Ashlyn Mathews's Blog

Hello everyone! It’s been too long since I’ve posted and I have so much news to share with all of you. The most IMPORTANT news is I have decided to sunset my ashlynmathews.com site and move everything to an integrated website/storefront with Shopify. On ashlynmathewsbooks.com, you’ll find more about me, a sign up for my newsletter emails, and my book store.

As an independent author with an eye on longevity, opening an integrated storefront with a domain hosted by Shopify was the best and most logical decision. I hope you’ll visit ashlynmathewsbooks.com and click through the storefront and the books. It’s a work in progress, and I will slowly be adding more books. It’s amazing how much work goes into stocking a virtual store, lol.

While you’re there, maybe you’ll sign up for my newsletter. I promise not to fill your inbox. I’ll use my newsletter to share my work in progress, book and bundle sales on my storefront, sneak peeks, and cover reveals.

More exciting news. For a limited time, I have my most popular books in Amazon’s Kindle Unlimited subscription program. Click on the book covers and head on over to Amazon.com. Binge-read all of them soon before the books leave KU :). Other book news include continuing to write, write, write. Be sure to sign up for my newsletter emails at ashlynmathewsbooks.com for sneak peeks of life at Cambridge High and Dumas University. I am ready to bring you more stories of hunky rugby players, and more of them sexy Sterling bad boys like Dare, Midnight, and Malice Sterling, and the women who bring them to their knees. These guys are protective, funny, JEALOUS, and have filthy mouths.

It saddens me to sunset my website after fourteen years, but I am looking forward to a new beginning and a new journey of story-writing. I hope you will join me. So long, everyone, and see you at ashlynmathewsbooks.com.

It’s been a long time since I’ve blogged. Or have thought about writing. Even picking up a book and starting a story didn’t capture my attention. That book became a DNF, “did not finish.” I can firmly say, “it wasn’t you” (the book), “it was me.”

My energy level was low, and my attention span short. I was mentally and physically exhausted from releasing book after book without a break. Then there was the pandemic, going from three to five dogs, kiddos getting older and requiring a different level of parenting, and the day job sucking the time and energy from me.

Fast forward three years later (I can’t even recall when I last released a book), and I am slowly returning to reading for enjoyment as well as revisiting my works in progress. In that time period, I saw my doctor and found out I was severely Vitamin D deficient, a hazard of living in the Pacific Northwest, where there is a shortage of sunshine.

I am taking my Vitamin D and drinking whole milk. I also get out in the mid-afternoon and soak in as much sunshine as possible. I call it sun therapy.

My writing will progress slowly as life takes on a slower pace. I hope you’ll be patient and continue to wait for Malice and Rue’s enemies-to-friends to you know what romance. In the mean time, here’s a sneak peek, unedited.

“Toe-mae-toe, toe-ma-toe. Anyway, I don’t want you, Rue. You’re nothing but trouble.”

My chest caves in on itself from his hurtful words. I refuse to cry. Crying gives someone power over me. Gives them the chance to wallow in their satisfaction at making me hurt. I step forward and jab my finger into his chest.

“I hate you too.”

“Good.”

“Good.” I jab harder.

He looks down, focusing on my small breasts rather than on my finger on his chest. My breath hitches in my chest. I take slow breaths in and out. My chest rises and falls. He follows the movements. Suddenly, I cannot take a full breath in. I’m lightheaded from his nearness and his scent. Male. Virile.

Virile.

Cassie. She was with him earlier. They hooked up. I am certain of it. My body goes cold. My finger falls from his chest. I ball my hand against my side.

“I hate you, Malice.”

“Keep saying it, Rue. The feeling is mutual, sweet thing.”

“Don’t call me what you call your girls. I’m not one of them.”

“You’re right, Regret.”

I suck in a breath, having this sudden urge of smacking the smirk off his face. But I go with a nonviolent idea of evening the score.

“I hate that you think you’re better than everyone else,” I say, playing into Malice’s hate game. “You’re not. Strip you of your last name and your parent’s money, and you’re a nobody.”

He crosses his muscular arms over his broad chest. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never harm me.”

“Seriously? That’s your comeback?”

“You have a better one, Regret?”

He leans into me until our noses touch.

“Stop calling me that.”

