“Corinne Michaels and Melanie Harlow are a match made in heaven. Five-Sweet-Stars for this unforgettable collaboration!” --A.L. Jackson, New York Times bestselling author

Hold You Close, an all-new second chance standalone romance by New York Times bestselling author Corinne Michaels and USA Today bestselling author Melanie Harlow, is available now!

“Ian,” my bartender, Toby, calls with his hand out. “What’s up?” “You have a call.” He pushes the phone toward me. No one calls the club for me other than vendors, and it’s eleven-thirty at night, so whoever it is can wait. “I have to deal with something now, send them to my voicemail.” He shakes his head. “She’s called three times.” The annoyance in his voice is clear, even over the music. She? The only woman that would resort to calling the club is my ex-wife. God only knows what bullshit she wants now. For all I know she broke a nail, it’s my fault, and she thinks I should pay for her new manicure, or a hand replacement. She’s like the gift you’ve tried to return but can’t find the receipt for, so you’re stuck with it. I hate unwanted presents, and I hate Jolene. “Send the devil to my voicemail,” I say and walk away. I head out to the sidewalk. Drea wasn’t kidding, the line is nuts. “Hello, Officer,” I say to the pudgy cop standing next to the bouncer. “Mr. Chase, we’re getting complaints,” he says, looking down the sidewalk at the line. “I can’t help that we’re popular.” I shrug. “I’m at capacity, and can’t kick out the paying customers to take care of the line.” “You’re obstructing the entrances of other businesses because of the way your overflow lines are set up.” How the hell would they like me to handle it? We’re not inside the casino, there’s no way to control the line. I’m not about to turn away people when we hit the number ten. This is a business, and part of the free marketing I get is thanks to the line. “All right, I’ll figure something out.” I grip the back of my neck. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. If this is Jolene, I swear to God, I might lose my fucking mind. The name flashes across the screen, London Parish. For fuck’s sake. Like I need to deal with my sister’s uptight, irritating best friend right now. London would be incredibly hot if she wasn’t such a raging bitch. I look at my call log and see this is the third time she’s called. I walk down the strip a little, and after a few deep breaths, I call her back. “Ian, you need to come to my house.” I smirk. “Well, this is a first. Did you have the stick removed from your ass?” “Don’t. Not today, please. Just come here.” I hear her sniff and my protectiveness kicks in. Someone made her cry. We don’t get along at all—partly because we’re polar opposites and partly because of our history—but no one gets to make her cry. “Are you hurt?” I ask. “Not in the way you think.” Her voice hitches. I’ve known London for twenty-five years. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen or heard her cry—I was the reason one of those times. “What’s wrong? Is it an emergency? Because I’m at work and the club—” “Now, Ian. You need to come here now.” She also doesn’t play games. Fuck. I look at my watch and blow a deep breath through my nose. It’ll take me at least thirty minutes to get there. This is seriously a shitty night. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” “Just . . . hurry,” London says and hangs up. Dread pulls at my stomach, telling me there’s something going on. I don’t know what, but I know I need to get there. “Get rid of the line, no more get in,” I tell the bouncer, and then head inside. Drea is at the bar, and my anxiety is starting to grow. London needs me there, why? What happened? Did someone break into her house? Mine? Maybe it has to do with an ex, if she even has one, or it could be nothing like that. Regardless, her voice was shaky and I can’t waste time wondering. “I have to go,” I tell Drea. Her eyes widen. “Go? Go where? It’s a packed house.” “I’m aware of that, but something came up. I need you to handle things tonight.” I turn to Toby. “Stay until Drea is done closing and I want you to escort her to her car at the end of the night.” He nods. I never let her walk out of here alone. Even if I have someone coming home with me, Drea’s not going to be unescorted. Too many men get the wrong impression because she’s nice to them. Over my dead body will she be hurt as a result of working at my club. After I get in the car, my mind is racing. I drive faster than I should, telling myself that London is just being dramatic. And then I remember . . . she has my nephew and nieces at her house. My foot pushes down on the pedal of my Jaguar, making the engine howl with each mile. I turn into the development where we both live, pass my house, and head to hers. I still hate that our backyards touch. Every damn day I see her sitting out on her deck, reading her books, looking down at me with her disapproving attitude. When I get there, the flashing lights of a police car brighten the road. I don’t think. I don’t know if I even put the car in park before I’m out of the vehicle. “London!” I yell as I rush through the door. “Christopher? Morgan? Ruby?” I call out for the kids, praying it’s not one of them. When I get to the living room, I release a heavy sigh—they’re all there, not hurt. Then I see the tears streaming down Morgan’s face. London gets to her feet. Her eyes are red, puffy, and black mascara runs down her cheeks. “Ian.” She chokes on my name. “What’s wrong? What happened?” The girls start to cry again, and my nephew pulls them into his arms. London moves toward me, placing her hand on my chest. “They’re gone.” “Who?” I ask, confused. “Sabrina and David,” she whispers. Yeah, they went on a trip. Why the hell are they crying? “This is what you called me for? They’ll be home in a few days. Why are you crying too?” I ask. Her green eyes meet mine and her lips part. “No.” She shakes her head. “They won’t.” I look over at the kids again, and then to the muted television. My feet move closer, because I have to be sure the words flashing across the screen say what I think they say. “Flight 1184 crashes off the coast of Hawaii. Three hundred missing and presumed dead.” My sister was going to Hawaii. My sister is gone. I sink to my knees in front of the kids, unsure what to say. They just lost their parents, and my heart is breaking. My sister was my best friend. She was the one who pushed me to open Veil and do what I wanted. I’ve always had her support, and now she’s gone. Christopher lifts his head, his brown eyes filled with unshed tears. “They’ll find them,” he says with conviction. “Okay,” I reply. We both know it’s a lie, but it’s one he has to tell himself. I remember being fifteen; there was no telling me I was wrong. “Dad wouldn’t . . .” he starts, and then stops as his lip quivers. My own tears start to fall, as Morgan grabs my hand. “What do we do now?” I have no fucking clue. How do I tell these kids how to survive? I’m the last person in the world equipped to give this advice. I look to London. Her hand touches my shoulder and she wipes the tears that fall silently down her cheeks. “We hold each other close,” she says.
New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestseller Corinne Michaels is the author of nine romance novels. She’s an emotional, witty, sarcastic, and fun loving mom of two beautiful children. Corinne is happily married to the man of her dreams and is a former Navy wife. After spending months away from her husband while he was deployed, reading and writing was her escape from the loneliness. She enjoys putting her characters through intense heartbreak and finding a way to heal them through their struggles. Her stories are chock full of emotion, humor, and unrelenting love.


