Wicked Knight (Wicked Horse Vegas, Book #5)
Sawyer Bennett
Release Date: January 1, 2019

Synopsis:
He never wanted to be anyone’s hero…

Asher Knight is tall, dark, and wickedly handsome. He’s also irrevocably broken. Submerging himself in long hours at work by day and debauchery at The Wicked Horse by night, Asher uses work and play to numb the pain and guilt he feels over the death of his wife. What isn’t satisfied with one will surely be resolved by the other. At least that’s how he’s survived the last few years.

Hannah Madigan works three jobs just to make ends meet. Beat down by life, not to mention a cheating husband who was unfairly awarded custody of their daughter, Hannah is determined to make a better life for herself and get her kid back. But with pressures mounting and one costly mistake that leaves her owing Asher a huge debt, Hannah is as close as she’s ever come to throwing in the towel.

She’s given a golden opportunity…

Determined to stay the course by any means necessary, Hannah accepts an unusual proposal from Asher. He’ll give her a job. She’ll give him her body. Sounds easy, right? Until she realizes she needs his help more than she’s willing to admit. And he finds her adding to his life in ways he never wanted to accept.

This wicked knight may just learn that sometimes saving someone else means allowing yourself to be saved in return.
 

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“I don’t care what it takes to get those permits pushed through,” I snarl into the phone, sitting up straighter in my chair. “If you don’t have them by the close of business today, consider yourself fired.”
My voice carries through the doorway of my home office, causing the chatter of the two maids cleaning the living room to go abruptly silent.
“I’ll handle it,” Jay Maher, my residential development manager, replies tersely. My threats aren’t idle, and he knows it—just like he knows he fucked up on this deal big time.
“Yes, you will,” I acknowledge quietly before disconnecting the call. I fully expect the permits to be obtained, even if Jay has to sell his soul to the devil to get it done. But that’s not my problem.
Glancing at the clock on my wall, I note there’s plenty of time to make my meeting across town. Punctuality is important to me. My father always says, “Respect of time will pay you back tenfold.” Not sure what he means by that, but he loves to drop little pearls of wisdom on me whenever he can. When Carlton Knight retired from Knight Investment Group two years ago, our yearly gross revenues exceeded just over fifty million. When he passed on the helm to his son—and that would be me, Asher Knight—he did so with expectations I would increase that figure substantially every year.
I had no desire to disappoint him, but more than that, I wasn’t about to disappoint myself. My one major failure in life rewired my internal makeup. It made success and winning the only options. So far, they have served me well.
Reaching my hand out, I brush my thumb over the framed photo on my desk. Looking at Michelle’s sunny California beauty—golden-blonde hair, summer-blue eyes, and wide smile—makes me sad.
Bitter even.
I tear my eyes away because her expression sometimes mocks me. At other times, she seems to pity me.
It’s rare to see her photo and feel peace or happiness, or even remember fond memories. I’ve realized I’m not entitled to those feelings.
She took that all away from me.
Pushing up from my desk, I grab my briefcase and exit my office. It sits just off the living area of my downtown penthouse apartment. Five years ago, I moved here after I became a widower at the age of twenty-seven.
The maids are talking again. As I enter the living room, I see one of them running a feather duster over a Chihuly vase that sits on a pedestal in the foyer. My eyes drop to her ass, which is amazing despite the wretched black polyester dress she’s wearing. She’s definitely new, and I know this just by looking at her ass and nothing more.
When I head into the kitchen, I find the other maid scrubbing out my refrigerator. She’s been cleaning my apartment for a few years through the cleaning service I use. Her name is Gerda. She’s a stout German woman who is short on words, which is fine by me.
“Good morning, Mr. Knight,” she says as I head over to the coffee pot.
“Morning,” I reply with a nod of my head. She sticks her head back in the open refrigerator, and I pull a travel thermos out of a cabinet to make a to-go cup of java.
Just as I’m reaching for the carafe, the explosive sound of glass breaking fills the air.
“Fuck,” a woman, most likely the maid with the fine ass, screams. When I look over my shoulder, I see my Chihuly vase in a million pieces on the floor. Bits of cobalt blue, cream, and sunflower-yellow covers every inch of the marble foyer.
My eyes travel up shapely legs, polyester-covered thighs, an amazing set of tits under a ruffled white apron, and the face of a fucking goddess. A combination of high cheekbones, full lips, and golden eyes that are slanted like a cat’s. They are sly and sexy. Her hair is pulled into a long ponytail the color of dark wood and cherries. My body instantly reacts to her.
“Oh my God,” Gerda exclaims in distress as she bustles over to the shattered remains of my one-of-a-kind Chihuly. “Hannah… you stupid cow.”
“Fuck,” the beauty—Hannah—says again as she stares aghast at the expensive mistake she just made.
Her fretful gaze slides to me. She bites down on her lower lip, fear filling her eyes. Not sure what it says, but it’s sexy as hell to me. I want to fuck her more than I want to chastise her.
“I am so fucking sorry,” she tells me. Her language incenses Gerda, galvanizing her into action.
“Hannah,” she snaps to gain her attention. “How could you be so stupid and careless? I trusted you with this job and—”
“Gerda,” I interrupt quietly, but I’ve never needed to raise my voice to command attention. Both women turn to me, Gerda appearing slightly green. I’m sure she thinks she’s going to be fired for this. “Please return to your duties. I’d like to talk to Hannah privately.”
“But—” Gerda says in confusion.
“Hannah,” I say, turning my back on the women. “In my office, please.”
My body is tight and hyper aware as she walks in behind me. I ignore the chair behind my desk, wanting a bit less formality between us. When I pivot to face her, she doesn’t have an ounce of fear on her face. She does, however, look almost as sick as Gerda did a minute ago.
“Close the door,” I order, not wanting Gerda listening in on us.
She reacts immediately. After she’s done my bidding, she turns and starts to blabber. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Knight. I’m not usually that clumsy. I barely touched the vase, but it wobbled. When I tried to steady it, I accidently knocked the damn thing right off the pedestal. But please don’t fire me. I need this job more than you can even imagine. I’ll pay you back for the vase.”
“It was a one-of-a-kind, commissioned piece that cost seventy-five-thousand dollars,” I inform her blandly.
“Fuck,” she curses again, and I find myself liking that dirty mouth a lot. What I wouldn’t give for that mouth on me.
“A payment plan then,” she blurts out.
“Pretty sure it would take you the rest of your natural life… and then your children’s lives, too, to pay it back,” I drawl, taking a step toward her. She holds her ground. Stopping in front of her, I tuck my hands casually in my pockets.
“I work three jobs,” she says as she stares up at me. Although she gives off a somewhat tough and sassy exterior, I like that I tower over her and could probably easily break her if I wanted to. “I’ll make it work somehow. Please, don’t fire me.”
“Why three jobs?” I ask curiously, because while she and I are nothing alike, I do admire a hard work ethic.
Her jaw tightens, and she lifts her chin in defiance. Her words are short and clipped. “I have family to take care of.”
Not really of interest to me, but I like that she’s desperate and part of her fate is now in my hands.
Turning away from her, I saunter over to a file cabinet that’s up against one wall. “I would be amenable to you working the debt off for me.”
“How?” Her tone is instantly suspicious, and it tells me she’s no dummy. She probably knows where I’m going with this.
I ignore her for a moment as I slide the top drawer open. Flipping through a few vertical files, I finally find the one I’m searching for. After I pull out a piece of paper, I close the cabinet.
Turning back to her, I make my offer. “One night with me at my sex club and I’ll forgive the entire debt.”
Hannah blinks at me, and the most stupid thought comes to my mind. What is her last name? Is it sweet and innocent sounding like “Hannah,” or is it filled with gumption since I sense that in her as well? For the life of me, I can’t figure out why that would even cross my mind because it’s of no consequence.
She is of no consequence other than to fulfill a fantasy I’ve managed to develop in the past five minutes.
Those eyes, which are just a few shades lighter than cognac, narrow at me. “You want to have sex with me in exchange for me breaking an overpriced and not very attractive piece of glass?”
“Yes, at my sex club, the Wicked Horse,” I add, so she understands that requirement. I ignore her slam at my art purchase. “It’s a safe environment, and I won’t ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
“Do I look like a whore?” she snarls, teeth bared. My cock starts to fucking swell at the thought of bringing her to heel.
“Not at all,” I say smoothly. “But you do look adventurous. It will be fun and incredibly liberating for you.”
“Because you’re basically offering to pay me for sex? By forgiving a seventy-five-thousand-dollar debt?” Her hands ball into fists, which she perches on her hips. My hands would look good on her hips, holding her from behind.
“I’m offering you a way out of an expensive predicament you just landed yourself in. I wouldn’t think you a whore if you accepted. Merely an enterprising, smart woman who knows a good deal when she sees it.”
I expect her to throw more indignation my way. Let’s face it… I’ve insulted her in making my offer.
Instead, she surprises me by saying, “What if I’m not attracted to you?”
Lust flashes through me, and I prowl toward her. She holds her ground. When I’m inches away, she starts to step backward. I follow until her back comes up against the door, but stop short of touching her in any way.
Bending slightly, I place my mouth near her ear. I can feel the harsh escape of her breath against the side of my neck when I whisper, “How about this… you come with me to my sex club. We’ll have a drink. Talk.”
Hannah makes a sound in her throat, which could be desire or disgust, but it doesn’t stop me.
“If I can’t get you wet while we talk, I’ll accept you’re not attracted to me. Of course, it will take my hand between your legs to verify, but I’m quite sure I know what I’ll find. You’ll want it, Hannah, trust me. And when the night is over, you’ll be thanking me.”
A hand comes to my chest, and I know she can feel the gallop of my heart. She gives me a strong push backward, and I comply.
I peer down at her, not even trying to hide the slight smile of amusement I’m feeling right now.
Hannah glares at me and her words are gritted out between clenched teeth. “Thank you, but no thank you. I’m not interested.”
Raising the hand holding the paper I’d pulled from the cabinet, I wave it mockingly at her before I hand it over. She has no choice but to take it from me.
As her gaze drops to it, I explain, “That’s a copy of the invoice for the vase. Like I said… seventy-five grand.”
Facing turning red, she mutters under her breath, “Asshole.”
This makes me chuckle as I reach past her for the doorknob. She scrambles to the side, and I open my office door.
Before I exit, I tell her, “My phone number is on the invoice. Call me if you change your mind.”
“I won’t,” she snaps.
I give her a wink. “I bet you will.”
I don’t wait to see what she does. I just walk out of my office without looking back.

