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A crown princess living a dangerous double life and a sinfully sexy Russian billionaire with a ruthless penchant for collecting secrets: a match set for disaster.
For years, one man has ruled Sophia’s fantasies. The harmless obsession keeps her warm on the nights her double life starts to take its toll. She, unfortunately, gains his attention at the worst possible moment, when she’s in the middle of a dangerous job. Now, she’ll be forced to protect her heart along with her life of lies.
Setta Jay is the author of the popular Guardians of the Realms Series. She's garnered attention and rave reviews in the paranormal romance world for writing smart, slightly innocent heroines and intense alpha males. She loves creating stories that incorporate a strong plot with a heavy dose of heat. An avid reader her entire life, her love of romance started at a far too early age with the bodice rippers she stole from her older sister. Along with reading, she loves animals, brunch dates, coffee that is really more French vanilla creamer, questionable reality television, English murder mysteries, and has dreams of traveling the world. Born a California girl, she currently resides in Idaho with her incredibly supportive husband. She loves to hear from readers so feel free to find her on social media or send her an email and she will happily reply.
About the author: Jamie McGuire paved the way for the New Adult genre with the international bestseller, Beautiful Disaster. Her follow-up novel, Walking Disaster, debuted at #1 on the New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestseller lists. Beautiful Oblivion, book one of the Maddox Brothers series, also topped the New York Times bestseller list, debuting at #1. Jamie lives in Tulsa, Oklahoma with her husband, Jeff, and their three children. Find out more about Jamie and her books at JamieMcGuire.com.
Anya—a stoic, blue-winged angelic warrior—was bitten by a demon prince in battle, and now she has precious little time to find a cure for his deadly venom. But the only archangel with the power to stop the dark poison from corrupting her body and soul is missing. She’ll have to trust her guide, the outcast high demon Dommiel, who is as handsome as he is dangerous if she has any hope.
An outcast of his own kind, high demon Dommiel stays under cover while the war between angels and demons rages on. When the only person who ever showed him kindness asks for his help, he has no choice but to try to save the angel. Venturing back into the dens he has avoided for so long, Anya makes him want and feel things he never thought possible.
But Dommiel knows there is no way an angel can ever love a demon…
From the first sentence this reader was taken in by Dommiel. “ I love the smell of sex and brimstone in the morning”
He’s my favorite type of character; one that comes with a rueful arrogance, that not only makes him a cocky delight, but a blistering hot antihero that will put him firmly in place as a top ranking book boyfriend for the masses.
And the angelic warrior that is Anya. Who knew an innocent could be so captivatingly bloodthirsty? She fights like a demon and has the compassion needed for humanity to possibly make a come back in this apocalyptic world.
The two of them make for one hell of a fighting team. The mission is set and both must do what's needed of them to make it out alive. Trust? Loyalty? All the things Dom has had ripped away from him are given back through Anya. He finds himself confused and yet completely enamored by her.
“--her eyes darkened to indigo. A demon could lose his soul in eyes like that. If he had one.”
Anya also sees something in Dommiel that he doesnt think exists anymore. She sees a need to do good, to find redemption, and to care for more than just himself.
“Every kindness and every abuse makes a mark upon the soul.’’ My voice trembled. “The soul remembers.”
Within Darkest Heart I found a beautifully written story of two people. Told with succinct detail and a lovely thread of poetry peppered throughout, I found myself with a need to grab my copy of Shakespeare and swim for awhile. It takes a real talent to quote the greats, yet intwine the hilariously roguish vibrato to make a likeable anti-hero.
“‘Now is the very witching time of night.’” He quoted Hamlet when he went in search of his treacherous uncle. Shocked for a second, I couldn’t help but respond by continuing the verse. “‘When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out contagion to the world.’”
I want to say that, yes, the romance is a key factor in Darkest Heart— but romance is not the entirety of it. The world building is mild since this is a spinoff of the Vessel Trilogy, and the surrounding characters are familiar. However, the introduction of new things and the world-within-a-world storytelling are just amazing. I’m just so incredibly excited for what's to come in the Dominion series. If book one is any indication, this is going to be a monster hit with PNR lovers and readers of the genre. Fans of George R.R. Martin, Ilona Andrews and the like will find a new and exciting series to devour. It hits all the best points. Deliciously evil villains, corruption within, the innate goodness of the righteous, and a love that will survive and conquer. It’s book perfection, people!
