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About Lynda Chance
Lynda Chance is the author of the New York Times bestseller, 'The Mistress Mistake'. Her other works include the USA Today bestselling 'Sarah's Surrender', and 'The House of Rule' series. Lynda began writing when she couldn't find an alpha-male hero who was alpha enough to suit her and decided to write one for herself. She began with 'Seduced by the American Millionaire' and hasn't looked back since. Over time, her writing has grown and evolved both from practice and from listening to her reader's requests. Lynda writes contemporaries, historicals, Adult and New Adult novels, novellas and short-stories all with a common theme: Each has an alpha-male hero who crashes to his knees in lust and love when he finally meets his heroine. You can be sure in a Lynda Chance story, the hero will never cheat.
Lynda lives in Galveston County, Texas with her husband of a whole bunch of years in a tiny bay cottage with sketchy plumbing and beautiful views. They have two grown children who live in the Dallas area. Happily content in her home state of Texas, Lynda can usually be found with her e-reader or laptop computer.
Lynda loves hearing from readers and answering questions about her characters. She can be reached right here on her Amazon Forum pages, on Facebook or at:
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Lauren Jacob's life is perfectly predictable until she meets Logan Crenshaw, a man who won't take 'no' for an answer. Logan is more rampaging beast than normal man and Lauren finds herself the prey he wants to plunder. Being the target of his sexual quest is more than exciting, but when it's over, will she be safe in his care or just the prize after his merciless pursuit?
Can love come from a sinful beginning?
Jessica Conway is at the end of her rope. She desperately needs a few things that her moral values can't buy: food, shelter, a chance for a better life.
Connor Montgomery is tortured with guilt from the past and wants only one thing from Jessica, something he's very willing to pay her for. Setting her up as his mistress seems like the perfect idea. But how long can a situation continue that was a mistake from the very beginning?
Connor flipped her to her back on the middle of the bed, where Jessica promptly scrambled to a sitting position. His gaze locked on hers where she sat, and as he continued to stare into her eyes, he began stripping. He made quick work of it, and came to stand at the foot of the bed. "Clothes . . . off."
A sharp spiral of heat rushed through Jessica at the brusque command so like the ones he'd given her a month ago. But unlike the dread and trepidation she'd felt then, now arousal and anticipation coiled in her stomach. Containing a tremble of need, she slipped her shorts and panties down her legs and let them fall to the floor. Still unsure about displaying her body so boldly, she grabbed a pillow and pulled it around to hug in front of herself, hiding herself from him.
He growled a low warning in his throat, and the heat she felt slid down her spine and coalesced into a knot of arousal that landed in licks of fire between her thighs.
As he looked down at her, he adjusted his stance and his pectoral muscles came into bold prominence as his eyes narrowed and his gaze became more pointed. "I want the shirt off, Jessica."
Her heart began pounding in her chest, arousal humming below the surface, trying to break free. She wanted to give him what he wanted, but there was still too much between them. "What about what I want?"
His eyes became hooded, his body held in inflexible bands of steel. "What do you want?"
What she wanted above all else was to know him, to get close to him, but he always kept that invisible line between them. "If I have to be naked, then you--you need to start moving in that direction to."
His brows pulled down in a frown, and he motioned to himself with one hand, sharply and impatiently, indicating his nude body.
She shook her head. "That's not what I mean."
"What then?" he asked, edginess rumbling from his voice as his shaft jerked and throbbed.
She inhaled deeply. "I'll take my shirt off, if you answer a question for me," she negotiated softly.
His eyes dropped to the pillow that hid her lower torso from him, and then slid up to her breasts hidden beneath her t-shirt. His nostrils flared and he hissed out through gritted teeth, "What question?"
Jessica steeled her nerves and asked, "You know what forced me into our relationship, so I'd like to know why you wanted it, as well."
For a moment, she thought he would answer her. He inhaled sharply and his eyes left hers to settle somewhere to the left of her.