Releasing January 1, 2019

Erik

Gotta fucking love the weather here in Phoenix. Blue skies, eighty degrees, and a few white, fluffy clouds that will sometimes give you respite with cooling shade as they roll across the sky.

Dax and I stroll along behind Brooke and Bishop, who honest to fucking God are so into each other I’m surprised their souls haven’t melded or something. Ever since he brought her back from New York just a week ago, they’ve been attached to each other every fucking day. They returned to Phoenix to enjoy a week with only two home games and plenty of time in between for whatever bit of making up they had to do.

Although I’m not quite sure they were ever broken up. Didn’t seem that way. Bishop had texted me that Brooke went to New York to get her head back on straight and that he was going to help it along.

So he went there, screwed it back on apparently, and now they’re back.

When they asked me today if I wanted to go to the harvest festival over in Scottsdale, I thought why the fuck not? It’s not like I had anything better to do with myself.

The festival is set up along the canal with various vendors selling crafts, spicy food, and pitchers of margaritas. There’s live music, salsa dancing, and a host of kids activities going on. After the sun sets and it goes from eighty degrees to an awesome sixty-five, the bars and restaurants with outdoor seating will be packed. The trees will be lit in blue or white lights, and it’s a popular place for couples to come and hang out.

Or not.

Dax, Legend, and I have come down here a few times and hit a couple of really great bars.

Brooke and Bishop veer right and head toward a booth that’s got handmade copper wind chimes. Dax and I mosey over as well.

“These are so pretty,” Brooke says, her fingers lightly trailing down one. The sound it produces is really nice.

“I’ll buy you one,” Bishop says, pulling his wallet out.

“No,” she says with a laugh, putting her hand on his arm and pushing it back toward his pocket. “I don’t need you to buy every single thing I say is pretty. Just because I say it’s pretty doesn’t mean I want it.”

Bishop leans over and nuzzles her neck, whispers something in her ear. Her face blushes a pretty pink and she swats at him, casting a furtive glance around him at Dax and me to see if we just heard what he said.

We didn’t, but I can guess it was something really, really dirty.

“I’m going to get another margarita,” Dax says to me while throwing a thumb toward Brooke and Bishop. “The Cleavers over there making moon eyes over each other are starting to get on my nerves.”

“I’m hungry too,” I say in agreement as we look around for the nearest food and alcohol vendor. We spot a place down a ways and I call back to the lovebirds. “We’ll be down there drinking when you’re done.”

Bishop waves in acknowledgment and we take off.

“Glad those two worked things out,” Dax observes as we plod along. “But they probably want some alone time, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” I say. “And I don’t want to look at that arts and craft shit. I came for the food and liquor.”

“Yeah,” Dax agrees enthusiastically. “Because we’re real men.”

“Except Bishop,” I say with a snort. “He’s turned into a pussy.”

“And Legend,” Dax adds, which makes me guffaw.

Legend declined coming with us today because he’s doing some work on his house he’d bought. He took the plunge into home ownership very seriously and he’s been spending all of his free time painting, staining, refinishing, and refurbishing shit around his new place.

Up ahead is a stage and it looks like a new band is getting ready to start. A smallish dance floor has been cordoned off in front of it where earlier we watched some salsa dancers. The music starts as we put our orders in for huevos rancheros with spicy chorizo that are served on paper plates and margaritas in tall plastic cups.

We step off to the side, snag a high table, and listen for a while as we eat. The band is playing good ol’ classic country music, which is so not my thing, and I don’t recognize a single song so far. Apparently, though, the music is enough to entice people out onto the dance floor, and soon enough couples are two-stepping around in a counterclockwise circle.

“What do you want to do tonight?” Dax asks. I feel for him a bit. Bishop is his best friend and roommate, but Dax has been hanging with me since Brooke entered the picture. Now he regularly spends time with Legend and me on our nights off.

“The Sneaky Saguaro?” I suggest. It’s become our go-to hangout.

“Sounds good,” he says, and then gives a mock shudder. “But I’m always afraid that crazy bitch will show up.”

He’s talking about Nanette, of course. She’s become quite the menace to our team recently, and I’m eternally grateful that I never hooked up with her. Dax hasn’t said much about the few times he fucked her, but I take that to mean she wasn’t that great. Usually forward women like that are a lot of talk and are pretty much boring as shit in bed.

Still, regardless if I fucked her or not, that bitch still named me in a bogus sexual harassment lawsuit, so she better not show up. No telling what I’d do to her.

“Hey, Erik,” Dax says looking at something over my shoulder. “Isn’t that Blue? The flight attendant?”

I whip around so fast I fucking knock my margarita off the table and it goes flying into some low bushes. My eyes scan the crowd for her golden yellow hair and sexy-as-fuck body.

Dax laughs and says, “God, you have it bad for her.”

I so do, although I haven’t admitted that out loud to anyone. The fact she won’t give me the time of day makes her infinitely hotter to me for some reason.

Pure and simple, she’s become a challenge to me, because I’ve yet to meet a woman I want who hasn’t at some point yielded. I figure she’s playing hard to get, and I very much enjoy the chase.

Finally I see her through the crowd. She’s walking slightly bent over, perhaps carrying something heavy with both arms. For the life of me I can’t figure out what, and then the sea of people parts and I see her clearly.

She’s bent slightly because she’s pushing a wheelchair. In it is a young man, and although I couldn’t begin to guess his age, he’s definitely an adult. Then I notice a few other people in wheelchairs, each with someone pushing them. None of the people in the chairs are children, though. There are also a few adults that are ambulating with assistive devices like walkers or hand crutches.

“Think she works for a group home or something?” Dax asks, indicating that he sees what I see.

“No clue,” I tell him. “Maybe she volunteers there or something. I figure she has to make pretty good bank working on the team plane.”

“You’re probably right,” he says.