“Or else what, Regret?”

I growl low in the back of my throat. He chuckles.

“You gonna do more than hurl words at me? You gonna hurl that skinny ass of yours at me instead?”

I scoff. “You wish.”

“I do, Regret.”

“Malice.”

He smiles, and the smile not reaching his eyes, Malice puts distance between us. Palm up, he gestures for me to come and get him.

I narrow my eyes. “You’re asking for it.”

“Ooh, I’m scared.”

“You better be. I’ve had practice wrestling with the guys.”

“This won’t be your average tumble with your boys, Regret. I don’t play fair. Nor do I go easy.”

“My friends don’t show me mercy.”

“I highly doubt that. You’re a girl.”

“What does that mean exactly?”

“They go easy on you because you’re a girl. I don’t see you the same.”

He looks my body up and down and something hot flares in the depths of his beautiful eyes. Suddenly, my T-shirt is tight across my breasts. My nipples pebble and press against my bra. Malice zones in on my girls, and my body betrays me more.

My gut clenches in anticipation. My heart does this loud thump, thump, thump against my ribcage. Can Malice tell I am turned on? Oh yes. Yes, he does.

The post Getting Back to Writing appeared first on Ashlyn Mathews - Paranormal and Contemporary Romance Author.

Hello,

First off, thank you for visiting my website and heading over to read my latest and last blog (for now). Now for the tough part, a decision that was difficult to make but brings me relief. I have decided to stop writing and publishing more books, including books in the Cambridge High Mayhem series (Hate Game, Sweet Sorrow). It’s a decision I’ve struggled with making for the past two years.

My boys are growing up so fast and their lives is where my focus needs to be.

Thank you for supporting me over the last decade of my writing and publishing journey. It’ll be nice to be a reader again and hopefully, once life settles down a bit, the writing bug will bite me again. Happy reading everyone!

Bests,

A.M

The post The State of My Writing appeared first on Ashlyn Mathews - Paranormal and Contemporary Romance Author.

I am so excited to share Evey and Griffin’s love story. Every story has two sides. Here is Griffin’s.

The doors open at seven, but the action doesn’t start until well after eleven.

From my usual spot on the second floor, hidden in the shadow of a corner, I scan the crowd below for the mystery woman from last night. She caught my interest with her understated appearance, the determined set of her jaw, and her hot-as-fuck dance moves.

I’m not seeing her.

My gaze shoots to the front entrance. People filter in through the double doors in an orderly fashion. I dip my head and speak into the mic attached to my collar. “Nice job with crowd control, boys.”

Joey and Andy have been with me since I opened this joint three years ago. They understand my rules are to be followed to the T. One of those rules is we never go over capacity. It’s dangerous should there ever be an emergency.

Not that my guys and I won’t be ready. We’ve trained for emergencies, big and small. Have dealt with our fair share of rowdy drunks, jealous exes, and a fire in the women’s bathroom. What I hope never to experience again is a bloodbath. That night set my moral compass back so far, I quit my father’s security business and went off the grid for a year.

Tossing that shameful part of my life to the recess of my mind, I search for my mystery woman. As I do, a different woman sidles up to me.

“Hi there, Griffin. You’re looking good tonight.”

My signature black dress shirt and black slacks is “looking good?” Half the guys here are in black attire, but I’m betting they’re not loaded like I am. And I’m not speaking of packing firearms.

“I’m not interested, Monica.”

“That’s not what the other girls say.” Her manicured nails skim up and down my arm. “Come on, Griffin. Say yes for a change.” She circles her fingers around my bicep.

Before mystery woman caught my eye, I would have taken Monica up on her offer. I am all about the physical without the complication of emotions getting involved, and Monica is of the same mindset, her hand lowering to my crotch.

“Boss, I see her in the back of the line.” Joey’s excitement is palpable in my earpiece. “I’ll have her escorted inside now.”

Joey and his romantic notions this woman is the one for me. I grab Monica’s wrist before she can touch my junk. “Enjoy your time here.”

I walk away from her and take the stairs to the first floor. Mystery woman weaves through the crowd. She is wearing an identical outfit to what she wore last night. Ratty jeans torn at the knees. A body-hugging black T-shirt that shows the obvious—she has small breasts and flat abs.

