Title: Detoured by Love
Author: Michelle Lynn
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Cover Design: Okay Creations
Release Date: November 10, 2016
Blurb
Carly Lincoln is just months away from claiming her overdue promotion. The plush corner office, the view, the prestige is finally within her grasp. She’s worked her entire life to make her dream, her reality. But when an unexpected boulder blocks her perfectly paved path, Carly is forced to reevaluate her goals. Bryant Garrity is just months away from another season. Last year, the star quarterback crumbled to a mere mortal on the games biggest stage. The blood. The sweat. The tears. He’s back and ready to return to his spot among the elite. His sole focus is one last shot at glory. But the detour on the road ahead, might cause him to alter his route. Love isn’t on either of their radars, but Carly and Bryant’s paths are about to collide.
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Chapter One
Carly
The sky is dark, and the air is quiet, except for the soft hum of the band playing at the resort. Nightly walks keep me sane in my job as a travel agent for corporations. After shuffling people off tour buses to ruins to swimming with the dolphins or scuba diving, my busy days end at five. Every night, I walk the shoreline of the ocean, letting the coolness of the water rise over my feet.
My phone rings in my pocket, and I slowly move off course, away from a couple holding hands. I pull my phone out of my back pocket and trudge through the sand. “Hey, Riley,” I answer. “I’m getting married!” I press my finger against my free ear to hush the echo of crashing waves. My heart flutters out of my chest before it drops dead into its dark dungeon again, but not because my baby sister has decided to promise her love to only one. I couldn’t be happier for her and her now fiancé, Cameron. The problem is, my sister’s upcoming nuptials will put me face-to-face with my ex-fiancé, Dean. Worse, my guess is, Dean will be the best man, which means that I’ll be walking down the aisle with him after all. Why, again, did I meddle in my sister’s life and introduce her to Dean’s best friend, Cameron, all those years ago? Oh, right, I had a sparkling ring on my left hand and believed in the happily-ever-after crap. “That’s great, Riley.” I’m happy for my sister and not even close to upset that she’s embarking on my mom’s and sister Renee’s designated path. Nope, because that ship sailed for me when I left my perfect fiancé at the altar of my childhood church. In the last three years, I haven’t regretted that decision. I mean, who wouldn’t want my life? My job is more like vacation than work. Traveling to exotic islands with all expenses paid isn’t hard. Living two hundred days of the year with my toes wiggling in the sand is easy. Give me a break; no one’s life compares. I have no one to answer to. I have no one who expects things. I have no one to report to. “So, you’ll be my maid of honor?” Her question yanks me back to our conversation, like an anchor to a cruise ship. I was blissfully happy, leisurely sailing along the ocean, by myself. Maid of honor? “What about Sara? You two have been best friends since preschool.” “Carly, she’s not my sister. Plus, all she cares about is planning the bachelorette party.” Great, so I’ll be drinking out of a penis-shaped cup with a lit-up penis necklace adorning my neck and eating jelly candy–shaped penises. Fun times. “I’m really okay with just being a bridesmaid. What about Renee? She’s done it before.” Renee, my older sister, the one who married young, lives two streets over from my parents and buys my mom’s favorite grocery items when they go on sale. You know, she’s the favorite child. I stop right before I reach the hotel and sit down. My toes dig their way through the small particles of sand. Did I mention I never pay for a pedicure? “You don’t want to do it? Is this because of Dean?” I scoff, my toes reaching the cold and damp layer of sand. “No, that’s not an issue.” “Carly,” she says my name slow, as though I’m going to admit I’d rather cut off my feet than walk down the aisle with Dean. There is a reason I didn’t do it the first time. “I know it’s hard, but I need my sister. Mom’s going to drive me crazy with her anal obsession of daily calendars, spreadsheets, and time-scheduling.” I stare out to the moon reflecting down on the ocean. Seriously, people would kill for my life. “Riley,” I sigh, hesitating longer, hoping she’ll relent and not push me toward standing up in her wedding. “I ran interference for you.” The slight whine that must be built in the DNA of the youngest child rings in my ears. Oh, she’s pulling the big guns. “That’s different.” “Different!” she screeches. “Carly, I had to walk down that aisle, ask the organist to stop playing, and tell everyone that the bride just sped off in the limo without the groom.” She’s got me. My back collapses into the sand. “Fine.” The entire word depletes my energy. “You’re the best. I knew I could count on you. When will you get back to Chicago?” I cup a handful of sand in my palm, letting it slither down my closed fist. This is going to suck. Big time. “Three days.” I hear the claps from her hands. “Great. We need to start planning. Oh, I forgot to tell you the most important thing.” The whine in her voice fading. “What?” “I want a July wedding, like Mom and Dad.” “Riley, it’s April.” “Why do you think I need you to get back as soon as possible?” Hearing her excitement over the line probably doesn’t compare to seeing her in person. I envision her wide smile and rosy complexion. “You really love him, right?” I ask the question that no one cared to ask me three years ago. “Carly,” she sighs, thinking my question has something to do with Dean. It doesn’t because I did love him. He just didn’t love me enough. “Answer the question. I want to hear it from your lips.” I stand up and brush the sand off my butt. “Yeah.” Her sultry tone confirms what I already knew. She’s found him, her one. Cameron is nothing like Dean, and I have to remember that fact during their whirlwind wedding, especially since I’ll be thrown back into a room with him until July. “You’re going to continue working for your master’s right?” I ask because my mom won’t. “Yeah. Cameron said he’d support us until I graduated. Isn’t he the best?” A better man than his best friend. “Yeah, he is.” I catch a man sitting in the sand ahead of me. His hoodie-covered head faces the ocean with his elbows propped up on his raised knees. “Okay, I gotta go. I have to call Darla, Tina—” “Stay on for just a second more,” I whisper so that the man who I’m fast approaching doesn’t overhear. “Why? Why is your voice shaking?” Riley asks. I shush her through the receiver. “I hate that you travel by yourself so