Kisses Like Rain, an arranged marriage, enemies to lovers romance, and the highly anticipated fourth book in the dark mafia Corsican Crime Lord Series from USA Today Charmaine Pauls, is available now!
Angelo Russo came like a storm into my life and left destruction in his trail. The man who hates me beyond measure is the man who put a ring on my finger and gave me his name. My husband is my worst enemy.
There’s nothing left to salvage from the wreckage of our lives. He married me to destroy me, and he did an outstanding job. He took my innocence and my virtue. I gave him my love and my hate. And just when I think there’s nothing else to give, I realize how wrong I am. What Angelo wants most is the promise of life I carry inside my body. When he’s taken that last piece of me, he’ll crush me with a smile on his beautiful face and wipe my existence from his memory forever.
Note: Kisses Like Rain is the 4th and final book in the Corsican Crime Lord series and concludes Sabella and Angelo’s story. You must read Love Like Poison (Book 1), Hate Like Honey (Book 2), and Tears Like Acid (Book 3) first. The story contains scenes not recommended for sensitive readers. Reader discretion is advised.
The price I paid to claim her cost me too dearly to ever let her go.
Hate Like Honey, a steamy, enemies to lovers, and highly anticipated second book in the dark mafia Corsican Crime Lord Series from USA Today bestselling author Charmaine Pauls, is available now!
A deal sealed with a handshake promised she’d be mine. A broken vow ripped her from my future. I made unspeakable sacrifices to claim what rightfully belongs to me. After all the blood I shed in her name, the bond that ties us is hatred. The war cost us both dearly, but the price we paid won’t be in vain. I’ll never let her go.
If she thinks she can escape her destiny, she hasn’t seen the worst of me yet.
If she thinks she knows the devil in me, she’s about to meet the monster.
Note: Hate Like Honey is the second book in the Corsican Crime Lord series and ends on a cliffhanger. Sabella and Angelo's story continues in Tears Like Acid, Book Three.
Sweeping Sabella into my arms, I hurry with her to the shelter of the cave. The engine of the boat sounds when I reach the rock enclosure, but I don’t bother to look back. I sit, pulling her onto my lap.
“Get away from me,” she says, trying to break out of the cage of my arms.
I rub her biceps through my jacket. “You need to get warm.”
“What I need is for you to stop touching me,” she screams, finally managing to scurry off my lap.
She lands on all fours, my jacket slipping off her shoulders. I reach for her ankle, but she claws her way like a crab through the sand to the other side of the cave and pushes her back against the wall. There, she sits shivering, watching me with a terrified expression.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” I raise my hands in a placating gesture. “I already told you that.”
She spits the word at me. “But?”
I make to move. “But you need to get warm.”
She flattens herself against the rock. “Stay away from me.”
“Sabella.” Frustration rides on my words. “I want to help.”
“Help?” She utters an ugly laugh. “Like you helped my dad?”
A sob racks her shoulders.
Using my most reasonable voice, I say, “You know why it had to be done.” I don’t want to mention my mother or my sister. I don’t want those memories to cloud my judgment with anger.
Not now. Not now that she needs me.
Her accusation bounces off the roof of the cave. “I can’t even go to the police. You must be fucking ecstatic about that.”
“I’m not ecstatic about anything.”
I try to advance again, but she shakes her head so vehemently that wet tendrils of her hair stick to her cheeks.
My patience is running out. I make myself stern. “Be reasonable, Sabella.”
“Reasonable?” She laughs again. “Why? Because you’re so reasonable, you heartless, deceitful, murdering son of a bitch?”
I grit my teeth at the insults, but I let them slide. After all, I earned every name she called me. “You’ll catch pneumonia.”
Her upper lip curls. “Like you care.”
“You know I do.”
Her tone is biting. “Is that why you came to the hospital?” Then sarcastic as her volume rises again. “Because you cared? No, wait. It was only to shave me. You’re a sick pervert.”
