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❤  BOOK #1 – TEN TINY BREATHS ❤

Just breathe, Kacey. Ten tiny breaths. Seize them. Feel them. Love them.

Four years ago Kacey Cleary’s life imploded when her car was hit by a drunk driver, killing her parents, boyfriend, and best friend. Still haunted by memories of being trapped inside, holding her boyfriend’s lifeless hand and listening to her mother take her last breath, Kacey wants to leave her past behind. Armed with two bus tickets, twenty-year-old Kacey and her fifteen-year-old sister, Livie, escape Grand Rapids, Michigan, to start over in Miami. Struggling to make ends meet, Kacey needs to figure out how to get by. But Kacey’s not worried. She can handle anything—anything but her mysterious neighbor in apartment 1D.

Trent Emerson has smoldering blue eyes, deep dimples, and he perfectly skates that irresistible line between nice guy and bad boy. Hardened by her tragic past, Kacey is determined to keep everyone at a distance, but their mutual attraction is undeniable and Trent is determined to find a way into Kacey’s guarded heart—even if it means that an explosive secret could shatter both their worlds.

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Standalone New Adult Romance. Currently available for purchase.

❤  BOOK #2 – ONE TINY LIE ❤

“Make me proud.”  These were the last words Livie’s father ever spoke to her. In the seven years since her parents’ tragic death, Livie has done her best to keep this promise through her every choice, word, and action, while looking after her sister with strength and maturity. But with college right around the corner, unexpected challenges will test her resilience—and her heart.

Livie walks into Princeton with a solid plan, and she’s dead set on delivering on it: Rock her classes, set herself up for medical school, and meet a good, respectable guy to marry someday. What isn’t part of her plan are Jell-O shots; a lovable, party animal roommate she can’t say “no” to; and Ashton, the arrogant—and extremely attractive—captain of the men’s rowing team who makes Livie’s usually non-existent temper flare. Worse, he’s best friends and roommates with Connor, who fits Livie’s criteria perfectly. So why does she keep thinking about Ashton?

As Livie finds herself facing mediocre grades, career aspirations she no longer thinks she can handle, and feelings for Ashton that she shouldn’t have, she’s forced to let go of her last promise to her father and, with it, the only identity that she knows.

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Standalone New Adult Romance. Currently available for purchase.

❤  BOOK #3 – FOUR SECONDS TO LOSE ❤

Release date: November 4, 2013.

Owning a strip club isn’t the fantasy most guys expect it to be. With long hours, a staff with enough issues to keep a psych ward in business, and the police regularly on his case, twenty-nine-year-old Cain is starting to second guess his unspoken mission to save the women he employs. And then blond, brown-eyed Charlie Rourke walks through his door, and things get really complicated. Cain abides by a strict “no sleeping with the staff” rule. But being around Charlie challenges Cain’s self-control…and it’s been a long time since any woman has done that.

Twenty-two-year-old Charlie Rourke needs a lot of money, really fast, in order to vanish before it’s too late. Taking her clothes off for men makes her stomach curl but Charlie tells herself that at least she’s putting her acting and dancing skills to good use. And though her fellow dancers seem eager to nab their sexy, sophisticated, and genuinely caring boss, she’s not interested. After all, Charlie Rourke doesn’t really exist—and the girl pretending to be her can’t get distracted by romance.

Unfortunately, Charlie soon discovers that developing feelings for Cain is inevitable, and that those feelings may not be unrequited—but losing him when he finds out what she’s involved with will be more painful than any other sentence awaiting her.

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EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT

Chapter 2 ~ Charlie’s POV

He’s just standing there, boring holes into my face.

Given I’ve never laid eyes on him before, I don’t know what his normal complexion looks like but I’ll bet it’s not the sickly white pallor that I see now.

Like he’s seen a ghost.

I try to catch Ginger’s eye, to see if she thinks his reaction is strange, but I can’t.