I glanced up the street. Six cloaked figures strode in our direction, the mist curling around their billowing capes. High demons on the prowl with malicious intent. They moved as if they had a specific destination. But they’d derail plans in a heartbeat to pluck a pretty angel apart.
“Well, it’s worth a try.” Anya started toward the bridge.
Instinct gripped me hard. I stepped in front of her, covered her mouth with my hand, and pushed her back into a niche against the wall.
“Tighten your wings,” I commanded in a low whisper.
She did, making it easier to flatten them against the alcove wall behind her. I pressed my body hard against hers, minimizing our presence.
“Don’t make a sound.” I emphasized with force. “Not a whimper.”
Her violet-blue eyes widened, but she only nodded. I covered as much of her as I could, pressing my chest to hers, then cast illusion to hide her wings with a snapping summons of my power. She didn’t see the demons coming, and I had to hide her wings quickly. The shock of my dark touch, my invisible armor wrapping her in a hard grip, had her lips parting in a silent gasp. Our breath mingled in the frosty air as the gang of demons drew closer. They’d sense us and see us. I counted on my instincts being right. That they’d bypass a pair of lovers in the shadows. But if they’d seen her wings, they’d stop for a bit of sport with her.
Like I’d fucking let that happen.
“Play along,” I commanded again, hearing the grating dominance in my voice and expecting her to push me off.
Combing my hand into her hair, I reveled in the feel of the silky strands sliding over my skin before I gripped that black silk in a fist and leaned forward. A force not my own pulling me closer. Her eyes remained wide, her body stiff. But not as stiff as mine. Hell, I’d had a hard-on from the first moment she arched a defiant brow at me.
The need to get my mouth on hers drove me like a bullet train. I needed to know what she tasted like. Needed to feel the slide of my tongue past those full pink lips. Needed to get inside of her. But she wasn’t ready for me. Not yet. She was hard to read, my angel. But we could play pretend lovers for a minute.
Gripping her hip with my mechanical hand, I pressed harder against her body. My cock, like an iron rod, pushed against her pelvis. She flinched in my arms and stiffened but didn’t pull away. No. She softened, for fuck’s sake. And that was my undoing. I tilted my mouth toward her neck, breathing her in.
I sensed the sinister air surrounding the demons drawing closer, but I refused to give in to the urge to turn and draw a blade. The menace rolling off of them claimed they were not a group to overpower or escape quickly. If worse came to worse, I’d just sift us away. But something told me they were on the move. Better prey in mind. As long as they thought us harmless lovers, we were safe.
So I focused on Anya. Her grip on the lapels of my leather jacket tightened while her body melted against me. Pure, fucking heaven.
I grazed my lips against her soft throat, featherlight. Her desire—an innocent, fragile thing—flared hot when she let out a little moan. Christ. I was going to lose my mind.
I sensed the demons passing behind us. That danger drifted away but another kind took its place. Uncontainable lust had me in its iron grip. Unable to taste just a little, I flicked my tongue over the lobe of her ear. She flinched again, exhaling a breathy moan before she clamped her mouth shut.
Curling my hand into the collar of her leather jacket, I pulled it aside so I could taste her where her neck met shoulder. The soft patch of exposed pale skin lured me like a dying man in the desert to the coolest drink of water.
Fuck, the things I wanted to do to her. Dirty, dark, delicious things.
Her innocence was a beacon, a red flag waving in the breeze, and my bull wanted to charge. Right fucking now.
Feeling my control slipping, I scraped my teeth gently up the side of her neck, my beast jerking on the leash I was strangling him with.
I eased my lips off her skin, a new addiction that would surely cripple me, because that wasn’t nearly enough. A slight sound of protest escaped her lips. I lifted my gaze to hers.
“Not a whimper,” I said.
The urge to bind her and force every possible sound of pleasure from those luscious lips pushed me like a primal compulsion. A vibrating need I never saw coming threatened to choke the air from my lungs.
Her eyes—dilated with lust—trailed down to my mouth.
“Dommiel. Your teeth.” Her panting breath curled out in white puffs. “And your eye.”
