Red Hot Lovers: 18 Contemporary Romance Books of Love, Passion, and Sexy Heroes by Your Favorite Top-Selling Authors

by Milly Taiden

  He smiles at me. “I never thought I would love a woman enough to want to. Taking care of you is easy and feels so right.”

  I sigh as his thumbs press on my arch. “Letting you feels right too. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you, Derrick.”

  He moves to my other foot and traps me in his trademark stare. I imagine his love wrapping around me like his gaze. He says, “I have to be back in New Hampshire by August.”

  “I know.”

  “Have you decided what you’re going to do next year?” He hastily adds, “Are you staying here?”

  While part of me would like to try to return to competition, my logical side says it would a tough road to travel, and I may never be physically able to reach my previous level. Until now, I haven’t let myself make the tough decision.

  “No. My days of competing are over, and it’s time to focus on a career. I should go back to school and get my degree in Physical Therapy.”

  “Where would you go?”

  I smile because this part I’ve figured out. “Franklin Pierce. It’s about an hour away from Hanover. Growing up in Woodstock I’m used to driving at least a half hour to the grocery store. An hour to see you would be nothing.”

  The sudden sinking of the couch around me takes me by surprise as Derrick climbs over my prone body. “Live with me. We’ll find something between our two schools.” As if he needs to convince me, he kisses my neck up to my ear, knowing it makes me tremble.

  I reach under his shirt and pull it up toward his head. “That’s hardly a big step to take, considering where I live now, but you can keep working on my resolve.”

  “In that case, I’m going to move us to a better location.” He gets up from the couch and scoops me into his arms.

  By the time he’s at the top of the stairs his heady scent is heightened and I lick his chest. “I can’t wait to taste you.”

  His feet pound with purpose down the hall and his arousal presses into my hip. When we get to his room I say, “Put me on the bed please, and strip.”

  Derrick sets me down and I lick my lips. His nimble fingers unbutton his jeans and he lets them drop with a whoosh of denim. His defined chest tapers down to a narrow waist and hips, and I long to trace the muscles of his quads as they flex in movement when he pulls down his boxer briefs.

  I command, “Come here.”

  He steps forward and I place my hands on his hips. His skin is smooth and warm, and I take in the beauty of his cock. Thick and long, it almost begs for my mouth. Gripping his length with my hand, I stroke and lick the head, teasing him before taking it in.

  The primal growl from Derrick sends blood rushing to my core and I suck while he rocks in and out of me. Bringing him almost to the point of no return, he pulls away, panting. His husky voice says, “Your turn.”

  Strong hands yank my long underwear and panties off my hips before I can fully lift up off the bed. I scramble back as excitement courses through my veins. He crawls after me and grabs at my shirt. I reach to unclasp my bra and barely get it off before he’s reaching for that too.

  My body quakes, knowing what he’s after, and I settle my head back and sink into the pillow as he lifts my thighs over his shoulders. One quick swipe with his tongue makes me cry out.

  I thread my fingers through his hair and hold his head while he makes me writhe under his mouth. When I’m almost there he stops and lazily kisses his way toward my face.

  “Derrick, please. This is torture.”

  “But, Gretchen, sex with you should never be without a kiss.”

  I am about to beg, but he squelches it with his lips. We taste each other as we nibble and our tongues entwine. I break away and say, “Fuck me now.”

  Sheathed within seconds, he enters quickly making me gasp, but after a few hard thrusts he slows down, and we move in a rhythm that has become ours. A mix of hard and soft, rough and tender, we’ve discovered how to feel it all.

  Completely sated and sleepy, we lay entwined in each other. Derrick says, “You never answered my question.”

  “Yes. Yes, I’ll live with you.”

  Kissing my neck lightly he whispers in my ear. “You’re my forever, Gretchen.”

  Emotion tightens my throat, and I whisper back. “You’re my everything.”

  <<<<>>>>

  Not just another pretty face… Read Dannika’s story.