“Sorry…I knocked but you didn’t answer,” she offers in apology. It’s true, she did knock and we waited for close to a minute before entering. I don’t know what he was doing in his office—behind the closed door with a sign that reads “boss man” and pair of lacy underwear pinned to it—but, by the stunned look on his face, we’ve interrupted something. A glance down confirms that his belt is at least buckled.

“This is my friend, Charlie, who I told you about.” Ginger’s long, slender fingers point to me and I force a bright smile. “Friend” sounds a bit misleading, seeing as everything I’ve ever told Ginger about me is a deliberate lie.

I only met her three weeks ago. Her beginner pole dancing class was just finishing up and she stayed on to watch the advanced class. I guess I impressed her because she sat through the entire hour and then talked my ear off in the change room after about how good I am. I took her proffered number with no intentions to call. The next week, Ginger cornered me after class and wouldn’t leave until I went out to lunch with her. Last week, she coerced me into shopping. There’s nothing wrong with her. I’d say she’s in her mid to late twenties, so quite a bit older than me. She has an easy, genuine laugh and a sarcastic sense of humor. She’s persistent, too. I just didn’t plan on getting to know people, seeing as I won’t be in Miami long.  But I guess you could say that we’ve become friends—lies and all.

It’s ironic that we met when we did, actually. By my pole-dancing skills and looks, Ginger automatically assumed I was a stripper. There was no judgement in those bright green eyes when she asked which club I worked at. That’s why I admitted to the few unappealing adult clubs I had applied to and the appalling “interview” at one called Sin City. The one I had run out of. Her pixie-like face lit up, which was not the reaction I was expecting. Then she explained that she bartended at the well-revered Penny’s Palace and offered to get me a job. She asked about my experience and I, of course, lied. I told her that I had worked in Vegas.

I haven’t been back to Vegas since I was six. I have certainly never stripped there.

After my experience with Sin City, I wasn’t sure if I could go through with it. But Ginger promised me that the owner, Cain, is like none other. The way she talks about him, I’d think he holds some sort of ‘boss of the millennium’ award.

But he’s still staring me down.

He hasn’t blinked, once.

I catch the almost indiscernible shake of his head before he offers in a clipped tone, “Charlie. Right. Hi.”

“Hi.” I was cool and confident coming in here, leveraging countless hours of acting classes to ready my wide, friendly smile. Now though, under this man’s steely gaze, I hear the wobble with that one tiny word. I step forward and hold my hand out.

His coffee-colored eyes finally pry themselves from my face to glare down at my hand—without moving—and I fight the urge to retract it. Ginger swore that this guy was first class but… he still makes his money off the sex trade. A lot of things get shaken under this roof and hands are probably not one of them. I never did shake the hand of that slime ball at Sin City—Rick— before he instructed me to climb onto his lap two minutes into my interview. I shouldn’t be surprised by this guy’s reaction.

These owners are all the same.

I take a breath, reminding myself that I’ve handled my fair share of degenerates and can do this.

Hell, I’m a degenerate.

As if snapping out of a daze, Cain finally accepts my hand in his, his coffee-colored eyes locked on mine. “Hi Charlie. I’m sorry. You just…startled me. You look a lot like someone I know.” There’s a pause. “Like someone I knew,” he corrects himself softly. His voice carries with it a smooth, educated sound, which surprises me, given our surroundings.

“Okay, well, I’ll just be at the bar, getting things set up.” Ginger scoots out of the office, closing the door behind her, leaving me alone with this man. I take a few calming breaths. I’m going to throttle her.

I don’t know what to expect now. Ginger didn’t tell me much about Cain, other than that he’s really nice and honest, he treats his employees very well, and if I’m going to dance in Miami, then Penny’s is the place to work. She did say that he sometimes comes off as intimidating but he’s just reserved. And he’s got a lot on his plate, running this place.

She certainly left out details about his physical appearance, I realize, as my gaze skates over his frame to see the well-defined curves beneath a fitted button down black dress shirt and black dress pants. As if that body isn’t enough, his face is flawless—angular cheekbones and a sharp jaw combine to give him a masculine yet almost pretty look. He’s like a sculpture—and about as opposite to Sin City Rick as you can get.