“I wanted to see my mark.” As if the thought alone is a magnet, my gaze is drawn to her lower body. “It healed nicely. Very pretty.” And like the pervert she accused me of being, that thought makes me hard.
She picks up a handful of sand and throws it at my face. “Go fuck yourself.”
My reflexes are good. I duck in time. “We’ve been through that, haven’t we?”
“Are you getting off on this?” she asks, sparks shooting from her eyes. “Is that why you’re tormenting me?”
“Tormenting you has never entered the equation.” I add with warning, “Not yet, but if you keep this up, it may.”
“Just—” She spears her fingers through her hair and cups her head. “Just stay away.”
“I can never stay away from you.”
She drops her hands and curls her fingers like claws into the sand. “What the hell else do you want from me? You’ve taken all my firsts. Everything. What else can you possibly want?”
The answer is simple. “You.”
“Why?” she cries out. “What have I ever done to you?”
“Wanting you isn’t a punishment, Sabella. We were always meant to be together.”
Hatred darkens her eyes. “Here’s a newsflash. We’re enemies. I may not be able to give the police the names of my father’s murderers because I just found out that he was a murderer too, but we will never be together.” She emphasizes the last part, using the rock for support to straighten as she throws those words at my feet.
Now isn’t the time to convince her of anything. It’s an even worse time to inform her of her fate. What worries me the most, is, “Did you go that deep into the sea on purpose?” The question constricts my throat and twists my mind. “Did you plan on coming back?”
Her eyes flare. Her chuckle is mocking. “Do you think I’ll drown myself over the likes of you?”
I watch her narrowly, noticing how cold she is, inside and out, how full of bitterness and hatred. “What would’ve happened if Roch weren’t there?”
She shrugs, mocking me. “Who knows?”
I don’t like it. I don’t like her gambling attitude toward life. “Why did you do it? Why did you go so far?” I add in a quieter tone, “It wasn’t the first time.”
She clenches her hands at her sides. “I’m not a fucking quitter.”
“No?” I tilt my head. “Then explain it to me.”
“I don’t owe you any explanations,” she bites out.
That’s it. I’ve had it. I lunge, grabbing her arm before she can escape. “Don’t forget, cara, your life belongs to me. I have every right to demand an explanation.”
Angry tears simmer in her eyes. “I regret the day I laid eyes on you.”
“You don’t have to,” I say, rubbing my thumb in a soothing gesture over the soft skin of her wrist. “There was a time you liked me. With a little effort, we can go back to that.”
“I never liked you,” she utters with a sneer. “How could I? I didn’t even know you. The person you pretended to be wasn’t real.”
“One day, you’ll understand.” Now isn’t the moment to come clean about her father’s broken promise.
“Oh, I understand.” She yanks on my hold. “Perfectly.”
“I can be that man for you again.” I drag her closer, making our bodies collide. “All you have to do is ask me.”
Her brown eyes narrow, and her lips thin. Contempt shows in every line of her features.
“Hell will freeze over before I ask you for anything.” She lifts her chin, holding my gaze with false bravado as she commands in a calm, controlled voice, “Now let me go.”
I don’t miss the effort it takes her to force that control or to pretend not to be scared. Her whole body is shaking with the effort. Uncertainty flickers behind the anger shimmering in her eyes. I take notice of other things too, of how her body fits against mine and how hard her nipples are from the cold.
Pushing her backward, I follow her down and catch her body to break her fall before she hits the sand. I’m on top of her in a wink, spreading out over the length of her, and nothing has ever felt so right. Finally, I can warm her. What I really want to do is possess her.
She fights me, slamming her fists into my ribs and clamping her teeth onto my shoulder. I don’t stop her. I let her use me as the punching bag she needs to get this poison out of her system. I’m not restraining her. If she wants to, she can flip us over and punch me in the face, but she doesn’t. Not that she’s holding back. No, she tries to inflict damage to the best of her ability.
