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![]() ![]() PRE-ORDER NOWAmazon US | Paperback | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | Amazon CA | BN | Kobo | iBooksAN EXCERPT FROM COWBOY UPI push my hands from his shoulders and palm his jaw as his stubble prickles against my fingers while my hands wander up to his hair. His hat falls to the ground with a thud and I know he’s just as lost in me as I am in him, because he doesn’t even make a move to pick it up. He lets out a deep grunt when I mold myself against his body, seeking some sort of friction. The next thing I know, my back is against the door and he’s gripping my bottom. His mouth hits my jaw with a bite of his teeth, making a squeak of pleasure shoot up my throat, and his deep rumble of laughter reaches my ears as he presses me harder into the door with his hips. The heavy bulge of his erection against that spot makes me so desperate for him that I whimper in relief when his mouth finally closes over mine in a wet tangle of tongues. I’ve never been kissed so thoroughly. This is the kind of kiss that sets the bar for any that might follow. The kind that shows you everything you’ve been missing and everything you never knew you wanted. I’m going to be comparing every kiss I ever have to my dark cowboy’s, even though I know there’s a good chance no one will ever compare. The sounds coming from my mouth, the ones being swallowed by his, are nothing short of needy. My hips move in tandem with the thrusts of his, and even though we’re both fully clothed, I know it won’t take much more of this for me to go off like the town’s fireworks on the Fourth of July. “Fuck, you taste just like apple pie,” he whispers against my lips, breaking away with a gasp. “Huh?” “Goddamn, I love apple pie,” he says before his mouth is back on mine, this time with a whole new kind of hunger deepening his kisses. I’m held captive, enraptured. Then his hands move from my bottom to glide up my torso. He lifts his hard chest off mine and suddenly those delicious fingers are at my breasts. Even if I had big boobs his hands would dwarf them, I’m sure, but as it is he covers both with a firm grasp before adjusting his hold with a deft twist of the wrists. His mouth continues to feast on mine while his huge hands learn my body with slow movements. I tear my mouth from his with a breathy moan when he pushes my shirt up and slips his fingers into the cups of my bra to tweak my nipples. “Oh, God,” I moan when he does it again. “I can’t get enough of you,” he rumbles. “Please,” I beg, not with the slightest clue as to what I’m begging for. His hips dig even harder into mine as he leans back, supporting me against the door with that connection alone as he pulls my shirt off. The darkness makes me feel more confident than I normally would be, almost half naked with a man—no, a stranger. “Yours too,” I tell him as his fingers move to unclasp my bra. “I want to feel your skin on mine,” I breathe, taking over the task so he’ll hopefully give me what I want. I fumble in my haste to feel more of this dangerous arousal he’s creating in my body, but the second my bra is free and dangling toward the floor, his naked chest collides against mine, pushing me into the door with a force that sends the air rushing out of my lungs. His mouth hits my collarbone at the same time his hands grasp my bottom, sliding me up the door until I feel the wet heat of his breath against my breast. Then he stops.![]() ![]() We are excited to bring you the cover for DRUNK ON YOU by Harper Sloan releasing on March 14, 2017!![]() ![]() ![]() PRE-ORDER NOWAMAZON US | AMAZON UK | AMAZON CA | AMAZON AU | Kobo | Apple | BN![]() ![]()
h1 style="text-align: center;">We are excited to bring you the AMAZING cover for KISS MY BOOTS, the second standalone in The Coming Home Series by Harper Sloan releasing Summer 2017.