much.” “I’m not by myself.” “You are now. This is what Mom’s talking about, Carly. You have to settle—” “Shh.” I’m behind him, and my eyes watch him for any quick movements. He doesn’t even stir, like he has no idea he’s not alone on this beach. Once I’m a safe distance from him, my eyes fixate on the pier that goes back to the resort. My feet move faster, digging further into the sand to gain momentum. “Okay, go call your friends,” I say. “Carly, what was that?” “Just some guy on the beach. I wanted to make sure someone could call the police if needed.” With every new glow of a resort light in my view, another one of my body’s limbs relaxes. “I worry about you,” she says. “Oh, I’m fine. Go call your friends.” “You’re safe now?” “Yep.” “Okay, love you. Call me when you get back.” “Congratulations, Riley. I love you, too.” I hang up and glance behind me. The suspecting male is in the same position. I look to the wooden stairs that lead me off the sand and to the resort and then back to the ocean one last time for tonight. How could anyone not love to stare at this every night or to fall asleep to the sound of crashing waves? My job should be on some newspaper article for the best career choice. My barefoot steps on the wooden plank of the stair, and a scream echoes through the ominous air. My mind floods with horrific images, and I instantly glance to where that man was sitting. Did he pass me up for his next victim? Immediately, news images of vacation stories when young girls go missing flood my head. I’d be a worthless witness because I never saw the guy’s face. I mean, a gray sweatshirt isn’t really a clue to catching an abductor. My stomach plummets when I find the spot on the sand empty. I whip around so fast that the tail of my ponytail hits my cheek. The man is sprinting toward a woman who’s waving her hands on the other side of the resort. Wait, that bleach-blonde hair is familiar. My eyes shoot out to the dark water. Two flailing arms are swishing the water back and forth. “Help!” I scream to no one who’s immediately around me. I sprint after the man, my feet sore from the friction of the sand. He strips off his sweatshirt, revealing a back most men would envy. He doesn’t bother slipping out of his sandals and dives into the first wave that combats him. The foreign male swims toward whom I now recognize as my client Mr. Fuller. By the time I reach Mrs. Fuller, I’m heaving for breath. One hand is clasped over her heart, and the other is over her mouth. “Here.” I take one side of her expensive silk blouse to cover her bare breast. She looks down. “Oh my God.” Even though her skin is a golden hue from her extended time in the Caribbean, a pink flushes her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, buttoning up. “What are you sorry for? Loving your husband?” She smiles briefly and turns her attention back to the ocean. The man has his arm around Mr. Fuller’s neck until he reaches the shallow area and can no longer swim. Picking Mr. Fuller up as though he’s a child, no muscle strain whatsoever, the man carries him over, placing him on the sand. “Oh, Kevin!” Mrs. Fuller says, falling to her knees at her husband’s side. Just then, the staff from the hotel rushes out to the beach with cases full of medical supplies. Mr. Fuller coughs a few times, and the resort medical group assists him to roll over to his side. The man stands idly behind everyone, catching his own breath. My eyes concentrate on the droplets of water dripping off the hard ridges of his muscles. His hair is dark, and it matches his features of his olive skin tone and a scruff that I assume is his vacation growth. Most would collapse into the sand right next to Mr. Fuller, but this man appears unfazed from the exertion his body must have taken from swimming through a current and dragging at least two hundred pounds back with him. As Mrs. Fuller is busy holding her husband’s hand and the medical group is concentrating on checking over Mr. Fuller, my eyes fixate on the man in front of me. This is what I imagine encountering one of the most beautiful people from those special edition magazines would be like. Even his crooked nose suits him better than if it were straight. A dangerous yet safe element surrounds him. My vision awakens thoughts of him exhausting me in bed, only to cuddle me afterward. With that thought, my heart’s rhythm syncs with the fast beat of the steel drums echoing from the resort. My eyes cast further down from his perfect abs, but a deep throat clearing interrupts me. My eyes fly back up to his face. The right side of his lips quirk up in the most egotistical smirk I’ve ever encountered on a man. Again, it fits him though. His confidence is sexy and appealing, and beads of sweat form across my hairline. Straightening my shoulders, I pull the hem of my T-shirt down over my hips. I break the few feet between us, holding my hand out in front of me. “Thank you, sir.” He studies my hand for a moment, wipes his own hand on his drenched shorts, and shakes mine, firm and quick, leaving a few pieces of wet sand on my palm. Nothing too meaningful, except for the zing of electricity up my arm. “Hey.” His gruff and unapproachable voice makes me distance myself from him. Once Mr. Fuller has sat up and appears to be okay, Mrs. Fuller springs to her feet. Rushing over to the man who has yet to give me his name, she tackles him, and he practically falls over— if the man built of bricks could actually collapse, that is. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she gushes. He chuckles. “You’re welcome,” his husky voice says. She steps back, straightening out her blouse that became wet from hugging Mr. Fuller. “Oh my,” she fawns. She glances back to me, widening her eyes. I shoot a smile to appease her, but she bugs them out more, nonverbally saying, Look at this man. I roll my eyes, silently telling her, Yeah, I’ve seen him, but unfortunately, he isn’t as pleasant as he looks. She retracts her hand before it lands on his bicep. “We owe you.” He shakes his head, little beads of water falling from his dark strands onto his shoulders. “No, ma’am. I’m glad your husband is okay.” He smiles, and an amazing mouthful of sparkling white teeth emerges. My knees weaken. “No, please. He could have drowned,” she continues. Mr. Fuller slowly rises to his feet with the help of two medics. “I wouldn’t go that far, Marci.” She leaves Mr. Lifeguard to help steady her husband. Once she swings her arm through his, he glances over to me and winks. The two of them have been married for forty years. They’re empty nesters, except for their two poodles, Bella and Stella. They are one of those couples who can make critics like me believe in true love. Almost. “You’ve gotta be shitting me.” Mr. Fuller’s mouth hangs open. He waves off the medics, and they slowly walk back up to the resort. His stunned eyes are set on the man who saved him, as though he’s a kid standing in front of his childhood hero. The guy looks at me from the corner of his eye, and then he studies the sand at his feet. Embarrassed? “Bryant Garrity!” he exclaims. Mrs. Fuller’s face matches Mr. Fuller’s excited tone of voice, as though she knows the man. She sneaks a look my way. I can tell the name gives her no recollection. I shrug, having no idea who the hell Bryant Garrity is. