He wasn’t called the Heartbreaker of BA for nothing.
At five, I jerked a sweatshirt over my leotard and tights, not bothering to put my pants back on. There wasn’t time. I stuck my feet in a pair of wooly boots and took off. He was probably out there right now, his eyes leveled at the door, waiting for me to exit. So, I avoided the front entrance and slipped out the side door and ran all the way to the parking lot, lugging my books, my dance bag, and his jacket. Several students gawked at me darting across the quad in my dance tights, but I didn’t care.
His silver Porsche gleamed in the sunlight—of course everyone knew his car—its sleek lines screaming money and power. Just like Cuba. I stood there, pacing around, debating and thinking and berating myself for not immediately leaving. But it was hard because he’d sucked me in with his sweet talk and goofy song.
But, he had no idea who I really was.
And if he ever found out who my parents were, he’d drive out of here so fast all I’d have would be skid tracks on my heart.
And that thought sealed the deal.
I rose and draped his jacket over the driver’s side mirror, somewhere he wouldn’t miss it. And because I was tempted to linger there and wait for him, I ran all the way to my car.
I had ballet. That was enough.
“It ain’t over till I say it’s over.”
–Cuba
I WAITED FOR her for thirty minutes, until finally the dance instructor exited the building. I watched him lock up.
Apparently Dovey had slipped past me, probably leaving from a side door. Yeah, a girl dissing me was a first. And it sucked ass.
I shook my head as I walked back to my car. Maybe I’d come on too strong? Had the dream freaked her out? Should I have treated her like Marissa?
I reached my car and came to an abrupt halt, my eyes taking in the leather varsity jacket spread out on top of the driver’s side mirror.
And I got it. She had liked me. That much had been obvious from the way she’d laughed at my song. But something was holding her back.
Maybe it was because we came from different worlds like she said.
Maybe it was because of my bad rep with girls.
Maybe it was because she could see through my pretty exterior to the ugliness underneath.
But we weren’t over. Hell no.
I drove home, and by the time I pulled up in my drive, I had the perfect plan to make her mine. To get her under me.
She’d have no idea what hit her.
Because this was just the beginning.
A very wicked beginning.
The End
Dear Reader,
The entire month of May, all proceeds from the sale of my prequel will benefit the Keith Milano Memorial Fund for Suicide Prevention which was established to help raise awareness about the devastating disease that is mental illness. Keith’s spirit and laughter is kept alive through our efforts to increase awareness about mental illness and to raise money for education and imperative research. www.keithmilano.org
Also, thank you for reading my prequel and catching a glimpse into the world of the students from Highland Park, Texas, who attend Briarcrest Academy. Each novel is a standalone with a happily ever after. The first is Very Bad Things, my debut which hit #1 in the New Adult College Age category on Amazon. It was also voted as one of the top five romances of 2013 by A is for Alpha B is for Book. It was on twenty-two different top ten lists.
If you’d like the conclusion to Cuba and Dovey, their story continues in Very Wicked Things, a critically acclaimed full length novel, now available at all retailers.
Hearing from you is very important to me. Honestly, it makes my day. I love to talk about my characters like they are real people (they are in my head!), and I love to meet new people. So please drop me a line on my website or on Facebook.
Book reviews are like gold to indie writers, and you have no idea how we relish each one. If you have time, I’d appreciate and love an honest, heartfelt review from you.
Thank you for being part of my fictional world,
Ilsa Madden-Mills
Now read the novel Very Wicked Things!
Now available at all retailers.
BRIARCREST ACADEMY SERIES
Reading Order:
Very Bad Things
Very Wicked Beginnings
Very Wicked Things
For more information about the next book, please visit my social media sites:
http://www.ilsamaddenmills.com/
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ILSA MADDEN-MILLS WRITES about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap. She spends her days with two small kids, a neurotic cat, and her Viking husband. She collects magnets and rarely cooks except to bake her own pretzels. When she’s not typing away at a story, you can find her drinking too much Diet Coke, jamming out to Pink, or checking on her carefully maintained chocolate stash. She loves to hear from fans and fellow authors. Drop her a line on her website or Facebook page.
