
For a complete list of titles in this anthology please see book blurb*

Intense2FinalCover

Synopsis

One book from one bestselling author is exciting, but when you put ten all together what you get is something more.

Something Intense.

Intense 2 is a collection of stories from ten authors who bring their A game every time they sit down with a blank page. Combined together you get a limited edition read jam-packed with passionate encounters, powerful alphas, and romance that will keep you warm at night.

This is a must read for any romance reading, page turning book addict. Download it now before it’s gone!

This collection includes:

Cambria Hebert – Text (novel)

Julie Richman – Bad Son Rising (novel)

Tijan Meyer – Brady Remington Landed Me In Jail (novel)

Ilsa Madden-Mills – Very Wicked Things (novel)

Eliza Lund – The Agreement (novel) / Drake Restrained (novella)

Liv Morris – Love Handles Club (novella)

J.l. Mac – Reach Me (novella)

Author Kailin Gow – The Blue Room (novella) / Heat (novella)

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23593205-intense-2