Self-Published | November 13, 2015 | Romantic Suspense
Holly Wood Files, book 3
Detective Drake Nash: hot, alpha, bossy, and… mine.
Now, if someone could tell his ex that... I don’t care if the summer fayre is coming to Holly Woods and she’s on the planning committee. What I do care about is sugar-filled food, bright lights, late nights… and danger. The type that won’t come in the form of Nonna’s new cantankerous British parrot, Gio. (Please see the damage done to Mom’s new curtains.)
Unfortunately, when the danger comes, it comes in the form of something Holly Woods has never seen. The town is rocked to its core, and once again, I’m in danger. Only this time, it isn’t because of my clients—this time, I’m in danger because of who I am… Because of my heritage.
And despite the HWPD’s best efforts, the bodies keep on piling up.
Drake’s determined to protect me. I’m determined that I can do it myself.
Danger. Mystery. Darkness. Malice.
It’ll be a miracle if any of us make it out of this with guns unfired, cupcakes still frosted, and hearts intact…
{ about emma hart } .
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.
{ excerpt } .
“Dinner’s cold,” I mumble against him. “Don’t care.” The smile is gone, and there’s nothing but his kiss.It consumes me. It always does. It’s like a hurricane and a tornado swirling inside me, washing through me like a tsunami. All sugar obsessions aside, I’ve never been truly addicted to anything.
If I had to pick one thing to be addicted to for the rest of my life, it’d be his kiss.
He grabs my thighs and hoists me onto the counter. I scream at the suddenness of the movement, and my hand hits my glass. It goes flying off the counter and lands on the floor with a smash, water and glass shards spreading across the floor.
Drake stills, stares at me for a second, then looks at the mess. His erection is pressing into my thigh, and I can see he’s weighing his options.
Clean or sex?
He wraps his arms around my waist and hauls me onto his shoulder.
Fuck. Holy fuck.
Instead of screaming, I laugh. I have no idea what else I’m supposed to do, really.
“And the mess?” I ask.
“You can clean it up later,” he answers, carrying me upstairs.
“That’s the first time you’ve ever left a mess anywhere.”
Unlike me. He’s the sponge to my dirt.
“What can I say?” He drops me onto his bed and leans over me, his eyes glinting devilishly in the lower light of his bedroom. “I’m stressed the fuck out, and if it’s between cleaning a smashed glass or being inside you, I know which one I’d rather pick.”
Heat coils in my lower stomach, settling into a throbbing ache I feel right through my pussy. I curl my fingers around the collar of his shirt and pull his face down to mine.
“Fine.” I pull his face down to mine. “But if you’re stressed, then we do it my way.”
He can’t say a word as I wrap my legs around his waist and use all of my strength to drag him over onto the bed. He laughs as I land on top of him, grinning, and straddle him.
“All right,” he agrees, sliding his hands up my legs. One stops on my butt, but the other trails all the way up my spine until his fingers are buried deep in my hair. He eases my face down to his and our lips come together easily, finding each other’s without as much as a second thought. “Right,” I say, sitting up. “Roll over. Massage time.”
Drake stops. His cock is pushing right against my wet pussy through my panties, and I’m certain I’m flushed, but I do my best to keep a straight face. He yanks my dress up and his palm connects with my ass. I half gasp, half scream as he throws me off him, onto my back, and covers my body with his.
His eyes burn hotly, sending desire flooding through my body at lightning speed. His hands find mine, our fingers linking together, and he pins them above my head. I smile coyly, dragging my bottom lip between my teeth.
He says only three words.
“Fuck the massage.”
And fuck the massage he does.
His assault on my mouth is greedy. Every kiss is deeper and harder than the last, and I revel in each one. I didn’t know how much I needed him, how much he needed me, until right this second when the promise of each other is within touching distance.
The way he undresses us both is hurried, every item of clothing being thrown to a heap on the floor. Each touch we share is a blazing inferno that sets sparks flying across my skin, and the desperate way he plays my naked body until he teases my wet pussy with the head of his hard cock is almost cruel yet exciting.
When it gets to be too much, when I can’t take any more, I tilt my hips up.
He pushes inside me in one thrust, every single one of my nerves tingling in delight.
And he shows me exactly what he thinks of my fucking massage.
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