I let her carry on until she tires. When she sags onto the sand with a defeated sob, I catch her wrists and pin them above her head. The look in her eyes changes. It turns from uncontrolled fury to uncontrolled carnality. I can’t tear my gaze away from the way she watches me like a female praying mantis about to mate a male before making a meal out of him.
What passes between us is simple physics. Energy can’t be destroyed. It can only be transformed. All that anger fueling her now doesn’t vanish. It simply changes into a different sentiment. I can take away her fury as little as I can change the law of energy. I can, however, offer her an escape, if only for a short while. She was my first, and she’ll be my last. What we are isn’t pretty, but we’re meant to be together.
Love Like Poison, an all-new dark, all-consuming, arranged-marriage, mafia romance and the first book in the Corsican Crime Lord Series from USA Today bestselling author Charmaine Pauls, is available now!
Every year on my birthday, my tormentor returns to claim one of my firsts.
On my sixteenth birthday, a stranger from Corsica shows up at my party. Angelo Russo looks like an angel, but more the kind who decapitates dragons than the kind with soft white wings. He’s dark like the ocean and breathless like water. He says he wants all my firsts as if he already owns them, but my father orders me to stay away from this man.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t escape him. No one can keep me safe. Every year on my birthday, he brings me a gift, each one having a detrimental effect on my life with unimaginable consequences. With every gift he offers, he claims another one of my firsts. Before I know it, he’s taken control of my existence, turning me into a nervous wreck, because when I turn eighteen, I know what first he’ll come for next.
Note: Love Like Poison is the first book in the Corsican Crime Lord series and ends on a cliffhanger. Sabella and Angelo's story continues in Hate Like Honey (Book Two).
“You don’t look old enough to be a waitress,” he says, finishing his evaluation by inspecting my legs. “How young are they hiring these days?”
I don’t correct him. If he knows how young I really am, he won’t give me another ounce of his attention. Although walking away is without a doubt the wiser option, I don’t want to turn my back on him. Not just yet.
His lips quirk, amusement sparking in his eyes. “Has the cat got your tongue, bella?”
A jolt runs through me. How does he know my name? Only my family and close friends call me Bella. But no. He said it differently. He said it like a term of endearment. I know what bella in that context means, and it warms my chest with a pleasant heat.
“You have an accent,” I say.
“French-Italian.”
“Are you from Italy or France?”
“Corsica.”
“You speak English very well.”
“My mother insisted that we learn from a young age. It’s important to speak it for business.”
His cryptic and polite answers are a clear sign that he’s getting bored with the conversation. I should go, but I linger, unable to pull myself away. “I wish I could speak a foreign language.”
“Shouldn’t you be working?” he asks, nodding at the box in my hands. His animosity gets my hackles up.
“Shouldn’t you be mingling with the guests?”
He grins. Taking a Zippo lighter from his pocket, he taps the joint against the metal. “Parties are boring, but birthday parties are the worst.” He casts another glance at my unsuitable attire. “You obviously agree.”
Although I do share his sentiment, I can’t help but turn defensive. “Then why did you come?”
Bringing the joint to his mouth, he watches me from the slits of his eyes as he lights it. He inhales and blows out a thin line of smoke. “Business.”
The smoke twists into a ribbon before dispersing in the air, leaving the pungent odor of weed behind. “Business?”Was I wrong about him being a guest? “Are you with the caterers?”
He laughs. “My father and Mr. Edwards are business associates.” Studying me through the thick lashes of his hooded eyes as he takes another drag of the joint, he adds after blowing out the smoke, “Of sorts.”
“So you’re only here for business reasons,” I say, my ego unjustifiably bruised.
“That’s how it would seem.”
I fail to keep the sarcasm from my voice. “I can see how that must suck for you.”
He shrugs. “It comes with the territory.”
When I don’t reply, he holds the joint out to me.
I shake my head. “I don’t smoke.”
“Do you drink?”
My parents let me have a little wine or champagne on important occasions. “Not often.”
His voice drops an octave. “Good.”
