Prisoner Of Fate by Tami Lund
Title: Prisoner Of Fate ( Twisted Fate Series #3)
Author: Tami Lund
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Finally, finally, the First allowed them to talk about the reason for their visit. While Prim explained, Lily watched the door behind the large wicker chair. Was there really a Rakshasa in there? How had the First captured him? Why did he hide in the dark room? And why in the world did she keep a Rakshasa as a pet anyway? Lily was practically vibrating with curiosity.
“Would you like to see the First’s pet?”
Lily jumped at the sound of the voice, and then she blushed when she realized the Fate was speaking directly to her. She’d thought she was being unobtrusive, as she sat there and stared at the partially opened door, but apparently her curiosity was far too obvious.
Lily swallowed and said, “Is it really a Rakshasa?”
The First smiled and touched Lily’s cheek with one perfectly manicured finger. The tips of her nails were painted silver. “The First will show you her pet, but you must promise to stay out of his reach. The First’s pet has a taste for Chala.”
The Fate stood up and lifted her wine glass and glided over to the large wicker chair. Bending over, she reached behind the chair and grasped a thick, heavy, silver chain. She placed her drink on the small table and then used both hands to pull on the chain. She tugged three times, until Lily sensed movement in the shadows behind the door.
And then a man stepped into view. He was tall, as tall as Gavin, who was the tallest man Lily had ever met. His dark hair hung well past his shoulders. His face was clean-shaven, something Lily had never seen before on a shifter. He wore only a pair of white cotton, loosely fitted pants with a drawstring at the waist.
If Lily thought Gavin had mouthwatering abs, he had nothing on this particular shifter. Each muscle was sharply cut under his skin, from the top of the waistband of his pants to his collarbone. A single, thin trail of curly black hair led from just above his bellybutton down into his pants. His arms and shoulders were equally as impressive. He was an utterly glorious specimen of maleness, except for one startling attribute.
His eyes were black as night.
“Stay away,” the First warned, and Lily gave a little jump, as she realized she’d come out of her chair and had been walking toward the man with a thick silver collar around his neck. The collar connected to the chain in the First’s hands. The man watched her with an intensity that caused her insides to quiver.
He probably thinks I’m dinner. And yet her nipples contracted almost painfully. Who the heck would be turned on by the idea of being dinner?
~~~
Excerpt #2
The First’s pet Rakshasa lounged in the wicker chair, one cotton-covered leg crooked over the armrest, the other perched on the floor. He hummed a tune Lily didn’t recognize, while he twirled what looked like a grilled jumbo shrimp on a stick.
He abruptly stopped humming and lifted his face and sniffed the air. Lily scuttled behind a nearby pillar. She waited until her heart wasn’t beating quite so erratically, then she peeked out from behind the column.
The shifter stared directly at her with unblinking black eyes.
“Oh,” she squeaked, unnerved by the solid, steady stare.
“Chala.” His voice was deep, like that actor from the insurance commercials she saw on television.
Lily felt that intense sense of awareness sweep through her again, licking at her insides, making her feel both hot and cold at the same time. She dropped her head back and leaned against the cool pillar and gave in to the racking shiver.
“No need to hide, Chala. I cannot harm you so long as you remain outside the reach of my lovely necklace.” He chuckled at his own joke.
Lily risked another look. He still lounged on the wicker chair, although the shrimp on the end of the stick was gone. And he still watched her with that breathtaking intensity.
“I–I didn’t think you would be awake,” she stuttered.
“I wouldn’t think you would be awake,” he countered. “It is terribly late. Is it not past your bedtime, Chala?”
Lily slowly stepped out from behind the pillar and stood next to it, feeling oddly exposed. Not returning to her room to change suddenly seemed like a poor decision.
“It’s Lily,” she said. “Lily Gallow. I hate it when people call me Chala,” she said, hoping he would appreciate the show of solidarity. She had to believe he hated to be referred to as “Pet.”
“Why? Are you not a Chala? Have my senses finally gone askew, after all this time?”
“Yes, I am. But I have a name, and I prefer people use it. Just as I imagine you do.”
“Are you asking for my name, Chala?”
“Yes,” she said boldly. “You must have one. Everyone has a name.”
“The First does not,” he pointed out.