She makes her way to the edge of the dance floor and catches me watching her. I tip my head. She acknowledges me with a slight dip of hers. I home in on her face. Dark arched brows. A sultry curve to the arches of her cheeks. A pert nose. Full lips. She isn’t the most beautiful woman here, but she stokes something inside me I lost a long time ago—anticipation.

I stay in the periphery of the dance floor and watch guys avoid her. They aren’t here for plain and understated. They are here for women like Monica with her skin-tight little black dress and sizeable rack.

But when mystery woman takes the dance floor and moves that lithe five-foot-five body of hers, the guys take notice, just like they did last night. She’s sexy as fuck swaying her hips with her hands high above her head, her fingers tapping in time to the beats as she sings softly to the music with her eyes closed.

Moving like she does, she doesn’t have a care in the world.

Two guys move in, and it takes willpower not to step in and demand they step away from her. Mine. That’s what I’m hearing in my head. All I’m feeling deep in my core as they sandwich her between their large bodies.

Why does my body respond so viscerally to hers?

I haven’t had a taste of her, that’s why. I want her moaning and writhing beneath me. Then I can get her out of my thoughts and out of my system.

She’s all I have thought about since she caught my eye last night. From across the room, our gazes locked and with a defiant tip of her chin, interest grabbed ahold of me. No woman’s turned me down with look alone.

She and the guys dance and grind through two more songs. Half-way through the third song, she takes their hands and leads them toward the entrance.

Fuck no will I let her make a decision she’ll later regret. The women who work for me are familiar with the guys she is with. Those douchebags are into rough sex.

“Stop them, Joey.”

Joey stops the trio at the door. Words are exchanged. Joey points to me. The guys glance my direction and glare. I shrug. My club. My rules. I gesture for them to move along.

They leave mystery woman’s side and find a different woman to slather their attentions on. Mystery woman has more words with my guys before she meets my gaze. We assess one another from across the room.

I dare her with my intense stare-down to walk over and give it to me straight. For her to inform me of how pissed off she is. She doesn’t do jack shit other than tear her gaze away and grabs a seat at an empty table.

My interest piques ten fold. I watch her from the bar where I have an unobstructed view. Her legs are crossed, feet tapping air, and her body is tipped forward with her elbow on the table and chin rested on her open palm.

She stares back at me. I ask one of my servers to offer her a drink of her choice and whatever she would like off the food menu. With how much energy she’s burning off with that attitude of hers, she must be parched and starving.

Chris returns. “She’s not interested. Said you should do the heavy lifting rather than have someone do your dirty work.”

I chuckle. “Thanks for taking the brunt of her words. How’s Annie?”

“Chewing up every piece of furniture in the place though I spent a shit ton of money on toys of every shape for her.”

I shake my head. “Puppies, can’t live with them, and can’t live without them.”

He smiles. “Yeah, it’s hard to be mad at her when she gives me puppy eyes. Good luck with that one.” He jerks his head in mystery woman’s direction and returns to delivering drink and food orders.

Chris started with me a year after opening. He’s in his thirties, a down-on-his-luck guy who panhandled on a street corner my driver drove us past each morning. Rather than give him money, I took a chance and asked whether he would rather earn it. He said yes and the rest is history.

I lean against the wall and look anywhere but at her, missing the signature dark shades of my days as a personal bodyguard. I could observe without being too damn obvious.

Women approach me asking for my number. Or a spin on the dance floor. I give them the same line, “thanks, but not interested.” They walk away, hips swaying, glancing over their shoulder with promises of a smoking hot time with the smolder in their eyes.

Hard pass.

Mystery woman though . . . She is eyeing me from across the room. Were her sexy eyes on me the whole time? I give her a two finger salute. She dismisses me with a flick of her hair and a view of her profile as she looks the other way.

Anticipation courses through my veins like water over a broken dam—fast, hard, and loud. Before the sun rises over the horizon, I will have her in my bed. First, I need for her to drop her attitude long enough for me to get in an introduction. Then we’ll go somewhere private to continue our conversation.

She hasn’t been sitting for five minutes before a guy approaches her table. He’s a regular. Tall. Spends too much time at the gym. Tatted. Runs with a rough crowd. He is bad news all around.

