( A Collection of books from some of today's bestselling authors)Release Date: December 1st
**On sale for a limited time only & at a special low price**
Format: Ebook Only and Exclusively at Amazon
Genre: New Adult Romance
For a complete list of titles in this anthology please see book blurb*
Synopsis:One book from one bestselling author is exciting, but when you put ten all together what you get is something more.
Intense 2 is a collection of stories from ten authors who bring their A game every time they sit down with a blank page. Combined together you get a limited edition read jam-packed with passionate encounters, powerful alphas, and romance that will keep you warm at night.
This is a must read for any romance reading, page turning book addict. Download it now before it’s gone!
This collection includes:
- Cambria Hebert - Text (novel)
- Julie Richman - Bad Son Rising (novel)
- Tijan Meyer - Brady Remington Landed Me In Jail (novel)
- Ilsa Madden-Mills - Very Wicked Things (novel)
- Eliza Lund - The Agreement (novel) / Drake Restrained (novella)
- Liv Morris - Love Handles Club (novella)
- J.l. Mac - Reach Me (novella)
- Author Kailin Gow - The Blue Room (novella) / Heat (novella)
Brady Remington Landed Me In Jail
By Tijan Excerpt:
He was different when he was with me. If we'd been at the party, he would've had the hard edgy look to him. He liked his tattoos to be seen, but I saw that he had pulled a blanket to cover the tribal tattoo on his stomach. The one on his shoulder was hiding in the shadows.
"It's not that I don't like her. It's just that…she's one of them."
"One of what?"
"You know. Your girlfriends."
"Your girlfriends." I didn't think that I needed to spell it out. "She's…I don't know. She's cool and confident and…she's not the type of person that I'm friends with."
"You're friends with me." His voice was quiet.
The air shifted again. Here we were…I knew that I needed to tread lightly, very lightly. I met his gaze, swallowed over a knot in my throat, and felt that we were talking about something different.
"You're different. I mean…we're not normal, Brady."
A scowl formed at his mouth. "What are you talking about? We're not normal?"
"You know—you're…one of them and I'm…not."
"That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." He threw himself off the bed and stalked towards me. "You are just like me. You are no different than me. You are no different from Clarissa."
"Yeah, but…" I was pressed against the doorframe as Brady towered over me. "I'm not one of your girlfriends."
His chest was in front of mine. Another step, just an inch, and we'd be pressed against each other. His gaze was glued to my lips. I kept looking from his eyes to his lips, but then I felt something strange wash over me when he murmured, throatily, "You're more than that."
I sucked in a large breath, I couldn't let it out. I stood there, frozen in place. He skimmed the side of my face with his hand, then tucked my hair back and cupped my cheek. He moved close and slowly, so slowly, rested his forehead against mine. His breath tickled my lips. "You're my best friend, Ray."
My hands had lifted to his arms. I felt his muscles shift underneath my fingers and I clasped harder. I couldn't fall.
"What are you doing?" The words wrangled out of my throat.
Brady didn't answer. He closed his eyes and nuzzled his mouth against my temple. My hands slid from his arms to his shoulders and then behind his neck. One of his hands cupped the back of my neck where he applied pressure and arched my head back. The other hand skimmed the side of my robe. When his fingers spread out, the top of his thumb brushed underneath my breast.
"Brady, I don't…" I couldn't talk anymore, but I knew there was something that I needed to say. I knew it, but…
"Shhh." His lips touched mine. They rested there, but there was no pressure, no demand from him.
Then his lips opened over mine. A surge of need rushed through me and I clasped him tight. Brady pushed me against the doorframe and he urged my leg to wrap around his waist. I couldn't get enough of him. It was like before, but this time it was different. I knew what would happen.
I never thought I'd do this or be like this, but it was Brady.
Excerpt - TEXT by Cambria Hebert
**This is copyrighted material by author Cambria Hebert**
As I ran, something darted out from the side. I jerked, the sudden movement startling me. My stride faltered and I turned toward whatever it was, but I didn’t see it.
It plowed into me, knocking me over, my hip taking the brunt of my fall. I grunted in pain and scrambled to get up.
But someone pinned me down.
I shoved at the man, and he glanced down, his eyes meeting mine. There was something cold in his blue-eyed stare. Something empty and flat.
Panic bloomed in my chest, spiking through my body as my heart rate went wild and alarm bells started sounding in my head.
Yes, I read the stories. Yes, I saw it on the news.
Woman is kidnapped. Search for missing woman continues. Woman is found beaten and dead.
But that stuff didn’t happen to me. That stuff happened to other people. Unfortunate women… women that weren’t me.
This isn’t happening to me.
A surge of adrenaline had me bringing up my knee and catching the man in his balls. He made a high-pitched sound and fell to the side. I scrambled up and took off, racing down the path, toward the road that intersected it. If I could make it there, I could flag down a car. I could find someone to help me.