“She does,” Lily countered. “She just chooses not to use it. You, I assume, didn’t have a choice in the matter.”
He paused, watching her for several heartbeats worth of time. “No,” he said finally. “I was not given a choice.”
Lily rolled her eyes. “I take it you aren’t going to tell me.”
The shifter chuckled. “Maybe I do not remember. I have been called Pet for a thousand years, you know.”
Lily shook her head. “You remember. I’m sure of it.” She paused, and when he still did not offer his name, she asked, “What do you miss most about your freedom?”
The shifter stared at her, blinking far less frequently than most other people she’d encountered. Finally, he sighed and kicked his foot into the air.
“I haven’t had a good kill, a good steak, or a good fuck in a thousand years. I miss everything, Lily Gallow. Everything.”
Tami Lund writes. And drinks wine. And wins awards. She also loves romance, and is writing happily ever afters, one book at a time.
Those happily ever afters come in contemporary and paranormal, so pick your poison. Or try them all. You’re bound to find something that curls your toes and makes you smile.
Probably, there’s a new book releasing soon. You should stalk Tami on social media, so you know when.
And most important, if you’ve already enjoyed one of Tami's books, please let other readers know by leaving a review on the site from which you bought it. Otherwise, how will they know which book to read next?
Psst: There's a FREE READ, available for download only through her website
The Billionaire And The Bad Girl by Bella Love-Wins
He’s a liar — there’s a difference between making a commitment and casually hooking up with him for years on account of his generous… package.
But that commitment changes everything for me. One little lie sets my career into motion, but also puts the spotlight directly on us… the happy couple.
He’s an arrogant, filthy-talking, sexy bastard with questionable family ties… who just changed my world for the better.
Almost overnight, I start to reap the rewards of what Liam sowed by saying those three words.
But it’s a lie he told just because he could. We can't keep this up forever.
I force him to agree that we'll end the charade as soon as the opportunity presents itself.
I'm a smart girl. No biggie at all. I'm certain I can handle it.
I just don't expect to fall in real love with my fake boyfriend.
For the next while, you'll find her plotting and writing about her latest stories in Toronto.
No Excuses by Nikki Kaye
Title: No Excuses
Author: Nikky Kaye
Genre: Contemporary romance, romantic comedy
Maddie's rules for attending a work retreat:
1. Pack the right clothes. Especially extra underwear.
2. Don’t try to school your insanely hot boss on acceptable trust exercises.
3. Be prepared for the extracurricular ropes course.
4. Make sure there is a safety net when you fall, because you will fall hard.
He moved close to me, our bodies nearly touching. I kept my eyes on his chest as he gently draped one of the ties around me, cool and soft on the nape of my neck. The tiny hairs under my ears stood up at the feel of the silk sliding across my skin. Every sense I had was on high alert.
He smelled like fresh laundry, and a trace of something else lingered on his skin. It was almost like the scent of paper, or an overworked photocopier. I felt the heat from his hands close to my throat, and the hairs on his forearms tickled my collarbone for an infinitesimal moment.
My attention remained focused on the buttons of his shirt. I was very worried that if I met his gaze, my hyperawareness of him would shine out of my eyes like a flashlight.
“We’ll just leave this here for now,” he murmured, flicking one end of the tie against the underside of my chin. “Are you ready?”
Not even remotely.
I nodded mutely, but I let out a little gasp when his fingers touched my chin and tilted my face up. It was so tempting to screw my eyes shut, like a little girl trying to pretend that something didn’t exist if she couldn’t see it. I’d had plenty of practice with that before.
But he wouldn’t let me retreat. He looked at me directly and without guile, as usual. What was a little different this time, however, was the way his eyes darkened into stormy seas.
“Trust me.” His simple words wormed into my heart as his warm breath landed on my lips.
My voice cracked as I said, “Mister Gage.” It wasn’t an answer or a question, a protest or a plea. I honestly didn’t know what I wanted to say, and whatever was building in me halted as he lifted the other piece of fabric to my eyes.
He smoothed his thumbs across the strip of silk over my eyes, spreading out from the bridge of my nose to my temples. The tie was held firm between his fingers—those nimble fingers that paused in my hair briefly before they met again at the back of my head.
“Is that too tight?” he asked as he pulled the half-knot.
The sound of the silk rubbing against itself whispered in my ear. I shook my head. His hands clutched my hair and held me still.