  FIERCE

  The Boys of Winter

  See Fierce at:

  Amazon

  About Violet Vaughn

  Violet Vaughn writes New Adult Romance in her home in New Hampshire. She lives with her husband, two teenagers and three Portuguese Water Dogs. An avid skier she taught skiing and snowboarding before she started her family and now skies every winter weekend for enjoyment. Summers are full of hiking and running with her dogs.

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  Table of Contents

  Their Second Chance by Milly Taiden

  Forever Sheltered by Deanna Roy

  Kiss of Memory by V. M. Black

  The Cowgirl Ropes A Billionaire by Cora Seton

  What a Girl Wants (Rock Stars in Disguise: Rhiannon) by Blair Babylon

  Beyond Love and Hate by Zoe York

  Ripped by Olivia Rigal

  Ready to Fall by Daisy Prescott

  My First, My Last by Lacey Silks

  Azure by Chrystalla Thoma

  Wicked Little Sins by Holly Hood

  The Royal Elite: Ahsan by Danielle Bourdon

  All for Hope by Olivia Hardin

  High Risk Love by S.J. Mayer

  Rush by Violet Vaughn

  First Taste by Mira Bailee

  The Perfect Someday by Beverly Preston

  St. Charles at Dusk by Sarah M. Cradit

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  FIRST TASTE

  by Mira Bailee

  FIRST TASTE

  by Mira Bailee

  FIRST TASTE © Mira Bailee 2014

  The Lust List - Take Your Pick

  They're the world's sexiest bachelors. The men of ScandalLust mag's infamous Lust List are young, wealthy, and, oh, did we mention? HOT.

  When scandal follows them everywhere, there’s no hiding from the cameras. They're irresistible, insatiable—and talented in all the right ways. Every woman wants them. But these playboys won't be easy to catch...

  Olivia Margot didn’t struggle through college just to serve Hollywood’s elite. But student loans won’t pay themselves, and a gorgeous Stone brother just insisted she cater an event at his family’s mansion.

  Devon Stone—sexy, black sheep of Stone Record Label fame—has always been a mischievous tabloid favorite. Now that he’s on The Lust List, it’s that much harder to keep out of trouble.

  And that’s exactly what he is: Trouble. Olivia’s always been a good girl. And this bad boy is more risk than she can handle.

  The responsible Olivia would keep her head down and do her job. But there’s something about Devon—and the intensifying electricity between them—that makes Olivia completely forget who she is.

  CHAPTER ONE

  I start the morning on a promising note—a full-blown panic attack with a side of desperation.

  “Maddie!”

  I rush across the living room to the other bedroom in our little apartment. This old place was the best we could afford on our measly incomes in this part of Los Angeles, but we’ve done our best to spruce it up: scrubbed mildew from the floorboards, strategically placed rugs over the worst of the carpet stains, and I even dedicated my unemployed free time to DIY projects I found online to decorate the bland, beige walls. I’m certain this place is the nicest unit in the building. I mean, Mr. Harrison downstairs has been bitching for months about a two-foot hole in his bathroom wall. Never mind the fact he doesn’t want to admit he caused the damage after the Kings lost in overtime. Yeah, this place isn’t that
bad.

  But who cares about the state of our apartment when my heart is threatening to escape through my ribs…and my breakfast is threatening to escape through my throat?

  Deep breaths.

  The jittery feeling persists while I knock on my roommate, Maddie’s, door. It swings open with the lightest touch. Her room is dark, and I can hear soft snores coming from the bed.

  “Maddie. Wake up. I need you,” I say, shaking her foot that hangs out from under the cover.

  She groans and rolls over, croaking out an unintelligible slur of words. “It’s too early, Olivia. Get the hell out.”

  My hand goes to my belly, trying to soothe the nauseous feeling. “It’s almost noon,” I say, tripping over a bag as I walk to the window and pull aside the thick blackout curtains. Harsh sunlight bursts through the thin glass; one of the panes is cracked. Maddie’s room illuminates to show off the details that reflect her personality. Dirty laundry strewn about the floor and fast food containers on every surface compete with the intricate silk scarves she has draped over lamps and the string of white Christmas lights woven around the curly iron of her headboard. Maddie is Bohemian-chic meets messy-frat-boy.