That’s when I realized my beast had come to the surface. The monster I kept at bay so as not to frighten mere mortals. And sweet angels. He wanted to play. He wanted more.
Flicking my tongue over one canine, I backed up, removing my body from the achingly sweet alignment against hers. It would take a few minutes to simmer my blood, for my canines to recede. I turned away, facing the direction those night prowlers had gone, heaving in a deep breath of cold night air. I needed a dip in the Arctic to get my brain and my dick off the gut-punching pleasure one little taste of her had given me.
Juliette lives in lush, moss-laden Louisiana where she lives with her husband, four kids, and black lab, Kona.
Multi-published author of paranormal and urban fantasy romance, she loves reading and writing brooding characters, mysterious settings, persevering heroines, and dark, sexy heroes.
From the moment she read JANE EYRE as a teenager, she fell in love with the Gothic romance. Even then, she not only longed to read more novels set in Gothic worlds, she wanted to create her own.
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"Addictive like all Kylie Scott books, you'll swoon, laugh, ache, put your life on hold, and compulsively read until the wee hours of the night—only to reread the whole thing the next morning. Perfection!" - Katy Evans, New York Times bestselling author Returning home for her father’s wedding was never going to be easy for Adele. If being sent away at eighteen hadn’t been bad enough, the mess she left behind when she made a pass at her dad’s business partner sure was. Fifteen years older than her, Pete had been her crush for as long as she could remember. But she’d misread the situation—confusing friendliness for undying love. Awkward. Add her father to the misunderstanding, and Pete was left with a broken nose and a business on the edge of ruin. The man had to be just as glad as everyone else when she left town. Seven years later, things are different. Adele is no longer a kid, but a fully grown adult more than capable of getting through the wedding and being polite. But all it takes is seeing him again to bring back those old feelings. Sometimes first loves are the truest.
“Did you enjoy the wedding?” he asked. “W-what?” The man stood much closer than necessary. “The wedding. It was nice, right?” “Sure.” Faint strains of music carried from across the road. It seemed worlds away. He downed a mouthful of scotch, gaze never leaving my face. All I could smell was the single malt, his cologne, and the slight scent of salt on his skin. After all, it’d been a hot night and he’d been dancing in the suit. He wasn’t happy; I knew the signs well enough. The tension in his jawline and the look in his eyes. All heated and intense. “So you’ve been sitting in the dark, drinking and brooding, huh?” I asked. “That sounds constructive.” “What did Leona have to say?” I laughed. “Oh, hell no. I’m not getting caught in the middle of you two again. Why don’t you try settling your issues like normal people and actually talk to one another?” “You have such a clever mouth, Adele.” He cocked his head. “Always got an answer, don’t you?” “Enjoy your scotch, Pete.” I turned away. “I’m going to bed.” “What’s the rush?” Strong fingers wrapped around my arm, not gripping me hard, just enough to hold me in place. “I’ve spent enough time tonight in the company of a drunken asshole, thank you.” I smiled. His return smile was lopsided. “You’re angry.” “I’m tired.” “You’re angry and tired. Me too,” he said. “Less so on the tired, though. Actually, I’m wide the fuck awake.” “Good for you.” He finished off his drink, then reached past me, setting the empty glass on the kitchen counter. “Keep me company.” “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “Why not?” he asked, expression full of false interest. “Thought you’d love the chance to tell me off some more.” I looked away. “We’re done here.” “No, we’re not.” “Yes, we are.” I pulled my arm out of his grasp. “We’re finished, Pete. Our friendship or whatever the hell it is these days . . . It’s over, kaput, the end. Took me seven years, but tonight I finally wised up.” “That so?” “Yep,” I said. “I refuse to keep feeling this way about you. It’s such a stupid waste.” His gaze narrowed. “You know, I even have a plan.” “What might that be?” “In the morning, I’m going to go home and fuck every available man I meet until one of them does it for me.” My smile felt jagged and horrible. It couldn’t have been pretty so see. “And then I won’t think about you anymore.” His fingers curled into tight fists. Nice to know I wasn’t the only one affected. I put my hand on his chest, getting up in his face. Two could play the invading-personal-space game, for fun and intimidation. As if I would back down.
