When Harper Reed came to Oxford, her dream was to study modern poetry with the infamous Professor Jack Kingston, NOT to sleep with him. But his lectures are intoxicating, his knowledge captivating, and his accent drops panties faster than Charlie Hunnam on a Saturday night.

Harper has never made good decisions when it comes to sex and Jack has never been able to commit, yet there’s something between them that neither of them has felt before. But students and teachers are not supposed to fraternize, even as this out of control connection puts both of their futures on the line.

When their forbidden love is tested, can they make the grade?

LINKS TO BE ADDED

Lola Darling is a romantic with a naughty side. Texas born and raised, she has met a few Mr. Wrongs and is having fun looking for her Mr. Right.

She can be found at her laptop, daydreaming of dirty talking men in well-fitted suits or in the bath enjoying a glass of wine.

I’m not a forever sort of girl.

I’m not even his for the night.

He’ll be lucky if I’m his for the next hour if he doesn’t pay me for it.

And then Royce Mattherson stormed my defenses. Took all the poison inside of me and pushed it out through my pores. He tasted the taint on my skin and still decided to love me.

He terrifies me. Exhilarates me. Frustrates me.

And he always gets what he wants.

Always

“That’s what you paid for.” I shifted my chest so my breasts swayed a bit. His eyes left my face and his gaze followed the sway of my breasts for a moment before he looked back at me. So, not completely adverse to my charms.

“Your job is to stay silent, entice, and smile pretty. These men here are donating money toward my organization based on ‘paying for one of you for the night’” he said, fingers curling in quotation marks.

“I understand,” I said. This was business, and that I could do. Men with money did a lot of odd things with their money. I had more powerful men and women in my client list than I would have ever believed when I first started. This was no different, and the premise of the evening didn’t bother me.

It was the fact that the organizer seemed discomforted by his event. And his discomfort was extended to me.

And why it bothered me, I didn’t know. But it shouldn’t have. I shook my head, clearing my thoughts, and stood taller. I let my arms fall to my sides before I stepped up to his side. He stiffened a moment before relaxing as I grasped his arm in my hands. The cool material of his suit rubbed against my nipple and I sucked in a breath, and took in his scent with it. I could taste it on the back of my throat.

He smelled of sandalwood and Jasmine, but in a light, lingering signature that I recognized. I’ve smelled Clive Christian on a lot of men, but I hadn’t smelled it like this. Ever. I leaned in, inhaling more of his scent. My date shifted against me, and molded his body to my front. I let go of his arm with one hand and gripped his lapel. He held his body, hard and hot, against me. My breasts tingled, crushed to his chest, and I couldn’t stop myself from taking another whiff. My nose touched his neck before I realized it. I caught his swift intake of breath, the bite of his finger in my upper arms as he gripped me, and pulled me a little closer.

“You do your job well,” he whispered in my ear. His voice was low, seductive, and authoritative.

“But I don’t pay for kicks.” I stopped breathing.

He couldn’t have done a better job if he’d tossed cold water over my head and laughed in my face. I plastered a smile on my face, feeling the burn of embarrassment on my cheeks. I leaned back from him and looked directly in his eyes. He wasn’t going to scare me. He wasn’t going to hurt me like so many others had.

“Sugar, you spend over two thousand dollars on cologne made to attract women, and then buy escorts to earn money for your organization. You pay for tricks already, you just would have been much happier had you paid for mine. Shall we?” I gestured toward the open door, and the party he’d paid me for. He hid his momentary surprise well, the expression melting into a cool mask so fast I would have missed it had I not been looking at him.

Take that. I may be a lot of things, but your object of ridicule I am not. He didn’t acknowledge my statement, but he turned towards the door and walked with me out of it. I kept my grip on his arm, holding my head high.

“Royce Mattherson,” he said then, and I frowned over at him. “My name,” he added. A smile played on his lips, the left side a bit higher than the right. That smile, that show of imperfection made my heart skip a beat. I forced myself to ignore it as I thought of my reply.