He carries on smoking while I just stand there, racking my brain for something to say.
Turning his face, he looks at me as if to ask why I’m still there. “You better run inside and get to work.”
I don’t like the way he speaks to me. I resent how he thinks he can order me around. Most of all, I hate how easily he dismisses me.
When he stubs the joint out on the wall and flicks the butt in the party trash that’s piling up next to the door, I know he’s going to walk away. And I don’t want him to. I stall by using what my feminine intuition tells me will get his attention. Defiance.
“No,” I say, lifting my chin.
His eyes flare as if he doesn’t hear that word often.
“I won’t jump because you told me to,” I continue.
He pushes off the wall. “What did you say to me?”
Standing taller, I tap into my confidence that usually comes naturally but for some reason now has failed me. “Why must I go? You leave if you don’t want me here. You shouldn’t have picked this spot if you were hoping to smoke your drugs without being caught. Which is completely not cool. Not smoking in secret but smoking at all. Especially drugs. It makes you totally uncool.”
Shit. Can I just shut up now?
His dark eyes widen with humor rather than anger. A smile flirts with his lips.
He’s laughing at me. How embarrassing.
I don’t wait for his reply. My intention is making a grand exit while I still have some dregs of dignity left to cling to, but just as I turn toward the kitchen, my mom walks through the door.
Double shit.
For more information about Charmaine Pauls and her books, visit her website:
Carter Morelli survived a violent childhood and dangerous missions.
After he emergency lands the small aircraft, he faces something even worse: having someone depend on him. Geologis June Porter wants to study rocks. She didn’t plan to be stranded on a deserted island.
They aren’t alone on the island. A man hides among the broad leaves. He’s almost feral, this man. But he provides them shelter and food.
There are secrets in his hidden cabin. Desire, too.
Carter doesn’t want to care about the bookish, beautiful June.
But he doesn’t like this strange man’s interest in her, either.
Simmering chemistry wars with the need for survival.
Will they be found before they give into temptation?
About Skye:
Skye Warren is the New York Times bestselling author of dangerous romance. Her books have sold over one million copies. She makes her home in Texas with her loving family, sweet dogs, and evil cat.
Amelia Wilde is a USA TODAY bestselling author of steamy contemporary romance and loves it a little too much. She lives in Michigan with her husband and daughters. She spends most of her time typing furiously on an iPad and appreciating the natural splendor of her home state from where she likes it best: inside.
Blurb: Carter Morelli works alone, but his orders are clear. Pilot the small aircraft carrying the renowned geologist to a remote island. Except the plane malfunctions at a crucial moment.June Porter wants to stay on solid land. She doesn't want to fly, but it's the only way to get to the dig site. Then her worst fears come true.A heavy storm. A swift fall from the sky. And a heart stopping crash.An emergency landing leaves them stranded.A shadow moves through the trees. They aren't alone in the jungle.
About Skye: Skye Warren is the New York Times bestselling author of dangerous romance. Her books have sold over one million copies. She makes her home in Texas with her loving family, sweet dogs, and evil cat.
About Amelia:Amelia Wilde is a USA TODAY bestselling author of steamy contemporary romance and loves it a little too much. She lives in Michigan with her husband and daughters. She spends most of her time typing furiously on an iPad and appreciating the natural splendor of her home state from where she likes it best: inside.
Uraya is desperate to live in peace. Having finally escaped the queen of the south, her goal is to vanish, to leave the war in the Twin Realms and start a new life.
But to get her freedom she must work with the most intolerable dragonlord across the Realms.
Known for reducing women into simpering worshipers, Sethorn ruins the lives of any woman he desires.
Uraya refuses to be his plaything…
And her defiance fuels his intense captivation with her.
In an effort to maintain her quest for serenity, Uraya is forced to bargain with him, but Sethorn rouses a sinful craving that only he can control.
Primal attraction erupts into savage, carnal hunger.
When the queen complicates their mission, Uraya realizes she is on the brink of losing not just the peace she has always dreamed of but herself.