USA Today Bestselling Author Melanie Harlow likes her martinis dry, her heels high, and her history with the naughty bits left in. When she's not writing or reading, she gets her kicks from TV series like VEEP, Game of Thrones, House of Cards, and Homeland. She occasionally runs three miles, but only so she can have more gin and steak. Melanie is the author of the AFTER WE FALL series, the HAPPY CRAZY LOVE series, the FRENCHED series, and the sexy historical SPEAK EASY duet, set in the 1920s. She lifts her glass to romance readers and writers from her home near Detroit, MI, where she lives with her husband, two daughters, and pet rabbit.

Waiting for Her, an all-new emotional, standalone second chance romance from Jennifer Van Wyk is available NOW!

“It’s Bri.” Mia says, both shock and confusion in her voice. “Yeah, that’s what I said.” “No, Grady. It’s. Bri.” Savannah says, nodding her head with wide eyes. Mia’s eyes are narrowed, and Cole looks like he’s seen a ghost. Actually, he’s not even looking at me. None of them are. They’re looking behind me. I turn in my seat to see what they’re all gawking at, and wouldn’t you know it, the object of conversation is right there. Standing behind me. Bright green eyes glistening. Top teeth biting down on her plush bright red bottom lip. Dark hair down, curling over her shoulders. Beautiful. To anyone else, she would look like she’s going to a St. Patrick’s Day party, but I know Bri. She has more green and white in her closet than anyone I know. If I bleed the colors, she may as well paint them on her body. I’m sure it’s at least part of the reason she was chosen to do the story on me. She knows Warrior football better than anyone I know. My eyes can’t decide which part of her to catalogue first. When I was younger, I was positive there was nothing sexier than Bri Jameson. It’s shockingly apparent nothing’s changed, at least in my reaction to her appearance. I take in the rest of her, wanting so badly to reach out and pull her into my arms. She’s grown into a beautiful woman. “Bri,” I breathe out her name, stumbling like a moron to get out of my chair. The effects of two shots in less than a few minutes time hitting me more than I care to admit. Surprisingly, I have a low alcohol tolerance. With my size, one would think I’d be able to handle a lot of liquor. Not so much. “Hi, Grady.” The sound of her voice causing my heart to speed up triple time. I haven’t heard it in years. Except for in my dreams. Or nightmares, depending on the night. And it still hits me direct in the gut. “What am I missing?” I hear Drew murmur behind me only to be shushed by the girls. “Um. What…” I trail off, clear my throat, look down at the dirty bar floor, shake my head and look back at her, standing up in the process. She takes a small step back to allow me room. She’s a little thing. Only about 5 feet tall. When we were dating, I would have to practically bend in half to kiss her. A lifetime ago. My chin meets my chest when I tilt my head down to her. “What are you doing here?” I ask, finally finding my voice. She looks away quickly before returning those eyes that always drew me to her. I never could resist her shining emerald eyes. She simply had to flutter her long lashes at me, and I was putty in her hands. “Um, I heard about this incredible band and wanted to check them out since…” Her voice trails off as she glances at the table of my friends and family uncomfortably. She’s back in town, is what she failed to finish saying. She swallows and closes her eyes. I lick my lips, blow out a breath, and wait for her to open them back up. “Wait. A. Minute.” Cole’s voice breaks through our stare down. “Bri?” Mia sneers. Or as close to sneering as she gets. “What the hell are you doing here?” I turn in time to see her waddle her pregnant body out of the chair, shove Cole’s hand away from her shoulder and come to stand in front of me, effectively pushing Bri away a few steps considering Mia’s, well, she’s not little at the moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize everyone would…” “Realize what? That we would be here to support Brandon?” Mia crosses her arms over her chest and taps her foot. I press my lips together to keep from laughing. Mia’s hardly a threat, but she’s also protective of me. I place a hand on Mia’s shoulder and she twists her head to peek at me. She raises