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City lights illuminated the street to the point of daylight. Azalea Gothel turned the corner onto Main Street, which would take her to her targeted location. Hood raised to block recognition, she only had a few hours. Any more than that, and she would be found out.
She walked past a narrow storefront selling liquor and cheap thrills, mostly gambling from what the blinking neon lights advertised, and headed to the larger, more sophisticated-looking club. The building stood out from the rest on the strip, towering over all of them, and decorated in a much darker scheme than the rest.
The club resembled a Renaissance mansion, with ominous architecture and two large gargoyles perched on podiums overlooking the entrance. Two towers climbed to a second story with a third rising two stories higher than the others.
The owner had aptly named the club Tower, or maybe he’d built the club around the name.
It didn’t matter, and she had much bigger concerns at the moment. Her curiosity had driven her down to the city streets, out of the comfort of her suite where she lived with her mother. But she had only a few hours. If she didn’t return home before midnight, her absence would be discovered.
Having an overprotective mother had been annoying growing up. Now, it caused a desperation Azalea had never felt before.
“Hey there, beautiful.” A voice from behind her slithered over her shoulder. She quickened her steps. The owner of the voice cursed at her but didn’t follow her.
Tower may cater to upscaled clientele, but it brought out the seedy beasts as well. She wasn’t completely naïve; she knew better than to think she’d be able to walk the street without at least one man’s eyes on her. It was her hair. The golden tresses easily snagged attention.
She pulled her hood closer around her face and came to the entrance of the club. Taking a deep breath, she retrieved her small purse and dug out the cover charge.
“You alone?” The bouncer looked behind her. At such a late hour, the evening was already in full swing, yet there wasn’t a line.
“Yes,” she said and waved the bills in his direction. “Fifty dollars, right?” She pushed the money at him again when he didn’t accept it.
“Take off that coat,” he ordered.
She heaved a sigh. She would hardly hide weapons in such a flimsy overcoat, but if it would make the hulking guard take her cash and let her off the street, she’d play along.
Shaking off the garment, she threw it over her arm and thrust the bills at him again. “Okay?”
He looked her over. A smile grew on his lips as his gaze reached her chest, and brightened as it traveled downward.

Revenge is a dish best served cold. Which is a real problem when the attraction runs red-hot.

Best Served Cold, an all-new standalone romantic comedy from New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Emma Hart is available now!

“And there goes my water.” Rae got up and dumped the contents of her glass into the sink. “Thanks for that.” I shrugged. “Can’t drill without dust, babe.” “Can’t drill without dust, babe,” she parroted in a high-pitched voice. “Whatever. You can drill without contaminating my water.” “Remember who’s doing who a favor here.” She cocked one hip and put her hand on it. “The only reason you’re still here is because I bent over an hour ago and you saw my underwear.” I couldn’t help the twitch of my lips. “That may be a contributing factor.” “Oh, please. You keep staring at me just in case I flash you again.” “Actually, I’m staring at you because you look hot as fuck in that dress.” I paused. “But I won’t deny that you flashing me would be a bonus.” Rae rolled her eyes. “I don’t even know what to say to you. You’re ridiculous.” “Ridiculously charming.” “Ridiculously frustrating.” “Charmingly frustrating.” “You—” She stopped and pointed at me. “You are. You are. You!” she growled and stomped into the kitchen. I choked back a laugh. “I am delightful, handsome, and phenomenal in bed!” She came back within seconds. “If you’re trying to make me fall in love with you again, you’re failing dismally.” “Technically, I’m not trying. I’m such a delight you’ll fall back in love with me anyway.” “You’re a raging egomaniac.” “And you are a beautiful ray of happiness.” “And you—wait, what?” She frowned. “When did this get turned around on me? Stop complimenting me. You don’t compliment me when I insult you.” I leaned against the wall, still holding onto the drill. “All right, you’re a miserable little shit. Is that better?” Her lips twitched as she tried not to laugh. “No. You’re supposed to compliment me even when I tell you not to.” “I’m not falling for your female psychobabble.” I pushed off the wall and looked for the next ‘x.’ “Compliment yourself. I have no problem doing it.” “I compliment myself all the time. Have you seen my boobs?” I shot her a side-eye. “Yes. I’m also fond of those.” Rae folded her arms across her chest. It did nothing to further her cause of pretending to be annoyed. All it did was push her tits up. “If you’re trying to make me stop looking at your tits, you’re doing a bad job.” She looked down and immediately dropped her arms. “Yeah, well, shut up.” She sniffed. “How many holes are left?” I scanned the wall. “Three. You should try one. It won’t kill you.” She shifted. “No offense, but I don’t know if I trust you around me with tools.” “I wasn’t even near you when you dropped the scraper on your foot. I won’t drop the drill. I promise.” I paused. “If anything, I’m the one who should be worried given that you’ve already dropped the drill once.” “That was an accident.” “Exactly.” I pushed off the wall. “Come on. You might learn something.” “I doubt it,” she mumbled, wiping her hands off on her dress and coming to stand at my side. “Okay, let’s humiliate me.” I laughed and drew her into my body. She nestled against me as if she were made for me. Her ass curved perfectly into my hips, and the gentle sweep of her back flattened against my stomach and chest like a missing puzzle piece. “Wrap your hand around the handle,” I said, raising her hand to it. “And hold onto it. Tight.” “I think I can figure that out.” “Remember who dropped the drill.” She sniffed. “I didn’t expect the wall to be so hard.” “Rae, it’s fucking brick. Not marshmallow. What the hell did you expect?”
Emma Hart is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over thirty novels and has been translated into several different languages. ​ She is a mother, wife, lover of wine, Pink Goddess, and valiant rescuer of wild baby hedgehogs. ​ Emma prides herself on her realistic, snarky smut, with comebacks that would make a PMS-ing teenage girl proud. ​ Yes, really. She's that sarcastic.