And if she doesn’t evade Sethorn’s obsessive claim on her, he will drag her to a fate of his choosing.
The moment she walked into the room, the alpha’s eyes tracked down her body, and Uraya resisted the urge to pull her robes tighter. Maybe what she was wearing wasn’t the best choice of attire to meet him in.
“How may I help you, dragorai?”
His smirk disappeared. “That is not how you will address me.”
“It is the middle of the night.” She forced her voice to remain level. “If you wish me to address you appropriately, maybe you should visit at a more appropriate time of the day.”
Sethorn said nothing for a long moment. “Gather your things. We are leaving for my lair.”
Shock jolted through Uraya’s body. “What are you talking about?”
“You are aware that we have been tasked with working together on this ridiculous mission you have insisted on. In order for us to do that, you need to be in my lair.”
“I do not.”
Sethorn lifted his chin, looking down on her through narrow eyes. “Then how do you hope for us to be successful? You do not have any means of getting to my territory frequently enough.”
Uraya shook her head. “Why can’t you come here to work? There is enough space and I will make myself available at any time.”
“I will not keep breaching my brother’s territory simply to work on something that benefits you alone. If you wish for us to carry out this mission quickly and efficiently, you need to be based in my lair. No further discussion.”
Her heart thudded as she glared at him, holding back all the things she wanted to scream in his face. He wasn’t saying this to help her, he simply wanted her in his lair, like he’d insisted from the first time they’d met.
Sethorn stepped closer, his hazel eyes trained on her, and within the depths of the fiery annoyance in his gaze was something that terrified her—a gleam of amusement. His smirk returned. “I can promise you, you will be treated in my lair exactly as you would expect.”
A surge of anger flared in Uraya’s chest. “Respectfully, I decline,” she replied tightly. Turning on her heel, she walked out of the room.
As soon as she was out in the corridor, she exhaled heavily and headed back to her room. How dare he turn up in the middle of the night insisting she go to his lair. He must think she—
Her breath was knocked out of her as something clamped around her stomach and hoisted her into the air. Yelping, Uraya tried to fight against it, but her arms were locked by her sides, and instinctively she recognized the thick arm wrapped around her.
“Put me down!” Uraya struggled against his hold, but it was firm, with no room to squeeze or slip out of his grip.
“Quiet.” Sethorn strode down the corridor. “We do not have time for this. We need to start working tomorrow and for that you need to be in my lair. You do not have a say.”
He fixed her in such a manner that she slightly flopped over his arm like a sack of potatoes. Furious, Uraya abandoned all attempts to remain calm. She fought him as best she could with her arms locked down by her sides while screaming for him to release her. Her voice echoed off the stone walls of the corridor. Surely someone had to hear her?
Sethorn hoisted her up higher. “Keep screaming, little foe,” he murmured. “It is good practice for you.”
Zoey Ellis writes dark, magical, fantasy romances about tortured, possessive, alpha anti-heroes and the sassy heroines who belong to them (even if they don’t want to!). Filled with passionate, carnal steam, Zoey’s stories feature couples that go through tough journeys and make mistakes but ultimately have to grow for each other to survive the dark worlds they inhabit.
Described as ‘deliciously dark’ and ‘unputdownable’, Zoey’s thrilling, fantastical romances come complete with roller-coaster twists and turns, unique worlds, and happy endings.
Zoey is a Londoner, cat mama, and proud romance and epic fantasy addict. She loves jealous/possessive heroes, sexual tension that jumps off the page, and memorable, magical worlds. She reads most genres of romance and has a special love for the ‘true mates’ trope and dark angst. However, she enjoys all different genres of fiction, usually on the darker side.
When not working on her stories, Zoey is usually gaming, buddying reading with friends or stumbling upon new and ridiculous ways to mess up a date!
Big Hose, an all new sizzling stand-alone workplace romance from New York Times bestselling author Jasinda Wilder, is out now!