The earbuds had fallen out of my ears and hung around my neck, banging into my skin and reminding me that I had my phone. My phone! As I ran, my hand fumbled, trying to yank it out of the band around my arm. Finally, I managed to grasp it and I held it up in front of me, calling up the keypad and dialing.
He tackled me from behind and I fell face forward, the phone tumbling out of my hands, just ahead, just out of reach. I cried out and stretched my hand toward my lifeline, desperate to finish the call.
“You’re going to pay for that, bitch,” the gruff voice said.
I’d never known such fear in all my life. I could barely think straight. Straight-laced dread and panic took over my body, making my limbs feel heavy and numb.
Don’t give in, the voice inside me screamed.
I bucked like a pony and reached forward, my hand closing over my phone. Yes! My joy was extremely short-lived when the man, who was still straddling my back, snatched it out of my hand and tossed it into the nearby creek.
“No,” I cried, watching it swept away beneath the surface.
“No one’s going to help you,” the voice above intoned.
Excerpt for Very Wicked Things
Book #2 of the Briarcrest Academy Series by Ilsa Madden-Mills
I got out of the shower and dressed hurriedly, anxious to get back to Cuba.
The door opened, and like he did it every single day, he stepped inside the steamy bathroom.
“Think I need a shower, too,” he said, his fingers easing off his football practice shirt.
Trying to play it cool and failing miserably, I moved my eyes off his naked chest and checked out his track pants and the obvious bulge he sported.
Oh. Did his lower body match the rest of him? Was it all sinewy muscle and big?
Just, yeah. That thought got stuck in my head and went round and round.
“You staying?” he asked, a grin working his face. Pleased at my open admiration, probably.
“No,” I said, but made no move to go. ‘Cause I had no shame when it came to catching a glimpse of his muscular body.
“Good,” he said, his smile broadening.
He pivoted to turn on the shower, and my eyes betrayed me again, admiring the muscles in his back, checking out how they twitched and rippled when he moved. Football and rowing had been good to him. My fingers itched to know how they’d feel underneath my hands. Which was stupid because we had nothing in common. Not a rich Highland Park boy and a poor girl from Ratcliffe.
And most importantly, he was a player, not to be trusted.
He hooked his thumbs into his pants, paused a moment—maybe waiting to see if I’d run from the room?—but when I didn’t budge, he slid them and his underwear off. My mouth opened. Fuck me. Cuba Hudson, the most popular guy at Briarcrest was standing right in front of me, naked and beautiful. And like the cocky bastard he was, he posed for me, his big-ass muscles making me vibrate all over. Need for him slammed into me.
Did I say he was hot?
Well, I was wrong.
He was off-the-charts, no-holds-barred, freaking going make-me-lose-my-mind-right-there delicious. The ultimate man-candy, the kind I knew to stay away from, yet here I was, ogling him.
“Still leaving?” he asked huskily.
“Any minute,” I said in a weak voice, backing up to the wall and propping myself up. “Just chillin’. Shower wore me out. I might need to hold this wall up for a sec.”
“I want you to stay,” he said, eyes at half-mast, glowing with heat.
“Why?” I said, aching to touch him. But that was crazy. I was a virgin, and I didn’t know jack about touching a guy’s you-know-what.
“Look at me, Dovey.”
I tore my eyes from his manhood, blushing.
His eyes burned. “There’s a sense of urgency in my head. Like our time is limited.”
I nodded. Yeah, same here.
“And, I’ll be honest, I don’t want to rush you, but I’m dying to sink into you. I want to set you on fire with need for me.” He ghosted his hands over the steel rod between his legs. Once, twice, and—holy hell, he didn’t stop.
My chest rose faster and faster. This was insane.
He lowered his voice. “Kiss me again, Dovey.”
Oh, shit. “That’s a terrible idea, Cuba. Cause you’re naked, and I’m turned on because you’re naked. And you’re touching yourself. And you’re naked.” I sucked in a sharp breath. “Not a good combo. Odds are we’ll end up in that shower together or back in your bed doing the double-backed monster.”
“Then join me in the shower. I’ll be good. For you.” He arched his back, his hands still doing that back and forth that was driving me insane.
Liar, liar, pants on fire, I thought. No way he would he be good.
Because he was the heartbreaker of Briarcrest. And one wicked boy.
Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap. She spends her days with two small kids, a neurotic cat, and her Viking husband. She collects magnets and rarely cooks except to bake her own pretzels. When she’s not typing away at a story, you can find her drinking too much Diet Coke, jamming out to Pink, or checking on her carefully maintained chocolate stash. She loves to hear from fans and fellow authors. Ilsa’s website: http://ilsamaddenmills.com
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