I CAN’T CLOSE out this prequel without thanking my sweet editor Rachel Daven Skinner who donated her time and skills in editing. Like me, she became attached to Cuba and Dovey and wanted to be part of the charitable organization we are supporting. Also, I’d like to thank Julie Titus of JT Formatting. She is talented beyond compare, and she fit me in under the wire. Wahoo! Last but not least is Denise Milano Sprung, a wonderful blogger who shared her story with me about her brother and his struggle with depression. I never met Keith Milano, yet I know him ...and his story resonates in my heart. Thank you, ladies. Much love to you all.
AND NOW A SNEAK PEEK
AT TWO NEW RELEASES FROM FELLOW AUTHORS
YOU DON’T WANT TO MISS…
Read below for an excerpt from the International Bestseller New Adult Romance—Used (Unlovable, #1) by Lynetta Halat. Freed (Unlovable, #2)—the conclusion to Used is out now.
THE BLURB—
I am a slut. No worries. I've come to terms with it, and you will too. I’m not one of those girls who thinks she’s too plain, too fat, too skinny, too shy … no, I don’t have that kind of luck. I’m the girl who knows she’s just right for everyone. — Denver
A reputation as a manwhore–with–a–heart–of–gold tends to precede me. But, I don’t do girls with issues, that is until this girl. It's this girl I want to fix. This girl I want to protect. And maybe … more. — Ransom
Being in love with the same girl your entire life isn't all it's cracked up to be. She uses me in every way imaginable. How does she see me? I am her perpetual one-night stand. No strings, no attachments. Just mind-numbing sex … for her anyway. — Greer
Love. Hate. Triangle.
Who's using who?
I LOST MY virginity on the floor of my sister’s bedroom. I was sixteen years old. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t in the slightest bit romantic. But what it was, was done. Finally done … and on my terms. For years, various so-called men had been trying to take it, the most treasured prize in a most dangerous game because of what I had deemed as a curse upon all of womanhood—possessing innate innocence. An innocence that many were determined to rip away and own for themselves.
Determined to be in control, I was more than happy to hand it over to someone I trusted—my best friend. After that, I knew he’d never be anything more, but at least he wasn’t taking it from me. At least I could tolerate to be around him, and at least he didn’t make my skin crawl. He understood what I needed, let me set our terms—friendship and sex. Nothing more, nothing less.
What I didn’t bargain for was what I felt when it was all said and done … absolutely nothing. In many ways, feeling nothing was more excruciating than feeling everything. Even worse, with all my calculating and planning, I failed to consider how my act of desperation and defi
ance would shape him.
“SHE’S, AT BEST, a fuck buddy. However, I prefer the term ‘whore.’ Fuck buddy is far too nice a term for the likes of her,” a catty voice cracks from behind me.I take a deep breath and look up at the ceiling, saying a little prayer that maybe the venomous voice isn’t referring to me. I thought I left all that behind in Anaconda. We’d been here for all of three days, so it’s highly probable they’re not talking about me, right?
Looking back down, I continue pouring Jack in my Solo cup, surpassing the line that is recommended for liquor.
“Yeah, so apparently, she’s got some serious issues and doesn’t ‘do’ relationships. So, she puts out for her guy friends whose girls are too good to give it up. That’s her idea of a relationship.”
“Really? That’s kinda gross,” I hear the other girl mutter.
Sonofabitch! I groan. Yep, they’re talking about me. I splash a little bit of Coke in my cup and stick my finger in to stir it around a little. Tears spring to my eyes, and I berate myself for still having feelings and giving a shit what people think about me.
Years of dealing with this crap should have made me immune, but I really hoped college would be different. And how the hell do they even know about that shit? Strengthening my spine, I turn and give them a beguiling smile, which causes them both to blanch.
Yeah, bitches, you’ve no idea who you’re dealing with.
“Ladies,” I say with a quirked eyebrow. Removing my finger from the drink, I place it in my mouth and suck off the excess. With a pop, I release it. “I see my reputation precedes me. Well, let me just reassure you that I’m very good at what I do. When you won’t give it up for your guy, he’ll be looking me up, and I’ll be more than happy to take care of him. No questions. No strings. Just lots of meaningless … hot … sex.” I peer around them with a searching look.
“Are they here? Your boyfriends?” I look back at them innocently. I almost snort at their mutual expressions of surprise and disdain. “Or,” I continue, “are the sticks up your asses enough so that you don’t need a man?” Both of their mouths drop on that line. Yep, gets ‘em every time. “Oh, no judgment here,” I vow. “I totally get not wanting to be tied down to any one Dick … or Tom … or Harry.”