As the moment wore on and it became apparent he wasn't going to say anything, heartache joined the arousal bleeding through her veins, and she wanted more than anything to soothe away the tormented look in his eyes. As he stood in silence, she almost gave in to him; she knew she was only seconds away from coming to her knees and lifting her shirt over her head. She wanted to say, 'never mind', and take away the condition she'd put on the gift of her body.
Nick Rule knows what he wants.
When Courtney Powell is orphaned at seventeen, she loses everything and goes to live with her widowed godmother. From the beginning, the woman's grown children accept her into their family . . . but there's something about the middle brother that causes an inexplicable wariness within her. When she finally emerges from her grief several years later, it becomes apparent that somewhere along the way, without her input and much to her anxiety, she's become Nick Rule's exclusive property.
Nick crossed his arms over his chest as he stared down at her. "What are your plans? You're coming home, right?"
"Yeah, probably," she answered, uncertain.
"Probably? What does that mean?"
"I need to find a job. If possible, I want to be in a place that's familiar to me. That's either Florida or Missouri."
"St. Louis," he narrowed it down emphatically.
She nodded her head, but negated that with, "Maybe."
With her answer, he pushed off the wall and began to prowl toward her. Her stomach clenched with hot anticipation. "You promised me you'd come back to St. Louis."
"You need to make good on that. Your promise was the only reason I let you leave in the first place."
At the look in his eyes, she felt like she had to settle something with him. "Nick," she began slowly, "You didn't let me leave. I wasn't yours to control." She studied him, noting the anger that slowly spread across his face at her words. She continued, "I want to go back to St. Louis. If I don't get a job here, then after graduation, I'll--"
He cut her off when he stepped closer with a glare. "Not mine?" She backed up a step and he followed her until she bumped into the back of the sofa. When she came to a halt, he repeated incredulously, "Not mine?" and reached down and fingered the necklace that she wore. Her heart beat loudly in her ears as he gripped the charm that dangled from it. His eyes narrowed and he asked for the third time with a ferocity that couldn't be ignored, "Not mine?"
The oxygen stuck in her throat and she shook her head, as she remained trapped by his gaze.
He tilted his head as if in sarcastic thought. "If you don't belong to me, who the hell do you think you belong to?" he asked in a far-too soft voice that didn't reflect any gentleness at all.
When she remained mute, he continued, "I don't see anybody else taking care of you. I don't see anybody else flying halfway across the country to make sure you're all right and that there's nobody trying to take advantage of you." He sucked in oxygen and continued, "And who, exactly, do you think pays your bills?"
She swallowed and leaned away from him, feeling the pull from the chain around her throat. She glanced down at the tendons corded in his neck and then back up to the fire in his eyes as he continued, "Who do you think paid for these useless little pajamas you're wearing? Who do you think pays for all your clothes, the food you eat, the allowance you get?" His eyes held hers with ruthless intent. "Who do you think paid for that pretty little car you drive?"
Guilt running through her from all the things his family had supplied over the years, she licked her lips and whispered, "The corporation."
He began shaking his head as if she had it all wrong and a new agitation took hold of her senses.
Ethan Jackson has had a thing for Ava Anderson longer than he cares to remember. But her brother is one of his best friends and there are rules and crap about stuff like that. But she's always there, right in front of his eyes and the wanting is only getting worse as the days go by. What, exactly, is a guy supposed to do?
Ava quickly walked through the house and barricaded herself in the bathroom. Hearing the door slam shut, Ethan felt his temper rise as he followed her into the hallway and leaned against the wall, waiting for her to come out. The longer she ignored him, the more his fury grew.
She finally came out of the bathroom, still ignoring him completely. He was hot on her heels as she went inside her bedroom. He gave her no choice, he followed her inside and shut the door, leaning against it with his arms crossed.
