   1.Hate-screw my high school nemesis. 2.Remember to hate him. 3.Prove my brother wrong. It should be easy. It isn’t. As the owner of Pick-A-Dick, New Orleans’ premier hook-up website, my job is simple. Connect two people for a no-strings, no-expectations hook-up. The plus for my clients is that I’m the one who gets to sift through the dick pics—except this time, they're required. My problem? My brother, co-owner of Pick-A-Dick’s sister dating site, doesn’t believe it’s possible to hook up with someone three times and not fall in love. I disagree. I know it’s possible. And my disagreement is exactly how I end up reconnected with my high school nemesis, Elliott Sloane. The guy who asked me to junior prom and then stood me up. Who egged my car when I rejected him, and convinced my senior homecoming date to ghost me. It should be easy to hate-screw him. If only he was still that person, instead of a hot-as-hell single dad, working as a builder to make ends’ meet, fighting for custody of his daughter. Not to mention packing in the pants department... Three hook-ups. One outcome. Right? 
Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon CA | Amazon AU | iBooks | B&N | KoboFIND OUT MORE: http://www.pick-a-dick-net   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.
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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.
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.
![Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000035_00022]](http://www.inkslingerpr.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/MIXEDUP-take4ebook-656x1024.jpg)
![Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000035_00022]](http://www.inkslingerpr.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/MIXEDUP-take4ebook-192x300.jpg)
Hiring my brother’s best friend was not on my to-do list. Neither was he. Expanding my dirty cocktail bar into food was supposed to be easy, except finding a chef in my little town of Whiskey Key is anything but. Until Parker Hamilton comes home—bringing his Michelin starred chef’s hat with him. He has no work. I need someone like him in my new kitchen. There’s just one problem: I hate his cocky, filthy-mouthed, sexy-as-hell guts. Even if I might want him. Just a little… Working for my best friend’s sister? Not on my to-do list. She’s another story. Whiskey Key was supposed to be a relaxing vacation, except I haven’t reached the heights I have by lying in a hammock drinking cocktails. So when Raven Archer is desperate for a chef, I offer up my skills. I’m bored. She needs what I can give her. Except there’s a problem: I’ve always hated her. Her and her big, blue eyes, sassy mouth, and killer curves. If only I didn’t want her.
![Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000035_00027]](http://www.inkslingerpr.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/CATCHING-CARLY-EBOOK-662x1024.jpg)
![Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000035_00027]](http://www.inkslingerpr.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/CATCHING-CARLY-EBOOK-194x300.jpg)
My name is Carly Porter... And I’m really good at bad decisions.
![Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000035_00027]](http://www.inkslingerpr.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/casanovanewebook-671x1024.jpg)
![Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000035_00027]](http://www.inkslingerpr.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/casanovanewebook-196x300.jpg)
I loved him more than life. He broke me and he didn't even know it. I ran from him. He didn't chase me. He never needed to, because he knew I'd come back. He was right. Death brought me home to him. Brett Walker. Drop dead gorgeous and filthy-mouthed with a smile that turns saints to sinners. A casanova to his core. My ex-best friend. And the bad boy whose reputation precedes him—the same reputation I'm tasked with turning to gold... Or so they think. 
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.
![Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000035_00027]](https://emiliebookworld.files.wordpress.com/2016/10/beingbrooke-ebooknew.jpg)
![Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000037_00035]](http://www.inkslingerpr.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/strippeddown3-655x1024.jpg)
![Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000037_00035]](http://www.inkslingerpr.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/strippeddown3-192x300.jpg)
What do you get when you mix a bottle of tequila, a single mom moonlighting as a stripper, and her sinfully sexy boss with an impulsive side?![Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000035_00022]](http://www.inkslingerpr.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/STRIPPED-DOWN-full-cover-draft-1024x759.jpg)
w 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.
When unlucky in love Mia O'Halloran finds herself face to Sex God V-Lines with a chiseled, hot male stripper in possession of a package not even the postal service could lose, what happens in Vegas is definitely supposed to stay in Vegas.