her eyebrows and tilts her head to the side, narrowing her eyes at me in a silent challenge for me to let her be. “Easy, mama bear,” I murmur. Bri looks down at Mia’s protruding belly then in Cole’s direction. She smiles faintly, her eyes glossing over slightly. I doubt if anyone else noticed, but I’ve always been a little more in tune to Bri than anyone else. “Mom mentioned you were expecting. When are you due?” she asks quietly. Mia lifts her chin, probably determined not to answer her because she’s a stubborn little shit, but Cole pipes up. “Two weeks.” “Congratulations.” She smiles but it’s sad. “Yup. We got married, too,” Mia says, a hint of snark in her voice, raising her hand to show her ring finger. “Mia,” Cole murmurs a quiet warning. “Yes, I heard that.” Of course she’d heard. Her entire family was there, celebrating with us. I’d swallowed down the hurt all day, enjoyed the moment of celebrating with my brother and Mia. Pushed away the jealousy I felt toward him and Mia, who’d also been friends before they started dating. It had been a little over two years at that point since she had walked out on our relationship. Walked out of my life. Part of me had wondered if she’d show up at the wedding. A bigger part of me held out hope it would happen. I missed the hell out of her and as pathetic as it may make me sound, I was still waiting for her to come back to me. That night, more changed for me than only getting a new sister. With Bri’s stepdad working for our dads, who own a construction company together, it’s not as if we’re strangers. Our families don’t just know each other, we’re connected in every way that matters. Which leads me to believe she knew Mia and Cole were expecting, too. “You missed a lot,” Mia reminds her, hurt and anger lacing her voice. In another time, Bri would have been one of Mia’s bridesmaids. It was a hole that was missing on the special day that everyone felt, not just me. I was always waiting. Waiting for her to come back. Waiting for her to come to her senses. Waiting for her to love me enough to fight. “I did,” she nods her head sadly. “I wish I hadn’t.” Me too. I can’t take my eyes off her. Can’t believe she’s here. Standing in front of me. Still looking too beautiful for her own damn good. Life, man. What a mother-effing bitch it is. “Yeah, well. It’s done,” Mia snaps. Bri breaking up with me didn’t hurt just me. That hurt and pain extended far and wide. “Mia,” Bri whispers. Raising her eyes from where they’ve been fixated on the floor between us, she looks directly at me, rather than Mia. My gut clenches when our eyes lock, afraid she’ll see the hurt still living inside me. The sound of a chair scraping along the floor behind me startles me, breaking our stare down. She turns and starts to reach out a hand to Mia but pulls back. Rather, she lifts a hand and twists a finger through the thick strands. I used to be obsessed with running my fingers through her hair A flash of déjà vu hits me when I remember she would always mess with it when she was nervous, especially in front of a crowd of people. “I’m so sorry I missed it. I have no excuse. I won’t pretend any of what I did was okay.” “You’re right. It wasn’t. But like I said, it’s done,” Mia says dismissively. She doesn’t accept Bri’s apology, but I know Mia. She will eventually. The only reason she’s holding a grudge right now is because she thinks I need her to and because she’s more hurt than she’s letting on. If Bri wants forgiveness, she’s going to have to earn it. “So. You’re back?” Bri takes a step in my direction, and I see realization hit Cole’s features. He points a finger at her then me. “Wait. Is she the one?” Out of the corner of my eye I see Drew’s head going back and forth like he’s at a tennis match, but I ignore him. I should introduce them, but I figure they’ll get to know each other soon enough. Irritation suddenly settles in my veins. Being this close to Bri used to provide me with a sense of calm. “The one, what?” I growl, staring down at the girl I once thought was my forever. “The one doing the article,” he explains. Cole’s not stupid. He knows she’s a reporter and who she works for. Her showing up after all this time obviously isn’t a coincidence. I pause a few beats, breathe in deep as her eyes, so expressive and beautiful, blink up at me. “Yeah,” I admit, my heart in my throat. “She is.”