She watched him with both anger and what looked like a tiny hint of trepidation. Shit if that didn't soothe him somewhat. But then she opened her mouth and his ire came roaring back to life. "Get out," she ordered flatly.
He shook his head, it was all he could manage without snapping at her.
Her shoulders stiffened. "Ethan. Get the hell out of my room."
Other than fisting his hands, he remained perfectly still. He felt a burning itch to move across the room to impose on her personal space, but he knew that idea would be utter insanity. He soothed himself with a biting question. "What the hell was in your head when you decided to go there tonight?"
Her eyes sharpened as her mouth flattened into a grim line. "Nothing. None of your business. Get out."
He sucked in oxygen through his teeth as he tried to calm down. "Ava. Listen to me. Ty was past irresponsible when he took y'all there—“
She cut him off with unbridled anger. "Bullshit. It was only a party."
Well hell, she wanted to cuss at him? "Bullshit? Bullshit?" he bit out. She glared at him from across the room and he felt his temperature kick up another notch as he slammed her with his opinion. "You didn't need to be there tonight. You took advantage of the fact that your parents are out of town—“
She interrupted him, the pretty lines of her face drawn into a scowl. "This doesn't concern you at all. Who the hell do you think you are to lecture me?"
Her anger only pissed him off further. "Ava—" he growled.
"You're nobody, that's who you are. Nobody who will ever have any say-so over me."
She stared at him in belligerent silence, her nostrils flaring.
He pushed off the door with a booted foot and took a single step forward, mounting rage mixing with never ending hunger making a volatile shitstorm of emotion damn near overflow. He contained it to one cutting comment. "Your brother is worthless when it comes to protecting you--"
She cut him off. "I don't need his stupid protection and I damn sure don’t need your protection and I repeat—it’s not your business." Although her anger was palpable, Ethan's gaze was drawn to her chest, which was rising and falling in agitation.
Forcing himself to get a grip, he looked into eyes that were shooting daggers at him. "I've known you since you were a little kid and if Ty won't take care of this bullshit, then you can bet your ass I will."
She clenched her teeth, looking as if she wanted to punch him. "I don't need another brother. You're not my damn brother, Ethan."
He tried to rein it in but her answer set him off. He felt a jolt of adrenaline and lowered his tone to a firmly modulated threat. "Oh, you got that goddamn straight. I'm not your brother.
When Max Villarreal finds out about the existence of Erin Rule, he realizes she could be the means for the perfect retaliation against the Rule Corporation. When he meets her for the first time, he immediately wants her for himself. Revenge and relief. Who knew it would be as easy as taking candy from a baby?
Excerpt: Preparing to fix what she’d screwed up, Erin opened the bathroom door of the private jet and took a few steps forward with the sheet still wrapped around her like a sarong. She gasped and stopped in her tracks when she came face to face with . . . her husband?
She sucked in a breath as her feet came to a stumbling halt. As she felt color flush her cheeks, she noticed that he didn’t smile but only raised a single, mocking eyebrow. His gaze pierced hers, sending her stomach to her feet in a mess of stupid feminine weakness. Then his eyes trailed down her body, stopping at her breasts and thighs, before sweeping down to her bare ankles and feet before slowly moving back up again.
Erin’s heart rate kicked up to a vicious degree, and as Max took one step forward, for the life of her she couldn’t stop herself from taking one step back.
He obviously noticed and thankfully, he immediately stopped. His lips twisted diabolically as he drawled slowly, “You look beautiful, sweetness.”
Her pulse accelerated alarmingly with both the compliment and the endearment. Oh, yeah. It was damn well obvious why she’d waltzed into that freaking wedding chapel with him. Even now, with her composure under attack, hating herself for what she’d done the night before, he still made her knees weak. Could her emotions be any more screwed-up? She wanted to scream at him; she wanted to throw herself in his arms and hope he kissed her senseless once again. But she did neither of those things—she was too confused to do anything but stand on her own two feet while she kept her mouth clamped tightly closed.