What is it with her attracting the wrong types of men? Resting his hands on top of a chair next to her, he leans in and says something. She nods. Fuck, not again. I scowl and head over there, ready to make it clear she is mine.

Except mystery woman doesn’t leave with him. He takes the empty chair and carries it over his head to a table overflowing with people. Setting it down, he offers the beautiful blonde standing against the wall a seat. My scowl fades.

Ready for breathing room, I return to my private spot on the second floor and hunker down for a night of keeping watch on the crowd and her. My phone in my back pocket pings. I grab for my cell and stare at the screen.

Unknown number:  Killjoy

Smirking, I add her number to my contacts. Later I’ll have words with Joey for giving out my number without running it by me first. I put my cell away. There are different people sitting at the table and mystery woman isn’t among them. My body goes on high alert. Where the fuck did she go?

“Cockblocker.” I hear from the other side of the column.

I shake my head and chuckle. Who is this woman with her fire and ice? “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“I’ll give it if you dance with me.” She steps out from behind the column, and up close and personal she is even more beautiful.

She has long, full lashes that can whip a man into a frenzy, a constellation of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks, and a slight tilt to the corners of her eyes. I am wrong. She isn’t the most beautiful woman here, she is the most beautiful woman.

“I can’t dance worth a damn,” I admit. “Believe me, we’ll both be embarrassed.”

“Is that so?”

“So.”

“How bad do you suck?”

“How about Running Man bad?”

She sputters laughter. “Okay, that is horrendously bad.”

“How about a private dance along this stretch of the room?”

She checks out the “stretch of the room,” or more like narrow strip of carpet, and smiles. “I can go along with that.”

I smile back. “Thank fuck you’re so accommodating.”

Her green eyes beam. “Your name?”

“You didn’t ask the guy that gave you my number?”

She shrugs. “It would kill the fantasy of making out with a stranger.”

“Ah, so it wasn’t me you’re interested in. You came here looking for a guy, any guy. Or did your plan change to guys?”

“Don’t sound so disappointed. It was always you I wanted. I was testing the degree of how much you wanted me.”

“You mean did I want you enough to order my men to stop you and the douchebags at the door? Is that the testing you’re speaking of? I’m not into playing games,” I warn.

“Then I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

She heads for the stairs. I step around her and block her path. Her chin inches up a notch.

“Out of my way.”

“Not until I have my say.”

She crosses her arms. “Go ahead.”

She’s brave and stands her ground. Admirable. However, in this situation, mystery woman needs a good spanking. “What you did down there is unsafe. Testing me is unwise. Keep playing these games and someday you’ll get seriously hurt.”

“You have no right telling me what is unsafe or not. My life. Anyway,” she waves her hand, “I had a crappy week, and this is my way of giving the crappiness the middle finger. Thank you for the advice, though.”

Attitude one minute. Gracious the next. She gets my head spinning. I look at her. Like really check out her face. She can’t be older than twenty-one, twenty-two. Jesus. I have a good twelve years on her. Give the girl a break, old man.

“Tell me why life’s a shit storm?” I ask.

“I don’t want to get into the details but I haven’t any money to finish my last year of college. I had private funding but lost it recently.”

A slow burn of annoyance starts at my core. She’s like the others, after one thing—a guy with deep pockets.

“And you came here looking for a different benefactor?”

“I . . . No. I’m here to dance my troubles away.”

What comes out of my mouth next blindsides me. “I can be your new funding.”

Her eyes narrow. “In exchange for what?”

“What did you give your prior benefactor?” I ask as though we’re discussing the weather.

“My time.”

“Did that include sex?”

“No,” she says, offended. “He was like a father to me.”

“I am not a father-figure,” I make clear. “I want your nights and only your nights. There will be no promises of a commitment.”

Her eyes widen. “Your proposition is indecent.”

“I am not a decent man. What will it be?”

I expect her to cuss me out. Instead, she surprises me with a counter-offer.

“If you get my nights, I get your days. Spend the day with me and you can have my nights. But only three.”

How can I refuse?

“You have a deal . . .” She gives me her name. It’s unusual and beautiful like her. “Evey with a short E.” I like. “Nice to meet you. Griffin.”

Undone, my royal bodyguard romance, releases in 15 days, and I would like to share the ways I am celebrating. Pick one, or two, or ALL the options :).