“I’m not done.” His fingers tangled in my hair as he finished tying, pulling a few strands just enough to make me suck in a breath.
He froze. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” My nipples hardened into tight buds as his breath washed over my forehead. “I, uh, no,” I repeated.
Gage had never touched me this much in the whole time I’d been working with him. Just the memory of his hands in my hair was enough to make me wobbly in the knees.
He dragged his thumbs across my covered eyes again, like a parent wiping away their child’s tears. Tracing his index fingers lightly over my eyebrows, he made an indistinct but satisfied noise.
“I can’t see anything,” I complained.
I was so blind that I flinched when his mouth dipped to my ear. “Good,” he chuckled.
Reflexively I swayed toward him, like a flower toward the sun. He pressed his thumbs gently into my cheekbones, then his fingertips left a trail of fire down my jaw and neck. On the journey he slipped the other tie from where it dangled around my neck, and pressed it into my trembling hands.
“Tie me up,” he ordered in a low voice.
Yeah, those were words I definitely never expected to hear from my boss’s mouth.
When he took my hand, he pressed his open mouth first to my palm, then the pulse point on my wrist. I was sure it was fluttering like a freaking butterfly.
“I want to show you my playroom. It’s important to me.”
Oh god. “Um, okay.” I could do this. I could totally do this.
He led me down the hallway in his little dollhouse. Another time I would have run my hand along the banister at the top of the stairs, its patina velvety with age. Or I would have probably noticed the vintage glass doorknobs at each room. But all I could see was the bright white of his shirt like a truce flag as I trailed behind him.
He stopped us in front of a door at the back of the house, and I hesitated. Actually, we both did. Gage rubbed the back of his neck. The direct, motivated, successful billionaire was nervous—and that made my knees close to knocking together.
“This is probably the most… personal, private part of me,” he explained haltingly, his gaze penetrating me. “Someday I would like very much for you to join me in here.”
Do not hyperventilate, I told myself. You are a mature, sexually active adult with an open mind—and past rope burns to prove it. You just role-played in the office, for god’s sakes. Do not embarrass yourself.
Instinctively, I squeezed my eyes shut as he reached for the knob, and the door creaked open. When I opened my eyes to slits, it was first to look up at the exultant look on Gage’s face. Then I faced the playroom. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath until it whooshed out of me.
“Gage, you are sick and wrong. Just no. No.”
“What?”
“How can you have Pac-Man but not Ms. Pac-Man?” I pointed to the array of arcade games lined up against the far wall. “That was clearly the better game!”
“I beg to differ.” With his arms crossed over his chest like that and his jaw looking like it had been set in concrete, there would be no persuading him.
At least he had Mortal Kombat and… was that a Dance Dance Revolution platform? It was covered in Japanese writing.
“Please tell me you have an Xbox.”
“Baby, I have everything.” He pointed to the giant beanbag and large—but not huge—television in one corner. Gage was almost glowing as brightly as the screens on the old consoles. Their sound had been muted, but the lights blinked in the background like dozens of little disco lights.
I wanted to laugh at myself for my idiotic fear. Whips and chains? Come on. I began giggling as I imagined myself bent over and tied to a bubble hockey table.
Boys and their toys. It gave a whole new meaning to “joystick.” At that ridiculous thought I bent over a little, my hands on my thighs, trying to cork up the laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh god, you are.”
He stiffened, probably unused to being seen as a source of comedy. Well, it was past time to change that. Finally I managed to control my giggle fit, which was probably half due to relief.
His annoyance came out in a strange sound from deep in his throat. When I flung my arms around his waist, he felt as though made of steel. I wanted to melt him down in a fiery forge and bend him into sinuous shapes. Cradling his carved jaw in my hands, I pulled him down for a tender, apologetic kiss.
“I would love to play with you, Gage. But you should know that I take no prisoners in Mario Kart.”
He sighed against my lips, multi-tasking while devouring me. “That is one… of… the sexiest… things… I’ve ever… heard… come out… of your mouth.”
Nikky Kaye likes to read and write sassy, sexy, smart (and sometimes silly) stories. Once her books were referred to as “fuction” in a typo, but it sounds pretty appropriate.
industry or with the United Nations, she never got to go to work in her PJs—until now.