My food is forgotten and I don’t even think about getting a refill on my margarita. I happily stand at my table and just watch Blue. She pushes the wheelchair to the edge of the dance floor and bends down to say something in the man’s ear. I note his arms are contracted inward but he twists his neck to look at her. He smiles at her brightly and his head sort of jerks up and down, which I take to mean he likes whatever she just told him. He then extends an arm toward the dance floor. It doesn’t fully stretch out, but he makes a jabbing motion that way.

Blue grins at him and nods.

She locks the brakes on the chair, walks around to the front, and squats to lift up the footrests before moving them to the side. Blue gently sets his feet to the concrete, then stands, bends at the waist, and lets the man wrap his arms around her neck. She in turn places her arms around his waist, and with a mighty effort, pulls him up from the chair. His legs can’t extend fully, so Blue takes on a good deal of his weight, but they just stand there, face to face, swaying.

Dancing.

They’re dancing.

The man wanted to dance and Blue gave it to him.

She leans her head back to look at the guy, and he grins back at her with bright eyes. Blue wiggles a bit faster, swaying them both a little quicker, and I can actually hear the man’s laugh across the music.

Fuck . . . it might be the goddamned sweetest thing I’ve ever seen before.

“Oh no,” Dax says low and in warning. “I know that look.”

I don’t bother to give him my attention, keeping my eyes pinned on Blue. But I do ask him, “What look?”

“Your gaze just became predatory,” he says with a laugh.

“What the fuck ever,” I growl at him, but then I’m walking toward Blue.

No thought.

No rhyme or reason.

The woman can’t seem to stand me within five feet of her, and yet I have to go say hello.

You know . . . just to be polite.

Although the song continues to play, Blue is lowering the man back into the wheelchair before I reach her. My guess is that wasn’t about Blue’s physical stamina but the man’s. She smiles up at the guy as she squats back down to get his feet situated in the rests, and then as she starts to rise, her eyes catch me as I close in.

The smile she’d been bearing for the man in the wheelchair slides right off her face, and she looks at me with distrust as I come to a stop beside her. I glance down at the man, who looks up at me with a happy smile. I smile at him, and then turn back to Blue. “Hey . . . was over there with Dax, Bishop, and Brooke, saw you over here, and thought I’d say hello.”

“Hello,” she clips out, then pushes past me so she can reach the brakes. She releases them without even looking at me again.

I bend down, get in her line of vision. “So . . . what are you doing? Out on a group trip?”

“Yup,” she says as she straightens.

“Gonna introduce me to your friend?” I ask with a charming smile, cutting a glance to the man in the wheelchair who is still grinning back at me. I want to show her I’m a people person through and through and she can stop being mad at me for some stupid words—I don’t even really recall what I said that pissed her off in the first place.

“Sure,” she says with a sugary smile, but her tone puts me on edge. Bending to the side, she gets the man’s attention and says, “Billy, this is Erik.”

Billy looks up at me. He has vivid blue eyes sparkling with joy and vitality. He smiles bigger, and his head jerks a bit as he drawls out a word that looks terribly difficult for him to say. “Hi.”

Blue turns to me. Making a sweeping motion to Billy, she says, “Erik, this is my brother, Billy.”

There’s no hiding the stunned expression on my face. In a million years, it never crossed my mind he was a family member. I had not thought about her as anything other than a hot-as-fuck flight attendant who I would like to join the mile-high club with.

I recover quickly, though. I squat down by the armrest of his wheelchair. Since I know from observation he can’t quite extend his arm, I reach out to him and take his hand. I give him a shake that makes him laugh. “Nice to meet you, Billy,” I say.

Glancing up at Blue, I find her watching me like a hawk, completely distrustful of any word or move I might make.

Looking back to Billy, I tell him, “You were dancing pretty good there.”

He grins bigger, and his head rolls back and forth as if what I said really pleased him.

Squeezing Billy’s shoulder, I tell him, “Nice meeting you, buddy. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Standing up, I give Blue a gentle smile and take a step back. With a nod, I tell her, “You two enjoy your day, okay? Nice to see you.”

Now she’s the one with the stunned expression. I see it on her face just moments before I turn and walk away.

I’m glad I have several steps to take before I make it back to Dax, though. My fucking heart is pounding like a jackhammer operated by a steroid-driven construction worker.

Christ . . . Blue has layers to her that I never imagined.

That’s not what’s got me wired, though.

I’m wired because I really want to fucking peel away those layers and learn more about her.

Normally I’m all about peeling off the clothes, but I want so much more than that with Blue.

And that’s a first for me.

For a limited time only, the first release in FOUR of my series are on sale for just 99 cents each! Whether you’re looking for opposites attract, second chance romance, workplace romance, or kinky cowboys who own a sex club, you can grab it now for less than a buck!

Off Sides (Off Series, Book #1)

“I’m not sure what possessed me to do it. Maybe it was the impossible expectations I faced, maybe it was my own self-loathing. But I just knew I needed something different to happen. I needed someone…something…to derail me from my current path. Otherwise, I would become lost…a hollowed out shell of a man. So I did it. I approached her, then I pursued her, then I made her mine. And my life was saved…”

Ryan Burnham is the privileged son of a U.S. Congressman and captain of his university’s hockey team. While he is on the verge of fulfilling his dreams to play in the NHL, his parents want him on a different course. One he is expected to accept for the sake of his family’s public image.

Forced to abandon her music career after the heart breaking death of her parents, Danny Cross exists on the opposite side of the tracks from Ryan. She is struggling to make her own way, working two jobs, attending college part time and volunteering in a homeless shelter. She is on a mission to build her own success.

With a chance meeting, their vastly different worlds collide, causing each to evaluate whether they are truly on the correct path to self-fulfillment and happiness. Can their relationship survive? Particularly when others are against them every step of the way. A lot can happen in just ten short days…

All books in the Off Series can be read as standalones. See the entire series here: https://sawyerbennett.com/bookstore/the-off-series/

On the Rocks (Last Call Series, Book #1)

Hunter Markham left home to travel the world for fame and glory, finding it as a top ranked professional surfer. Now he’s returned home to the sand and salty breeze of the North Carolina Outer Banks so he can open The Last Call, a beach bar nestled among the dunes of the Atlantic.

Five years ago, Gabby Ward drunkenly threw herself at her best friend’s brother, only to have her young heart crushed. Hunter is back but Gabby is content to stay far away from him and his dangerously charming ways.

Gabby’s well-schemed plans to ignore Hunter go up in flames when he presents her an offer she simply can’t refuse. Working together day in and day out proves problematic for two reasons—Gabby realizes her feelings for Hunter are still very much alive, while Hunter struggles to break through to Gabby’s cold heart. What starts out as a mutual business arrangement soon turns into a passion that neither can deny.

But when the pro surfing tour comes knocking and Hunter has a chance to reclaim his former glory, hard choices lie ahead for both of them.

Choices that could destroy what they have built or take them further than they could ever dare to hope in their second chance at romance.

All books in the Last Call series can be read as standalones. See the entire series here: https://sawyerbennett.com/bookstore/last-call-series/

Legal Affairs: McKayla’s Story (Legal Affairs, Book #1)

One year ago, I graduated from law school and embarked on a career as a purveyor of high priced legal shenanigans.
Six months ago, my boyfriend dumped me when I thought he might be proposing.
Two weeks ago, I got drunk and joined a secret sex club.
Two days ago, I had a torrid one-night stand with a stranger.
Today? My one-night stand is no longer a stranger.
Today, he’s my new boss.

Matt Connover is all kinds of forbidden temptation wrapped up in a deliciously wicked package, and he’s made it clear… he’s only interested in sex.

My name is McKayla Dawson, and I work at the powerhouse firm of Connover & Crown, LLP, where the law has never felt so hot.

But between you and me, I’m afraid my heart won’t survive these Legal Affairs.

****
Legal Affairs is a stand alone, full length erotic novel. It follows the illicit office affair of Matt Connover and McKayla Dawson and it’s told strictly from the heroine’s point of view. Confessions of a Litigation God is a companion novel to Legal Affairs and is the same story but told from the hero’s point of view with a lot of bonus content and an extended epilogue.

