by Lena Bourne | Dec 22, 2017 | Book Excerpts, Cover Reveals, New Releases, News and Updates
ROOK, the new standalone installment in my Devil’s Nightmare MC series is almost done! The book will be released on January 2, 2018…no pre-order this time, but you can read the Prologue today!
Have you seen the cover for ROOK yet? I’m totally in love with it!
~ BLURB ~
I only ever loved one woman. I still love her, even though she left to get us breakfast one morning ten years ago and disappeared. I searched for her for months, but she was just gone. Most days it’s all a distant memory of what could’ve been, but I do think of her whenever I wake up next to a strange woman and wish it was her.
Then I see her on the sunny Mexico City street one random afternoon, and it’s like no time has passed at all. I still want to grab her and take her to my room, not let her dress for days. Just like it was back when we fell in love.
But she belongs to the cartel boss now. She’s out of my reach. Technically. I’m a calm man, nothing much gets me going. But Ines, she wakes the fire inside me, makes my blood run hot and has done since the day we met.
Now that I’ve finally found her, nothing and no one will keep me away from her ever again. Not even all of the Mexican cartel.
I’m currently holding a $10 Amazon Gift Card Giveaway as part of the Cover Reveal on Facebook!
Or, if you’re not on Facebook, you can enter via this blog post. Please share it if you can, and comment on it, and I’ll add your email to the prize drawing which will be on December 27!
~ ROOK Devil’s Nightmare MC PROLOGUE ~
Ten Years Ago
“Wake up! You’ll be late,” Ines’ voice floats to me as she tugs roughly on my arm. I grumble, pretend to still be asleep even though she already woke me up with those soft kisses she tried to rouse me with at first. She shakes me again, not gently at all, since she has little patience for that. Every once in a while, I’d prefer her to be a gentler woman. Like right now, I’d prefer her to still be kissing me. But for the most part, I wouldn’t change a thing about her.
“Rook!” she says warningly and shakes me harder, switching to her native Spanish in her attempts to wake me. She’s been teaching me to speak it, but I still only understand a word here and there when she talks fast like this. But that’s OK, anything that comes out of her mouth is music to my ears. She’s getting agitated though, her voice always gets shrill and piercing, like a slightly out of tune piano, when she does. It’s my first day of work and I wish I didn’t have to go. But at the same time, I want to provide for her the way she deserves to be provided for.
I grab her, cutting off her high-pitched monologue, and roll over so she’s under me. I like it when she’s under me, or on top, or in front. Or just by my side, for that matter. I love her any which way.
“You’ll be late,” she tells me in English, but lets me kiss her long and deep without any more protests.
She’s wearing one of my t-shirts, which is more like a dress on her, and very easy to get off. I love the feel of her skin against mine, her warmth, the coiling of her small muscles under her soft flesh.
“We still have a little time,” I tell her as I spread her legs wider with my hand.
I have a raging morning hard on, and I’d gladly risk being late for anything, if it meant I’d get to sink it into Ines. She crashed into my life six months ago, but there’s no way in Hell I’m ever letting her go anywhere without me from now on.
She gasps like she always does when I enter her. It’s part surprise, part surrender, part enjoyment. She does it a few more times before she finally gets used to my cock inside her, and it’s not hard to control my thrusts until she does. Nothing I do for her is hard. She’s so soft and warm, so moldable yet so firm, and once her hips start moving in rhythm to my thrusts, I have no control left. Her hands are gliding through my hair, her eyes seeing me and only me, as I give her my cock slow and deep, then faster and faster, watch her eyes roll back even though she’s still trying to look into mine. I know she’d gladly be late for all things too, as long as it meant we’d be doing this. And I know she’s feeling all the pleasure I’m feeling.
But I’m close to coming, too close to keep it slow. My conscious control is already peeling back from my body’s need to fill her, take her, make her mine. I can’t hold back anymore, start thrusting into her faster and harder, the creaking of the bed, her shrieks and moans fading to the background, as I come hard, buried deep inside her where I belong.
“Now you’re really going to be late,” she tells me breathlessly once I’m spent. But I don’t waste time on words, so I just kiss her again, because I need another taste.
She kisses me back, she always does, but this time she tenses under me much too soon, then rolls out from beneath me.
“But I’m hungry,” I complain. “I can’t go to work hungry.”
It’s her I’m hungry for, and she understands that. But we also both know I ate the last of our food last night.
“Go shower and I’ll get you breakfast,” she says, getting out of bed and smoothing down the shirt she’s wearing so it’s a dress again.