Basically, Cain is panty-dropping hot.

That your boss is panty-dropping hot is an odd thing to leave out of the equation. Cain’s the type of guy that makes you lose your words and your train of thought when he walks by. Except Ginger, it would seem.

But attractive or not, I’m feeling all kinds of uncomfortable right now, as Cain’s hard, intelligent eyes slowly roll over my body, appraising me. Taking a deep breath, I pull my shoulders back. I hold my chin up. I look him straight in the eye. I do all the things I know to do to appear confident. I will not cower under the intense scrutiny. If I’m going to be up on his stage, taking my clothes off for his customers, I can’t be unnerved by this.

And so I stand and let him pass silent judgment while I survey his office, taking in all the shelves, crammed with boxes. Aside from the large desk on one end and a black leather couch tucked into a corner, it seems like a storage room. Looking at him, I’d expect something sleek and tidy.

“Ginger said you have experience?” His tone is more gentle than it was when we first stepped in.

I answer without hesitation. “Yes, one year in Vegas. At The Playhouse.”  I fight the urge to start twirling one of my loose blond curls. I know my tells and that’s one that says I’m lying. Ginger warned me, under no circumstances, to lie to Cain Ford, because he always finds out anyway and it pisses him off when he does. It’s kind of impossible to heed that warning though, given my situation.

Plus, I am a very proficient liar.

And I’m banking on him not doing an in-depth reference check. Short of divine intervention, he won’t find a Charlie Rourke that worked at The Playhouse in Vegas.

Because Charlie Rourke doesn’t exist.

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Standalone New Adult Romance. Release date: November 4, 2013.

 ❤  ABOUT VAIN  ❤

If you’re looking for a story about a good, humble girl, who’s been hurt by someone she thought she could trust, only to find out she’s not as vulnerable as she thought she was and discovers an empowering side of herself that falls in love with the guy who helps her find that self, blah, blah, blah…then you’re gonna’ hate my story.

Because mine is not the story you read every time you bend back the cover of the latest trend novel. It’s not the “I can do anything, now that I’ve found you/I’m misunderstood but one day you’ll find me irresistible because of it” tale. Why? Because, if I was being honest with you, I’m a complete witch. There’s nothing redeeming about me. I’m a friend using, drug abusing, sex addict from Los Angeles. I’m every girlfriend’s worst nightmare and every boy’s fantasy.

I’m Sophie Price…And this is the story about how I went from the world’s most envied girl to the girl no one wanted around and why I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

 ❤  EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT from GREED  ❤

To be released Early Fall 2013.

“I’m here. Room five-seven-eight.”

“Lobby,” was my only response.

I hung up. I’d reimburse her for the room as I always did, to avoid a paper trail.

By the time I entered the lobby after walking the remainder of the lot, Lola sat secreted in a corner next to the cool steel sculpture at the room’s center. She stood when she saw me, devastatingly beautiful. She inclined her head and I reciprocated. She eyed me with appreciation but as always, she did nothing for me. Uncommonly pretty but not much else. Also, never dip your pen in the company ink, gentlemen, even if the company isn’t necessarily aware she’s stocked.

We entered the hotel bar. I, casually with my jacket unbuttoned and a single hand in my front pocket and she, as seductive as any femme fatale there ever was. I spotted my target, Peter Knight, waiting at the bar, studying a whiskey neat twirling in the glass before him. Damn, I cursed under my breath. He’d beaten me there. He didn’t notice Lola either, though, making my stomach clench a little in hesitation. I hoped he was distracted instead of the stand-up guy I suspected he was. I fought the nausea.

Lola and I sat together in the darkest corner of the bar, as out of sight as we could possibly get. Peter Knight kept glancing at his watch, waiting for the meeting with an executive that would never come. He ordered one more whiskey and that was my cue. I glanced at Lola, nodding once and she stood, making her way toward Peter, choosing a seat two down from him.