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but I don’t recall anyone by that name on this trip. “Yes, sir,” he answers, stepping forward and holding out his strong, large hand. “Holy shit. A Heisman Trophy winner as well as a first-round draft pick and pro-bowl quarterback of the Chicago Knights just saved my life?” “Some might assume I was a bum about to assault you.” He glances over to me, winks his cocky eye, and then gives Mr. Fuller a firm handshake. “No, who would ever think that?” Mrs. Fuller adds. I feel myself shrinking into my body. “You’d be surprised, ma’am.” Again, his damn blue eyes sparkle my way, and suddenly, with the words that came out of his mouth, the tornado of lust that his looks whirled me in moments ago dies a still death. “Please be our guest for dinner tomorrow night,” Mr. Fuller requests. The guy, whom I guess I should refer to by name, Bryant, shakes his head. “Not necessary.” “Please, Bryant, we’d like to thank you for saving—” “His life,” Mrs. Fuller interjects. That low chuckle easily leaves his throat once more. “Um…sure.” Mr. Fuller looks over to me, and soon, all three of their sets of eyes are pinged right in my direction. “Carly, can we make a reservation for a private party on the beach for four?” I eye Bryant, who’s now holding his arms over his chest. I swear, he could squash a watermelon with those biceps. “Of course, Mr. Fuller. I’ll call first thing in the morning.” I pull out my phone to set a reminder to get that done before the day’s activities tomorrow. “Don’t forget to block time for the dinner in your calendar, too, Carly.” I look up, and Mr. Fuller’s eyebrows are raised in my direction. “What?” “You had help in rescuing me, too,” he continues. Bryant huffs. Asshole. “Oh, not really.” I toss off any compliment of helping. “No objections, Carly. You will not hole yourself up in that hotel room of yours for another night here.” He laughs as my mouth hangs open. It’s like I’m thirteen again, and my mom just told a boy on the phone that I was in the bathroom. I’m fairly sure a professional quarterback never sits alone in his hotel room. “Great.” I lean forward and place my hand on Mr. Fuller’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re okay, but I’d better get going. Call me if you need anything.” I flip my direction to Bryant. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Garrity. Thank you for your heroic efforts in saving Mr. Fuller.” I’m respectful and polite, right? Bryant holds his hand out in front of me, his eyes squarely on me. “Have a nice night.” He pauses. “Carly,” I bite out my name, not allowing myself to be discouraged that Mr. Fuller said my name no less than three times in the last five minutes. “I’m wondering what your last name is.” The two of our hands are slowly moving up and down. “Lincoln,” I say. He shoots me what I assume is his winning touchdown smile, and damn if my stomach doesn’t feel like a roaring stadium. “Have a nice night, Mrs. Lincoln.” I let go of his hand, and he chuckles again. Seriously, what is wrong with this man? “It’s Miss,” Mrs. Fuller corrects him. I roll my eyes, earning another damn chuckle. Is there nothing this man won’t laugh at? “Oh, here I thought, you holed yourself up in your room because you missed your husband.” “You’ve got it all wrong. Our Carly is as single as they come.” I choke on my own air. Seriously, Mrs. Fuller? He tucks his hands into the wet pockets of his shorts, the shorts currently hanging off those sculpted hips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Yeah, tomorrow.” I move to pass him, and my toe hits something hard in the sand, catapulting me forward. Wanting to stop myself, I have no choice but to grab ahold of him. His hands instantly grip mine, and I fall into his strong, muscled arms. Damn him and his mouthwatering body. “I gotcha,” he says softly. For a moment, I stare into his eyes, believing him. Quickly, I straighten my body with his assistance of placing me back on my two feet. “Have a good night,” I mumble, wanting to bend down to pick up the flashlight the medics left behind and chuck it into the ocean.
I sidestep him and try to hold up any dignity I have left as I disappear to the resort.
Michelle moved around the Midwest most of her life, transferring from school to school before settling down in the outskirts of Chicago ten years ago, where she now resides with her husband and two kids. She developed a love of reading at a young age, which helped lay the foundation for her passion to write. With the encouragement of her family, she finally sat down and wrote one of the many stories that have been floating around in her head. When she isn’t reading or writing, she can be found playing with her kids, talking to her mom on the phone, or hanging out with her family and friends. But after chasing around two kindergarteners all day, she always cherishes her relaxation time after putting the kids to bed.
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Title: The Big O
Author: Nelle L'Amour
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: August 4, 2016
Blurb
From New York Times Bestselling author Nelle L'Amour, a new sizzling STANDALONE that's guaranteed to make your panties melt! The first time Owen King sets eyes on her, she's in a focus group, biting into a cream-filled donut and having the most orgasmic reaction he’s ever seen. “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” she cries out. He’s instantly obsessed. Aspiring actress, Olive Cumming, has just lost her waitressing job and can’t pay her rent. But when the CEO of Donut King steps out from behind the one-way mirror and hires the curvy respondent to be his assistant, things are about to change. Big time. Love at first sight has never been a reality for jaded, overworked Owen. And for sweet overweight Olive, love has never been within her reach. But when fate steps in, the king finds his unexpected princess, not knowing that someone is waiting in the shadows to keep them apart. WARNING: Be prepared for over-the-top insta-love, a bit of kinky fun, and some yummy food play. This sugar-coated full-length novel is just waiting for you to take a bite.
Chapter 1
The Big O
©Nelle L’Amour 2016
All rights reserved
COMING TO ALL RETAILERS ON AUGUST 4, 2016!
