Chandler by Laurelin Paige
A Fixed Trilogy Spinoff Release Date: September 20th, 2016 Genre: Contemporary Romance
I'm good in a boardroom, but I’m better in the bedroom. Much better. I can charm the skirt off any woman in one encounter. I'll even give her an orgasm before I put her in a cab. Or three. No more or she’ll start making plans for the future and I'm not into that. Or I wasn’t until Genevive Fasbender. She's the first woman in five years that I want to spend the whole night with. And she's the first woman who’s told me I'm not what she wants in a lover, even after multiple O’s. She’s brash and bold and stubborn as hell, and she doesn’t believe it’s possible to satisfy her. But I’m up for the challenge. And after an incident in my brother’s office closet―a downright dirty incident―I think I’m just the guy to deliver. Genevive Fasbender will never know what’s coming.
Excerpt:Five minutes later, the valet pulls up with my car. Genevieve raises an eyebrow. “A Bugatti?” I’m so impressed she can name the model that I practically jizz in my pants. “It’s the best.” She shakes her head, and I swear I hear her mutter something about rich men and their toys, but I don’t respond, too occupied with inspecting my car and then passing the attendant the cash I promised him earlier for returning my vehicle in perfect condition. I slide into the driver’s seat, and when I look over at Genevieve as she buckles her seatbelt, a wave of pure, unadulterated lust rolls through me. I’m very aware that I’ve trapped her, that she’s now defenseless to my whims. Not that I’d take advantage, but goddamn, to think that I could… I nearly shiver at my own vile thoughts. Glad she can’t know what I’m thinking, I flash her a smile. “So. Where am I taking you?” “I’m staying at the Park Hyatt on 57th Street.” “Fancy.” The Park Hyatt is one of the nicest luxury hotels in New York. That means this girl has money, which isn’t a bad thing. Just, the swell of my wallet in my back pocket is usually one of my better attributes. If wealth doesn’t attract her, I hope I’m not shit out of luck when it comes to getting an invitation up to her room. Apparently, I’m transparent because she asks, “Not impressed?” “Quite the opposite. I’m worried you won’t have a reason to be impressed with me.” Now I’m the one who can’t believe how honest I’m being. “It’s a valid worry,” she says after a beat, and I can’t tell if she’s teasing or being blunt. Can’t tell if I should prepare for gut-wrenching disappointment or dive into another round of sexy banter. I concentrate on my driving instead, speeding up before slipping expertly into a tight opening in the adjacent lane. I’ll admit I’m showing off. “Smashing,” she says with a tone that vibrates through my body like I’m a tuning fork. Then, abruptly, she laughs, and I turn my head toward her, alarmed at the source of her amusement. “I still can’t believe you drive a Bugatti in the city. I can’t decide if that makes you brilliant or as mad as a bag of ferrets.” “Brilliant, of course.” Though, with her so close, I feel more like I’m going crazy. “What can I say? I like things that are fast.” “Of course you do.” “You don’t?” I raise a questioning brow. “Maybe you don’t understand how awesome fast can be.” I put my foot on the gas and race down the next block to prove my point. The traffic light turns red as I approach the intersection, and I ease the brakes. “See? Fast is fun.” “The problem with fast is it’s over too quickly.” Is that innuendo? Her gaze pierces into me, and the air around us feels tight and charged, and I’m suddenly certain that I will die if I don’t get to taste her tonight. Even if she didn’t mean anything more when she made her statement, I certainly do when I say, “Don’t worry. I know when to take my time.” She exhales, slowly, and I swear I can feel it. As though she’s already in my arms and her breath is grazing every inch of my bare skin. No matter what happens after this, I know she at least feels this…this attraction. Or whatever it is. Her voice is low and sultry when she replies. “You’re not talking about cars anymore. But do you really take your time? I’d guess you bolt the minute you’re finished.” She’s so blunt, so direct, and I don’t know if it’s a her thing or an English thing, but I like it. I also like this conversation we’re having. Because we’re drawing the lines, and that means the potential for tonight is high. So I answer with a nod, making sure she understands that she’s correct in thinking I’ll bolt. Because I will.