I have one rule: never date a fireman.
But some rules are made to be broken.
Putting out fires is more than just a job, it's my passion in life. There’s no time for anything else but the job...until I meet her. And now I’m on fire for her, only there's no hose big enough to extinguish these flames.
She’s too hot to handle, and I’m about to get burned.
* * *
Saving lives is what I do. As a career paramedic married to the job, I’ve never thought much about my love life—or my lack of one, if I’m being honest—until it's his life I'm worried about saving. Now I’ve got a scorching hot firefighter burning up my life and setting my body on fire. No matter how hot he is or how hot things are between us, however, there’s one rule in my life which I refuse to break: Never date a fireman.
* * *
Will we find each other in the flames of this romance, or will we simply add another scar to the collection?
It’s the medic from earlier, the curvy one with the long-ass black hair. I’m closer, this time, and up close, she’s even more stunning. Her face is perfectly symmetrical, her eyes huge and brown, her lashes thick, lips plump and in a naturally perfect cupid’s bow. And shit, the way her medic blues fit her insane curves leaves my jaw damn near on the floor.
She doesn’t even register me standing at the entrance, mere feet away: there’s a godawful ruckus coming from the back of the bus. She yanks open the rear doors and heaves herself up and in.
“Mr. Wilson, you need to calm down.” Her voice is hard, commanding. Short-tempered. “If you keep kicking up a fuss like this, I’m going to be forced to sedate you.”
“I DON’T GIVE A FUCK, YOU DUMB BITCH! LET ME GO! LET ME GO, GODDAMMIT!”
The medic goes flying backward out of the bus, landing on her heels and quick-stepping backward. Instinct takes over, and I lunge forward, catching her in my arms. For a split second, I’m just holding her. She’s equal parts taut and firm, lithe and soft, delicate and warm. And for that split second, she seems tempted to just…relax into my arm. Let me hold her.
A spark jolts through me, like I grabbed onto a live wire. My skin tingles, my hair stands on end, and my lungs seize, breath whooshing out of me.
I’m hard as a fucking diamond, behind my pants.
The split second is gone, and she’s rocketing out of my arms like she felt the shock as clearly as I did. She shakes herself like a dog shaking water off, storming forward with her fists clenched.
“That’s it, Mr. Wilson,” she grits out between clenched molars. “I told you.”
Mr. Wilson is a wiry old white guy, with a shock of hair that looks like he stuck his fingers in an electrical socket. He’s wigged the hell out, thrashing like a madman despite being restrained by the gurney straps. The other medic, the young Black man from earlier, is trying his damndest to hold the old man down, but it’s like trying to wrestle a wet horse.
I grab the sexy medic’s arm and hold her back. “Let me.”
“The fuck I will,” she snarls.
I’m already climbing up and into the bus, ignoring her protests. I latch onto the patient’s wrists and pin his thrashing feet to the gurney with my hips. I fix him with my you’re gonna listen like it or not glare, and make it clear no amount of thrashing is going to budge my iron grip.
“Cool the fuck off, old man.” I growl the command. I let go of one of his wrists, pinioning them both with one hand, and hold out my empty hand. “Needle.”
I feel the syringe slap into my palm.
“You got two options, here, pal.” I flick the cap off the needle and press the tip to the outside of his skinny little bicep. “One, you quit the tantrum and get yourself treated like a goddamn adult. Option two, I jab this shit into you, and I can’t guarantee how gentle I’ll be. You feel me?”
He stills, but his eyes snap with defiance. “Get off me.”
“Wrong answer.” I press the needle harder. “Last chance.”
“Fine, goddamnit, fine. That shit constipates me.”
I snicker. “Then quit acting like a child.”
“I don’t need no ambulance. I’m fuckin’ fine.”
The Black medic coughs a laugh. “You had a stroke two weeks ago and you just overdosed on Vicodin. You’re not fine.”
I blink. “How is he alive? Much less upright and pitching a tantrum?”