He prowled another step closer and then another, and with each step he took she scooted backwards until her spine was flush against the built-in bureau. The magic of his touch was blaring in her memory—it wouldn’t help her case in the slightest if she were to feel it now, when she desperately needed to retain what little brainpower she had left.
He was dressed for the new day in a crisp suit that screamed Savile Row, and he came so close that she was forced to lift her face to maintain eye contact. When she did, he put a single finger under her chin and lifted it further, jarring her nerves alarmingly. “You are fucking gorgeous—and undoubtedly the best coup I’ve pulled off in my lifetime.”
Three Brothers. . . One Empire. . . The House of Rule
Garrett Rule won't take 'no' for an answer
Maria Alvarez is her own woman and always has been, so when Garrett Rule storms into her life with inflexible demands and an agenda of his own, she has no choice but to fight back. When Garrett Rule finds himself inconveniently obsessed with Maria Alvarez, the most conspiring woman of them all, he doesn't know which is stronger, his need to punish her or the need to have her under his complete sexual control. Luckily for him, he doesn't plan on choosing; he'll take both.
Maria's nerves jolted at the sound of the door above her opening and closing with the loud, echoing slam of steel against steel. She came to an abrupt halt, knowing someone was in the stairwell above her, just out of her sight.
All she could hear was her heart beating, but she knew she wasn't alone. Knowing that Garrett had found her, she took two steps toward the wall, preparing to turn and run down, her stiletto heels clicking loudly against the bare concrete.
She never stood a chance.
He sprinted down the half flight of stairs before she could even grab the railing that would balance her on the way down.
Damn stilettos. Damn her vanity for wearing them.
He reached out and caught her, dragging her backwards, and she found her back against the wall before she could even blink. Breathing unsteadily, she looked up into the eyes of a madman.
"What do you think you're doing?" he raged, indomitable fury in every line of his body.
Breathe, Maria. "Avoiding you."
His fingers bit into her upper arms, and his brows came down in a scowl of rage that was not scaring her. If she could just remember to breathe, then maybe she could convince herself of that truth.
He looked down at her, his height and breadth dominating her where she stood, the pissed-off river of testosterone that seemed to be flowing through his bloodstream holding her in silence.
Her eyes stayed glued to his, and as he moved several inches closer, her chin lifted and her neck arched at an uncomfortable angle to keep him in her sights as he loomed closer. All the while her heart was beating so rapidly that her head was spinning, and she was sucking in oxygen so quickly that she was beginning to hyperventilate.
"The stairwell, Maria?" he questioned, biting the words out.
"What . . . what?" she asked, confusion setting in.
Lines of ice-cold fury bracketed his mouth. "Do you not have a clue? Do you not have a single working brain cell in that head of yours?"
She jerked her head back, not caring for that question one freaking bit. She felt her blood pressure rise as her eyes narrowed, a returning anger filling her bloodstream. "Watch it, Mr. Rule. You're beginning to piss me off."
He leaned into her another intimidating inch. "Piss. You. Off?"
"I promise, you don't want to piss me off," she challenged, ignoring the warning bells in her head.
"Yeah? We'll get back to that in a minute," he stated. "Why would you take the stairway?"
"Why . . . why shouldn't I?"
He rolled his eyes heavenward and then looked back down. "Do you not give a crap about your own safety?"
"You think I'm going to trip and fall?" she asked sarcastically, beginning to get a glimmer as to where he was really going with this.
"Smart-ass," he hissed through gritted teeth.
John Garrett is a cynical multi-millionaire who is rarely denied anything he wants, until the day he meets Sarah McAlister. Sarah's been hurt in the past and everything about the brooding rancher sends her defenses on high alert. She tries her best to stay out of his path, but his relentless pursuit makes him all but impossible to resist.
John knew his voice was rough, and the hesitation he could see in her only confirmed it. She paused in the act of climbing up. Her foot on the running board was as far as she got before her eyes lifted to his with a look of extreme caution.