CHAPTER 1
Owen I studied the spreadsheet on my desk. The numbers for last quarter’s earnings. They sucked. We were operating in the red and facing bankruptcy. If my dick was the line of my P&L chart, it would look like it fell off a cliff. That’s how bad they were. For decades, Donut King had been the number one breakfast stop in the country, but year after year our market share had declined. Numerous locations had shut down. What the hell was wrong with our yummy donuts and coffee? Trust me, they were delicious. Customers loved them. But with little advertising, companies like Starbeans and Coffee Depot had taken over our business. I couldn’t even remember the names of their coffees or breakfast entries, let alone how to pronounce or spell them. A Venti Caramel Macchiato? What the hell was that? And what language were we talking? Had suddenly everyone in America become seasoned sophisticates and taken a Berlitz course? A familiar caustic voice cut into my disturbing thoughts. “Owen, you’re missing the focus group.” “Huh?” I looked up from the depressing data and met the steely eyes of our young marketing director, Mallory Clint. While only in her mid twenties, the mousy-haired Harvard MBA looked much older in her navy pinstriped pantsuit and horn-rimmed glasses. The daughter of financier Burton Clint, whose hedge fund was keeping us afloat, she walked around as if she owned me. She thought that her father’s clout entitled her to call me by my first name whereas everyone else in the company addressed me as Mr. King. It pissed me off, but I had to treat her carefully. What made me even more on edge was that I sensed that she wanted more than a professional relationship with me. Trust me, I had no interest in fucking her. She wasn’t for me. And lately, with business in the toilet, fucking anyone was the last thing on my mind. This was the longest dry spell I’d ever endured. I’m talking years. “Sir, this is very important. It’s giving us consumer insights.” I appreciated that she for once called me sir. I demanded and deserved respect. I was, in fact, known to millions from TV commercials as the eponymous “Donut King,” a title I inherited from my late father who started the chain. To be truthful, they should have called me “Your Majesty” or “Your Royal Highness” or at least, “My Lord.” But at this point, it was moot. Given our latest sales numbers, I was about to fall off my throne. I hated research. Fuck this shit. I was the kind of guy who went by my gut instincts. Nothing in my life was fifty shades of gray. Everything was black or white. I want it or I don’t. I like it or I don’t. Even my love life was like that. Or should I say lack of one. I’d never found a woman to love. Someone who I’d fallen head over heels for. Sure I was one of Southern California’s most eligible bachelors with the fortune I’d amassed from my donut empire, but that didn’t help things in the love department. I obviously had very particular taste when it came to women. When the right one came along, I was positive I’d know it. I followed Miss Know-It-All Clint, who’d convinced me to do the group, to the research facility at the end of the hall and took a seat on the couch next to her upon entering. A platter of donuts and a tin of coffee were spread out on a credenza behind me. I peered through the one-way mirror that spanned the length of the room. The group was already in progress. Eleven motley women of various ages and ethnicities sat around a table. But one respondent, in particular, immediately captured my attention. Holy fucking shit! She was fucking gorgeous. Big, blond, and beautiful. I swear I felt the temperature in the room rise twenty degrees. And that’s not all that was rising. I loosened my tie. For some reason, she turned her head so she was facing me. I got a better look at her stunning face. Porcelain skin with just a sprinkle of freckles on her rosy cheeks…frosted rosebud lips…and a button nose. I swear I could feel her big chocolate brown eyes burn a hole in me right through the one-way mirror. My skin heated up, the flesh near my groin kindling. Sweat clustered beneath my shirt and my heart palpitated. I was having a hot flash. I kept my eyes on her as the group moderator explained the “rules” of the group. She wanted the women to talk one at a time and to give their true and honest opinions. “Who are these women?” I asked Mallory. “They’re Donut King customers though some of them also frequent Starbeans and other coffee chains.” “Who’s the blonde?” “Can’t you read her name tag? Maybe you need glasses.” I squinted my eyes. Shit. Maybe I did need glasses. But as I did, her name came into focus. Olive. I said her name aloud in my head. AAAH-love. Her name took my breath away. It was almost orgasmic. I let out a loud sigh. Clint snickered. “Please be quiet so I can take notes. The moderator is going to show the women the current Donut King commercial.” Miss Bossy Pants. Sometimes I thought she was either a dyke or a dominatrix or both. She grated on my nerves and she’d done nothing to turn our sales around. In fact, since she joined the company three years ago, sales had eroded further. But because of her father, I was stuck with her. After dimming the lights, the moderator grabbed the remote and our thirty-second spot began to play on the big screen TV. My eyes stayed on Olive as she swiveled her chair to watch it. Her profile was equally gorgeous and I loved the way her butter-blond hair fell over her shoulders. And holy shit. Those tits. Two gorgeous mounds that could be sweet melons; they strained against the flimsy fabric of her blouse, pulling at the buttons. Her fluttering eyes stayed glued to the TV while she put her hand to her mouth as if she was gasping. The rise and fall of her chest was noticeable. It was like she was having some kind of Pavlovian reaction. I’d seen this commercial a zillion times and mock-said the lines as a mom and her son stepped into a Donut King shop. “Mommy, look it’s the Donut King!” “Welcome to my kingdom!” Yup, that big burly guy with the shit-eating grin behind the counter was me, wearing my royal robe and a crown. A thick, cartoony beard was pasted on my face. I looked more like the Dork King. I hated this spot. But Mallory and her team felt we should be positioned as a family-oriented brand. My eyes darted back and forth between the commercial and the beautiful blond respondent, whose eyes never left the screen. The mom and the kid each ordered a donut, and as soon as they bit into them, sparkly crowns magically appeared on their heads. I looked into the camera and said… “Donut King. Share the magic.” The TV screen went black and the moderator clicked the remote. The lights went back on. “So ladies,” began the moderator, “what did you think of the commercial?” She went around the table soliciting responses from each of the women. To my dismay, the reaction was lukewarm at best, eliciting monotone words like: “It was okay…Nothing to write home about…I’ve seen better…Meh.” Every muscle in my body clenched. They fucking hated it. And then she got to my Olive. My gorgeous Olive. “What about you, Olive? What did you think?” She took a deep breath, her magnificent tits quivering as she did. “I thought it was amazing.” Her eyes did that fluttering thing again. “I love the Donut King.” Her very first words. Her voice, despite her size, was like a sparrow’s. So sugary sweet. So full of sincerity and innocence. I thought I was going to jump right through the one-way mirror. No woman had ever said they loved me, let alone with such passion and conviction. “Could you please elaborate,” responded the group moderator. “Are you talking about the donut shop or the man who plays the part of the Donut King?” Mallory grunted. “The moderator shouldn’t be focusing on