“Nice to meet you, Royce Mattherson. I’m your one hour girl.” I bowed my head to read the watch on his wrist. “Of which, you have forty-five minutes left.”

He chuckled, a soft rumbling sound that had my toes curling. “I hurt your feelings, I see. Grow up, little girl. This world will crush you if you let it. You won’t make it very far if you don’t understand that.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” I hissed at him through clenched teeth, maintaining my false smile as he walked me up the hallway to the main part of the party in a ballroom.

“You’ve got a chip on your shoulder a mile wide,” he responded.

“Now who has the hurt feelings? I think you’re more bothered than you want to let on that I didn’t offer my services,” I argued.

“You’re here; I’ve already got your services. I just don’t want what’s between your legs,” he added. I felt his eyes on me.

But I knew what he said was a lie. I could read it in him. I’d bothered him. Stepped on his peace offering, but I hadn’t known how to read him. And, yes, I’d been sort of hurt, sort of bothered that he hadn’t reacted to me the way I’d hoped.

And where did that leave me admitting that?

“Yes you do,” I said, stopping.

He stopped with me. I turned towards him and ran my hand down over his groin area. His cock jumped under my hand. The desire was there, despite his words.

“I know this better than anything, and you do want me.” I trailed my fingertips over his shape. The cloth separated us, but his heat pushed through the cloth as I measured his girth. My pulse quickened. Yes, this is what I knew, what I understood. He gripped my wrist and pulled my hand away.

“You speak your mind, and I can respect that. But let me be perfectly clear, I have never, and will never pay for sex.”

“Is that your problem? And if we’d met in a bar? In a club late at night with the music thumping around us?” I asked.

“Then I’d have fucked you against the nearest surface until you couldn’t stand. And then I’d have walked away,” he answered. He stepped back from me and straightened his clothing before looking over at me with a question in his eyes.

I had no return for that. My body was hot with the idea, and the anonymity of the encounter would have been just what I liked, but something in me hesitated. Would I have liked to be a passerby in this man’s world? I didn’t know, and the lack of answer irritated me. I needed to get away from him, and the questions he brought, fast.

“I’m sure it would have been a fun time,” I answered, no longer interested in the banter. I gripped his arm once more and he walked into the party, his small crooked smile on his face again.

I hated that smile. It meant he won. That he’d bested me. I didn’t want him to win. I didn’t want to fall behind. And it irritated me that I care so much. And yet, as I listened to him talk about his organization, helping with domestic violence and using rescue dogs to help rebuild trust in those who’d learned only pain from their loved ones, there was no doubt he was an intelligent man. He was composed. He was a man that I could have liked. A man that I could have respected if my other side, the pristine side, the perfect side had met him first. Would she have sat and smiled, talked to him? Would she have blushed prettily at his compliments and challenged him with thought provoking conversation? Would he have liked her?

Because right now I was playing the whore, and, for the first time, I felt dirty and wished Ms. Perfect was in attendance.

This series is a spinoff of the Broken Bonds serial which must be read prior to beginning this first book. Contains spoilers to the Broken Bonds serial.

Detective Ethan Quinn has questions. The Arlington Slasher case is closed, the UNSUB no longer a threat—but Quinn can’t quiet the suspicion he harbors toward his partner and the young, attractive M.E. Not only does he loathe his uncertainty, he’s torn between doing his job and protecting his team.

But burying himself in cases no longer works. He’s restless. On edge. And tired of fighting his compulsions. Quinn has always viewed the law in black and white. Only now his world is swirling with a murky gray that threatens to devour him.

When lead medical examiner Avery Johnson careens toward a dangerous path, she pulls the unwitting detective into a dark web of deception and lust, triggered by a spree of recent killings.

Is this new player linked to the Bathory murders, or is it another copycat?

Time almost took Avery from him once before. As the clock ticks, Quinn will stop at nothing to protect her, refusing to let Avery become a victim again. Against his uncompromising logic, Quinn can’t deny his feelings. Avery forces him to acknowledge his darker desires, tempting his control—which weakens with every second he spends with the feisty M.E. as they hunt down the perpetrator threatening to tear them apart. 