She ordered the same drink Peter had because we’d done our research. Her hand covered the rim of the glass, the drug she’d held in her palm fell to the bottom. I could tell it had already begun to dissolve. Her hands moved to the sides of the glass to cover the effects.

I knew when it was fully mixed because her hands fell flat on the bar top. She leaned back into her stool and displayed her breasts, her arms moving to rest on her lap. Every man with a pulse, including Peter this time, took note of her. She was effortless. She smiled lasciviously at him.

“Hi,” I heard her breathe.

Peter only nodded once and turned back to his drink. Confirmed. He looked but he didn’t touch. My jaw pressed tightly. Damn, he didn’t take the bait. Plan B.

Lola quickly glanced my way and imperceptibly shook her head once. I stood, coolly removed a handkerchief from my front left pocket, patted my neck and forehead, replaced it, smoothed out my jacket, tugged at my cufflinks ensuring the cuffs were stiff and made my way to the bar top, sliding into the stool right next to Peter. He smiled at me then glanced at his watch once more. I was running out of time. The bartender approached me.

“What’ll it be?” he asked.

“What are you drinking?” I asked Peter.

He smiled. “Macallan, eighteen, neat.”

“The same,” I said with a grin, oozing charm. Open up room for conversation.

“Popular tonight,” the bartender said simply, making my adrenaline spike.

“It’s a great vintage,” I hedged.

We silently watched the bartender pour me a matching glass and walk away to attend another customer. I internally breathed a sigh of relief.

“Jonathan,” I lied, extending a hand.

I was always Jonathan. I don’t think “Lola” knew it as anything else during our little charades.

“Peter,” he answered, taking it.

I took a sip then set the glass down, nervously twisting it back and forth in the palms of my hands. I sat up slightly, checking my actions, and angled myself toward him, making eye contact. Establish trust. I breathed deeply, taking yet another sip. Don’t waste time.

“Are you from the area?” I asked.

“No, actually, I…” he started but before he could finish, I faked a clumsy movement, sweeping the pen he had sitting on the bar top next to him onto the floor.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, as we both made a move to retrieve the pen.

I grabbed it first and awkwardly fumbled with it, distracting him further. Hope he buys this.  I watched through my peripheral as Lola subtly switched her roofie-laced whisky with his glass. When she righted herself, I handed it back to him. He sat back in his stool.

“Butter fingers,” I joshed.

He took a swig, a third of the glass’ contents gone.

“Nervous?” Peter asked, more astute than I previously gave him credit for.

I went with it. “Uh, yeah. I’m meeting a girl here. Blind date.” I noticed Lola smirk.

“Well, that explains it,” he laughed, slapping me on my sore shoulder. I took the pain. I deserved it. “Get out early, I always say. Dating is the pits,” he joshedjoked.

I cleared my throat and followed his lead as he took another swig, unaware of the poison streaming down his gullet.

“Married then?”

“Yes.” He sighed. “Thirty years next week, actually.”

I felt beads of sweat pour down my back at the declaration. He took yet another sip. I narrowly stopped myself from swiping the glass from his hands. Even if he drops, which he will, you can still back out. Just help him to his room. He’ll think he’d had too much. He’ll only wake up with a great night’s sleep.

“And you’re still happy?” I asked, ignoring my conscience, grasping for anything terrible, anything that could justify what I was about to do.

“Oh, you know, it’s not easy, not all the time anyway, but I can honestly say I am genuinely happy with Maggie. She’s my everything, if I was being candid.” He laughed at some private joke. I hated jokes. My punch line would destroy him if his wife ever found out.

My gut began to ache so terribly, my hand inadvertently scrubbed at my neck. He mistook it for nerves.

“Don’t worry, son. I’m waiting for someone, too, though it looks like he’s a no-show, and I flew in all the way this close to Christmas for nothing. Anyway, I’ll wait with you.”

“That’s so kind of you,” I told him honestly as he finished his drink.