He tried to control his voice, but he knew it was a futile attempt. "Get in the damn car, Sarah."
He watched as she licked her lips and took a deep breath. Then she lifted herself onto the plush leather seat and pulled the door closed.
He activated the locks immediately.
Her eyes flew to his and he leaned over and pulled the seat belt strap over her shoulder. He could feel the subtle trembling of her body and knew she was out of her element and probably even scared. He couldn't find it within himself to care; she had him on a knife-edge and had since the first day he'd seen her. He was purely pissed off by the ring on her finger and felt the need to punish her for it. He snapped the seatbelt in place with a discernable click and then lifted her chin and gripped it between his fingers. "You don't think I intend to let you go now, do you?"
Virtually penniless and enticingly innocent, she soon finds herself at the mercy of Travis Blake. Travis is a hard-working, self-made rancher that has never known love or softness of any kind. His only use for women is sexual, and Selena is caught on his ranch with no way out.
While Selena plots her escape from his control, Travis ruthlessly and methodically tightens his possession and makes it impossible for her to leave.
The struggle that follows is a clash of wills that pits purity against passion, virtue against vice and love against lust.
“I specifically told you to stay away from the men and stay at the house. In fact, I’ve told you more than once.” He ate, standing up, and scrunched up the bag when he was finished. “You got anything to say to me? Anything in your defense?”
“Am I on tri—trial?”
“Yeah, you’re on trial. And I’m the only judge you’re going to get. No jury of your peers. Just me. My decision. Got that?” His voice rose.
Selena took a step back from him. “What’s wrong w-with you? How can you b-be so nice and then s-so mean?”
He stalked toward her. “Really?” He reached down and swiped her wrist and held it tightly in his grip. “Really? You don’t get it yet? You haven’t quite figured it out? I told you what happens when a man wants something he can’t have. Have you forgotten so soon? Are you saying I can have it? Are you? I tell you what, Angel, you let me take you back to the house, strip you naked every night. You sleep in my bed, and we’ll see just how nice I can be.” He slammed his mouth down on hers. His tongue went deep, tasting her sweetness. He pulled her into his body, his erection straining against her. He lifted his mouth from hers. His hand went to the back of her head and grabbed hold of her hair and pulled until her eyes were on his.
His face was menacing, his hold on her uncompromising. He fisted his hand in her hair until she was completely captive. His other hand went to her neck and felt her racing heartbeat. His hand roamed down and settled on her breast. Her flesh swelled against his palm, her nipple hardening. His thumb moved back and forth across the tight little pebble.
They stood there, panting together. His touch gentled, and his words became beguiling. “Come on, Baby. You don’t want to be a virgin forever, do you?” His mouth lowered and he took a gentle kiss from her parted lips. “I can make it good for you. You don’t need to be scared. I won’t hurt you. It won’t hurt at all.”
She pulled away from him, accusation in her eyes.
He stood in front of her, blatant masculinity dripping from his pores. He had a dominant nature, and she felt its intensity now.
His eyes were riveted on her, his nostrils flaring. Goddammit! He had sworn to himself that he wasn’t going to try to seduce her, and then he had gone and done just that. “Shit.” He turned away and dug his cell phone from his pocket, flipped it open and pressed a button. He spoke into the phone. “Yeah, get back here and take her back to the house.”
He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. “I’m not going to apologize. You’re playing with fire and you know it. You better watch out, little girl, because you’re going to get burned. I want you to get back to that house and stay there. You can go to the barn and see those damn skunks, but that’s it. Nowhere else.
It takes Jeff McIntyre less than twenty-four hours to realize the housekeeper he’s hired has little to no domestic capabilities. But she does have something he wants, and it doesn’t have anything to do with hot meals or laundered clothing. Being exposed to her daily has him on a tight leash that’s fueling his resentment. There’s no question in his mind—he’s going to snap within days, if not hours.