The medic shrugs. “Hell if I know. Bastard isn’t human.”
“I heard that you goddamn—”
I silence him with a glare. “You better not fucking finish saying what I think you’re about to say.”
He holds up his hands. “I wasn’t gonna say that. I ain’t no racist.”
“Get out of my bus,” a female voice says from behind me.
I climb backward and out, turn to face a very pissed-off but still drop-dead sexy medic. “What’s his story?”
She just glares at me. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
“You’d be the one getting stitches if I hadn’t caught you.”
She just glares. “My bus, my patient.”
I hold up my hands. “Fine, sorry for nothing, then. Damn.”
She reaches for the syringe still in my hand. “Give me that.” She snatches it from me as I extend it to her. “You can’t threaten patients. Who the fuck trained you?”
“If the patient is acting a fool and risking the safety of the medics trying to help him, I sure as fuck can. I didn’t threaten him, anyway. Not with anything you weren’t about to do.”
She goes nose to nose with me—well, nose to collarbone, since she’s several inches shorter than me; her glare is impressively intimidating, but it’s somewhat undercut by the fact that as she sidles up and stands nose to nose with me, holding her ground and glaring fit to murder, her breasts press against my chest, and that’s all I can fucking think about.
“My bus,” she repeats, slowly, furiously, “my patient. Go back to your fire and your hoses and leave me the hell alone.”
I hold her gaze and try like hell to keep my eyes from wandering down to her generous, button-straining chest.
I fail.
Her hiss of disgust is…well, if it could be used as a weapon, I’d be dead.
She presses all five fingers of both hands into my chest and pushes me away, eyes stabbing murderous fury into mine. “Go…away.”
I back up slowly, holding her eyes. “You’re welcome.” I wink at her, shooting her the grin which, according to the guys at the station, is guaranteed to melt panties at fifty paces.
She growls like a cornered raccoon; her panties are decidedly not melted.
I hold up my hands palms out. “Damn, girl. Don’t shoot. I was just trying to help. It’s instinct.”
“Well take your instincts and fuck off.” She pivots away from me, heading toward her bus, where the Black medic is currently wrestling the gurney down, the patient still muttering imprecations under his breath.
Fuck, fuck, and double-fuck—the girl is all curves. If her tits were about to pop the buttons off her shirt, her ass is popping the seams of her uniform slacks. Not tall, maybe five-six, five-seven at most, she’s one hundred percent hot-as-fuck, mind-altering, cock-hardening, dead-sexy curves.
I don’t even try to not stare at her ass as she helps pull the gurney off the bus. I can’t not stare—it’s a biological imperative.
She stops and shoots a glare at me over her shoulder. “Quit staring at my ass.”
“I’m trying, I swear. Not my fault you’ve got an ass that don’t quit.”
There’s a muffled cough from her partner, and his eyes cut to mine, expressing amusement he dares not otherwise let her see. “We’d better get Mr. Wilson into treatment before the sheer stubbornness that’s keeping him alive wears off.”
I finally manage to rip myself away from the sexy medic and her hypnotic ass. Head for my truck, climb behind the wheel, start the motor…and go nowhere.
She’s pushing from the back end while her partner pulls from the front—I just can’t resist one last long, lingering look as she vanishes inside.
“That is one hell of a woman,” I say out loud.
She hates me, but goddamn is she gorgeous. And honestly, the fiery fury of her is intoxicating. I don’t know her name, but I know I’ll be dreaming about her tonight.
NEW YORK TIMES, USA TODAY, WALL STREET JOURNAL and international bestselling author Jasinda Wilder is a Michigan native with a penchant for titillating tales about sexy men and strong women. Her bestselling titles include ALPHA, STRIPPED, WOUNDED, and the #1 Amazon and international bestseller FALLING INTO YOU. You can find her on her farm in Northern Michigan with her husband, author Jack Wilder, her six children and menagerie of animals.
THE CRASH by Skye Warren and Amelia Wilde