About the Author:Laurelin Paige is the NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Author of the Fixed Trilogy. She's a sucker for a good romance and gets giddy anytime there's kissing, much to the embarrassment of her three daughters.
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Last Kiss by Laurelin Paige
Series: First and Last #2 Publisher: St. Martin’s Press Genre: Romantic Suspense/ Contemporary Romance
"Visceral, enticing, shining with white lies and dark truths, seductive twists and turns, and a love that takes your breath away." – Katy Evans, New York Times bestselling author
A GAME OF CAT AND MOUSE FILLED WITH DARK DESIRES AND DANGEROUS SECRETS… Emily Wayborn has made a decision. She might not fully trust handsome and deadly Reeve Sallis, but he is the one person that gives her what she needs. With Reeve she can finally be herself. Submitting to him is the only thing keeping her grounded as the rest of her life falls apart. But the hotelier is a master at keeping secrets and as she continues her quest for answers someone is making sure she doesn’t find them. Time is running out and she is questioning everything she thought she knew about friendship and love. She must now make an impossible choice that will determine if she will survive with her heart…or at all.
What he really wanted to hear were the other words, the words I couldn’t give. He’d danced around it, too, though. He’d suggested he loved me, but he’d never told me outright. Those words stood so prominently that they’d become a barrier between us. Either they’d been a lie, a cruel response to my scheming, or they’d been truthful—a possible doorway leading to something else. Something more. Damn, how I wanted the more. Wanted it enough to brave broaching the subject. “You said things the other night, Reeve—” He jumped in, turning his head to meet my eyes straight on. “I meant them.” “Oh.” Oh. There was so much to say in response and yet nothing at all came to mind. And as wary as I was to fully trust him, I believed him. Many men had proclaimed their love for me—usually when I had my mouth around their dick—but it had never been sincere. The plethora of false variations had been enough to teach me that this version was the real thing. But Reeve had said he’d loved Amber that night as well. And I believed that too. “I want you sleeping in my bed, Emily.” Or perhaps I was wrong about everything, and his devotion was tied up in sex like all the other men I’d known. I considered retorting back something sassy about not always being able to get what you want. But I wasn’t quite sure that was an adage that Reeve understood. Besides, I wanted to be sleeping in his bed as well, and maybe I would be eventually. If it was really where he wanted me. If I was really the one he wanted there. I knew I should just ask—how do you feel about Amber now? What happens next between us? It was on the tip of my tongue, the questions preformed in my mouth when I decided to swallow them instead. Because I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear those answers—whatever they may be—and, in this moment, at least, I was what he desired. And maybe it was just an excuse to not have to think about her for a minute, to not worry about feeling guilty or like I’d betrayed her. As long as I didn’t know, I could blame my behavior on ignorance, and I could please him too. The swing rocked as I shifted to my knees. Ignoring the chill of the seat against my bare shins, I leaned forward and unfastened Reeve’s jeans. “This isn’t my bed,” he said, not moving to either help me or stop me. “It’s the best I can do right now.” He’d gone commando, a sign that he’d likely tried to sleep as well, then had thrown his clothing on when he found the effort futile. I rubbed my hands together, heating them with friction before I reached in for his cock. Just as I lowered my lips to his tip, he said, “That ‘right now’ insinuates that there will be a time that you can do more.” I didn’t want to answer, afraid of giving too much of myself away. Afraid that he wouldn’t like my reasons for not being with him fully or that he’d try to talk me out of worrying about Amber’s place in all of this. So I occupied my mouth in other ways that prevented talking.
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NY Times & USA Today Bestselling author Laurelin Paige is a sucker for a good romance and gets giddy anytime there’s kissing, much to the embarrassment of her three daughters. Her husband doesn’t seem to complain, however. When she isn’t reading or writing sexy stories, she’s probably singing, watching Game of Thrones and the Walking Dead, or dreaming of Michael Fassbender.