See all of the books available in the Legal Affairs series here: https://sawyerbennett.com/bookstore/the-legal-affairs-series/

Wicked Fall (Wicked Horse Series, Book #1)

Never in your wildest dreams could you begin to imagine all the filthy and depraved things that go on inside The Wicked Horse. Step inside and Woolf Jennings will make every one of your dirty fantasies come true.

He’s covered in a facade of deception. An enticing blend of multi-millionaire and hot-as-hell Wyoming rancher, those that think they know Woolf Jennings admire his abilities to preside as CEO of his family’s cattle and oil empire. But only a privileged few truly understand what fuels the glitter of depravity in those gorgeous blue eyes. Only a few know he’s opened up a sinfully erotic and private sex club named The Wicked Horse right at the base of the beautiful Teton Mountain range.

Sweet Callie Hayes has returned home to Wyoming and is looking forward to starting her life over again. After a night of impetuosity, she’s managed to put herself right in Woolf’s line of sight… the man who she foolishly offered up her virginity to years ago and was flatly turned down.

Now Woolf is seeing that Callie is all grown up and has a kinky side to her that leaves him as confused as it does turned on. Worse yet, both Callie’s dirty desires and sweet heart are getting under his skin, and making Woolf question everything he’s ever believed about himself.

All books in the Wicked Horse series can be read as standalones. See the entire series here: https://sawyerbennett.com/bookstore/wicked-horse-series/

Well, I have good news. Because in 2019, Kynan isn’t going to get just his own book. He’s going to get two!!!!

First, on March 12, 2019, Wicked Force will release and it’s a prequel novella starring none other than Kynan McGrath. Learn about his first love and how she brought him to his knees. Even more exciting, Wicked Force is part of Kristen Proby’s crossover collection to her Big Sky series set in Cunningham Falls, Montana. If you haven’t tried this series out, jump on it. It’s amazing!!!!!!

On May 7, 2019, Kynan’s story continues in a swoony, sexy second chance, full length romance novel. You got a sneak peek of this story if you bought the Cocktales Anthology, which if you didn’t, don’t worry. I’ll be publishing that again in April, 2019 for you to whet your appetite.

Now, here’s where things get really exciting. Kynan’s second chance romance is also a bridge book to an entire new series I’ll be launching called Jameson Force Security. If you like hot, alpha special forces guys and spine-tingling romantic suspense, climb aboard to this new series of stand-alone books. Kynan’s book is called Code Name: Sentinel and you’ll get all the same sexy, lovable characters and emotional storylines, with an added punch of military/ security forces suspense.

Keep your eyes peeled for these releases because 2019 is just around the corner!!!!

Wicked Wedding
Sawyer Bennett
Release Date: September 20, 2018

Synopsis:

It all started with a wedding…
Well, three weddings, to be exact. The one that happened, the one that went up in flames, and the one nobody saw coming.

Andrew Collings has seen a lot of things living in Vegas. Hell, he’s done a lot of things. But one thing he’s never witnessed is a beautiful brunette, hitchhiking her way into the city, wearing a wedding dress. Until now, that is.

Brynne Adams is running away from a broken heart. She expected a lot of things from her wedding day but finding photos of her fiancé and maid of honor and best man in a compromising position wasn’t one of them. She most certainly never imagined that she’d end up marrying the handsome stranger that rescued her from the side of the road that day.

Andrew and Brynne’s quick nuptials may have been the result of a drunken joke, but they soon realize that love can be found in the most unlikely of places if you just stop and take a chance.

* Wicked Wedding is the fourth book in the LEFT AT THE ALTAR series in a collaboration of six New York Times Bestselling Authors: J. S. Scott, Ruth Cardello, Raine Miller, Sawyer Bennett, Minx Malone, and Melody Anne.

Bishop: An Arizona Vengeance Novel
Sawyer Bennett
Release Date: August 14, 2018

Synopsis:

Meet the Arizona Vengeance, hockey’s hottest new team. They’re burning up the ice—until a one-night-stand with the coach’s daughter freezes one player in his skates.

Bishop Scott, co-captain. Not too shabby, huh? It’s all part of my fresh start with the NHL’s latest expansion team, and that means new teammates, a new coach, a new city, and a big new contract. Basically, I cannot f***ing wait to show my old squad what they’re missing.

But first, I decide to check out the town before the grind begins. Turns out Arizona chicks are totally smokin’, and I’m fortunate enough to meet one who’s looking for the same thing I am: a night of anonymous, unforgettable, no-strings-attached sex.

Fast forward to the Vengeance arena. It’s the last place I expect to see her again—let alone in her own office. Then bells go off and I finally realize who this girl is: Brooke Perron. My new coach’s daughter. All of a sudden, we’re picking up right where we left off, which means our hands are all over each other. That’s when her dad—my boss—walks in. And before I can get a word out, Brooke’s introducing me as her fiancé.

Sure, she just saved my ass. So why do I get the feeling Brooke’s going to turn my world upside down? Maybe it’s because this fake relationship feels way too real. . . .

Download BISHOP (Arizona Vengeance, Book #1):

Amazon | B&N | iBooks | Google Play | Kobo | Audible | Goodreads

Think about the reasons you love the Cold Fury. They are all the same reasons you’ll love the Arizona Vengeance…and then some:

➜ Those Cold Fury hunks are such sexy alphas. The Arizona Vengeance is packed full of alphas! And while the Vengeance books will be dual POV, there is a larger emphasis on the male POV (a ratio of about 3 to 1).

➜ I love the drama (and sometimes lack of) found in the Cold Fury. You want drama? I’ve got your drama. While Bishop is a fun, fake engagement story, there will be no shortage of drama in your Vengeance future (think situational drama, as opposed to drama between characters).

➜ I enjoy the heat the Cold Fury brings. You’ll get heat, but it’ll be turned up a notch or two. The Vengeance will burn just a little hotter than the Cold Fury, which is never a bad thing!

➜ I love the hockey. Then lucky for you, not only is there still hockey, there is more hockey! I’ll take time to focus a little more on the ice time in the Vengeance series.

Read chapter one of Bishop (Book #1): https://sawyerbennett.com/2018/08/01/read-chapter-one-of-bishop/
#preorder Bishop (Book #1): https://sawyerbennett.com/bookstore/bishop-arizona-vengeance-book-1/
See the other books coming in the Arizona Vengeance series: https://sawyerbennett.com/bookstore/the-arizona-vengeance-series/