“It’s fine, Ines. I’ll grab something on the way,” I say and sit up, trying to catch her hand and pull her back into my lap. But she skips out of my reach.
“Nonsense,” she says. “I will bring you breakfast. That’s the wife’s job.”
We’re not married yet, but we’re gonna be as soon as I scrape together enough money to offer her more than my dick and this shithole apartment.
She takes two steps and she’s at the door, where she looks at me over her shoulder and smiles as she picks up the last of our money off the dresser by the door.
“Besides, you don’t know how to eat well,” she adds.
“I love you, Ines, you know that, right?” It took me ages to say it the first time, but now it feels good saying it all the time.
She squints, her dark brown eyes growing soft like melted chocolate.
“You don’t know what love is, big man,” she says, but her serene little smile belies the sarcasm in her words.
“I know what it is. It’s what I feel for you.” It’s my usual response to this particular jibe of hers.
She smiles even more softly at that.
“I love you too, Rook,” she says, her accent heavy, like it always is when she’s excited, or angry, or just generally overwhelmed with emotion.
I smile and she smiles, then she’s out the door, wearing no shoes, just like on the day we met. She was standing in the sand on the beach, right by the water’s edge, trying to sell seashell necklaces she made herself to tourists who weren’t very interested. I’d just arrived from a ten-hour ride to lay low for awhile in this lazy seaside Mexican town after some trouble back home. I never imagined I’d want to stay here, but now I’ll stay anywhere Ines wants to be.
She’s not back when I get out of the shower, not back an hour later when I’m already so late for my first day at the construction site I might as well not go.
But she’ll be pissed at me if I lose this job. We have no money, and if we’re to have a future here we’re gonna need it. So I leave, hoping to run into her on the way and at least get that breakfast she promised me. She probably stopped to chat with someone from town and lost track of time. She does that.
But when I get back to our tiny one room apartment at dusk she’s still not there. All her stuff is here, it’s all exactly like I left it this morning, minus Ines.
No note, no goodbye, she’s just gone.
I go back out, search for her everywhere I can think of until dawn is breaking, and I can hardly keep my eyes open.
But when I get back to our room, I can’t sleep. Her smell is everywhere, her presence still hanging in the air and I’m trying very hard not to imagine all the horrible things that could’ve happened to her. But she’s not dead. She can’t be. I still feel her everywhere.
No. She just disappeared out of my life the way she came in. With love on her lips and no shoes on her feet. She’s as free as a bird, as free as the wind, I know that about her. So I should’ve known she wouldn’t stay.
But she can’t hide from me. I’ll find her and I will forgive her for this. Because we belong together and I won’t let her go easily.
~ END of the Sample ~
Enjoyed the sneak peak? This book will be released on January 2, 2018, but I will be sharing more excerpts from it in the coming days via my mailing list. If you haven’t signed up yet, here is the link: http://www.lenabourne.com/devils-nightmare-series-alerts/
Check out the other books in the Devil’s Nightmare MC Series:
by Lena Bourne | Dec 4, 2017 | Uncategorized
NEW RELEASE: HIS FOREVER: The Complete Series
The entire HIS FOREVER Serial is now available in a single Boxed Set for the first time! Get to know Mark and Nicole and the suspenseful and steamy beginning of their love story!
Twenty-six-year-old journalist Nicole has struggled to get her dream job at one of the world’s leading newspapers, and she’s determined to keep it. But when the attractive, newly made billionaire banker Mark Cross suddenly reappears in her life, all that is threatened. He wants to claim her, body and soul, and Nicole has never wanted to submit more, yet to do so endangers everything she’s achieved.
Mark isn’t someone who takes no for an answer. He’s worked hard to become one of the most successful and richest players in town. Now he wants Nicole. Because he has loved her from afar for many years. And he won’t rest until she is his. Forever.
*A steamy and suspenseful alpha billionaire romance, perfect for fans of books by J.S. Scott, Cassie Cross, and Hannah Ford.*
Suitable for readers 18 years of age and older. This story will be told in multiple installments of about 30 pages each. I plan to release one per week.
Special introductory price!
Read for FREE
Excerpt: HIS WHIMS (His Forever, Book One)
I’ve been back in the city for a week, and memories of Christmas break are beginning to fade, or more like merge with all the other holiday memories. Even Mark barging back into my life out of nowhere is starting to seem like something that happened a while ago. Or only in my dreams.
No, that’s a lie.
He’s still my first thought when I wake up and the last before I fall asleep. Because the sex we had was mind-blowing. I’ve never had better. And the feelings his kisses woke inside me won’t go away no matter how much I try to ignore them. It’s like he’s always there, in the back of my mind. Watching me. Sometimes I even find myself talking to him. It’s unnerving.