1. Enter to win one of 100 copies of the e-book (available to US and Canadian residents) through Goodreads giveaway. 
2. Download a sneak peek of Undone straight to your reading device.
3. Pre-order Undone.

4. Enter for your chance to win the SWAG pictured below. Pamper yourself with a beautiful floral mug from Dolly Parton’s design collection (she is THE queen of country music), raspberries in dark chocolate candy bar, RESTORING sheet face mask with collagen, moisturizing foot mask with shea butter and aloe extract, a pretty floral makeup bag, strawberry peach lip balm, lavender bath bomb, Hibiscus passion bath bomb, and finally, Lips Tulips nail polish. 

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I love spring. Spring is flowers, sunshine, rain and hail storms, and longer days. Winter and spring is the best time for me to write. And boy did I write. I know you all are anticipating the release of Hate Game, the second book in my Cambridge High Mayhem series. However, there was a different story in my head that needed to be done first. The book is Undone. The story started as a free write project to help me get over my writer’s block.

Basically, I wrote the story without putting much thought to plot, theme, character development, etc. The point of free writing for me is to reignite the waning creative spark. Freewriting Undone did the job and I was able to write more of Hate Game. I am at the halfway point, having gotten my groove back so to say, and will most likely release Hate Game earlier than my planned late-September release.

I am so happy to be over the writer’s block hump and hope to be releasing books more often, especially in the Dumas world (Kiss Starter, Cambridge High Mayhem, Dumas University). Undone is on pre-order with a release date of May 26th. To celebrate the upcoming book release (my last book release, Give You Up, was a year ago!), my enemies-to-lovers, second chance romance, Scars to Your Beautiful, will be on sale for 0.99 from 4/29-5/6 at all major retailers. I hope you will download your copy, and I cannot wait to share with you Evey and Griffin’s story in Undone.

There is no such thing as a perfect plan.

Fleeing her homeland after it falls under martial law, Evey Constantine searches for the man who has the information she needs to reclaim her throne.

Her dead father’s instructions was simple and straightforward. Dealing with the man in question is anything but. Nightclub owner Griffin Tate is everything her father warned her he would be. Arrogant. Domineering. Ruthless. He is a man with a dark past and questionable loyalties.

Evey expected his indecent proposition the night they met. What she didn’t expect is for him to save her life or break through the shield around her heart.

Most of all, Evey didn’t count on Griffin showing her a side of him that has her thinking a dangerous thought. Is love worth giving up her crown?

2021 has come and gone, and 2022 is here. As I reflect back on what I accomplished in 2021 with my writing, I can say, I did well though I had to cancel my preorders, didn’t release anything new, and didn’t do much writing except to edit here and there my current work-in-progresses.

What is the solitary accomplishment I’m proud of? I came in in the black. I made a PROFIT in 2021 rather than take a loss on my writing and publishing journey. How did I do it? I was lucky enough to get an elusive Bookbub for THREE books: Wicked (April 2021), Give You Up (May 2021), and I Dare You (August 2021). I am so grateful for the exposure my books received and am also grateful for new readers who have enjoyed my college romances. What else did I do to be in the black? I stopped advertising my books on Amazon and on reader newsletter sites. Instead, I went with the passive promotion of offering my shorter works (Stay, About That Night) for FREE. I also offer FREE books to those who sign up for my newsletter.

My books aren’t for everyone and by offering works for FREE, I give readers a sample before they decide whether to purchase my other books.

Why didn’t I release anything new in 2021? I was burned out mentally and physically. Releasing new books as well as re-releasing books that I rewrote from third person to first, most of 2021 took a toll on me. I didn’t want to write. And the idea of sitting down to write made me more exhausted. I decided to take a break for my mental health. I didn’t blog. I didn’t interact much on social media. I rested as much as I could. Binge-watched a lot of series and movies on Netflix. I also discovered Tik Tok, which is a time-suck, by the way.

What are my plans for 2022? I don’t want to give false reassurances and say I’ll be releasing new books left and right. But here are the list of work-in-progresses I hope to flesh out more, and eventually put, “THE END” to. I would also like to release a short, 100ish royal bodyguard story titled, Undone. Below is a small snippet and the cover. Enjoy and Happy New Year!