Jeff studied the girl in front of him, realizing several things in that instant. Although she hadn’t technically lied to him about where she’d been, she certainly hadn’t been one hundred percent open either, and that made it little more than a lie in his book. And the fact that she was hiding something from him was fueling a surge of testosterone in his bloodstream that was manifesting itself in aggression—sexual aggression—he could feel it.
He was already fighting his arousal to such a degree that it astounded him. What was it about this little chick that made him want to invade her personal space, grab her around the waist and throw her over his shoulder before taking her to his room and locking her inside? Really, what the hell was it about her?
Whatever it was, his swollen and engorged hard-on was not going to control his actions. Yeah, he’d have her in bed soon, but for now, he wanted to know exactly where the hell she’d been that day.
Why he felt the need to know her exact whereabouts, he refused to analyze. He just wanted to know and by damned, she was going to tell him the complete truth this time.
Without wasting another second, he pushed off the door and took two steps toward her, intent on seeking answers. Her reaction to his sudden movement made his feet stall. It wasn’t the fact that her face blanched white; it wasn’t the fact that she took a single step backwards with obvious nerves that stopped him in his tracks.
It was the sound of the breath catching in her throat and then escalating into small, panting puffs of air that lifted her chest—and her breasts—up and down. It was the way her cheeks went from white to flushed pink; it was the way her lips parted as she held her breath for a moment before taking rapid inhalations again—and again, as if she couldn’t get enough air.
Well, holy hell. Any sanity where she was concerned was hijacked as he realized she was just as hot for him as he was for her. His motive, his intention to interrogate her dissolved in a split second as an all-encompassing need to lay his hands on her invaded his bloodstream. How the hell many days had he kept himself in check? Too many to count.
He was done being noble, he needed to taste her, now.
As if receiving permission from his brain, his body went into full throttle. Reaching out with one hand, he made a grab for her. She sucked in a breath as his fingers wrapped around the slender bones of her wrist. Unable to control his need, he jerked her toward him, her torso slamming against his, producing a pagan satisfaction deep in his core.
With her breasts pressed against him, he swung her around until her back was against the wall. He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her into him, not really caring that he was now supporting much of her weight as he pulled her to her tiptoes.
When Whitney Jennings dumps her loser, cheating boyfriend, all she can think of is immediate retribution. A one night stand seems like the perfect medicine for her pissed-off state of mind. But when she walks into the dance club, she instantaneously realizes she doesn't want just anybody--the perfect revenge means she should get her choice out of every single guy in the place. And wouldn't you just know it? Tyler Copeland, the hot, dark specter from her past, just happens to be there.
Tyler Copeland is bored with the world and every chick in it--until Whitney Jennings walks into his favorite bar and about blows him away. Yeah, he can tell she's pissed as shit and itching for some vengeance--the hostility seething from the curves of her body are telling him that much. And guess what? If she wants revenge so damn badly, he's for sure going to be the guy to help her out--he's wanted her for far too long to sit back and let some other dude take what should have been his from the very beginning.
And now, a bonus novella:
AN ALPHA-MALE IN THE MAKING
Josh Turner wants Hannah more than life itself. She's perfect and new . . . but she's a McIntyre. She's from the richest family in the county, and he's a Turner, from the wrong side of the proverbial tracks. And to make matters worse, there's no love lost between their families.
Hannah tried to stay away from the fence that separated the McIntyre and Turner lands. But every afternoon, she took the four-wheeler and drove the fence line. She did this for days and never saw anyone. And then on Friday, she hit pay dirt. Josh was working twenty feet over the fence line.
He glanced up and nerves tightened in her belly as he approached. He stood on the opposite side of the barbed wire, his eyes running over her. His words were short. “I’m thinking this can’t be a coincidence, princess.” She stayed silent too long as she tried to think of a response that wouldn’t completely humiliate her and he remonstrated, “I kind of had the idea I’d already made myself plain. Maybe you didn’t understand?” His words were low and she heard the controlled anger.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized.