Especially, since he hasn’t been returning my calls.
He lit out of town while I was getting changed at my parents place on Christmas Day.
Left me a note nailed to the wooden door of his father’s cottage, with his phone number and a vague excuse of having urgent business to take care of.
A phone number that might not even be his, since I called a million times and must’ve left about half as many voicemails.
Desperate. That’s how I was coming across, but it’s stopping right now. This very morning.
My apartment is cold, and the sky outside looks dreary, grey and overcast, like it’s evening instead of morning. It snowed during the night, and will likely again any minute.
I love the beginning of winter; I don’t much care for the rest of it though.
My phone rings while I’m shivering in the kitchen, waiting for my coffee to brew. It’s my editor, and since it’s barely past six AM, I wonder if he even left the office last night.
“Nicole, are you ready?” he asks as I pick up.
I nod my assent and roll my eyes, before I realize he can’t see me, and reply with, “Yes.”
“I don’t have to tell you how important this interview is. Don’t be late. We might not get a second chance,” he says, not even pausing for breath. “Are you prepared?”
“I am, Sam, don’t worry.” It’s the truth too. I was up until three AM prepping for it. Because in a couple of hours, I’ll be having brunch with Milton Harrison, the head of Harrison and Associates Bank. He hasn’t granted an interview in over twenty years.
“Just don’t be late. And wear something nice.”
He hangs up before I can reply, which is probably for the best. Sam has been stressing over this interview for the last three weeks, questioning my readiness the whole time, and it’s seriously starting to get on my nerves.
I spend the next hour or so picking out an outfit that’s womanly yet professional at the same time. Milton Harrison is old school. He likes his women classy and feminine. No one quite gets why he even agreed to let me interview him. Least of all me. I’m a young professional woman, with a reputation as a real go-getter, and I don’t think I can actually pull off feminine. I completely forgot how to be that in the last few years while I toiled and struggled to get this position at the Wall Street Journal as one of the staff writers. It’s still very much a man’s world down on Wall Street, and I’ve adapted well. And apart from my curvy shape, I was never very feminine to begin with.
It’s times like these I wish I still had a roommate, so I could get some feedback on outfits. The rest of the time I prefer living alone.
In the end, I opt for a black pencil skirt, a silk blouse and a blazer. I’ll have to wear stilettos to make the outfit work, and I’m dreading the snow. But this outfit is the most feminine slash professional thing I own. I really should do some shopping one of these days.
After a quick shower, I’m ready.
I arrive at the chic restaurant where the interview will take place almost a half an hour early. Punctuality’s never been my thing, I’m always early.
The waiter seats me, and I order a coffee while I wait. It arrives in a beautiful, ornate pot, with a matching gold-rimmed cup and saucer, and I’m afraid I’ll break both if I touch anything.
The room is about half full of men in expensive business suits. I recognize some, but not well enough to say hello. I bring out my tablet and notes, then sit back and watch.
The restaurant is gorgeous, and the chair I’m sitting in is possibly the most comfortable one I’ve ever sat on. It’s plush, done up in cream velvet with small flowers worked into the fabric. The table I’m sitting at has a marble top and golden legs that look like lion’s paws. In fact, the whole space looks like some ballroom in a European castle.
Most of the bankers and businessmen are there for meetings, though a few are having brunch with girlfriends. These women all look like models, though if we’re being honest, they’re most likely escorts. I look out of place in my business attire, and a mass of loose, dark brown hair and probably weigh more than any two of them combined.
I’m still idly taking in my surroundings, when the whole room seems to do a three-sixty. Mark is sitting with a group at one of the window tables. The other men are talking, but Mark’s bright blue eyes are fixed on me, boring into me like he can see right into my soul. All the butterflies in my stomach are back in a flash and I forget I’m supposed to be mad at him. I just want him to come over here so we can finish what we started on Christmas Eve.
I’m mad at him. He abandoned me for the second time when he left this time, and it won’t happen again.
A man clears his throat beside me. “Good Morning. Are you Nicole West?”
I break eye contact with Mark, acting like I didn’t even recognize him, and stare up at Milton Harrison, extending my hand.
“I am. Thank you for meeting me here today.”
We shake hands and he sits down. I can still feel Mark’s gaze on me like heat coming off a fireplace, but I ignore him completely as I focus on the task at hand.
Only that’s very hard now that Mark’s watching me. A fog is rising in my mind, and all I’m really thinking of is Mark’s chiseled abs, his bulging biceps, his tattooed chest and arms, as I knelt in front of him and…
I fire off the first of my questions. Once the conversation gets going, I manage to chase Mark from the forefront of my mind. But he’s still there in the back. Watching. Listening.