I see her and it’s all over for me.
At least for tonight, anyway.
“I’ll be back,” I mutter to Dax as I push away from the bar, snagging my beer at the last second.
Shouldering my way through the crowd filled with twenty-something yuppies here to take advantage of the last few minutes of happy hour, I keep my eyes locked on her. How could I not, when those full, wet lips wrap around a straw sticking out of her fruity-looking cocktail, prompting wild images of those same lips wrapping around my cock.
Before I can reach her, another man—who I’m sure is having the same lewd thoughts as I am—steps up to her and blocks my view. An involuntary growl rolls up out of my chest and I grip my beer bottle harder than necessary. More images swamp my brain and I can see myself cracking the bottle over the fucker’s head. I figure at that point I’ll just drag her off to my lair like a caveman.
“No, thank you,” I hear her say as I pass behind her.
“You’re going to turn down a free drink?” the man asks incredulously.
“I can buy my own drinks,” she purrs at him before taking another long pull from her straw. Her cheeks hollow slightly and my dick twitches.
Stepping to her other side, I set my beer on the bar and lean an elbow right beside it. Her neck twists and her gaze locks with mine. Fuck me but those eyes are incredible—a golden color that I’d noticed earlier from across the bar. Even in the soft light provided mostly by neon beer signs, they almost glowed. I noticed that along with her gloriously long chocolate-colored hair as it flowed down her bare back revealed by her sexy halter top. Long-ass legs and curves everywhere. Tits, hips, ass—all fucking spectacular.
The original plan had been to buy her a drink too, but that’s clearly not the way to this woman’s heart.
“What can I offer you besides a drink that would get you to talk to me?” I ask her.
The man on the other side of her snorts, but apparently my honest question has some merit. She tilts her head, studying me for a moment before she replies, “Read any good books lately?”
Well, fuck. I’m not much of a reader.
I shake my head with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Not my thing.”
“I just finished a reread of The Count of Monte Crisco,” the other guy says, moving in closer to her. I’m gratified by the humor that flashes in her eyes before she twists her neck the other way to give him her attention.
I see an opening and make my move. Staring over the back of her head at him, I correct his slip of words. “It’s The Count of Monte Cristo.”
The gorgeous woman whom I am bound and determined to take home tonight turns right back my way. My eyes drop and I grin at her. “I read it in high school. I have a good memory, so we could talk about that if you want.”
“I meant Monte Cristo,” the man blurts out almost frantically, but she doesn’t look back his way.
Instead, she holds out a perfectly manicured hand to me. “I’m Brooke.”
“Bishop,” I return as I shake her hand. I have an inherent sense that she would not be charmed if I kissed it.
To give the other dude credit, he knows this is defeat and melts away into the crowd.
Motioning to the stool beside her, I ask, “Mind if I join you?”
“Be my guest,” she says sweetly, swiveling slightly to face me. She uncrosses her legs and recrosses them, not even bothering to pull down her scandalously high-riding skirt. It’s black with shiny silver threaded through, and the silvery top she’s wearing displays a set of fantastic tits. I noticed them when I first saw her, but since coming to stand beside her, I’ve kept my eyes meticulously locked on her face. She knows they look phenomenal and that I’ve already looked.
“Are you here by yourself?” I ask her, because while not totally unusual, most women dressed like that come out in packs for a night of fun on the town.
“I was actually meeting a coworker here tonight, but she texted me just a few moments ago that something came up and she can’t make it.”
That works for me.
“Gotcha,” I say as I pick up my beer and hold it up to her. “Then hopefully I can keep you well entertained in her absence. So what did you think about The Count of Monte Cristo?”
Brooke laughs and picks up her drink, tapping it to my bottle. “Actually, I’m not big into the classics. I’m more of a fashion magazine kind of girl.”
The fashion thing I get right away. I’ve dated enough women and paid for enough designer bags and shoes to know that Brooke is very much into high-quality retail. However, her refusal to let a man buy her a drink tells me she’s also independent, so she may not be into a man buying her those things.
Honestly, I wasn’t into it either—buying someone I was dating something expensive. I did it, I guess, as sort of a thank-you, and it was something they’d wanted. I did it knowing exactly what it meant to them. The women I date—and that most professional athletes date—are in it for the lavish lifestyle I can provide, with even grander hopes it could be a permanent thing one day.
It’s just the way it is.
“So what does this fashion magazine kind of girl do for a living?” I ask her, getting settled into the type of conversation that I hope will spark enough of a connection that I’ll be fucking her later.
Her smile is neither coy nor flirty, but as direct as her gaze. “I do event planning. What about you?”
“Sounds exciting,” I say, having no goddamn clue what that even means.
She shrugs. “That remains to be seen. I just relocated out here.”
Funny. So did I.
Now would be a good time for me to wow and amaze this woman with the fact that I’m a professional hockey player and I just moved here to join the newly franchised team, the Arizona Vengeance. And you know, if it puts her in my bed all the more quicker, so fucking be it.
I shoot a quick glance down the bar where I’d left Dax, my teammate who joined me here in Phoenix direct from our positions with the New York Vipers. The Vengeance is the first team that’s been added to the league in eighteen years and I’m not overly thrilled to be here. This year the Vipers are poised to give the Carolina Cold Fury a solid run for their money for the championship, and now suddenly to be moved out west to an expansion team has not made me happy. It’s why a night fucking my brains out with this gorgeous creature would be a great way to end my summer vacation before training camp starts tomorrow.
Dax is talking to a woman—leaning intimately close—and I’m guessing he’s going to be getting lucky tonight. My eyes come back to Brooke, and I decide to leverage my star status to move things along. If my gut is right about this sexy-as-fuck lady, it’s going to be a long night.
Before I can even tell her about how I’m a hot-as-shit right winger, she leans into me and places a hand on my thigh. “Bishop?”
I swallow hard, frozen by the softly suggestive tone in her voice and because her eyes seem to glow golden as she stares at me. “Yeah?”
“I’m going to be honest,” she murmurs from way down deep in her throat. “I came out tonight looking to have some fun. I’m homesick and out of sorts, and don’t know anyone around here other than a coworker I met today and who stood me up. I’ve had three of these daiquiris and I’m feeling frisky. Do you have any interest in getting out of here?”
Jesus fucking Christ. I just scored the jackpot of all jackpots. The absolute most gorgeous, hottest woman in this place tonight and I didn’t even put forth an ounce of effort other than to remember The Count of Monte Cristo. My eyes cut to her drink glass. “Three of those?”
“I’m not drunk,” she says as she starts to pull her hand away.
My hand clamps down on to hers, holding it tight to my thigh. My muscles leap under her touch. “Didn’t say you were, and I figure I’ll know soon enough when you get off that stool and start to walk. Just want to make sure you don’t wake up with regrets.”
She appears to be fine. Her speech is clear and our conversation was quick and natural. Some women would be blitzed on three drinks. Others wouldn’t be affected that much.
“I never have regrets,” she tells me while lifting her chin.
I stare at her a moment, gauging the truth in her words and the way she holds my gaze without blinking. There is nothing I want more in this moment than to go home with this woman and make her come over and over again.
But more than that, for some reason I just don’t want her to regret it.
Finally, I give her hand a short squeeze as I stand up from my stool. I help her alight from hers. “Let’s get out of here. Just need to let my buddy know I’m leaving and then I’m all yours for the rest of the night.”
“Perfect,” she says, flashing me a blinding grin in return. Christ, those teeth are as perfect as the rest of her. Can’t wait to feel them scrape down my cock, because I sure as hell plan on using my teeth on her.
Biting down on my lower lip—hoping the pain will stop me from coming—I grab hold of Brooke’s hips and try to slow her motion as she rides me.
I have to admit, I was genuinely confused as to what type of lover Brooke would be. She propositioned me in the bar and didn’t bat an eye when I suggested her place rather than mine since Dax is my roommate and he called dibs on our apartment when I told him I was leaving.
But in my car, she shyly said she didn’t have any condoms and we’d have to make a stop. I wasn’t chagrined when I told her I was covered, because what self-respecting single dude doesn’t go out prepared?
Turns out, her boldness in seeking a one-night stand didn’t strictly translate into the bedroom. She was borderline timid at first when we first started making out, but by the time we were naked, she was grinding down onto my fingers as she came for the first time. Brooke yanked hard on my hair as she groaned out a primal release and demanded, “I want that again.”
So I attacked her clit, this time with my mouth, while my fingers worked at her slippery pussy. She fucking tasted amazing, and the sounds I pulled out of her were even better.
Before I could get her off a second time, she pushed me away and demanded I get on my back. Within moments she had my cock sheathed with a condom and was riding me hard.
And as much as I know it’s going to feel spectacular when I blow my load, I don’t want it to come—no pun intended—from her efforts.
Not this time, anyway.
I want to be the one to make her come a second time, and the way she’s bouncing on my dick with her fingers furiously rubbing herself between her legs, while hot as fuck, takes away my power and control.
The muscles in my arms, chest, and back contract hard as I lift her off me. I ignore her hollow cry of surprise, followed by a whine because I took that orgasm away from her, and flip her onto her stomach. My hand dives between her legs and I give her two fingers.
Christ, she’s so fucking wet and responsive.
Moving into place and covering her from behind, I pull her up to her hands and knees before thrusting back inside of her. Brooke screams at the invasion, my cock burrowing in deep as fuck. She arches her back, tossing her head, and that soft hair I’ve been itching to fist floats across her back.
She moves slightly and one shoulder drops. Brooke gasps and I lean slightly to the left, not for one second forsaking the pounding I’m giving her.
“Uh-uh-uh,” I gently chastise her before giving her a sharp slap to her ass. “Get your fingers away from that sweet clit.”
She groans and drops her hand so it flattens out on the mattress. Her immediate submission to my demand causes my balls to tighten, and I wonder what else I can get away with. Bringing my hands to her hips, I start riding her rough. She throws an arm out, palm now splayed on her headboard as she braces against me.
“I’m so close,” she pants.
“Give it to me, Brooke,” I mutter as I lean over her, bringing a hand to the headboard. I grip it tight and use the leverage to throw myself into her. Sweat drips down my temple, lands on a perfect ass cheek still red with my handprint.
“Oh God,” she moans. “Oh God.”
Crazed with the need to come, my balls feeling like their boiling, I bite down on my lip again to hold off. Got to get her there first.
“Come on, baby,” I urge her, resisting the call of her clit. I could give it a slight pinch to get her to shatter, but I’ve never been about the easy way.
“Bishop,” she groans as I pound into her so fast my balls start to hurt from the motion. “Bishop.”
I use my thumbs to pull Brooke’s ass cheeks apart. I watch my cock hammering in and out of her, and I decide to give her something else to scream about.
My finger is still wet from her juices, so I press my index finger to the sweet rim of her ass. Brooke sucks in air and lets out a keening cry as I push my finger in deep.
She fucking explodes, both her pussy and her ass rippling and contracting all around me.
My balls unleash. I come so hard my eyes roll into the back of my head. I pull my cock out, shove it back in hard, and curl my finger. “F-u-u-u-u-c-k.”
Sweet, motherfucking waves of pleasure rage through my body, so powerful I feel dizzy.
I have a goddamn full-body orgasm that rips me apart.
Brooke continues to moan, rotating her hips as her orgasm seems to go on and on and on.
“Jesus,” I groan in both repletion and stunned surprise over whatever the fuck that just was. Her body starts to sag under mine, and I let my weight come down onto her slowly. I leave my cock tucked in place but gently slide my finger out of her, rolling us both to our sides. My arms wrap around her stomach and we lie in silence as we start to come back down to earth.
That was fucking incredible.
The night’s not over yet, but it’s going to go down as the best one-night stand I’ve ever had in my life, and I seriously doubt it can be topped.