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Jenna glanced away from the children and met Ben’s gaze. She gave him an embarrassed smile as the little girls danced around her.
“Looks like we might get some weather,” Zoe said, motioning to the lightning in the distance.
“It’s that time of year,” Sam replied with a yawn.
“All right, lazy bones, why don’t we give poor Jenna a reprieve,” Zoe said, taking Sam’s hand and joining Jenna and the children on the pavilion dance floor.
Sam picked up Kate, and Zoe ushered the remaining little girls over to watch a woman making balloon animals. Jenna was left standing alone as the first few notes of Eric Clapton’s ballad “Wonderful Tonight” began to play.
Jenna turned to leave, and Ben’s heart rate kicked up. His limbs twitched. His body was nearly vibrating. He needed to be close to her. Unable to hold himself back, he walked up the steps to the pavilion and cut off her departure.
She stopped and met his gaze, confusion clouding her eyes.
He offered her his hand. Jenna looked at it warily as if he were handing her a stick of lit dynamite.
She shook her head. “I don’t think—”
“It’s just a dance,” he countered, knowing that was a lie.
She bit her lip. He could tell she was turning something over in her mind, but she put her hand in his.
Several people had gotten up to dance, and soon the pavilion was full of couples swaying under the twinkling lights.
He gathered Jenna into his arms and inhaled, smelling the faint lavender scent of her shampoo. She shivered, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of his touch or the cool breeze that picked up and caused the hanging lights to sway as if they too were moving to the beat.
“Are you cold?” he asked, pulling her in closer.
She studied his face as if she were trying to decipher a code. “Why are you dancing with me?”
He released a pained breath. “Because I couldn’t stay away from you any longer.”
“I don’t know what you want from me. Did I do something to upset you?” Her brown eyes were full of questions.

The Montgomerys just got hotter... RESTLESS INK by Carrie Ann Ryan releases September 18th, but you can read part of the first chapter now! Check it out below and preorder your copy now!

 

About RESTLESS INK

RESTLESS INK releases September 18th - preorder your copy now!

 

Read part of the first chapter of RESTLESS INK!