one respondent. I’m going to go in and give her a note to move on.” She rose from the couch. Grabbing her by the elbow, I yanked her back down. “Sit down and shush up,” I gritted. “I want to hear what Olive says.” Oh man, did I love saying her name. I could say it over and over again. I was all ears as her lush mouth parted. “Both. I love going to Donut King. I used to stop at one every day on my way to work. They have The. Best. Donuts.” “You don’t go there any more?” The moderator, like me, was quick to pick up on her use of the past tense. The dazzling dimpled smile on Olive’s face fell off. “I lost my job about a month ago, so I can’t afford to go there anymore. I can’t even pay my rent.” She paused, her eyes watering. “I may get evicted from my apartment.” “Honey, that’s too bad,” chimed in one of the women. “Hope you find a new job,” said another. The rest concurred, a testament to the sisterhood of women. “Thanks,” muttered Olive, quirking a small smile. Hot damn, she was cute. And I felt bad about her job loss. The moderator brought the discussion back on topic. “So ladies, what do you think of the actor who plays the Donut King?” I hated to think about myself as an actor. I was a salesman. A pitch person. So good I could sell ice to an Eskimo. So I thought. The fact that sales were down—way down—made me question my abilities. The woman who was sitting closest to the moderator chimed in again. “My five-year-old is frightened by him.” “Same here,” commented another. “He looks like a fairy-tale villain who gobbles up children.” Yet another: “He’s more like a bad cartoon character with that stupid beard.” The rest of the group laughed except my Olive whose mouth fell open in a big O. And then her face hardened, her eyes narrowing with fury. “How could you say those things? I totally disagree. He’s beautiful. I mean, just look at those dreamy blue eyes. Those gorgeous big hands. His dazzling smile and that deep, sexy voice. I love everything about him. I’d be his princess any day.” I was melting like milk chocolate. She was attracted to me. Insanely attracted to me. I couldn’t believe my ears. She saw in me what none of these judgmental women did. If only she could see me now in my custom-made Italian suit, perfectly groomed, and all buff. My heart was beating so hard in my chest I thought it would leap out and crash right through the one-way mirror. I wanted Olive to be my princess. I wanted to rule her body, her heart, and her soul. No woman had ever had such an affect on me. Not ever. A heated argument broke out among the women, but my Olive, God bless her, held her own. “I can’t believe you don’t see what I see in him,” she said convincingly, fending off the naysayers. Truthfully, I wanted no woman to see what she saw. I could afford no obstacles. I wanted her to be mine. And mine alone. I was thankful when the group moderator intervened. “Okay, ladies, let’s calm down. We’re going to move on to the fun part of our session. The taste test.” While Olive’s eyes lit up, the reaction of the other respondents was lackluster. I watched as the moderator rose from her chair and retrieved a large box of donuts from the credenza behind her. She set it in the middle of the table. “Okay, ladies, dig in.” Not one woman moved. “What’s going on?” I asked Clint. “I don’t know.” Edginess peppered her voice. “I thought these women were supposed to be donut lovers,” I grumbled. “I thought so too.” “Where the hell did you find them?” “The recruiter ran an ad on Craigslist. I guess they lied.” “Jesus.” Anything to make a buck. Each of these respondents was being paid one hundred dollars to be here and share their opinions. What good were they if they didn’t eat donuts? Adding in the cost of the recruiter and the report, my calculation for this qualitative research, as Clint referred to it, came close to ten thousand dollars out of my pocket. My blood curdled. I was so simmering mad I could see smoke coming out of my nostrils. “Goddamn it, Mallory. This is a total waste of time and money.” “No, this is very valuable. Obviously, the donut business is dead. My father should have never invested in your company.” I was now breathing fire like an angry dragon. “It’s not dead. Everyone loves donuts. We’re just doing something wrong.” And then as I was about to send her in to end the group, a sweet voice filtered into the observation room. My Olive! “Would someone please pass me the box of donuts?” “Be my guest,” said the woman closest to them, handing it down the line of respondents as if it were filled with dog shit. My gaze stayed focused on Olive as the box landed in front of her. She lifted the lid and peeked in. Her eyes sparkled and her lush mouth watered. “Wow! These look so good! I haven’t had one in ages.” She studied the donuts. “Eenie meenie miney moe…” I held my breath while my cock twitched. “I’m going to help myself to my favorite…a cream-filled one.” Oh yes, my favorite too. It had always been our top seller. Like in a slo-mo scene ripped out of a movie, she reached into the box and put the donut to her lips. Her eyes closed as she slowly wrapped her mouth around the circle of dough. And then she did it. Bit into it, ripping off a large chunk with her teeth. My cock boinged as the creamy filling seeped out. Holy shit! It was like the donut was having its own epic orgasm. “Mmmm.” A soft moan drifted into the room. I felt like I was going to cream my pants “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” she screamed out, arching her back and squeezing her eyes shut as she savored the biteful. A look of ecstasy swept over her face. Every eye in the room stayed on her as she swallowed and cried out “Oh God” before going for another bite. “I want whatever she’s having,” shouted one of the respondents. “Me too!” echoed another woman. And then another and another. “Someone pass the box.” While Olive finished consuming her donut, the box got passed around, and within seconds, moans and groans filled the room. It was like an orgasmic choir led by my beautiful Olive. Even the group moderator joined the chorus and I could hear her moan. As I watched my Olive lick a little of the cream off her upper lip, I was having my own mental orgasm. My ready-to-burst cock strained against my pants. My know-it-all marketing director was wrong; she’d jumped the gun. There was nothing wrong with our donuts. Fucking nothing. Olive’s “ohs” whirled around in my head. Ideas were spinning too. An infuriated Mallory broke into my delicious thoughts. “This is ridiculous. It’s like an orgy in there. I am going to put an end to this group.” “Be my guest.” I had all the research—and answers—I needed. A satisfied smile stretched across my face. Orgy coincidentally began with a big “O” too. “These women shouldn’t even be compensated,” Mallory hissed. “Especially that big fat ball of trouble.” Rage pulsed through me; I wanted to smack her. “Don’t talk about her like that,” I growled. But then a bright idea hit me. “Actually, Clint, I don’t want her compensated. Please have her stay behind and bring her to my office. I will handle her personally.” Mallory smirked as she headed out of the observation room. “You should give her what she deserves for disrupting the group.” That’s exactly what I had in mind. And a lot more. “And Clint, one more thing. Please fire our advertising agency and hire the hottest one in town to do a new campaign. I want a meeting set for this afternoon.” Mallory fired me a puzzled what-the-fuck look. Before she could utter a word, I shut her up. “Do it.” As a miffed Mallory disappeared, my eyes drifted back to my beautiful Olive. She had single-handedly put the O back in our donuts. I broke into another big smile. Donut King was going to re-conquer the world. And I was going to conquer her.