Bishop releases August 14, 2018!

SB: Atticus is hard to fit in a certain genre. It’s got some women’s fiction elements and it’s geared for dog lovers, but it’s definitely not your typical romance. Why did you decide to give this book a try?

Ana: Sawyer Bennett. I feel like that’s saying enough! But honestly, I trusted that Sawyer Bennett would do right by her readers. I was also looking for something a little different. It’s great to take a break and read something a little different than the norm sometimes.

SB: As a romance blogger, how would you convince romance readers to take a chance on a book like Atticus, that’s not necessarily built around a romance between a man and a woman?

Ana: I have actually been surprised that this wasn’t number one on Amazon this week. It reads like a romance, even if in a way, most of the “romance” is between a dog and it’s owner, there is so much more. It’s about love and friendship and growth and realizing your potential. And there is an awesome little romance in the end.

I have to admit, it’s also really nice to have a few non-smutty reads in my pocket for people who aren’t into that. I love that I can recommend it to anyone, and even read some to my son.

SB: What is the single biggest thing about Atticus that you think will appeal to romance readers?

Ana: First of all, if you are a romance reader who loves dogs (or cat lovers can relate too I think), you NEED to read this. Atticus was an awesome book dogfriend. You will still get all the feels you get with a romance, it’s just a unique and fun twist.

SB: Now, there is a romance in this book although it doesn’t start to develop until later on in the story. What about Jack and Hazel’s relationship made you swoon?

Ana: Dammit! I went back to find a quote that would show the swooniness of Jack and I now have bittersweet tears running down my face again! I couldn’t really find one quote that did him justice though. He was just a rock. He was there for HER. He waited until SHE was ready. I loved that they bonded over dogs and he loved them as much as she.

SB: This book caused you some tears. Knowing that, why do you think readers should still give it a try?

Ana: OMG the tears mean this book made me FEEL! As a rule, I try not to read ugly cry books. I am an emotional person to begin with, so I cry at happy endings. That’s usually enough tears for me. But while Atticus had some sad, it helped complete the story and solidify Hazel’s growth and readiness to have Jack in her life. They were bittersweet tears. Most of the book is warm and happy and loving. Show SpoilerI want to assure you, that my tears were NOT for a dog dying.

Ana and I had such a great time with these questions that she had some follow-up questions…for Atticus! To read the rest of the interview, see the post at Ana’s Attic Book Blog!! 

Atticus

Things were fuzzy when I first came into the world. I remember a lot of scrambling and sometimes fighting to get at my mama’s teat, but there was always enough room once we settled into our respective places and I never went hungry. It seems in those early days all I did was eat, sleep, poop, and pee. It was an easy life, but not very exciting.
I’m a curious sort of pup by nature, unlike my brothers and sisters. They’re happy just wrestling around with each other or chewing on toys. I like to watch things.
Intensely observe the actions of others. Skillfully smell the air for the scents that help me to understand my world. I like to taste things, and the new grownup puppy food we started eating a few weeks ago is delicious.
I’m what you call a Bernese Mountain Dog. I’m not quite sure what I look like, but if I had to judge by my brothers and sisters, I’d say I’m black, brown, white, and really fluffy. Our owners are what you call breeders. My mama and daddy make baby puppies, and then people buy us.
Lately, people have been coming by to look at us. Prior to such an event, me and my siblings are brought out one by one to an outdoor bathtub where we are scrubbed with warm water and sweet-smelling soap. We’re then toweled off before being placed into a makeshift outdoor pen made of interlocking panels. There we dry in the sun and chew on blades of grass or each other’s tails. When the people come to look, we preen and act silly and look our adorable best.
If we’re one of the lucky pups, people will ask to hold us. Our owners will pull us out of our little pen, then we get to play with people and get belly rubs. They exclaim over how cute we are and even if we’re not chosen, there’s a general air of excitement buzzing through the rest of us while we watch from our pen.
This is one such day. We’re all bathed and smelling like flowers. It’s chilly out, so our man owner pulled one of the cars outside of his big, two-car garage, and set up the pen beside the remaining car. He then opened the big door for the people to come look.
Because I’m always aware of my surroundings, it doesn’t take me long to notice that one of the panels on the cage isn’t fully locked, and there’s a tiny gap at the bottom. While the other pups do somersaults and put their front paws on top of the cage to get the people’s attention, I nudge my nose through the tiny opening.
Next my head.
Wiggle a bit to get my shoulders through.
Then it seems I’m sort of squirted through to the other side.
I look over my shoulder. All my sibs are still trying to get the people’s attention and acting very foolish in my opinion.
I’m suddenly intrigued by a smoky sort of smell that’s coming from somewhere outside the garage. I scramble underneath the car, then belly crawl quite stealthily to the other side. Without a moment’s hesitation, I dash out and into what I call the big world. The minute the soft pads of my paws hit the crispy brown grass, a rush of jubilation over takes me.
I submit for a moment to the unmitigated exhilaration of freedom, running around in a tight circle for a few laps before flopping to my belly. The grass pricks at my skin because my fur isn’t very thick there yet, and I hang out for a bit while watching the people ooh and ahh over my siblings. Not one of them turn to look at me, but I don’t feel like I’m missing out on any important action.
The smoky smell hits my nose again, and my mouth waters. My tongue comes out and licks all around my snout as I lift my head to get a better sniff. It definitely makes me want to sneeze a bit, but there is a strong scent of some type of cooked meat underneath. I think I’ll die if I don’t get a taste of it.
It’s from somewhere—my gaze moves to the back of the property—just over there.
A thick copse of pine trees stands strong and tall. I’ve never been back there and it looks dark and a bit scary, but I feel an adventure calling me.
Plus… that smell.
It’s so delicious, and I can’t resist checking it out.

