The House of Rule

Blurb: Damian Rule is an ultra-staid businessman who likes his life just so. He wears his hair cut short; he demands his business affairs be organized, and he insists that his women be impeccably groomed and conservative in both speech and appearance. When he meets Angie Ross for the first time, he sees a hot, beautiful, gothic mess. With her fishnet stockings and spiked leather cuffs, she's wildly inappropriate for his long term needs. But for the short term? She'll do just fine.

 Excerpt: Angie followed Damian's secretary across what seemed like miles of plush carpet and walked into the office when indicated. She was still in a state of shock; she'd found out in the reception area that he didn't merely work in the downtown high-rise, he owned the building.

She heard the door snap closed behind her, and with her heart catching, she faltered just inside the large room. Her gaze was caught and held by dark eyes as Damian leaned against a desk of solid mahogany while standing completely still, obviously awaiting her arrival. His eyes were both sharp and hooded, his body held in a pose of relaxation that seemed inconsistent with the almost tangible electricity that radiated from him in waves.

Her pulse pounding, her footsteps stalled completely. Before she could get a word out, he pushed off the desk and began to track her across the office, his muscles corded and his eyes reflecting a sheen of purpose. The space between them narrowed rapidly as his eyes fell to her throat and then scanned her body quickly before lifting to her face again.

Any semblance of a smile dissolved as his expression hardened imperceptibly; a raw sizzle filled the air as his brooding features reflected a harsh, atavistic hunger that almost brought Angie to her knees as he stood not six inches away in all his tall, masculine glory.

He stood almost indolently for the beat of three seconds before reaching out and seizing her with a dominant force that gave her not an ounce of choice in the matter.

Blurb: When Courtney Powell is orphaned at seventeen, she loses everything and goes to live with her widowed godmother in St. Louis. From the beginning, the woman's grown children accept her into their family. . . but there's something about the middle brother that causes an inexplicable wariness within her. When she finally emerges from her grief several years later, it becomes apparent that somewhere along the way, without her input and much to her anxiety, she's become Nick Rule's exclusive property. 

Excerpt: Nick crossed his arms over his chest. "What are your plans? You're coming home, right?"

"Yeah, probably," she answered, uncertain.

 His jaw clenched. "Probably? What does that mean?"

At his tone, her spine stiffened. "I need to find a job. If possible, I want to be in a place that's familiar to me. That's either Florida or Missouri."

"St. Louis," he narrowed it down emphatically.

She nodded her head, but negated that with, "Maybe."

With her answer, he pushed off the wall and began to head toward her. Her stomach clenched with hot anticipation. His footsteps stalled when he was less than two feet away and he seemed to shake himself. His features became strained as he held himself in suspended motion. "You promised me you'd come back to St. Louis."

"I know," she agreed softly.

"You need to make good on that. Your promise was the only reason I let you leave in the first place."

At the look in his eyes, she felt like she had to settle something with him. "Nick," she began slowly, "You didn't let me leave. I wasn't yours to control." She studied him, noting the anger that slowly spread across his face at her words. She continued, trying to show a bit of independence, that truthfully, she couldn't care less about. "I want to go back to St. Louis. If I don't get a job here, then after graduation, I'll--"

He cut her off when he stepped into her personal space with a glare. "Not mine?" She backed up a step and he followed her until she bumped into the back of the sofa. He didn't touch her but the threat was there. When she came to a halt, he repeated incredulously, "Not mine?" and reached down and fingered the necklace that she always wore. Her heart beat loudly in her ears as he gripped the charm that dangled from it. His eyes narrowed and he asked for the third time with a ferocity that couldn't be ignored, "Not mine?"

The oxygen stuck in her throat and she shook her head, as she remained trapped by his gaze.

He tilted his head as if in sarcastic thought. "If you don't belong to me, who the hell do you think you belong to?" he asked in a far-too soft voice that didn't reflect any gentleness at all.

When she remained mute, he continued, "I don't see anybody else taking care of you. I don't see anybody else flying halfway across the country to make sure you're all right and that there's nobody trying to take advantage of you." He sucked in oxygen and continued, "And who, exactly, do you think pays your bills?"

She swallowed and leaned away from him, feeling the pull from the chain around her throat, but he didn't let go. She glanced down at the tendons corded in his neck and then back up to the fire in his eyes as he continued, "Who do you think paid for these useless little pajamas you're wearing? Who do you think pays for all your clothes, the food you eat, the allowance you get?" His eyes held hers with ruthless intent. "Who do you think paid for that pretty little car you drive?"

Guilt running through her from all the things his family had supplied over the years, she licked her lips and whispered, "The corporation."

He began shaking his head as if she had it all wrong and a new agitation took hold of her senses. "Not the corporation?" she asked quietly.

"Nope. Not the corporation." His eyes blistered into hers. "Me. Just me."  Rule's Property. Key words: contemporary romance, alpha-male, House of Rule, series romance

 Garrett Rule has no room in his life for conniving women. When he finds himself inconveniently obsessed with Maria Alvarez, the most conspiring woman of them all, he doesn’t know which is stronger, his need to punish her or the need he feels to have her under his complete sexual control. Luckily for him, he doesn’t plan on choosing; he’ll take both.