Kylie is a New York Times and USA Today best-selling author. She was voted Australian Romance Writer of the year, 2013 & 2014, by the Australian Romance Writer’s Association and her books have been translated into eleven different languages. She is a long time fan of romance, rock music, and B-grade horror films. Based in Queensland, Australia with her two children and husband, she reads, writes and never dithers around on the internet. You can learn more about Kylie from
The Wedding from Hell, Part 2: The Rehearsal Dinner is the exciting second adventure in J.R. Ward’s three-part ebook serialization: The Wedding From Hell. This exclusive prequel to her upcoming standalone suspense, Consumed (available in Fall 2018) takes us back to the night steamy arson investigator Anne Ashburn and ‘bad boy’ firefighter Danny Maguire will never forget.
Gallery Books | E-book Original
ISBN: 9781982105372 | Free
The Wedding From Hell, Part 2: The Reception: As the wedding from hell continues, Anne and Danny find themselves walking the delicate balance between professional distance and explosive attraction. Will the desire they feel last through the night and change their lives? Or are they doomed to part after one night of passion?
J.R. Ward is the author of more than thirty novels, including those in her #1 New York Times bestselling Black Dagger Brotherhood series. There are more than fifteen million copies of her novels in print worldwide, and they have been published in twenty-six different countries around the world. She lives in the South with her family.
St. Mary’s Cathedral, New Brunswick, Massachusetts
Anne Ashburn had never had veil envy, as they called it. As a young girl, she had never pictured herself walking down an aisle in a white dress, ready to be rescued by a knight-in-shining-armor groom who was going to take charge and take care of her for the rest of her life.
Nope. Anne had wanted to fight fires like her father and then her brother. Even though she no longer respected the former, and had a strained relationship with the latter, she’d wanted to pull on turnouts and strap an air tank to her back and breathe canned air as she ran into open flames dragging hundreds of pounds of charged line with her. She’d wanted to rescue grandmothers, and children, and people who had succumbed to smoke inhalation. She’d been ready to cut open crumpled cars and drag broken bodies out of wreckage at the sides of highways. She’d been determined that the extremes of cold winter nights, hot summer days, physical exhaustion, and mental fatigue would never keep her from doing her job.
So, yup, the old fashioned Mrs. degree had never held any fascination for her. There was no way in hell she was going to be like her mother, living a derivative, nineteen-fifties version of life, nothing but a pretty blow-up doll that was expected to cook, clean, and cut the yapping.
On that note, as she pulled into St. Mary’s parking lot and looked up at the great cathedral’s stained glass windows and lofty spires, she decided it made sense that not only was she not the bride, she wasn’t even a bridesmaid.
Like the rest of the crew down at the 499 firehouse, she was a groomsmen in the impending nuptials of Robert “Moose” Miller and Deandra—what the hell was her last name anyway? Cox. That was it.
Anne was thinking groomsmen was a role she might as well get used to. Not that Duff, Emilio, Deshaun, or any of the other men she worked with were settling down anytime soon.
Especially not Dannyboy Maguire.
Right on cue, a Ford truck entered the parking lot, the late afternoon sun flashing across its windshield.
As Anne’s heart kicked in her chest, she was tempted to hustle in the side door of the church—but she had never been one to run from a challenge.
Danny was more than just a challenge, though.
And okay, fine. So maybe she had already run out of his way at least once: Last night, at the rehearsal dinner, she’d positively bolted after he’d made that speech of his.
I never believed in love . . . I thought it was just a word, a title folks gave to daydreams and misconceptions about destiny, a lie folks told to themselves to make them feel solid in this imperfect, unreliable, and mean-ass world.
Now I know it can happen between two people. And it doesn’t have to make sense because it’s not about logic. And it doesn’t have to have good timing because forever is like infinity, without beginning or end. And it doesn’t have to be defined because truth is like faith—it just is.
So, let’s toast to love.
He’d looked at her while he’d spoken. He had been talking . . . to her . . . in that slow, deep voice.
Everybody else had toasted Moose and Deandra. But Anne had known it hadn’t been about them. Danny, ever the ladies man, king of the one-night stand, he who shalt never be tied down . . . seemed to be suggesting not just that he’d had a change of heart.
But that he might have given his own to Anne.