Catch Up with the first Broken Bonds serial: With Visions of Red – the first book is FREE

Avery

The windowless room is freezing. Florescent lights hum, echoing off the cinderblock walls and tingeing the too bright, barren room in a sickly green hue. As soon as I was ushered inside, the bag was removed from my head and my lab coat was taken.

The thin blouse I’m left with does nothing to shield me from the frigid air.

I rub my arms to generate heat, giving myself something to concentrate on besides counting the seconds. I’ve only been locked inside for minutes, but panic threatens to pull me under when I imagine it turning into days.

So very different than before, but somehow just as frightening. I’m not shackled. I’m not drugged. I don’t, logically, think these people have the same intentions as my abductor did when he took me…but I can’t say that for certain.

As soon as I think I’m going to lose it and start banging on the steel door, I hear a click, and the door grinds open against the floor.

The man entering is tall and thickly built. He wears a mask. A Jason mask like on the horror movie. And he’s carrying a semiautomatic gun. My stomach plunges, free-fall. I want the bag back over my head.

He jerks his head. “Move. It’s ready.”

What’s ready? But I can’t work up the courage to ask. This man is not manhandling me, and somehow my feet move me in that direction. I’ve just simply lost my mind. So many days spent fearing the world after I was released from the hospital, and what I dreaded could happen—that which I told myself over and over would never happen again—has, in fact, happened.

What else is there left to fear?

Death?

I’m almost relieved. Like I’m ready to welcome it. Like I can stop dreading it now.

The masked man stands in the doorway as I cross through. My eyes go wide when I see what’s on the other side of the room.

A lab.

But unlike any lab I’ve ever worked in. It’s dirty, and smells of death. Not like the death in the morgue, where I’m accustomed to being surrounded by bodies. But a grotesque, sour stench that soaks my pores.

Tables are full of beakers and test tubes. A giant syringe station is setup with thin blue hoses curling down into a large tub. My gaze follows the tubes’ path along the back wall to a large containment unit.

“Welcome, Dr. Johnson.”

I whirl around, trying to locate the source of the deep, gravely voice. Feedback pierces the air, and I look up to find a speaker in the corner.

The voice booms through the room again. “Go ahead. Get comfortable. There’s a coat on the hanger to your left, and goggles on the table.”

I shake my head. “What do you want from me?” I say to the room, hoping this unsettling PA system is two-way.

“It’s what we both want,” the voice responds. “I believe neither of us want any more dead girls littering up our beautiful streets. So you should get to work.”

I turn around and see the man with the gun standing watch at the only exit.

I face forward, lick my lips. “And if I can’t?” 

The silence stretches out, endlessly taunting. I’m sure the decision to end my life has already been made. Then: “I really don’t think that’s an option for you, Miss Johnson.” A beat. “Best focus on the task at hand. You have one hour.”

Passion and lust ignite. Dark and light battle. This explosive first installment of the Broken Bonds series sets the exhilarating pace for a cat and mouse game where no one knows who’s really pulling the strings.

Criminal profiler Sadie Bonds knows blood. Her affair with the gruesome, dark world of killers began long before she started applying her analytical skills to investigate gory crime scenes. She gets inside the killers’ heads, breaks them down, relates to them on an arcane level. She prefers it this way—because it’s safer to ally herself with the villain than the victim. At least, that’s how she’s coped ever since she was abducted and tortured as a teen.

She will never be a victim again.

Now, she’s honed her skills in order to bring justice to these ritualistic offenders. Working alongside her colleagues, armed with sharp wit and a SIG, Sadie always catches her sadist. Until one ruthless serial killer gets inside Sadie’s head, turning the tables. He knows her secrets. Her obsessions. The darkest, most deviant part of her soul.

