"Raw and dirty," he growls, giving me a look that could melt the panties off a nun. "Raw and dirty and … yours. I hope you're fucking ready for this shit."
Then he closes the door behind him and leaves me in his bed with just a pair of wolves and a smile for company.
More Royal, more Lyric, more beautiful brutality.
Releases March 2016.
Turn the page for a sneak peek at Violet Blaze's next novel ...
Dash Buchanan should never have walked into my life.
When he did, he made a mess of it.
A hot, wicked, tangled mess that I'm not so sure I want to crawl out of.
If only I'd been more careful, if only we hadn't been seen.
One night, one mistake that changes everything.
Dash and me, we're in way over our heads, drowning in our demons.
I can only hope he has the strength to swim.
***
Adelaide Vaughn should not have been at my concert.
Hell, she shouldn't have been anywhere near me.
As the son of the CEO of Buchanan Bikes, there are a lot of rules.
First, never touch a Vaughn girl.
Second, never let anyone see your weaknesses.
This girl, this daughter of the Weeping Bones Motorcycle Club . . .
Damn it, but I'm pretty sure she's going to make me break all of them.
CHAPTER ONE
DASH
I love it when my dad calls me into his office - mostly because I like to screw his secretary.
"Fuck," I groan, grinding my hips against the petite little blond's, twisting my fingers in a handful of her hair. She tilts her head back and gives me access to her pale, perfect throat. I run my tongue along her skin, tasting the sweat that's beading there, eating up the proof that I'm doing this right, doing her right.
See, I don't just like to fuck women, I want to pleasure them, shake them to their core and feel them tighten around me when they come. Can you even believe Laura didn't have her first orgasm until she was twenty-four? That's a goddamn travesty if you ask me. Thankfully, I was able to take care of that for her. Imagine how many other women must be suffering in the same way.
I might just be one man, but I aim to make the world a little better - one hot, frenzied fuck at a time.
"Oh my god, Dash," she moans as I ram her into the granite countertop of the ladies' bathroom. Hopefully nobody walks in on us. But if they do? Oh well. I'm the prince of this palace so to speak, future CEO of Buchanan Bikes. They can deal. "Deeper, Dash. Deeper."
"Turn your ass over and I'll be happy to oblige." I slide out of Laura's slick, wet heat and spin her around, pushing her chest into the sink. We both groan as I fill her up again, pound my pelvis into her firm round ass.
And I thought working for my dad was going to be boring?
Hell, if this is on the agenda for my workday, I'll gladly quit the band and come over full time.
I glance up and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, sweat beading on my forehead, a stray droplet sticking to my lower lip. I flash a grin and then lean over, curling my fingers gently around Laura's pale throat, drawing her head up so I can meet the eyes of her reflection. She bites back a gasp, tucking that red rouged lip of hers beneath white, white teeth. Her eyes are ringed in liner, and they look huge, open, bare as I keep our gazes locked, ramming into her again and again and again.
An orgasm catches her first; I can see it building in the curl of her spine, the tightness of her fingers as she claws at the countertop with her perfectly manicured nails.
"Dash!" she screams, loud enough that I wouldn't be surprised if one of the security guards came traipsing in here. "Oh God, yes." Her voice breaks like a wave cresting on a rock, crashing around me as she squeezes tight, holding my body captive for one, perfect moment. One fucking perfect moment where I don't have to be anyone or anything except myself. Sex is like a drug, isn't it? And I can't seem to stop myself from leaping between highs. "Wow," Laura says as I pull away and drop my used condom in the stainless steel trash can. I fix my jeans as I watch her turn around and gather herself together, smoothing strands of blonde back into place, adjusting her suit jacket and skirt, pulling up her panties. "That was amazing. Please tell me you'll be coming into the office more often?"
I shrug and reach into my back pocket for a smoke.