Author Bio
Her bestselling series include Unforgettable, THAT MAN, Gloria’s Secret, Seduced by the Park Avenue Millionaire and critically acclaimed Undying Love. Writing under another pen name, she is also the author of the bestselling fantasy romance series, Dewitched: The Untold Story of the Evil Queen. To learn about her new releases, sales, and giveaways, please sign up for her newsletter and follow her on social media. Nelle loves to hear from her readers.
Author Links
Title: Trainwreck 1 & 2
Series: Trainwreck
Author: Nelle L'Amour
Genre: Erotic Romance
Release Date: June 2, 2016
An Alpha Billionaire Romance Inspired by a True Event
Series Overview
A steamy and suspenseful two-part series by New York Times Bestselling Author Nelle L’Amour, with both novel-length books releasing on the same day!
Sarah: I’m an utter trainwreck. I can barely pay my rent. Mom’s sick and her insurance company won’t cover her experimental drug treatments. To make matters worse, I work for a total bitch, who makes the Devil Wears Prada look like Mother Theresa. Oh yeah, did I mention I’m probably the only twenty-five-year-old in Manhattan who’s never been laid? Then, I met him on a train. Ari Golden, New York’s most eligible and panty-melting bachelor. Don’t ask what happened. I’m ashamed to tell you, but the truth is it really happened to me. I made the biggest mistake of my life…because an unexpected discovery now threatens to destroy us. Ari: I’ve sworn off women. At least, having them in my bed. No woman is allowed there. I’ve been hurt both emotionally and physically and don’t want to go there again. And besides, I have someone way more important than myself to protect. Then, I saw her, and from the moment I set eyes on her, I knew there was something different about her. Something special. She sat next to me on the train and I couldn’t resist. I should have, and now I risk losing everything if I don’t stop…because my past has come back with a vengeance to haunt me. The last thing I need is another trainwreck. Hold on to your seats for the steamiest ride you’ll ever take! When the past and the present collide, will fate derail Ari and Sarah or will it bring them to their final destination before they crash and burn?
Excerpt
SARAH The door to the unisex lavatory located at the back of the Amtrak cabin was locked. That meant someone was inside. I tapped my foot impatiently, my head filling with the image of the blond, blue-eyed Adonis sitting next to me. Why couldn’t I stop thinking about him? These kinds of things never happened to geeky me. They were the stuff of novels and movies. Not my mundane all-work-no-play life. “Hi.” A familiar velvety voice catapulted me out of my thoughts, and a waft of warm breath blew across the nape of my neck. I spun around. My mysterious stranger. His crisp blue eyes burned into mine, making my temperature soar and my bones turn to liquid. What was he doing here? I suppose he had to go. I couldn’t stop that. I turned my head away, and stared squarely at the bathroom door, praying silently that whoever was in there would hurry up. He blew hot air on my neck again and wrapped his arms around my waist, drawing me tight against his rock-hard body. A warm, hard bulge pressed against my buttocks. I was all twisted up with nerves and might need the bathroom more than I’d originally thought. Finally, the door burst open in my face; a sour-faced matron barged out. Calling on every muscle in my body, I broke free of Trainman’s grip and hastily dashed inside. My hands shaky, I fumbled to slide the latch, but before I could get it through the lock, the door forcefully swung open. “I couldn’t wait,” Trainman growled, pushing me against the edge of the sink. He pressed his hips tight against mine. I was trapped. He leaned in close to me. A mix of his warm, minty breath and expensive cologne with its musky scent rushed up my nose. His eyes narrowed, turning into collectible slivers of blue sea glass. His mouth descended on the right side of my neck then slowly trailed upward to my earlobe. He clamped his warm, soft lips on the cartilage, alternating between nipping and sucking it. Oh my God! I didn’t know my earlobes could feel so much. The last time they felt anything was when I got them pierced in eighth grade. And that was pain. Pure pain. Now what I was feeling was bliss. Pure, tingly bliss…and the sensation was coursing through my entire body. Still pressing me hard against the sink with his hipbones, he pinched my nipples between his thumbs and index fingers and then began kneading them in small circles, each rotation harder than the one before. Magically, the delicate buds puckered and peaked beneath my cotton tee. A new I-want-to-burst-out-of-my skin sensation gathered in the triangle between my legs. It was if my tits and clit were connected by a power cord. I moaned softly. “You don’t wear a bra,” he murmured in my ear. I rarely wore a bra because I really didn’t need one. My boobs never got past a small A-cup, the size of old-fashioned champagne saucers. Before I could say a word, that is if I could utter a word, he whispered, “Sexy.” Me, Sarah, plain and tall, sexy? And this coming from this gorgeous beast? Pinch me. I must be dreaming this entire fantasy. As if on cue, he pinched one of my nipples again. My girl bits roared in delight. No, this was real. And it was happening to me. Sarah Greene. Art school graduate. Aspiring toy designer. Twenty-five-year-old virgin. I stared at his breathtaking face. His eyes were cast downward. A sly smile tipped to the left made me nervous. In a good way. While one hand continued to twirl a nipple, the other slid down my torso past my tight, twisted abdomen and under the elastic waistbands of both my skirt and pantyhose. His hands felt like hot velvet as they explored my inner thighs. “Hmm,” he purred. “No panties?” I never wore panties with pantyhose. Why bother? They were called pantyhose for a reason. And I confess, not buying expensive panties—and bras—saved me a lot of money. Money I needed desperately to visit my mother. “Very sexy,” he said, enunciating each syllable, as his fingertips made their way to the triangle between my legs. They stopped to caress my patch of hair, stroking it as if it were a beloved pussy…cat. “So soft and silky,” Trainman purred again as if I were auditioning for one of those look-at-my-gorgeous-hair Pantene commercials. After a tug of a curled clump, his fingers crawled to the sensitive folds between my legs. They explored this new territory eagerly like someone who was searching for gold. And then he discovered it. The nugget. Greedily, he rubbed the pad of this thumb around his discovery with intense little circles that were driving me insane. I