“Hi,” I said into the phone. “What’s up?” “Me,” he rumbled back. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been hard all fucking day.” I swallowed. Was this phone sex? I’d never done phone sex before. “West?” “Yeah?” “Are we going to have phone sex?” He paused. “Do you want to have phone sex?” “Are you hard?” “I’m always hard when I think about you.” I felt like I needed to preen a little. “I’ve never had phone sex before.” “What kind of assholes have you been dating?” “You really don’t want to go there. We’ll be here all night. I mean, seriously. I bore myself at this point.” “You’re rambling. Are you drunk?” “I wish,” I mumbled. I needed to be drunk to phone-sex, didn’t I? Yes, I decided, blankly staring at my TV. I did. And not just any kind of drunk. I needed to be absolutely hammered. “You didn’t answer the question, Mia,” he said softly. Oh. Right. Did I want to. Well, I had looked at that picture several times... “Yes. I want to.” I was officially crazy. I’d lost my mind. No doubt about it. “Where are you right now?” Through the phone, I heard a door shut. “Are you in bed?” he asked. “No.” “Get into bed. Take your clothes off first.” His tone was commanding and strong, and before I could think it through, I was in my room, my phone was on the bed, and I was stripping down to my underwear. I picked the phone up and climbed in bed. “I’m in bed.” “Good.” His voice was a little gruff. “What are you wearing?” I bit down on my lower lip and glanced at the scarlet-red underwear set I had on. “Hold on.” I brought up the camera on my phone, kicked the sheets to the side, and took a photo of myself using the front camera. It was good enough, so I texted it to him. “Check your messages.” He was silent for a good few seconds. Then there was, “Jesus, Mia. Fucking hell.” “Do you...like it?” “Like it? You look sexy as fuck. If I were with you right now, I’d rip those fucking panties off you.” “And do what?” Look at me go. He laughed slightly. “Kiss you,” he answered roughly, all traces of laughter from his voice gone. “I’d run my hands up your body as you wrap your legs around my waist.” I swallowed, my clit aching as the low tone of his voice mixed with his words turned me on. “I’d kiss down your neck and unclasp your bra so I could touch your gorgeous tits.” My hand hovered as I contemplated doing it—and then I did it. One quick fiddle with the clasp between them and my bra cups fell to my side. My nipples were hard, and I cupped my right breast, my thumb ghosting over my nipple. “I’d take them in my mouth. Roll my tongue over your hard nipples until you moan beneath me and beg me for more.” My eyes closed. “And then I’d kiss my way down your stomach to those tiny, red panties.” My hand took on a life of its own as it followed his words. My fingertips trailed down the center of my stomach until they brushed the waistband of the red lace thong. “Then what?” I asked. “Then I’d peel them down your legs and, once they were off, open your legs so I could see your wet little pussy.” He exhaled. “Are you naked?” “Yes,” I replied softly. “I want to see you.” “Will you send one back?” “Yes.” “Okay,” I whispered. Then I awkwardly took a picture. Luckily it wasn’t blurred, and no sooner had I sent it to him than one came right back. No face, just like mine, and my eyes skipped right over the hot body to where he looked like he had a tight grip on his cock. I struggled to right my breathing. I was even more turned on now, seeing that he was too. “Fuck, Mia. I’m so hard for you.” I swallowed. “Are you touching yourself?” “Yes. But, if you send me another picture like that, I won’t need to.” He paused. “Are you touching yourself?” “Not yet.” “Touch yourself. Now. Open your legs and slide your fingers over your clit.” The demanding tone was back, and I loved the thrill that danced down my spine on a shiver. “Rub it and put a finger inside your pussy. I want to know how you feel when you fuck your own tight pussy.” My heart pounded in my chest as I did what he’d said. I slid my hand down between my legs, ghosted a fingertip over my clit, and bit down on my lower lip as I pushed my middle finger inside myself. “Move it,” he ordered me, his voice gruff. “Rub your thumb against your clit. Fuck your own hand, Mia, and imagine it’s mine. Imagine I’m there watching you finger yourself and get off.”
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