He ordered another.

I glanced at Lola and she lightly tapped at her wrist but avoided eye contact.

Peter and I spoke of nothing consequential during the following fifteen minutes, but when that time came to a close, he appeared inebriated. So much so, that the bartender stopped by.

“Is he staying here?” he asked. “Wish I’d known the guy couldn’t hold his liquor.”

“It’s not a problem. He’s got a room here,” I told him. “Don’t worry, he’s a friend. I’ll take him back to his room.”

He nodded in answer, setting our tabs down on the bar top. I paid his as well as my tab in cash to avoid trace backs or, for that matter, waiting any longer. The drugs were taking effect and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle his dead weight despite my daily reps of two-eighty-five.

I made a move to stand as Peter slumped forward a little. You waited too long. “Come on, dude,” I told him, throwing his arm over my shoulder. We made our way toward the elevators.

“You’re a good man,” Peter slurred. “That’s rare…someone so young.”

I didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, really.

We barely made it to the elevators. I pitched him inside and sat him against the sidewall then held the door open with my hand, praying no one else would come. Lola quickly emerged ten seconds later without a word spoken and we let the doors close.

“We waited too long,” Lola said, when we reached her floor. She stuck her head out when the doors opened. “It’s clear,” she said.

I swung middle-aged Peter Knight onto my shoulders with only a little difficulty, glad for the minute rest I’d gotten between supporting his weight during the walk through the lobby and reaching Lola’s floor. “Lead the way,” I told her.

Lola took me to her room, quickly unlocked the door and we entered. The entire ordeal couldn’t have taken more than five minutes, but it felt like an eternity. I pitched him onto the bed. He laid there, clothes in disarray, hair mussed and snoring.

Lola and I watched him for a good thirty seconds, waiting for him to stir, but he didn’t. He was dead to the world.

“Shall we get started?” she asked.

I vacillated back and forth between right and wrong, willing myself to walk away, begging myself to figure a way out, but no argument was more convincing than the mil I was getting paid. Besides, I thought, as long as he complies, this is not a big deal at all. He can go back to his wife and kids and I can go back to Brown a little bit wealthier.

“Yes,” I answered.

Lola slithered from her dress and stood in her lace bustier and garters, let her curled hair down and went to the mirror, leaning over to freshen up her lipstick. I went to the bag on her bathroom counter and removed the SLR, slid on the power button and waited for her at the foot of the bed. I watched her, taking in her beautiful body, admiring her, internally acknowledging why she was the most expensive call girl I knew. She caught me staring in the mirror and smiled with beautifully perfect white teeth.

That’s when I noticed it. She was breathtaking, yes, but if you really took stock of her, took in her little flaws, she was revolting. Nose tinged red from recently snorting. Of course, I thought, how else could you do what you did. Slight bruising expertly covered up with makeup around the throat and arms, evidence of her profession. I thought of my sister and wondered if Lola had a brother or even a father. Ribs protruding, proof to the naked eye that she starved herself to stay thin. Another product of our society. Another otherwise gorgeous girl made ugly by the pressures and influence of an L.A. life. I turned my head and observed the man sleeping in front of me.

And how are you different? I asked myself. You’d do just about anything for money. You’d risk this man’s wife and family. And for what? So that your dad can manipulate another business deal to make him even more cash than he already has? More cash to spend in places where cash needn’t be spent?

Lola crawled across the bed, yanking at Peter’s tie, and licking the side of his face, posing with her leg wrapped around his.

Click.

Another million can give you better security, ensure you can live within the lifestyle you’re accustomed, eventually give you freedom from him.

Lola switched it up. She unbuttoned his shirt and spread her lacquered nails across his chest, pressing closely to him and smiling a viper’s expression at the camera.

Click.

It’s not likely this Maggie woman will ever see these photos anyway. It’s low risk and you get a cool mil out of a night’s work.

Lola straddled him, unbuckling his pants and threw her head back in mock satisfaction.

Click.