  In her defense, she does work long hours late into the night bartending at Brecken’s Sports Pub. She brings home enough money to help the charity case that is yours truly, covering the rent while I continue my unsuccessful hunt for a job. I’m eternally grateful for her, and I swear I leave her alone most mornings. But today’s an important one, and I need Maddie’s help.

  She’s sitting up, assembling her wavy blond hair in a knot on top of her head. Aside from the wreck she resembles when she first wakes up, Maddie is hot—like some perfect combination of classy Academy Award winner and a golden-haired Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, both of which she’d die to be.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks.

  “I need you to help me get dressed.”

  “Seriously?” She flops back down in bed.

  Okay, yes. That sounds pathetic. I’ll admit it. But my grandmother has better style than I do, and my closet’s filled with clothes that are either worn out from over-washing or two sizes too small. Since my broke ass can’t do anything to change what’s in there, I have to rely on Maddie—and her talent for making me into a better version of myself—to get me looking like the ideal candidate for Platinum Planning’s newest assistant to the head event planner himself, Mr. Greg Keenly. If I land this job, I’ll finally make enough money to take care of myself and pay Maddie back for everything she’s done for me.

  “Please. I’m going to end up late if I don’t figure this out now, and all I have are ill-fitting, ugly-ass adult clothes.”

  “You are an adult.”

  “Sure. But I’m twenty-two, and nothing I own looks like it came from the twenty-first century. I need to look good—better than good.”

  Maddie stumbles out of bed and follows me back to my room. She takes one glance at the outfits laying on my bed—a faded, blue pantsuit and a dress that would better fit a twelve-year-old. Her burst of laughter confirms I need help, and I’m not even offended.

  “I told you.”

  “What’s it for? Is it a date? Oh, please tell me it’s a date. You so desperately need to get laid. You—”

  “It’s a job interview.”

  Maddie’s shoulders drop, losing some of her temporary excitement. Of course she would be more worried about me dating than working. My last boyfriend, Bryce, and I broke up over a year ago, and I haven’t bothered looking for anyone new. It’s too stressful. Dating, the expectations, the whole act of coming across like perfect girlfriend material. More often than not, it just makes me sick. Literally. Being single has its perks. Sure, I’m missing out on potentially decent sex—a momentary relief from my own neurotic nuances, quiet time for my constantly worrying mind. But along with the sex comes the overanalyzing and suspicions and the arguments caused by both. In the end, the guy gets sick of it fast, and I can’t blame him. It’s much easier to remain single.

  Maddie leaves the room only to return a minute later carrying a black dress. She holds it out for me, but I’m skeptical.

  “Does that really convey professional—”

  “You’ll be hot. But not slutty. Put it on.” She thrusts it out again, and I take it.

  I go to our shared bathroom to change, doing a double take when I see my reflection in the mirror.

  “Damn.” I can admit this dress gives the right impression. My dark hair frames my face before cascading over my shoulders, detracting from the obvious cleavage this dress gives me. It’s formfitting and low-cut but in a way that says ‘professional businesswoman’ and not ‘amateur stripper’. I may even be able to play off confidence if I can get control over the nervous ache in my stomach.

  In my room, Maddie is half asleep on my bed. My little square of home is much cleaner than hers but holds little personality. She lifts a hand to point at the side table that holds a simple, white lamp and my charging cell phone. “It was buzzing. I turned it off.”

  “That means it’s time to go.” I slip into black flats—no way do I want to deal with heels when I’m feeling all shaky. I’m reaching for my phone when I see Maddie glaring at me. “What?”

  “You set an alarm to tell you when to leave?”