Chapter 1

Hazel

My eyelids are sealed shut with the type of nasty gunk that a hard night of partying leaves behind. The act of rubbing them with my fingers sends sharp bolts of pain reverberating throughout my skull. I believe my tongue is glued to the top of my mouth for a moment, but it comes free with a little bit of suction.
It’s a typical Wednesday morning for me. I didn’t have to work last night which meant I partied. It’s what I do because if I don’t put myself out there, how will I ever find what I need?
I manage to blink against the morning sun coming in through the living room blinds that are so worn and twisted they’re completely nonfunctional.
Not my apartment though and since I’m essentially a freeloader, I have no right to say a word about it. I just accept that sleeping on a friend’s couch means rising early no matter how hungover I am.
After freeing my feet from the ratty old afghan Charmin’s great-grandmother or some such person crocheted, I roll slightly toward the coffee table to root around for my pack of cigarettes. The bright sun has me keeping my eyes clamped tightly shut, so I’m going by instinct alone.
Which sucks because my hand lands inside of the overflowing ashtray. I immediately jerk it backward before making another attempt, grab air for a moment, and then stick my hand right back into the pile of stale cigarette butts and powdery cinders.
Squinting at my ash-covered fingertips, I realize it’s nothing more than a metaphor for my life. Floundering around, landing in crap situations, not learning my lesson, and repeating.
Prying my eyes open further, I roll my head and zero in on the pack of cigarettes. I grab it, squeeze lightly, and determine it’s empty.
“Shit,” I mutter, tossing it down on the scarred wooden coffee table that’s littered with beer cans, a bong, and an empty bag of Doritos. I vaguely remember partying last night with a few guys from the bar.
Even more vaguely, I remember Charmin and her boyfriend Chuck coming in. They joined us for a few bong hits before they took their own personal party to the bedroom. The headboard knocking against the wall and Chuck’s oddly high-pitched yips of pleasure had me laughing so hard I was afraid I’d pee my pants.
Probably wouldn’t have been as funny if I wasn’t stoned, but any time I can laugh at Chuck behind his back is good times for me. The dude can’t stand me, and the feeling is mutual.
I push into a sitting position on the couch, intent on getting all the way up and making my way to the bathroom. My head swims and my stomach rolls, so I just slump backward against the lumpy cushion. I drag my fingers through my hair, promptly getting them caught in a mass of brittle knots before letting out an audible sigh because now I have clean fingers but cigarette soot coating my scalp.
I’m a fucking mess.
My shoulders go tense when I hear the bedroom door creak open. I know it’s the bedroom door because there are only two off the apartment’s short hallway. There’s the bathroom, which does not squeak but also does not close all the way because one of the hinges has been knocked loose.
And then there’s the bedroom. Its hinges are secure but rusted, making it sound like a screeching eagle every time the door moves. I once sprayed some PAM cooking spray on it because it was driving me nuts every time Charmin or Chuck would enter or exit their room, but that just didn’t have quite the lube power of WD-40. I wasn’t about to buy a can as my funds are limited and precious to me. I’d live with the squeak as well as the bright light in the morning.
“Hope you’re going to clean that shit up,” Chuck says as he enters the living room.
My shoulders tighten even more. I’ve been staying at Charmin’s apartment for almost three months now. It’d been a good deal for me as she was only charging me a hundred bucks a month plus half the utilities to squat on her uncomfortable couch. I couldn’t afford anything more than that and on my part-time bartender’s wages, it was a stretch as it was.
But she started dating Chuck last month, and he moved in after four days of wild, passionate, yipping sex. I have no room to judge her for pathetically latching onto the man so quickly, because I’ve been accused of doing the same. As of now, I’m on the prowl for the next Mr. Right Who Is Totally Wrong because I just do better when I have someone to help take care of me.
It’s the way it’s always been.
In fact, the three months I’ve been living at Charmin’s since my husband kicked me out of our house is the longest I’ve ever been single in my fourteen years of adulthood. I feel so very lost and yet, I’m just wise enough to know how lame that makes me.
I don’t bother giving Chuck my full attention as it’s too much effort to roll my head his way. Besides, the dude grosses me out, strutting around in his saggy boxers with his hairy stomach rolling over the waistband.
Closing my eyes, I merely point out, “You could help clean it up. You didn’t mind drinking the beer and taking hits off the bong last night.”
“Wasn’t your beer and dope, though, was it?” he replied.
Fair point. It wasn’t mine, but it was the dudes I invited over to party last night. They were only casual acquaintances from the bar but given the fact they were providing the booze and drugs, they were my bestest buds last night.
I don’t reply to Chuck. He’s the type of person who has to have the last word anyway. The man has an ego that’s overstretched and filled with a false sense of importance, meaning he’s always right.
Because it would be more painful and nauseating to attempt a civil discourse with the man, I push from the couch and suck down the bile that wells up in my throat. I never bothered to take my shoes off last night before I passed out, so I’m almost ready to roll out of here.
Once in the bathroom, I take a much-needed pee. I try to ignore my reflection in the mirror as I scrub my hands and teeth, but there’s no getting around the fact I look about as pathetic as I feel. My hair is a lank, dry mess and my roots are about three inches long, which corresponds quite nicely to the fact I haven’t been able to afford a discount box of hair color from the drugstore since my husband kicked me to the curb.
Asshole.
I try to creep my way to the front door while Chuck roots around in the refrigerator.
“Hazel,” Chuck yells as I open the front door. “You going to clean that mess up?”
“Later,” I mutter as I step over the threshold.
“Later as in you’ll clean it up later?” he presses, and I make the mistake of sliding my gaze over to him as I start to pull the door closed. I quickly snap my eyes shut, trying to block out the image of him exuberantly scratching himself between the legs.
Pivoting quickly, I call out just before I shoot out of the apartment, “I’ll clean it up later.”
Right now, I need cigarettes.
Maybe a cup of coffee.
Jamming my hand into the back pocket of my skinny jeans, which are falling off me because I’m not eating much these days, I pull out a crumpled pile of money. By the time I reach the sidewalk that runs along old Highway 17, I’ve got them smoothed out and determine I’m the proud owner of eight dollars. It’s a good thing I’m working tonight because after I buy a pack of cigarettes and a cup of coffee, I’m broke until I can collect tips.
Old Highway 17 is different than the new Highway 17. It’s just a small portion of the original that runs north and south through Jacksonville, North Carolina but was relegated to a service road once a new bypass was built last year. It’s roughly a quarter mile long and from said service road you can access three bars, the ghetto-styled apartment complex where I now live, a pawn shop, and a convenience store. In the seventies and into the early eighties, this part of Jacksonville and a few more miles of Highway 17 were densely populated with bars, strip clubs, pawn shops, and tattoo parlors catering specifically to young marines who had just arrived at Camp Geiger to begin infantry school from boot camp. The drinking age wasn’t raised to twenty-one until 1986, and those glory days made those types of business owners very rich.
It was the same on the north end of town where Camp Lejeune borders the stretch of Highway 24—also a multi-lane thoroughfare that was studded with all kinds of business that would provide mischief and mayhem to young marines recently graduated from Camp Geiger and moving over to the big base.
As the owner of the bar I currently work at tends to lament to me on a nightly basis, that all changed when the drinking age was raised. Highway 17 started to dry up and one by one, the businesses started going under. Those that hang on do so out of a sense of nostalgia and mostly because the bar owners have strong social ties to what few customers are left.
Plus, they like to drink a lot.
I walk south toward the 7-Eleven, rubbing my bare arms against the chilly morning air. The weather has been weird lately. We’re four days into spring, but it’s hardly breaking the forties in the early morning hours, which is definitely not typical of eastern North Carolina. I’d been so focused on getting out of Chuck’s notice that I forgot my jacket.
Not a biggie.
The 7-Eleven would be warm, and I could enjoy a cup of coffee there while shooting the shit with whoever is on duty. I’m a frequent customer there to buy cigs and/or beer. If I wait it out for at least half an hour, Chuck would be gone to work by the time I got back.
As I walk past a large culvert a quarter filled with rainwater and months of accumulated trash, a barely perceptible sound reaches my ears through the early rush-hour traffic. On weekday mornings, there’s a steady flow of cars filled with young jarheads heading to the Marine Corps Air Station. It’s home to the loud helicopters and Ospreys that fly over Onslow County daily, and it’s where most of my current bar patrons work since it takes up much of the southern part of Jacksonville.
My thoughts turning me away from whatever sound I thought I’d heard, I almost make it past the wide ditch before I hear it again. A tiny yip.
Completely different from Chuck’s orgasmic coyote sounds, and far more pitiful.
I stop, leaning over the edge of the culvert that’s probably a good three feet in depth and twice as wide. The wet bottom is lush with a weedy type of foliage, green grasses, and proud standing cattails, interspersed with empty McDonald’s bags, cigarette butts, discarded lumber, and beer bottles.
Something moves among the greenery, and the slimy water ripples. I take a step back, because in my experience, I’m the type of down-and-out person who would get bit by a poisonous snake.
Another yip and my brain finally recognize it as distinctly canine.
My curiosity gets the better of me. I start a careful descent down toward the water, holding my arms out wide for balance. It only takes two steps before I go down onto one knee, the soft dirt and long blades of dewy grass causing my foot to slip out from under me.
“Shit,” I curse, and get two resounding little barks back.
Keening, pleading cries for me to come even closer to take a look.
Resigned to the large, muddy wet spot on one knee and realizing I stand a good chance of toppling head-first into the brackish water if I continue down, I move closer to where I hear more whimpers.
Using my hands to peel back a curtain of long grass, I see the source of distress.
It’s a puppy of indeterminate breed and color. It’s covered in the blackish muck and struggling against a tangle of barbed wire wrapped around the lower half of its body that’s nailed to a splintered piece of two-by-four. It looks like the puppy tried to squirm through a loop or something and got caught up.
Or even worse, someone intentionally wrapped that poor thing up like that and threw it in the ditch to die.
Despite its precarious situation, the little mud-slicked tail wags furiously for a moment as its head swings to me, fully revealing that the dog has one brown eye and one blue eye. That one crystal eye stands stark against the mud, almost colorless closer to the pupil and darkening to a faded denim on the outer edge. I wonder if it’s blind in that eye as it seems rounder and wider than the other.
Perhaps it’s just fear making it stand out that way, but it looks wild and desperate as well as insanely happy that someone has answered its calls for aid.
My entire body shivers, partly from the cold but partly from recognizing the terrible predicament this little creature is in. When my husband kicked me out of the house three months ago, I spent a few brutal nights freezing my ass off in my car because I had nowhere to go and no one to help me. It was a mere four days before Christmas.
I’d swallowed my pride, and begged Charmin for a spot on her couch. My car has since broken down and I can’t afford to get it fixed, so I walk where I need to go. I muddle through my life working the measly hours I’m allotted at the bar because the owner doesn’t want any of his bartenders getting close to a forty-hour workweek and God forbid asking him for overtime.
And so far… I’ve survived.
Twisting my neck, I tear my gaze away from the dog and glance back out to the edge of the culvert. Just a mere thirty yards away from a hot cup of coffee and a relaxing cigarette.
A deep shudder ripples up my spine, reminding me that my life is shit. I have no business helping this dog. Even if I free it, the damn thing will probably wander out onto the service road. If it doesn’t get squashed by a lone car zooming by on this dead road, it’ll most definitely be killed quickly once it ventures onto Highway 17. I’d be dooming it to certain death, whereas if I just leave it alone, it might work its way free of the wire and I can forget about it.
Heck… someone else might even come along at any minute to help the stupid thing.
Or… it could die from the elements, which would probably take a few days and promises to be an unbearably cruel and painful end to its life.
“Damn it,” I mutter as I reach for the puppy. I’ll get it loose from the wire, after which it can take its chances on the highway. At least if it gets hit by a car, it will be a quick death.
An easy end to its suffering.
It’s the most I can do for the little pup.