When she meets Colton Reed, dangerous stakes are raised as he threatens to unravel her control and reveal her darkest fantasies. The sexy-as-sin bondage rigger at an exclusive BDSM club pushes her boundaries, forcing her to acknowledge that side of herself she fears. Plunged into a realm of torture and suffering, pain and pleasure, Sadie balances on the razor-sharp edge of two intersecting worlds threatening to swallow her.

The UNSUB has made contact.

After a rapid string of grisly murders shakes the usually peaceful city of Arlington, Virginia, the sadistic killings of young women lull into a deceptive calm. Agent Sadie Bonds knows the terror isn’t over; serial killers don’t stop until caught.

And this sadist has targeted the profiler, revealing pieces of her dark past and weaving her secrets into each gruesome crime scene. Is the killer someone from Sadie’s past, her present? Or is he part of a fated future she brought on herself? The answer lies within the riddle of the copycat killings, ones mimicked after the infamous Blood Countess.

As tension brews in the department awaiting the UNSUB’s next move, Sadie’s more than on edge—her deviant cravings for the possible perpetrator have ratcheted out of control. She needs the feel of Colton’s ropes binding her, sheltering her from stark reality.

Only Colton Reed has his own twisted secrets that threaten to unravel not only Sadie as they come to light, but the UNSUB’s carefully constructed web now entangling both the profiler and her sexy bondage rigger.

Who is the UNSUB?

For Agent Sadie Bonds, finding the answer to that question means the difference between life and death for someone close to her. The UNSUB’s latest abduction reaches right into the heart of the ACPD, forcing every member of the department to search within their ranks for the sadistic perpetrator.

Suspicion not only clouds the task force; it slithers into Sadie and Colton’s bond, challenging their love. Discovering the truth means facing their past together. Sadie’s connection to Colton has quieted her inner demons—but is she strong enough to confront the real monster?

All players take their places as the stage is set for the final scene. With the UNSUB manipulating the game, even Sadie and Colton fall victim, spiraling deep into the darkness that threatens not only their lives, but their trust. As Sadie navigates a tortuous maze, Colton will do whatever is takes to protect her. 

The truth will set you free. Only for Sadie, her truth will test the very fabric of her reality. She must silence the threat, or risk losing everything and everyone she loves.

AMAZON US / UK

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With neither of them ready to become parents, it was always going to be a difficult, but there was no way either of them were walking away. Come hell or high water, they were having this baby—together.

Hopefully they would both be still standing by the birth.

Fuck.

Fuck.

F. U. C. K.

That’s exactly what should be displayed in the window of that plastic contraption shaking in my hand instead of that obnoxious plus sign. The bright blue horizontal and vertical line against a stark white background. Taunting me as I stood there hoping it was some cruel optical illusion.

But it wasn’t.

Oh my God, I was going to be sick.

My head spun as I sunk to my ass on the cold tile floor. The stick that ten minutes ago had been so innocent and harmless was still in my hand as I struggled not to hyperventilate. This couldn’t be happening.

I was pregnant.

As waves of nausea rolled through my body—something I’d been experiencing a lot lately—my brain tried to reconcile my new reality. My life as I knew it was well and truly over.

I am going to be someone’s mother.

My hand had barely managed to lift the lid of the toilet as I lost my battle with my stomach. The full body heave expelled not only my breakfast but also my soul into the bowl as the evil EPT wand fell out of my hand and onto the floor. My future—as well as my blueberry bagel—now in the toilet.

I had done a lot of stupid stuff in my time. I’ll be the first to admit that, but Joey Shaw was by far the dumbest.

Unlike most of the girls he seemed to entertain, I’d known Joey for years. Our bands had crossed paths from time to time on the bar circuit, even sharing the stage once or twice. The appreciation we had for each other was mutual, both professionally and otherwise. He was good looking, sexy and had a body built for sin. It was only a matter of time before we ended up doing the in-between-the-sheets tango; I was impressed at how long I’d resisted.