I live for these interviews. They’re my chance to make a difference in the world, and I soon have Milton struggling to find the right answers. With the way he’s diplomatically avoiding my more pointed questions, I might not get much out of him.
“You are one tough girl, aren’t you?” he finally snaps once I start seriously grilling him.
I smile flirtatiously, though inside I’m seething. Girl? I’ll show him girl. But I shouldn’t make him mad, else I might never get another interview with anyone.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Harrison. Sometimes I get a little carried away. You know how it is. I just want to do my best.”
He chuckles at my obvious discomfort, which is only slightly faked. I’m getting afraid he’ll cut this interview short.
“Sure, sure, I understand. You wish to make a name for yourself,” he says, something more fatherly crossing his face. “But I will not comment on the Martinez affair.”
Hell, there goes the whole article. Harrison’s involvement with one of the biggest Mexican drug cartels is the main reason I sought this interview.
“Consider it a chance to tell your side of the story,” I suggest, surprised I have to. I thought this was exactly why he was meeting me at all. “The story will get out one way or another.”
He pales at my thinly veiled threat, his whole face tightening. “There is no involvement. We cut all ties as soon as we learned where the money was coming from.”
That’s a lie. Martinez and his dirty money were behind many of the projects backed by Harrison until someone leaked the information. My sources say it still is, even though Harrison and his bank are now claiming they’ve cut all ties.
“So the Imperial project is not going ahead then?” I ask.
The look Harrison gives me now is pure venom. In a moment he’ll tell me to go to hell with my questions and walk out.
“Good Morning, Milton,” a very familiar voice says to my left. “Long time.”
“Ah, Mark,” Harrison says, clearing his throat. “Are you finally established in the city?”
They shake hands, though Mark’s gaze lingers on me. Or, more accurately, on my cleavage.
They’re speaking, but I’m ignoring him so completely the words don’t even register. I can almost feel the air crackling from his annoyance at this. But he ignored all my calls, so I have nothing to say to him anymore.
“And how are you, Nicole?” he asks, and it takes my mind a few seconds to decipher the words.
“Have we met?” I shoot back, my own anger crackling now. He’s seriously gonna pretend he’s not been dodging my calls? Well, we’ll see about that.
His cocky grin is replaced by a look of dumb confusion. Serves him right.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I say and stand up. “I have to go freshen up.”
My legs are jelly over what just happened, so I don’t know how I get to the bathroom without falling. For the whole way, I can feel Mark’s gaze on me, piercing me like a thousand daggers.
But I’m done pining over him. Or wishing we could ever share something more than a troubled past.
The bathroom is huge, bigger than my whole apartment, and it’s stifling hot inside. Though maybe I only feel like that because I just saw Mark, the man I’ve been lusting over for the last three weeks. And I ignored him. Pretended I didn’t know him. What was I thinking?
I’m about to splash some cold water over my face, but remember my elaborate makeup just in time.
When I straighten up from bending over the sink, Mark’s standing right behind me, his eyes piercing me through the mirror.
“Didn’t recognize me back there, huh?” he growls more than says, and it’s enough to make my panties wet. Or maybe that’s because he’s leaning against me, his hard cock pressed into my back. Even though I’m wearing stilettos, he towers over me.
I’m blushing a hot pink, my mind trying to come up with a snappy comeback, but failing. Of course I recognize him. I never want to not recognize him again.
He hugs me from behind and slides his hand down behind my blouse. My nipples instantly harden. I yelp as he pinches my right one painfully. “Maybe this reminds you?”
His other hand slides over my ass, squeezing hard.
“No, Mark,” I manage. “Someone will see.”
But my voice is sultry, and my whole body is vibrating in anticipation. I want him so bad I might explode. But this is so improper. So dirty. Yet so exciting.
He slides my skirt up over my hips, as he kisses my neck, biting down just right, eliciting another sigh.
“I thought you were mine,” he whispers, as he slides down my tights.
It’s such a gentle movement, abruptly cut short as he rips off my panties, the elastic digging into my flesh painfully before it finally snaps. I yelp again, trying to turn and stop what he’s doing. But he has me pinned against the sink, holding me tight.
“Not here,” I manage, and it’s something between a plea and an invitation.
“Why not?” he asks. I hear his zipper open.
“Someone will come in,” I whisper, though I’m not sure I care any longer.
He spreads my legs further apart with his knee. “Let them. Then everyone will know you’re mine.”
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