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From USA Today Author Melody Grace
an excerpt of Unrequited
I PACE BACK and forth in the narrow back alleyway, flipping an unlit cigarette back and forth between my fingers. I’ve quit a hundred times over, but somehow I always go back to them in the end.
Old habits die hard.
I take a long breath, trying to calm the hell down. It’s just a private party, barely a couple of hundred people. I’ve sold out stadiums before; played to thousands of screaming fans without a flinch. Hell, I even played the Grammys drunk out of my mind — the only thing I remember from that night is the three blonde backup dancers I took back to the hotel for a very special after-party.
This should be a breeze.
Except you haven’t played in public since that night in London, over a year ago...
The back door crashes open again, interrupting my black thoughts. I look up in time to see a woman fly out, tears streaming down her face. She doesn’t see me back here in the shadows, and I watch as she leans back against the wall, trying like hell to pull herself together.
She’s too pretty to be crying, that’s for sure. Her red hair is pinned back, too tight, and she’s wearing a simple black dress that’s cut way too low on the leg and high on the chest for my liking. Still, there’s something innocent in her expression that draws me in, a heartache in her gaze that’s just about the most real, honest thing I’ve seen in years.
I need a distraction, and here the universe just handed her up on a plate.
I stroll out of the dark. “You look like you could use a cigarette,” I drawl.
She startles. “You scared me!” She manages to say, quickly wiping at her face. Her eyes flick over me, and I wait for the look of recognition: that moment when it all clicks into place, and women turn on their flirtatious smiles, angling for a night with the famous rock-star they can boast about to their friends — and the tabloids, come morning light.
But her face doesn’t change. She shakes her head, a lock of that red hair slipping free around her face. “No, thank you,” she murmurs politely. “I don’t smoke.”
“Neither do I,” I give a twisted grin. “Don’t you know these things will kill you?”
Her brow knits, quizzical. “So why do it?”
“Why do we do anything that’s bad for us?” I counter, teasing. “Because we like how it feels, living life on the edge.”
“Speak for yourself,” the woman sighs. “I like it safe. Predictable. Easy.”
Now I’ll be damned if that doesn’t sound like an invitation. I close the distance between us. “That’s a shame,” I murmur, reaching out and brushing the stray lock from her cheek. “Danger would sure look good on you.”
Her mouth drops open at the boldness of my gesture. Our eyes lock, and I see the emotions skitter, clear as day across her face. Shock, confusion, and then — the tell-tale flush of desire.
She catches her breath, her chest rising under the cage of black silk, and God, I feel a bolt of lust strike through me. Her lips are perfect, pink; just begging to be kissed.
“When was the last time you did something crazy?” I ask, my eyes never leaving hers. I slide my fingers lower, down the pale column of her throat. I feel a shiver echo through her body, responding like lightening to my touch.
A rueful shadow crosses her face. “I don’t do crazy,” she whispers.
Not yet.
But I already know, a girl like this would be a miracle in bed. Innocence and sensuality all wrapped up in one tempting package.
The things I could teach her. The moans that delicious mouth would make.
“So try it,” I challenge her, teasing my fingertip lower, across her collarbone, along the high edge of her neckline. “I promise, I won’t tell.”
For a moment, she stays, lost in my gaze. I can see the desire there, the struggle as she decides. Then she looks down, blushing. “You don’t know me. This isn’t... I’m not that kind of girl.”
I stop, stunned. She’s turning me down?
“I’m sorry,” The woman steps around me, heading back towards the door, and as she does, I catch a breath of her perfume. The burst of floral scent hits me like a drug, shooting through my system in a bolt of sweetness.
Suddenly, this isn’t just a playful distraction anymore.
I want her, with a fierce possession that takes me by surprise. I want her, right here against the wall. I want to taste all of her, make her forget the reason she came rushing out here in tears.
I want a moment of that innocence, and all her wide-eyed control.
“Wait,” I order her. And then, before she can say a word of protest, before I can think the better of it, I pull her into my arms, capturing her mouth in a hot, blazing kiss.
Dex and Alicia’s story continues in UNREQUITED, out May 22nd!
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