  “And when to wake up. When to get ready. And a half dozen others to keep me on time today.” I grab my purse, unplug my phone, and pull up the map with the directions already routed out. “You shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “I just thought you were working on being less...obsessed with order. Didn’t Dr. Shannon—”

  “I’ve gotten better.” My therapist has been working on helping me let go of minor control issues in an effort to help me deal with some of the bigger ones. Lately, we’ve been working on time and my tendency to have everything planned out by the minute. My handy alarms keep me on track, but she says they make me too dependent on outside forces. Days when I’m not busy, I do okay leaving my comfort zone—turning off the alarms and ignoring the clocks—but anticipating today triggered the panic, so I had to give in. Just today. “I see her later. I’ll let her know I’ve been bad.”

  Maddie sighs, “You’re going to be great. Whatever the job is.”

  “Thank you.” I rush over to give her a hug, knowing I need to be in my car in the next thirty seconds. “And thank you for this.” I gesture at my dress. “Love you, best friend.”

  I leave the room as she rolls over in my bed, and I suspect she’s not going to bother going back to her own.

  Twenty minutes later, when I should be pulling up to the Platinum Planning office, I’m, instead, parked at the security gate of some ritzy housing complex. The guard approaches my window, and I’m not sure what to do next.

  “Olivia Margot,” I say. “I’m here for an interview at 214 N. Holloway Court.”

  This guy is inspecting me up and down, a smug grin forming on his face. He’s huge—I’m talking Incredible Hulk’s nephew huge. He’d tower about two feet over my five-two frame, and I imagine he has to be cautious when hugging his loved ones so as not to accidentally strangle them. His tan skin glistens from a layer of sweat, yet the heat doesn’t seem to faze him as he leans down by my window. I shrink into my seat.

  “You must be here to see the old man then. He’s clearly got a type with you women...”

  He’s not so subtle as he glances at my chest, and I suddenly remember the low cut dress. Wait. What? Does he think I’m here as a hooker or something? It’s midday...on a Monday. Who—?

  I fumble to defend myself. “No. I—uh—that’s not. I’m here for something else. A real interview. For a job.”

  His smile proves he doesn’t believe me, and he steps back from my car. “Have a good day, ma’am. Good luck with that job.”

  He presses a button inside the little, brick guard station, and the massive gate, adorned with a big letter ‘S’, swings open. I try to slow my pulse as I follow the only road that leads the way in.
Relax and pretend you’re going to the beach. Just focus on the scenery. The narrow road is lined with tall, meticulously pruned hedges, and beyond them, I can see the tops of palm trees and evergreens. There aren’t any houses or side roads or... This isn’t a neighborhood. It’s one person’s property.

  The road—driveway—curves up ahead, and as I get closer I see the scene open up before me. A vast, green lawn seems to appear out of nowhere, and the driveway transitions from gray concrete to a mosaic of bricks and stones. It forms a loop at the end, winding its way around a marble fountain, putting on a water show for no audience. In the distance, the ocean meets the horizon. There’s nothing but blue out there, but even that secluded chunk of the world—from the depths of the water straight up into the sky above—doesn’t seem to compare to the massive mansion standing before me.

  “Holy shit.”

  ***

  CHAPTER TWO

  I’d like to say I don’t end up driving three times around the fancy fountain, trying to figure out the appropriate place to park, but yeah, that’s me. I finally notice where the driveway extends to one side of the house, and I pull up behind the only other car I see. It’s a freshly waxed, black Lexus—a shiny onyx compared to the faded denim-color of my twenty-year-old Saturn. I get out of the car but can’t bring myself to take a step closer to the monstrous structure in front of me. Where am I? Whose house is this? Glancing at the screen of my phone, I have eight minutes to go. My nerves are still too unreliable to go inside early. I need to feel relaxed enough to know I won’t go in and vomit right in front of my interviewer.

  It’s quiet out here with the peaceful sounds of the Pacific Ocean coming from the frigging backyard. The soothing rhythm of the crashing waves draws me to it, and I walk around the back corner of the house to see what, I assume, is a spectacular sight.