![]() ![]() Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | Amazon CA | BN | Kobo | iBooks | BAM | GooglePRE-ORDER LOST RIDER NOW, OUT ON APRIL 25, 2017![]() Amazon US | Amazon US paperback | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | Amazon CA | BN | Kobo | iBooks | BAM | Google![]() ![]() ![]() PrologueSigning with the record company of our dreams should have been the best thing that ever happened to us. And it was…for a short while anyway. While the glitz and glamour of the fame’s promise was shining as bright as our stage lights we could forget where we came from and live in the glory. The money bought us every happiness we ever craved. Those false securities that you think will make your life better. The instant friends, lovers—you name it—would do whatever we asked just to spend a second in our presence. We had it all. The only problem was when we had those quiet moments in between the insanity. When we were slapped in the face with the reality that all we really had—all we could count on—was each other. My brother, Weston, is the only constant I’ve ever had in my life. He’s the person that I know will never let me down and will always be my biggest support. We grew up with parents that hated us. Really…it sounds ridiculous, the notion that parents could hate their children, but ours did … no, do. They made no secret of it when we were younger. And they continue to attempt to pick at our very souls like the vultures that they are. My earliest memory of them is somewhere around third or fourth grade. That was the year that they seemed hell-bent on reminding us that we had ruined it all for them. Constant screams and verbal lashings. According to them, they were on the edge of fame and then we came along and it all went down hill. Even now, I still can’t understand how they came up with that logic. How we were to blame for their reckless behavior. The same reckless behavior that, in reality had ruined whatever path they might have traveled. It has nothing to do with us, but to them, we were essentially their bad luck. When we hit middle school it got worse, but only because they knew that they could leave us for long periods and we wouldn’t die. Our parents, like us, were born to be stars…or at least they assumed they were and they had no qualms about reminding us that fact daily. Unfortunately for them, they lacked the drive and ambition to never back down until they had everything they ever wanted. The first challenge that was thrown in their path they decided to take the low road full of scavengers and sinners. Like I said, vultures through and through. Our dad knocked up mom in the early eighties, when big hair rock bands were all the rage and theirs was seconds away from signing the record deal that would make their careers. Then they found out about us. The twins that ruined it all. And all those long nights performing in whatever local hole they could find, bouncing from town to town just waiting for their big break was washed away. Mom was no longer the singer that men would lust over. Not when we ruined her body. And our dad was so deep in the bottle I’m not sure he realized he was swimming in it. Again, something that was blamed on us. When their band fell apart, they decided hating us was almost easier than hating each other. They had a common goal in their blame and right or wrong, to them we would never be anything other than a reminder of why they aren’t living their dream. Their band mates obviously didn’t share the same bond that Weston and I have with Jamison and Luke. God forbid I ever found myself in a position like my parents had been in, I know my boys would band together and the show would go on. Because for us, this is it. This is our future’s promise of a better life and even if for me it’s starting to look like more of a curse than a promise, it’s something that we would die before we gave up. Unfortunately for me, I’m pretty sure that there are a few people that would love to make that happen. I’m getting ahead of myself. You’re probably wondering who am I. I’m no stranger to you. I’m on every magazine cover. You open social media and I guarentee you there is a spondered post about my group. Turn on the radio, boom – there we are. I’m everywhere. I’m Wrenlee Davenport, lead singer of Loaded Replay, and I’ve learned the hard way that there is plenty of people in the world that would love to have a piece of me, but they don’t give one shit about the person behind the voice. They see the persona. The fake me that the record label loves to market as the sexy singer with the body of a sinner and the voice of a saint, but for me—I’m probably always going to be that stupid little girl that believes that my prince charming will come riding in on his black horse—because really, black horses are so much more badass than white ones—and prove to me that every little jaded piece of my heart is worth loving. And he will love me for me. For Wren. Not the Wrenlee that, for more times than I care to admit, has to drink herself stupid just to face this fucking life I’m living. Yeah… fame and fortune is far from everything I ever dreamed it was. It’s my own personal hell and I pray that there’s something or someone out there that can prove to me that the world isn’t screwed because the majority of humanity is too busy licking the windows on the outside to see the beauty behind it. All they care about is what’s at face value when what matters is skin deep. I should feel bad for prince charming. My knight in tarnished armor. Because he’ll have one giant battle on his hands to make me believe that there might be someone left out there that doesn’t just want a piece of me.![]() ![]() |
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