Cambridge High Series: Hate Game

Dumas University Series: One Night of Bliss, Hating On Riot

Unedited Sneak Peek

I search the crowd again but I don’t see the woman that piqued my interest. A woman that sparked something deep inside me I thought I had long lost in my pursuit for money—anticipation.

What will she wear tonight? Will her dark hair fall full and long over her shoulders and down her back? Or will she pull the strands up and away from her face, showcasing the elegant column of her neck?

“Word of advice.” I peel Monica’s fingers off my arm. “Money isn’t everything.”

She pouts. “How would you know when you’ve never gone without?”

I don’t correct her. I have gone without. Have been beaten down more than once in my life. But I worked my way up, and I have the nightclub, the fast cars, and the downtown real estate to show for it.

Except I’m sorely missing something from my life and for the life of me, I can’t put my finger on what it is other than the mystery woman has the answer. I’m certain of it.

“Boss, she’s here.” Joey’s voice booms loud in my earpiece.

Speak of the devil. He waves her through the doors.

“Enjoy your time here, Monica.” I make my way down to the first floor.

Mystery woman is wearing an identical outfit to what she wore last night. Ratty jeans torn at the knees. A body-hugging black T-shirt that shows the obvious. She has small breasts and flat abs.

She makes her way to the dance floor. Our gazes lock. I tip my head. She acknowledges me with a slight dip of hers. I stay along the periphery and follow her movements. My gaze homes in on her face.

Dark arched brows. A sultry curve to the arches of her cheeks. A dainty nose. Full lips. And she doesn’t have on makeup except for mascara. Or are her eyelashes that naturally inky black and long?

I groan, imagining her eyes fluttering closed and those dark-as-fuck eyelashes caressing her creamy smooth skin as I move in and out of her.

Staying in the periphery, I watch guys steer clear of her. They’re not here for plain and understated. The guys are here for women like Monica with her skin-tight little black dress and sizeable rack.

But when mystery woman takes the dance floor and moves that lithe five-foot-five body of hers, the guys take notice, just like they did last night. She’s sexy as fuck swaying her hips with her hands high above her head, her fingers tapping in time to the beats as she sings softly to the music with her eyes closed.

Moving like she does, she doesn’t have a care in the world. Except I saw the truth in her eyes earlier. She carries big burdens on her small shoulders.

Wow, it’s been a long time since I posted a blog on my website. December 2020. What the heck? How has everyone been doing? I have been laying low, concentrating on my new role at my day job (manager, yeah!). What does this mean for my writing? Let’s just say the writing part of my life has slowed significantly due to overall mental and physical exhaustion. It’s the reason I’ve pushed back several times now the release of Hate Game and Sweet Sorrow, books two and three, respectively, in my Cambridge High Mayhem series.

I hope to have Hate Game written in time for it’s May 23rd release date. To make it up to my readers for the delays, here is the link to get a sneak peek of the first three unedited chapters sent straight to your reading app/device.

Preorder Hate Game here.

Enjoy and happy reading.

Other than the light illuminating from the pool room, my place is dark and quiet. It’s how I like it. I like my space and my privacy. Never have I brought a woman to my penthouse in the Bay Area except for my sister and Leigh Kim. My little sis doesn’t count. She’s family. I can say the same for Leigh, though she wasn’t family or a woman when I brought her here.

Leigh was a reckless, troublesome teenager in need of guidance when she stole and crashed my Bugatti when she was sixteen. Fast forward two years, and I consider her a good friend. I hope she and that boy she likes, Seven Shanahan, have a nice time at their homecoming dance tonight.

To think it was only two weeks ago that my guys found out Leigh’s mother had an affair with Seven’s uncle, Tony McCabe. Shit, first my sister and her ongoing testing of the guys I have guarding her, and now a young lady who is like a little sister to me is involving herself with a boy whose father is part of a large family rumored to be mobsters legitimizing themselves as reputable businessmen and women.

And one of the McCabes, the most ruthless, will be paying me a visit, according to the message sent to me. Fuck sakes, who sends someone a box with a hand nailed to a piece of plywood with “will be in touch” written on flesh?