BITTERSWEET ADDICTION

AVAILABLE NOW! (#FREE WITH #KU)

SYNOPSIS

DON'T MISS HOW IT ALL STARTED! BITTERSWEET SURRENDER, PART ONE IN THE BITTERSWEET DUET!

I felt like a fiend for him, like my body wasn’t my own, like I just needed to give every single part of myself over to him. It was insane, maybe even delusional, but I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything before.
He stood and kept his back toward me. I licked my lips, my pulse thundering so loud I wondered if he heard. Then I found myself moving closer to him until I could have reached out and touched his back. I saw the way he tensed and wondered if he knew how close I was to him.
“I can’t let you go,” he said in a gruff voice, his back still to me. He turned around then, the shadows dancing off his face, his body seeming even bigger than before. “I wanted you as mine since I first saw you. Now that you’re here the thought of you leaving isn’t something I’ll allow to happen.” He took a step forward. I found myself moving one back.
My heart was racing and I started breathing faster and harder. The air in the room became thick, almost suffocating. It was like honey covering my body, coating me. He moved another step toward me, his massive body dwarfing mine, his scent making me feel drunk.
“W-What?” My voice came out soft, that loan word a stutter. Oh, I understood exactly what he said but he spoke the words with such conviction, such determination that I felt them in every part of my body.
“You heard me.”
“I have a home, a job.” Although the very thought of those things in this moment, standing before Wolf, seemed distant and unimportant. Hell, they seemed that way even before I’d been in this situation.
His expression was fierce, almost stern. He stared into my eyes, the dark depths of his heating me like a fire burning deep within my belly.
“Materialistic things.” He said those two words in a gruff voice and took another step toward me. “Life isn’t about what we have, but about what we accomplish.” He lifted his hand and gently wrapped his fingers around my throat, his palm so much bigger than my neck. “Connections with that one person who owns every part of you, creating a family with them…” His voice had gone done an octave. “Those are what’s important. That is what life is about.”
I swallowed, feeling that light pressure of his hand, knowing my nipples were hard and my pussy had become wet. It was all because of that touch.
It was all because of him.
“Nothing else matters aside from you with me, Ruby. You are mine.” And then he leaned in close and placed his mouth on mine, devouring me as he slipped his tongue between my lips and fucked me there.