"I'm going on tour this summer with the boys," I tell her and pretend not to notice when her face crumples. Laura's nice and all, but she's got this attention to detail that drives me nuts. Everything with her is so perfect, so put-together. I like messy girls, girls with frizzy hair, makeup on one eye but not the other, a bedroom floor strewn with books and T-shirts and high heels still in the box. I don't have to ask myself why or get introspective about it â€" I know why I like chaos. The answer's pretty simple: my father made me this way. "I'll see you when I get back?" I light my cigarette and watch as Linda's eyes crinkle at the corners. Last time I saw her, she gave me a packet of brochures on the dangers of lung cancer.
"Sure thing, Dash," she says and then points a red-nailed finger at me, "just don't tell your dad we did it again."
Thirty minutes ago, my stepbrother pulled off one of the biggest jewelry heists in history - and I helped him do it.
Now we're on the run, and I don't know what to think.
He says he'll protect me no matter what, but I'm not sure if I should believe him.
After all, we tried that once and it did not turn out well for either of us.
Besides, his father raised us both after my mother passed away.
Gill can be lots of things to me, but he can't be my lover.
Not again.
When I turned twenty-one, he disappeared. Just disappeared without a word.
Over a decade later, and now he's back and more ruthless than ever.
He says the right things, does the right things, but the truth is ...
I'm afraid of him.
I'm afraid for him.
CHAPTER ONE
Diamonds.
They're supposed to be a girl's best friend, aren't they? So why, right now, do they look like the enemy, staring back at me from a tumbled heap inside the black duffel bag parked between my bare feet?
Sweat pours down the sides of my face, sticks my orange dress shirt to the skin on my lower back. I can't stop panting, my ragged breathing tearing from my chest as I wiggle my toes and try to convince myself that I did the right thing, that everything will work out in the end. If I believed that though, really and truly believed that, I don't think my heart would be pounding quite so hard.
"Ten minutes," Gill whispers hoarsely, his own breath even, his hands loose on the steering wheel. "Ten minutes and we'll be in the air." I sit up, forcing my stiff fingers to drop the edges of the bag and glance over at him. Something about my stepbrother's expression, the set of his shoulders, the lack of sweat on his forehead, it bothers me.
Relaxed.
That's what he is. Relaxed. My life as I once knew it is over, everything changed in an instant, snatched up and twisted in the tornado that is Gill Marchal, and there he sits like he's on the way to the airport for a goddamned tropical vacation, some pleasure cruise that'll end in sand and surf and a ticket back home waiting for afterwards. This? This is nothing like that.
I have to say goodbye to Paris, for now, maybe forever.
Gone.
A split second decision made by a stuttering heart and it's all gone.
I sneer at him. It's a nasty expression, one that Gill's father used to call mon visage laid, my ugly face, but in this moment, it's beyond my control. Emotions are running too high, adrenaline is pumping too fast. Most days, I try to be pleasant. Today, it's not an option.
"Can you at least look like you give a crap?" I ask, but Gill isn't listening. His blue eyes are focused on the road ahead, his brow furrowed just so, just enough that I can tell he's buried deep in thought. Knowing him, he's probably going over the plan for the thousandth time in that thick skull of his, running through each possible scenario until he's picked it apart and prepared for virtually anything. It's one of the reasons I agreed to be a part of this, to take a chance on something that could easily end with me locked up in prison for life-or dead. It's also one of the reasons I fell in love with him-and then out of love with him.
Jesus, Regi, snap out of it! Reminiscing about the past never got me anywhere, not after Dad died, not after Mom died, not after Gill left … Can't help it though. Memories are my coping mechanism, my way of slogging through the humdrum dull of everyday life. Anything a steaming espresso or a warm baguette can't cure, a good daydream can. But right now, when I'm running from a serious case of larceny, not a good time.
"Gill." I say his name slowly, calmly, firmly. Look at me, damn it. Thankfully he does, turning enough so that the soft light of morning limns his profile in gold. For the tiniest, briefest moment, he looks like a god.
"Don't worry, Regina," he tells me, his voice steady and smooth but still somehow rough, like those few years he spent on the street as a kid left a permanent mark on his soul. Or maybe it's everything that happened after. How the hell should I know? The man's a virtual stranger to me now. "I told you I'd get you through this, and I will. Relax, take a deep breath, and leave everything else to me."