Unless she was misreading everything? Then again, they had kissed the night before that. In her living room. While riding an adrenaline high after they’d saved a life in an alleyway.
And lips-to-lips had been better than good, the rare circumstance when reality had improved on a fantasy. After two years of attraction and sizzle and unacknowledged heat, that which had been pushed under the rug was exposed now. And there was no going back.
Especially as she felt the same way.
So hell yeah she had bolted out of that restaurant. The second she had been able to get up from her chair, she had hit the exit and left Danny without a ride home.
He’d called two hours later. He’d been in a bar, probably
Timeout where the crew always went, the noise in the background loud and raucous.
She had not answered. He had left a short message, but not called again.
Anne just wasn’t sure what to do. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There were plenty of things she wanted to do to him, with him, on him—all of which were naked and erotic and not necessarily only horizontal.
Refocusing, she watched Danny’s truck pass by. From behind the wheel, he looked over at her.
She waited for him to find a space and get out, and as he walked across to her, she tried—tried—not to go sixteen-year-old girl at the sight of him in a tuxedo.
#epicfail
He was very tall, over six feet five, and he was built hard and muscular, his shoulders so wide, his chest so broad, his waist the point of the inverted triangle of his torso. His jet-black hair was still damp, and what sunlight there was in the mostly cloudy sky flashed blue in its depths. He was freshly shaven—his cologne reaching her nose even before he stopped in front of her—and his eyes were that brilliant blue that had always arrested her. Irish eyes.
But they were not smiling.
For a man who was rarely serious, he looked positively grim, and she frowned.
“You okay?” Stupid question. “I mean—”
“Yeah, no. I’m fine.”
Standard answer for firefighters when they were in pain. And she wondered if it had to do with that speech of his, and what she could have sworn he had been telling her.
His eyes shifted off to the side and then his mouth got thinner.
“And here’s the blushing bride.”
A stretch limo entered the parking area and made a fat turn toward the back door of the cathedral. When it stopped, its driver got out and went to the rear door.
Seven all-in-pink, spray-tanned, body-glittered, and blond-streaked women got out one by one, a clown car of bridesmaids who were such carbon copies of each other, it was like they had been ordered out of a catalogue.
And then the white dress emerged.
Deandra, Moose’s intended, had her blond-streaked hair—natch—piled up on her head in an organized, sculpted waterfall of curls. Her veil was a gossamer fall over her tiny waist and her big skirt, and the shimmer of crystals across the bodice and down the front and sides of the gown made her look like a princess.
Provided you didn’t catch her expression.
She was sour as an old woman with gout and shingles. In spite of the fact that she was supposedly marrying her true love, she looked downright nasty as she snapped at the driver, glared at her maid of honor, and yanked her skirting up to march into the back of the church.
“Wow,” Anne muttered. “That’s a happy bride.”
“Whatever. They’re on their own with this dumbass idea.”
“Did you happen to talk to Moose last night?” she blurted.
“As in out of this? Or would that be considered tacky given it was less than twenty-four hours before the priest hit the altar with them.”
Danny rolled his eyes. “He’s bound and determined to ball-and-chain himself. Personally, I’d be running in the opposite direction.”
And then there was silence between them. Tension coiled up quick, and as Anne’s temples started to pound, she decided it was going to be a long night, just not for the reasons she’d assumed at the beginning of the weekend.
Everyone says opposites attract. And they must be right, because there’s no logical reason why I’m so drawn to Colin Fitzgerald. I don’t usually go for tattoo-covered, video-gaming, hockey-playing nerd-jocks who think I’m flighty and superficial. His narrow view of me is the first strike against him. It doesn’t help that he’s buddy-buddy with my brother.
And that his best friend has a crush on me.
And that I just moved in with them.
Oh, did I not mention we’re roommates?
I suppose it doesn’t matter. Fitzy has made it clear he’s not interested in me, even though the sparks between us are liable to burn our house down. I’m not the kind of girl who chases after a man, though, and I’m not about to start. I’ve got my hands full dealing with a new school, a sleazy professor, and an uncertain future. So if my sexy brooding roomie wises up and realizes what he’s missing?
Feel free to check out K&T's Book Babblers!
We have tons of giveaways and we're set as a private group so...
what happens in the group stays in the group! LOL!