“Beg me again, Phee.”
“Bryant…” Phee groaned, panting against the bedding, bent over his lap as he teased her mercilessly. His fingers curling down to brush against that bundle of nerves inside as his thumb pressed rhythmically over her clit. Continuing until she was gritting her teeth to hold back the flood of pleas that threatened to escape.
“Either beg me for what you want, or I’ll tie you up and make sure you don’t come all night.” Bryant’s threat made Phee’s mouth drop open, but before she could come up with something smart ass to say he slid a third finger inside her, pumping them in a vicious tease that had her shivering towards the edge of a glorious orgasm.
“Oh God… Bryant!” Phee bucked against his grip, but he refused to let her move, and so she finally gave in. Let go and let the tug of Bryant Holbrook’s whirlpool drag her down. “Please, Bryant, please fuck me, because I’m going to lose it if you don’t. Please, please—”
Bryant pushed her off his lap and onto her back, and then he was on top of her, his knees moving her thighs apart as she arched up against his chest. “You beg so well, Phee,” he purred, hips dropping between hers, and she was infuriated by the fabric separating them as he ground himself against her.
“Bryant! Please!” Phee reached down and tugged at the waist of his boxers, and he laughed against her skin as he kissed up her neck.
“So, you’re saying you want me?” Bryant grinned at her and grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head.
“Yes! I want you, please, Bryant,” Phee begged, the whine in her voice obvious as she rolled her hips to try and get more contact, to try and get him to give in. Damn his self-control.
“All you had to do was ask.” He kissed her hard, biting her lip and devouring her mouth in a delirious rush that finally gave her a hint that he felt the same way she did. Lifting her hips, she moaned against his lips, desperate to feel him inside her. Breaking the kiss with a groan, he twisted to grab a condom from the bedside table and she immediately reached for his boxers. Bryant went still, grinning down at her. “Did I say you could move your hands, Phee?”
Whining, she returned them above her head, and it was torture to watch as he slid two fingers into his mouth. Tasting her like he had all the time in the world as the condom hung in his other hand and his cock stayed trapped behind dark cloth. Lifting her hips into the air, she was reassured by the way Bryant’s gaze burned down her body to focus between her legs. “Please, Bryant. Please…”
“You taste so good.” That cocky smile tilted his lips and he gripped himself through his boxers, stroking as he lifted the foil of the condom to his mouth and tore the edge. “Are you going to be a good girl for me?”
“Yes, I will, I swear!” All pride out the window, she clenched the bedding in her fingers so she wouldn’t move.
“Next time I’m going to tie you up just so I can watch you writhe like this.” It was a promise she hoped he’d keep, but then none of it mattered because he was pushing his boxers down. He was long, thick, and she wanted to taste him, but didn’t dare move and tempt him to drag this out any further. He rolled the condom on slowly as he leaned over her. “Spread your legs for me,” he commanded and she did.
“Bryant,” she whispered, and then he was kissing her. One of his hands enveloped her wrists, tightening to hold them in place as she moaned against his lips, his cock brushing against her in a tortuous tease. She lifted her hips, pleading in broken murmurs, before he finally thrust inside her.
It was like hitting the ocean floor, the whirlpool an endless height above her, and she arched hard off the bed. He growled his own pleasure, hand tightening the grip on her wrists as he started to move. Each thrust pushing her closer to that tenuous edge of sharp pleasure, and an endless stream of pleas slipped from her lips as he moved his mouth to her neck and trailed kisses down to her shoulder. “That’s right, beg me for it…”