Dirty Past by Emma Hart

Purchase on Amazon Dirty Past by Emma Hart

On the heels of Dirty Secret, here is a sizzling hot romance featuring another Burke brother and the girl he can’t resist, from the New York Times bestselling author of the Game series.
Walking out on my wedding wasn’t my best idea.
Neither was throwing my cell in the lake and taking a job as PA for Dirty B, America’s favorite rock band, complete with every teen girl’s dream man, the eldest of the Burke brothers.
Tate Burke is pure sex. Women actually throw their panties at him during shows. And Ella Dawson is the lucky little thing that gets to escort their fangirling butts out when he’s done with them.
Yay.
He’s a cocky son of a bitch, but there’s more to him than meets the eye. Every now and then Ella gets a rare glimpse of the Tate behind the “bad boy” act, and it attracts her in the most annoying way. The most annoying, heart-thumping, panty-wetting way.
When her abusive ex turns up at the hotel room Ella and Tate are sharing, raging mad, she knows she’ll need more than just a little protection. Tate sees red, and Ella can’t help but lean on him, despite his bad-boy ways.
And now? Now, he’s in a whole lot of trouble.

 
By day, New York Times and USA Today bestselling New Adult author Emma Hart dons a cape and calls herself Super Mum to two beautiful little monsters. By night, she drops the cape, pours a glass of whatever she fancies - usually wine - and writes books.
Emma is working on Top Secret projects she will share with her followers and fans at every available opportunity. Naturally, all Top Secret projects involve a dashingly hot guy who likes to forget to wear a shirt, a sprinkling (or several) of hold-onto-your-panties hot scenes, and a whole lotta love.
She likes to be busy - unless busy involves doing the dishes, but that seems to be when all the ideas come to life.

“Tate. I don’t…” she draws in a deep breath, and her fingers brush against my forearm.
“You don’t, what, darlin’?” I sink my fingers into her hair.
“Think you should… I should… we should… um,” she pauses, “do this. It’s not right.”
I laugh low, because nothing has ever felt as right as kissing her, and I touch my lips to hers. A sharp squeak buzzes through our connection, and I tug lightly on her bottom lip with my teeth. Fuck, she tastes sweet, like candy and Moscato wine, like summer breaking through a fall day.
She grabs my bare sides and I lean into her more, pushing her back onto the sofa. She goes with me, her grip on me tightening. Our bodies fall flush together, and as I kiss her deeper, swiping my tongue against her bottom lip, she eases her hands around to my back.
Her hands are soft and so fucking warm, each touch is a burning trail across my skin, one I feel tingling everywhere, because, fuck, fuck, fuck.
Too many girls, kisses, touches. None like this.
No softness beneath me, no hot fingertips against me, no deliciously sweet lips against mine.
No Ella.
“Wrong,” she breathes.
“You afraid?” I whisper.
She inhales sharply, but she shakes her head. “No.”
“Then it ain’t wrong, darlin’.” My mouth descends on hers once again, and I sweep my lips across hers. Her body is responding, slightly arching into me, but it’s her mouth, her kiss, that fucking consumes me.
Her tongue meeting and battling mine sends me into another fucking dimension, some ten million light years above ours. Consuming me, fucking with me, she drives me crazy yet again.

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