 Excerpt:

As Maria stood in the break room, she heard the click of the door shutting and the lock sliding into place. Without turning and looking, she knew who'd done it; she knew who stood behind her. Her hands shook as she made a fist around the coffee filter she'd just pulled from the box.

"You knew Villareal was coming today, I believe I mentioned that yesterday." Garrett rasped in a low, heated tone.

She had braced herself for a bark, but when he began speaking, that's not what she got. His voice was low and quiet, and the fact that she knew more about his personality wasn't something that was soothing her now. No, it was scaring the crap out of her. Garrett always barked when he was angry. The fact that he felt he had to keep his vocal chords under ruthless control now only proved how furious he really was.

"Turn around," he bit out in a voice that brooked no denial.

She turned slowly and leaned against the counter for support.

"You understand his reputation with women?"

Not fully understanding the question, Maria narrowed her eyes and shook her head.

"He’s indiscriminate. He’ll do anything on two legs," he elaborated, gritting the words through his teeth. “I told you that once before—he’s a player.”

She sucked in a breath. "And you think this has something to do with me, how?"

He stared at her for the count of three beats and then pushed off the door. Without hesitation, he advanced on her until he was standing only inches away, invading her personal space. He lifted her chin and his eyes contained a fire that almost scorched her where she stood.

His voice when he spoke reflected only a small slip of control, but Maria knew him well enough to know how affected he truly was. "We have a lot of crap going on between us," he announced as his eyes ran over her face, down her neck and landed on the madly beating pulse in her throat. Sliding his hand from her chin, his thumb landed on the spot that told of her rapidly beating heart. He pressed on it, with just a hint of his strength, and raised his eyes back to hers. "I get that you've made it your mission in life to continue to keep me off-balance.” His thumb slid up and down her throat before pressing into her pulse-point again. "Why you feel the need, I don’t have a clue.” He took in a deep breath. “But this dress . . . " His voice trailed off before he began again. "You, in this dress. You know how good you look in it. You knew I’d remember it. You had to know what I’d be thinking about the second I saw you in it." His eyes turned into gleaming slits of accusation. "And you knew he would be here today, watching you. You did it on purpose."

"No, I--" She began, knowing he spoke the truth, but not about to admit to it. Why had she worn the freaking dress? Why was she playing with fire? Was it because she’d let him have his way in so many areas that she needed some sort of affirmation of her own control?

He interrupted her thoughts and her fiercely beating heart. "You need to be careful with the game you're playing. I’ve been letting you have the upper hand, been letting you win your little game, because it humors me. But be careful, Maria—don’t take it too far." His hand spread out over her neck and his fingers pulsed against her windpipe in a shocking, sexual threat. "Trust me when I tell you that you don't have to go out of your way to provoke my jealousy. I'm already jealous. I already want to kill every man who looks at you. I already want to take you home to St. Louis, tie you to my bed, lock the door and throw away the key." 

Excerpt:

Preparing to fix what she’d screwed up, Erin opened the bathroom door of the private jet and took a few steps forward with the sheet still wrapped around her like a sarong. She gasped and stopped in her tracks when she came face to face with . . . her husband?

She sucked in a breath as her feet came to a stumbling halt. As she felt color flush her cheeks, she noticed that he didn’t smile but only raised a single, mocking eyebrow. His gaze pierced hers, sending her stomach to her feet in a mess of stupid feminine weakness. Then his eyes trailed down her body, stopping at her breasts and thighs, before sweeping down to her bare ankles and feet before slowly moving back up again.

Erin’s heart rate kicked up to a vicious degree, and as Max took one step forward, for the life of her she couldn’t stop herself from taking one step back.

He obviously noticed and thankfully, he immediately stopped. His lips twisted diabolically as he drawled slowly, “You look beautiful, sweetness.”

Her pulse accelerated alarmingly with both the compliment and the endearment. Oh, yeah. It was damn well obvious why she’d waltzed into that freaking wedding chapel with him. Even now, with her composure under attack, hating herself for what she’d done the night before, he still made her knees weak. Could her emotions be any more screwed-up? She wanted to scream at him; she wanted to throw herself in his arms and hope he kissed her senseless once again. But she did neither of those things—she was too confused to do anything but stand on her own two feet while she kept her mouth clamped tightly closed.

He prowled another step closer and then another, and with each step he took she scooted backwards until her spine was flush against the built-in bureau. The magic of his touch was blaring in her memory—it wouldn’t help her case in the slightest if she were to feel it now, when she desperately needed to retain what little brainpower she had left.

He was dressed for the new day in a crisp suit that screamed Savile Row, and he came so close that she was forced to lift her face to maintain eye contact. When she did, he put a single finger under her chin and lifted it further, jarring her nerves alarmingly. “You are fucking gorgeous—and undoubtedly the best coup I’ve pulled off in my lifetime.”