Needing something other than alcohol or a woman’s body to take my mind off Cillian McCabe’s not-so-subtle message to keep my hands off the strip of businesses in southeastern Oakland, an area he controls through intimidation and bribery, I strip off my clothes. They fall where they land, and I step inside my sanctuary, lowering myself into the heated pool.

Dunking my head in, I swim from one end to the other. Near the ladder on the other side, my fingers brush flesh. My eyes shoot open, and fuck me if I’m not looking into the widest eyes I have ever seen.

“Blaise?”

“Um, hello, Maddox.”

She’s hiding behind the ladder with one arm across her chest and the other down low. I see the reason her hands are where they’re at.

“You’re naked.” I keep my eyes on her face.

“So are you.”

There are two sides to this love story. Read on for Maddox’s. Mad Love releases Dec.15th. Be sure to get your copy now at the new release price.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?”

I look where the guy seated next to me is looking. He doesn’t wait for me to answer. It’s a good thing he didn’t. I’m not in the same camp as everyone else, that Blaise Lexington, with her long black hair, pale skin, and one eye green and the other blue, is easy on the eyes.

Women who are cold as ice, who surround themselves with men just as cold, are not my cup of tea. And if her cold eyes and glacier expression don’t have me running the opposite direction, her traumatic past would. My sister’s is difficult enough to deal with.

“A broken, beautiful creature. I wonder what kind of man can get past her armor.”

Is this guy for real? I must have looked at him like he’s crazy. He laughs and introduces himself.

“Name’s Walter. Walter Spinx. I write romance under W.S. Spinx.”

That would explain his romanticized view of Blaise and her traumatic past.

“Isn’t she involved with the guy with the messed-up face?” I jerk my head at the guy standing behind Blaise.

Blaise and her grandfather are seated at a table in the front of the ballroom. Next to her are her cousins, four large guys who are looking down their noses at the rest of us rich mortals. On the other side of Sir Lexington is his only sibling, Sir Arthur Lexington.

“If so, he got the shitty end of the stick, having to stand behind her rather than be seated at her side.”

Good point. I lift my drink, and taking a slow sip, I study Blaise over the rim of my glass.

What is the ice queen like in bed? My guess is she is as lively as she is now, sitting straight as a board with her gaze forward, shoulders pulled back, and her small hands clasped primly in front of her on the table.

And what is it with her and wearing only silk or satin? Is plain cotton not good enough to touch her smooth, pale skin? Or how about the ridiculous gloves that cover her fingers and the length of her arms?

Tired of studying beauty that is only skin deep, I swing my gaze around the room and lock eyes with a blonde bombshell who is more to my taste. Evie Lawson. Lawyer to the rich and famous. Philanthropist, donating money and her time to causes that help women and children. A great conversationalist. She pats the top of the empty chair next to her. I excuse myself and head over.

She greets me with a smile, and after sitting, I move my chair closer. Her leg rubs against mine, and the friction gets me hot down there.

“How are you, Maddox?”

“Good, you?”

“I could be better.”

“Like how better?” I say near her ear.

“Like my legs wrapped around your waist with you deep inside me better,” she says in a low voice.

Did I mention Evie can talk dirty?

“Should we get out of here?” I walk my fingers down her thigh.

“Too obvious. Let’s wait for the dancing to start.”

“No one is here for dancing, Evie.”

“Didn’t you read the follow-up invite to the first one?”

“Hell no. If I read every goddamn one that crosses my desk, I’ll never get any work done.”

“Then let me tell you why the guests will stay until the party is through. The dance is a cake walk.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” I haven’t done the cake walk since the school carnival, and that was grade school.

She laughs. “No joke. There are cakes to be won, but what people are staying for is the chance to spend a day with Her Royal Coldness.”

“Come again?”

Evie again laughs. “Maddox, did you start the party early? Had one too many drinks before you came here?”

“Evie. Repeat what you said.”

“Whoever wins the last cake walk gets to spend a day with Blaise alone at her Montana estate.”

That’s what I thought she said.

I can picture it. Me, Blaise, and the X-R 85 I’ve been wanting. This is my chance to wear her down until she agrees to selling me the car.

Wanting my cake and eating it too ’cause I’m a selfish bastard that way, I grab Evie’s hand, yank her to her feet, and go in search of the first room I can fuck her in.

Knowing glances be damned.