Thea Montgomery flopped down on the bed and knew that tonight was the first and last time she’d sleep with Roger. She never should have slept with a man name Roger anyway. He was just as dull as his name suggested. She’d gone into date number six thinking that maybe he wasn’t as bad as he seemed and wondering if maybe her standards were set too high. After all, not every Roger could be Roger Federer— the king of Rogers and the court. She’d liked this Roger, at least she’d assumed she did. She’d thought that if she worked harder, they’d have more than just their small attraction. And because she liked sex, and she thought she liked Roger, she’d slept with him. He let out a pleased sigh beside her, and she held back a sigh of her own— of a very different kind. This had been a mistake. But not her first, and probably not her last. Damn it, Thea, get your act together. Okay, that wasn’t fair. She was the sensible Montgomery. The one that joked about sex with her sisters but rarely had it. She’d been too busy starting her business and far too picky to jump into bed with just anyone. And since it had taken six dates with Roger to get to this stage, she figured she really wasn’t jumping. It was more like a gentle hop. But there’d been nothing hopping in bed with Roger tonight, and now she hated that she sounded so callous about it. Even to herself. He was sweet. He was nice. And… he had no idea what he was doing with his hands or his tongue. And she had a feeling if she were to tell him something along those lines— even gently— and try to show him what she wanted, he’d be one of those guys that pushed back, blaming it on her. It had happened once or twice. Okay, four times, but seriously, some guys needed to watch a little less anal porn and a little more cunnilingus. It wasn’t that hard. Roger turned over at that moment and reached out to pat her stomach. She winced since that wasn’t the most romantic thing in the world, but then again, nothing about what had just happened could be classified as romance. Ugh, now she felt bad, but there was nothing she could do with her feelings except feel them. Her family had taught her that. And she really shouldn’t be thinking of family lessons while naked in bed with a man she wasn’t going to see again. “So… nice, eh?” Dear God. “Sure. It was great.” She could hear the false note in her tone, but she wasn’t sure he could. She hated herself just a bit that she hadn’t had any fun, but she’d thought that maybe if she tried hard enough, things would work out. Apparently, there just wasn’t enough chemistry between them, and she probably should have figured that out before she got into bed with him, but she’d thought there’d been enough. “I have an early day tomorrow, but I’ll walk you out.” She barely held back a slow blink. Walk her out? Why didn’t she just leave money on the table on her way to the door? She sat up, using the sheet to cover herself since she didn’t really feel like baring herself more than she already had and pasted a smile on her face. She’d wanted to leave anyway, but now she felt as though she had to. As if she weren’t good enough for him to even want to talk to beyond patting her on the stomach like a dog who’d learned a new trick and wanted some love. Hell, she needed to get out of there before she got angry and said something she would regret. Because before this moment, Roger had been nice. Maybe too nice. Perhaps that niceness had covered up his bad sex and selfish ways. Now, she really needed to get out of there. He sat in bed, looking pleased with himself as she put on her panties while still hiding under the sheet. She slid into her dress, not bothering with her bra since she couldn’t do that one-handed. And even as she clumsily tried to dress behind the sheet, he lay there. Watching her. Why had she thought he was nice? Oh, because he had been. But not the kind of nice she needed in her life. Finally, she dropped the sheet since she now wore her panties and dress. She quickly stuffed her bra into her tiny purse, the straps hanging out, slid her feet into her heels, and wrapped her jacket around herself. She’d dressed up for this date and had thought it might lead to something more. Boy had she been wrong. “Don’t bother locking the door on your way out. I’ll get up and do it soon. Wore me out, you know?” He winked, and Thea knew she needed a shower— and maybe a bath, too. A hot one that would take off the first layer of her skin because she was never going to get the feeling of him off her. What had she been thinking? Roger? Jesus, she needed to take a hard look at her life and maybe never go on another date with a man because she’d seriously never felt this humiliated. It didn’t matter that she’d taken her time, done her research on him, and had wanted to make sure she liked him before she went to bed with him. It hadn’t been enough. Men were slime, and Roger was the slimiest. “Yeah. Sure. Bye.” “Thanks for tonight, babe. I’ll call you.” “Don’t bother,” she whispered as she walked away, her middle finger in the air. It was possible he couldn’t see it, but it was still warranted. “Don’t be that way, babe,” he yelled from the bedroom where he still hadn’t moved, but she ignored him, closing the front door softly behind her. As much as she wanted to slam it, she wouldn’t give him the pleasure of her showing any emotion beyond coldness. Because she was Thea, the ice bitch who played with icing in her bakery. She knew what her exes had said before, and now Roger would just be another of those who thought her cold or something along those lines. Whatever, she was done with men. She got into her car, threw her purse onto the passenger seat, and made her way to the grocery store. She was so freaking mad, she didn’t even want to bake. That’s when she knew that something was wrong, and if she didn’t get some sugar soon, she would break— and that wasn’t something Roger deserved. And because she didn’t want to do something she loved, she knew she was right at the level where she’d start crying in her car, and she refused to do that. So, she’d go to the store, pick up some ice cream, then eat the whole pint before she went to bed. Alone. Because, of course, she would be alone. Why wouldn’t she be? “Ugh,” Thea whispered to herself, annoyed at her train of thought. She hated self-pity, but being tossed out after a particularly bad bout of sex had kind of sent her over the edge into the land of meh. As soon as she parked, she leapt from the car, purse in hand, and made her way into the twenty-four-hour market.