Through the haze of vodka and self-loathing, Hazel Roundtree saw the poor creature lying in a ditch.

One brown eye. One blue.
Covered in mud and crying from pain, the puppy was desperately trying to free itself from a hopeless situation.

She almost kept walking by. She had her own problems and besides… no one had ever stopped to help her.

Who we’re ultimately meant to be is a journey without end, but there’s always a defined start…

Hazel had no idea the dog would be her beginning, her second chance, the miracle she never saw coming. She named him Atticus. He grew up to be a very bad—and completely awesome—dog. He took Hazel on a life-changing journey filled with mischievous adventure and painful heartbreak. In the end, Hazel grew up to be completely awesome, too.

Now available on audio! Hear the prologue and chapter one performed by award-winning narrator Bahni Turpin, at SoundCloud now!!

Atticus: A Woman’s Journey with the World’s Worst Behaved Dog hits retailers on June 12! Hear the prologue and chapter one performed by award-winning narrator Bahni Turpin, at SoundCloud now!!

A heart-warming and deliciously funny story about the world’s worst behaved dog and how he trained his human how to love herself again.

Through the haze of vodka and self-loathing, Hazel Roundtree saw the poor creature lying in a ditch.

One brown eye. One blue.
Covered in mud and crying from pain, the puppy was desperately trying to free itself from a hopeless situation.

She almost kept walking by. She had her own problems and besides… no one had ever stopped to help her.

Who we’re ultimately meant to be is a journey without end, but there’s always a defined start…

Hazel had no idea the dog would be her beginning, her second chance, the miracle she never saw coming. She named him Atticus. He grew up to be a very bad—and completely awesome—dog. He took Hazel on a life-changing journey filled with mischievous adventure and painful heartbreak. In the end, Hazel grew up to be completely awesome, too.

➜ “I have a cold, black heart. I pride myself on it. But this book brought me to tears.”
➜ “Get a box of Kleenex. You’re going to need it.”
➜ “Oh, the emotion…”

It occurred to me that such reviews might scare you off like a rabid dog moving in for an attack. So I want to tell you… DO NOT BE AFRAID OF THIS BOOK!!! I can promise you that for every tear you might shed, you will have ten times the amount of laughter. I promise. Atticus is heart-warming and uplifting in its entirety.

For those that only crave my steamy romances and kinky sex clubs and hot, hockey hunks, hear me out as to why you might enjoy this book just as much.

Atticus is about LIFE. The life we live, the life we dream to live, the life we work day in and day out for.

And the relationships. Oh, the relationships. Atticus is about the relationships we have with those around us—friendships, our family, our pets (I’m looking at you, Atticus!), and romance…YES! There is a romance in this story and there are some moments that I hope will make you swoon.

Atticus will make you laugh, and yes, it might even make you cry. But you will walk away having taken a journey of self-discovery and love with Hazel and Atticus. From their broken beginning to their very happy ending.

And hey, you get to share in the absolutely ridiculous shenanigans of an adorably naughty dog. All of which are 100% true. That’s right, every sock stealing, pound cake swiping moment in Atticus has happened in real life. Honestly, I don’t think I have a vivid enough imagination to make up the great big personality (and ego) Atticus carries on a daily basis.

You can join Atticus and his human, Hazel, on their journey on June 12…

Amazon | Nook | iBooks | Kobo | Google Play | Paperback

Audio lovers —-> The audiobook, narrated by Bahni Turpin, will release on the same day!! Preorder at Audible!

So…what happens now? Are the Cold Fury hanging up their skates?

Dry those tears, Cold Fury hockey fans. You haven’t seen the last of this team, or the men that make it so sinfully sexy! But first, we’re going to meet a new team…the Arizona Vengeance series launches in August!

Here are a couple things to expect going forward:
➜ The Arizona Vengeance series (releasing on August 14, 2018 with Bishop) will still feature the sexy alpha hockey hotties you’ve come to know and love throughout the Cold Fury series, but will feature more time on the ice, bigger drama, more alpha alphas, and a larger male POV.
➜ Get ready for some crossover! The great thing about having TWO hockey teams? Face-to-face time on the ice! Plus you never know, maybe we’ll see some trades down the road.
➜ While no new Cold Fury books are on the calendar, I have not ruled out writing additional books in the series. In a perfect, hockey-filled world, we would see releases in BOTH series!

Remember, the Arizona Vengeance series launches August 14 with the release of Bishop!

Now, let’s head back out there and get our Cold Fury on. Marek has a story to tell and he can’t wait to meet you! xoxo

BIG NEWS!! For months now, a number of amazing authors and I have been creating an exciting group and a fantastic NEW romance world just for you! Meet the Ladies Who Write, YOUR ONE-STOP shop for STEAMY ROMANCE!

Join our launch party! https://www.facebook.com/groups/LWWReaderGroup/
Giveaways – Live Chats – And More! (5/14-5/22)

WHO ARE the LADIES WHO WRITE?

Marina Adair, Sawyer Bennett, Emma Chase, Melissa Foster, Jennifer Probst, Kristen Proby and Jill Shalvis

We are seven bestselling authors with ONE goal in mind, to bring YOU a one-stop shop for sexy, emotional, and romantic love stories! We are creating an entire romance world with characters that tie together from one LWW author’s book to another. Some books will have hidden treasures that only LWW readers will discover! We’ll host scavenger hunts and other games throughout the year—and you’ll find the answers in our books!