squirmed against the sink as a loud moan escaped my lips. “Do you like this?” he crooned, picking up his pace and applying more pressure. “It feels good.” That was an understatement. Holy cow! It felt amazing! Buzzing with intense pleasure, I wanted to jump out of my skin. My eyes caught a glimpse of him. A wicked smile crossed his gorgeous face, and his piercing blue eyes glistened. “Saarah, I can’t help myself,” his voice all hot and breathy. “I want you.” And despite myself, I wanted him. So badly I was panting like a dog in heat. “I want to fuck you senseless. Will you let me?” “Yeah, cool.” Cool? What was wrong with me? I was anything but cool. I was a total hot mess who couldn’t add one and one. A pleased, sexy as sin smile played on his face. Still massaging my clit with his thumb, he plunged his long thick middle finger inside me. I gasped, not prepared for the shock of penetration. Shockwaves spread through my body as his finger slid up and down the soaked walls, each thrust deeper than the one before. “Jesus,” he moaned. “You’re so fucking hot and wet for me. And you’re as tight as a virgin.” I gulped. Should I tell him? Was I supposed to? Or would this confession turn him off? As I contemplated what to do, he continued his ministrations, pumping me harder. Dripping with my own wet heat, I gasped again, still not sure this was really happening. My core was aching for more. Desperate for it. Why was I not resisting? “I’m going to take you now,” he growled. Take me where? I didn’t want to be anywhere, any place but here in this cramped bathroom with this sinfully sexy mysterious sorcerer who was doing his magic on me. Using his free hand, he yanked down both my skirt and hose. My eyes glanced down at my skirt puddled on the floor and my pantyhose scrunched up above my scuffed up boots. His hand made its way back up, and I heard him unzip his fly. My gaze stopped short at a massive hunk of pink, veined flesh that was aimed at my crotch. Yowzer! I was ready to surrender. Yes, take me now. “Sit on the sink,” he ordered as he expertly rolled on a latex condom that seemed to come out of nowhere. I was in no condition to argue. I plunked my buttocks down on the edge of the shiny basin. The cold metal gave me goosebumps all over. Wasting no time, he tugged off my boots, without untying them, and then slipped off the hose. “Now, spread your legs.” Yes, sir. He splayed his large hands on my narrow hips to anchor me. An intensity washed over his face. Like an artist who was contemplating painting his masterpiece. “Now, Saarah, take me and insert me where you want me.” Holy shit! He wanted me to touch that monstrosity. Cradle it in my hands? Our eyes met, mine wide-eyed with fear and excitement, his hooded with determination and desire. Hesitantly, I curled my trembling fingers around the pillar of flesh, surprised that they could circle around it despite its girth. I’d never felt a man’s cock before. The touch beneath my fingers was hot, velvety, and pulsing with energy. Burning with desire, I knew exactly where I wanted it. The hollowness inside me was crying out for it. I needed to be sated by him. Totally consumed. My fingers on fire, I angled his cock toward the opening between my legs and put the wide crown to my entrance. I suddenly had second thoughts. Shit. Was his mammoth erection going to fit inside me? I silently shuddered. What if it didn’t fit? And even if it did, would I know what to do? As much as I wanted him, I was so not prepared for this. My heart stuttered at the thought of letting down this sex god. Of being a failure. And then regretting my actions. This was so not how I envisioned losing my V-card. I dreamt about being swept away by the man of my dreams. But he was the man of my dreams. Should I tell him I was a virgin? “Saarah…” Okay. I was going to tell him the truth. He needed to know. But on my next heated breath, he stopped me, fierce like a freight train on its mission. With a sharp thrust, he jettisoned his enormous erection deep inside me. I winced. The initial pain and shock of his penetration was enough to make me almost fall off the sink, or into it, but as my muscles relaxed, it felt amazing. Like it belonged and had found its home sweet home. “Christ, I just can’t believe how tight you are. It feels so fucking amazing.” Rolling his tongue over his lips, he lifted me off the sink basin so that we were almost face-to-face. My feet dangled like a rag doll’s not touching the floor below. “Wrap your legs around me,” he ordered, holding me firmly. In no condition to argue, I did what he said, wrapping my long legs around his lean torso like a pretzel. He gripped my hips. My arms swung around his neck, and I hung on to him tightly, clasping the rich fabric of his suit jacket between my fingers. This was one ride I did not want to fall off. With me in this position, clinging to him, he took a couple steps to back me against a wall and then with a grunt, shoved his rock-hard cock deeper into me. I gasped with a mixture of shock and ecstasy as the tip rammed against a hypersensitive spot I never knew I had. He groaned. He slid his rod nearly out and then thrust it back in, this time hitting the spot even harder. I moaned. He groaned louder. He repeated the pattern, speeding it up with every forceful thrust. How could that giant thing between his legs fit so easily and comfortably inside me? Every powerful thrust elicited a moan from me, louder than the one before and a groan from him, deeper than the previous. I moved my hands to his ass, cupping the rock-hard glutes beneath his slacks, and rocking my hips to meet his thrusts, as I fell into the rhythm of his relentless pounding. Our breathing grew ragged; we were panting like animals. “Oh fuck, baby, what you do to me,” he breathed out, his voice an octave deeper, and sexy beyond belief. “Don’t stop,” I pleaded, my voice breathy, my mouth dry. “Don’t worry.” And then a loud rap sounded at the door. “Hurry up in there.” “Someone needs to use the bathroom,” I panted out, panic in my voice at this untimely intrusion. “Fuck it,” he grunted without stopping his ministrations. As his greedy length hammered me, hitting that mega-spot again and again, he planted his thumb back on my clit and massaged it vigorously. My temperature was rising. Sweat was pouring out of every crevice of my body. Squeezing my legs tighter around him, I bit down on my lip and closed my eyes to savor the unbearable pleasure this gorgeous beast was giving me. “Are you on birth control?” The words drifted through my head, not expecting them. I managed a throaty “yeah” as he thrust his cock once again into me. I had been on the pill for several years due to my irregular cycle. “Good, baby,” he murmured in my ear. I guess he felt you could never be too safe. Tugging my head back by my ponytail, he rolled his hot, velvety tongue up my neck. So, this was my reward for the right answer. The sensation drove me crazy. I felt like a puppy being scratched in her favorite spot. Whimpering, I didn’t think I could take it anymore between the ruthless banging, clit flicks, and licks of his tongue. My pussy throbbed as a wildfire raced through my body, shamelessly kindling every nerve inside me, from my head to my toes. I was about to implode. “I think I’m going to come!” I cried out, the vibrations of the speeding train bringing me even closer to the edge. “Hang in there, baby.” On my next heated breath, I felt him explode with a massive blast of his release. “Yes, Saarah,” he roared, drawing out my name. I simultaneously convulsed around him, my own epic orgasm sending wave after wave of ecstasy soaring through my core. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. I wasn’t sure if I was saying the words aloud or screaming them silently in my head. What was happening to me? I’d never had such a mind-blowing experience. Slowly, he withdrew from me. I was surprised at how big and rigid his sheathed cock still was. Without taking his smoldering eyes off mine, he slid off his spent condom and tossed it into the waste dispenser. Snatching a paper towel, he cleaned himself up and then tucked his thick length back into his pants. I don’t think he was wearing underwear either. “Saarah,” he said grinning as he zipped up his fly, “do you still have to pee?” “Yes,” I stammered, as I pulled up the remains of my pantyhose and slipped on my skirt. I was shaking, dazed, and drained from his plundering. He, on the other hand, looked totally together like he was ready to go into a board meeting. Trainman rolled his eyes and then let me pee in peace. And privacy. After latching the door, I sat on the toilet longer than I needed to, tremors tearing through me. After putting my boots back on, I gazed at the big rip in my pantyhose in the so-called “reinforced” crotch area. My inner thighs trembled. The events that had just happened spun around in my head while orgasmic vibrations were still coming at me with the force of a rockslide. Why did I let myself do this? Why? Neediness? Insecurity? Maybe a desperate escape from the anguish my dying mother was causing? Or just because this man was the sexiest beast I’d ever laid my eyes on? A golden-haired Adonis. Finally, I tore off a generous piece of toilet paper and wiped by bottom from front to back just like my mother had taught me. A crimson stain soaked the soft white paper. I was bleeding. Reality hit me like a brick. I had just lost my virginity to a stranger on a train. In a state of mild shock, I slowly raised myself from the toilet, pulled up my damp, crotchless hose, and washed my hands in the sink that now held so many memories for me. I splattered a little of the cold water on my face and sipped some from my hands to quench my parched mouth. For the first time, I looked at myself in the mirror. My reflection startled me. My hair was disheveled; my big brown eyes half-moons, and my full-lipped mouth locked in a parted pout. I was no longer the girl who, only minutes ago, had almost been squished by a pair of automatic train doors. I looked like a woman. A woman who had just been fucked. Big time. Hastily, I fixed my ponytail and splashed some more water on my face. I glimpsed myself again in the mirror. Not too much better, but at least better. Taking a deep breath, I unlatched the door and made my way back to my seat. My legs were like Jell-O and my body was shaking. And between my inner thighs, my pussy was blazing. Trainman flashed a dimpled smile when he saw me staggering down the aisle. Though cocky, it was dazzling, and his blue eyes glinted with victory. I was once again aroused by his gorgeousness. As I continued my walk of shame, I thought about how cool, calm, and collected he looked. Maybe he was a pro at this routine—find a sweet, innocent girl like me and have her kiss her V-card goodbye. Another typical ride home. And I was just a number. My heart rattled at the thought as I neared him. This time in true gentlemanly fashion, he rose from his seat and let me slide into mine with a modicum of grace. We were back to sitting side by side. As the speeding train passed through different neighborhoods, from the poorest to the toniest, we shared a self-imposed silence. He was back to reading his Wall Street Journal so I kept my head turned, looking out the window. A million questions whirled around in my head. I wondered—who was this man?…what did he do?…why did he choose me?...would I ever see him again? The last question troubled me the most. With a growing feeling of having been used, I swiveled my head and stared at his swoon-worthy, high-cheekboned profile that showed off his long lashes, strong chin, and fine Roman nose. What was he thinking? Why was he ignoring me? The impassive look on his face made his thoughts unreadable, and it frustrated me to no end. Jesus. He’d just fucked my brains out. Stolen my virginity. And he wasn’t talking to me. I thought about snatching his precious newspaper out of his hand and blurting, “Just for your information, I’m a virgin. Or up until five minutes ago, I was a virgin.” But the consequences of my actions frightened me. I feared he might laugh at me. I didn’t need to feel more insignificant and used than I already did. Unfortunately, the aftershocks of my insane orgasm were not dying down, and in fact, intensified with the friction of the train zooming over the tracks. Overwhelmed by the long day’s events and a mixture of remorse and regret, I set my comfy leather chair into a reclining position while Ari pulled out his iPhone from his briefcase and caught up on emails. His skilled hands moved quickly on the touch screen keyboard. God, he was good with those fingers! But he continued to ignore me as if I didn’t exist. With a heavy heart, I peered out the window and again soaked in the scenery. An empty feeling washed over me at the memory of his fullness inside me. Before long, I could no longer keep my eyes open and drifted off.
Author Bio
Her bestselling series include Unforgettable, THAT MAN, Gloria’s Secret, Seduced by the Park Avenue Millionaire and critically acclaimed Undying Love. Writing under another pen name, she is also the author of the bestselling fantasy romance series, Dewitched: The Untold Story of the Evil Queen. To learn about her new releases, sales, and giveaways, please sign up for her newsletter and follow her on social media. Nelle loves to hear from her readers.
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