Driven by hormones instead of brains, our little game of flirting came to a very lustful, sexy conclusion last month. That mouth of his wasn’t only talking up a good show, with every single egotistical boast coming out of it not even close to the mind-blowing orgasm he’d given me. His body absolutely delivered on the promise of crazy and unrestrained sex. It had been a night that wasn’t going to be easy to forget. Now it seemed, he had gifted me a permanent reminder.

Fuck.

I was so screwed.

We had barely even spoken since our hook-up, happy for it to be a casual thing between friends. It’s not like I was looking to date him. Ha. Not in this lifetime. I wasn’t that delusional. The man was hot. Not denying that, but I’d had longer relationships with a pizza than Joey had with women. So, I was happy to collect on the toe-curling sex without the side order of is-he-ever-going-to-call-me-again. God damn it. How could I have been so freaking stupid?

Ugh. My stomach churned again as my brain rationalized spending most of the day locked in my bathroom. It seemed like a solid idea, one that would see me postpone the what-the-hell-did-I-do-now that was begging to be dealt with. Ha! As if.

This year had started out with so much promise. The band was doing great. While no record deals had come our way, our song had gotten thousands of hits on YouTube. And there wasn’t a Saturday night where we didn’t play. Not just dive bars but actually great gigs. We were even making decent money too. Life was pretty awesome. Was. Past tense. Now, of course, I was a few months away from hawking my six-string at PawnRUs and getting a day job at Denny’s.

Poor Joey.

The sexy six-foot, dark-haired drummer had no idea that our baby was going to be the first and last child he would father, his balls soon to be hanging from my rearview mirror. I’d be sure to inform him and offer my condolences when I ripped them from his still-breathing body. His dick also at risk of ending up a hood ornament. It was only fair seeing as my body would be waving its red flag of rebellion in the coming months that his should suffer too. Might as well wear my skinny jeans while they still fit me, lord knows I was going to be rocking elastic waistbands and stretchy pants in the very near future. My wardrobe, the least of my worries.

Huh. I was going to have a baby. My hand unconsciously brushed against my flat-for-now belly, the life its dumbass parents created growing inside of me despite my lack of a clue. A missed period and some wicked fatigue the only hint that something was amiss. And in an instant, it had all changed. Knocked up, sitting on my bathroom floor with my head down a toilet, and I had absolutely no idea of how I was going to be someone’s mom.

Inside of me there was a tiny life. A little helpless human who needed my love and protection, who hadn’t asked to be born but had been put there nonetheless. Trusting that I would keep him or her safe until he or she was ready to enter into the world. My baby. Mine.

Great. Now my eyes were leaking. The fucking body rebellion I had expected months from now had already started as tears streamed uncontrollably.

What the hell was happening to me? I wasn’t one of those emotional girls who wept when they lost their favorite purse. I played in a rock band for God’s sake; I didn’t do crying. It was Joey’s fault. Yes. Let’s blame that asshole and his potent freaking sperm. He was the reason I had apparently lost my mind and would soon have a full uterus. And now I was back to being mad again.

Awesome.

This was so going to be fun.

She has run the website PregnancyLoss.Info for fifteen years, including many large spin-off support groups both online and in person.

Nicole was born and raised and currently resides in Hawaii with her husband and two teenage children.
At an adolescent age she took a strong liking to reading and even had a pipe dream of writing her own book. Life and growing up had put reading on the far end back burner, but her dream recently came true with her debut novel The Beauty of Grace, book one in the She’s Beautiful Series.
A hopeless romantic, she has a love for romance novels which she credits her late mother passing on to her and now an even stronger love to write her own stories.

“This book is really good. It’s hard to believe it’s her debut novel.” ~ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ 1/2 Star Amazon Review

“It was a book you just didn’t want to put down till the end though and that too means a book has all the things you want!!!! Super glad I got this book and will be recommending it.” ~ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️  Star Amazon Review

“I loved this book. It was a beautiful story about love and life and finding yourself…..I can’t wait to read more from this author and look forward to what she has in store for us next.” ~ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️  Star Amazon Review