Josh stared at her, and then in a rush of movement, his booted foot stepped on the second rung of barbed-wire and forced it down as he simultaneously pulled up the third rung, and that easily, in a move that ranchers had been using for decades, he bent down and slid unscathed through the treacherous wire.
He pulled his gloves off, cut the engine and stood over her. He was so close she could smell the delicious aroma from the sweat that drenched his shirt.
Her eyes started to slip closed in an agony of arousal. They flew open when his fingers landed on her chin. His nostrils flared.
“Hannah baby, we have to get this straight between us. Maybe I should have spelled it out better. I've told you about my father. He’s always drunk. He’s in and out of jail--all the time. The sheriff watches me like a hawk because he thinks I’m just like him.” He caressed her gently in direct contrast to the fierceness of his voice. “Now what do you think the sheriff would do if I suddenly took up with the fifteen-year-old town princess?” He gave her a moment to digest his words. “You need to stay away from me. Don’t make this harder on me than it already is. You don’t know what it’s doing to me--knowing I can have you, but I can’t.” His fingers became caressing. “You understand?” His eyes tangled with hers until an agonized look crossed his features and he bit out, “Repeat after me, princess. Josh wants me.”
Shock hit her system and she gasped. His fingers slipped into her hair. “I’m serious. Repeat it. Josh wants me.”
“Now!” he barked and she jumped.
“Josh w-wants me.”
“Josh wants me so bad his guts are tied in knots of constant pain,” he pounded the words.
His eyes seared into hers and she tried to answer. “Josh wants me s-so bad--" It was impossible and her words died.
His fingers twisted through her hair. He continued to punch out his words in third person. “He thinks about me constantly.” His gaze ran over her lips. “He lives from one hour to the next for the day he can sink into me.”
Hannah was lacerated by his words. At the same time, pleasure infiltrated her system. He was telling her the truth.
He continued in a biting tone, “But I don’t want Josh to go to prison.”
“Say it,” he bit out.
A single tear escaped.
An alpha-male like no other: Damian Rule is an ultra-staid businessman who likes his life just so. He wears his hair cut short; he demands his business affairs be organized, and he insists that his women be impeccably groomed and conservative in both speech and appearance. When he meets Angie Ross for the first time, he sees a hot, beautiful, gothic mess. With her fishnet stockings and spiked leather cuffs, she's wildly inappropriate for his long term needs. But for the short term? She'll do just fine.
Excerpt: Angie followed Damian's secretary across what seemed like miles of plush carpet and walked into the office when indicated. She was still in a state of shock; she'd found out in the reception area that he didn't merely work in the downtown high-rise, he owned the building.
She heard the door snap closed behind her, and with her heart catching, she faltered just inside the large room. Her gaze was caught and held by dark eyes as Damian leaned against a desk of solid mahogany while standing completely still, obviously awaiting her arrival. His eyes were both sharp and hooded, his body held in a pose of relaxation that seemed inconsistent with the almost tangible electricity that radiated from him in waves.
Her pulse pounding, her footsteps stalled completely. Before she could get a word out, he pushed off the desk and began to track her across the office, his muscles corded and his eyes reflecting a sheen of purpose. The space between them narrowed rapidly as his eyes fell to her throat and then scanned her body quickly before lifting to her face again.
Any semblance of a smile dissolved as his expression hardened imperceptibly; a raw sizzle filled the air as his brooding features reflected a harsh, atavistic hunger that almost brought Angie to her knees as he stood not six inches away in all his tall, masculine glory.
He stood almost indolently for the beat of three seconds before reaching out and seizing her with a dominant force that gave her not an ounce of choice in the matter. He mumbled two words, "Thank fuck," in a guttural rasp that, had she realized it, contained an evocative foreshadowing of his future intent where she was concerned.