When his head pops up and it registers that it's me who's entered the office, some sort of fleeting emotion passes over his face, and then his demeanor returns to normal. Hard.
"You're late."
"You fired Ray?"
"My business."
"Can I ask why you fired him? We didn't need him before, but now that you all have these new Miami clients, you're going to be stuck doing all the shit work around here and still have to deal with Miami."
"Correction, you're going to have to do the shit work."
"What!?"
"You are now the night manager of The Lotus."
"Oh, hell no. That's not in my job description."
"You don't have a job description. You do whatever the hell we tell you to do."
I suck my teeth.
"That means I'd have to be here almost every day and night of the week, Camden."
"I know what the job entails."
"Roman will never go for that."
"Roman is working the Miami clients, planning a wedding, and having a baby. He doesn't have time to deal with the shit at The Lotus. Someone needs to handle it."
"So you do it!"
"I have a lot to do for the Miami clients too, and Cutter is handling Mendez on his own. Neither of us has the time to order olives and lemons for the bar or balance the books."
"Why did you fire Ray?" I challenge.
"We didn't need him."
I stare him square in the jaw. I locate a spot on his square jaw that I'd like to punch the hell out of, but I digress.
"Why did you fire Ray, creeper?"
"Why are you calling me names, midget."
"That's politically incorrect, asshole, and not even accurate. I'm short, but not that short. And you are most definitely a creeper. That's just factual."
"I should make you get on your knees right now."
Nasty.
"Shut up."
"You've done it before."
"Stop talking to me like that."
"Like what?"
"A whore!"
Camden stops talking for a moment and quietly stares at me in the careful and confident way that he always does. The look that sends shivers down my spine when no one is looking.
"I fired him, because he was in my way."
"How."
He glares at me angrily.
"You fucked him."
Something inside of me feels jittery.
"So."
"So, I didn't want to look at his fucking face anymore."
I look down at the floor, but I'm smiling. I don't want to feel this way, but I do. He's jealous, and I like it. A man lost his livelihood because Camden was jealous. What the hell. If I don't watch it, I'm going to turn into one of those girls I hate.
"I want thirty days," he says to me.
"What do you mean?"
"Work the manager job for thirty days. If you want to quit after that, you can."
"And what about my work for Roman?"
"I'll talk to him."
"So all I'll be doing is handling the club."
"That's right."
"I don't know if I'll like that."
"That's the point. I don't think you have any idea what you truly like or want, Jade."
His words are loaded with double meaning. And we watch each other closely and quietly, as we size each other up.
"I know what you're doing," I say. "But you forget that I know you well. I know how this will end."
"You have no inkling how this is going to end, because it hasn't really begun yet."
I can't believe I'm actually considering doing this, because I know what he's doing. I know that he imagines if he pins me down for a bit of time, that it'll be easy for him to get in my head. Easy for us to fuck like bunnies during this so-called thirty day trial period.
Hasn't he learned his lesson yet? I guess not. But I tell you what, he's about to learn a very long but simple thirty-day lesson … Jade Barlow is anything but easy.
NEXT UP: Jade & Camden's Story!
SUMMER 2016
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http://LisaLangBlakeney.com/VIP
BONUS SCENE
Sloan & Cutter At The Gala
Author's Note: This is a scene from the Autism Gala that didn't make the book, but one which I thought was fun between Sloan and Cutter. I thought you'd enjoy it :)
"Here to catch an investment banker tonight, Ms. Pearson?"
"Very witty," I say with sarcasm to the dressed up caveman seated next to me.
He grins like he thinks that I'm actually amused by his degrading question, even though it's closer to the truth than I would like to admit.
"Me see that you found suit," I retort in the manner that Jane would speak to Tarzan.
Then he lets out a deep belly laugh that garners us a few glances from the other guests at our table.
"Let's dance, Princess."
Ick! I hate that overused, unimaginative term of endearment.
"If you're going to address me, please use my name. It seems like you and your friend have a problem with calling people by their God given names. Is that how they do things in your 'hood. Everyone gets a ridiculous nickname."
"You were much nicer when we first met. Why can't you be that girl again?"
"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response. Now go away before people think we're here together. As if."
I motion for him to shoo with the back of my hand.
"Scoot. Shoo!"
The asshole laughs even harder.
I swear I don't know what on earth I'm doing to encourage this guy. I sat on his lap for ten seconds when we first met at The Lotus, and he's been giving me googly eyes ever since. Why am I not inspiring this type of adoration from the gazillion other men whom I've met over the last few weeks?
"Fine," I say in frustration. "I'll move then."
As I motion to stand up, Cutter King grabs me around my waist with clear purpose. His eyes dancing. His grip strong. And he pulls me in toward his very large pecs. Then he stands up slowly. Making sure to slide his chest against my breasts as he rises to his full height.
He's tall. Really tall.
Muscular. Massive.
Brick hard and built like a caveman.
Strong enough to bash the head in of any intruder. Fast enough to catch any prey. And I'm not going to lie, big enough in all the right places to give me the fuck of a lifetime.
"Save that dance for me, Princess."
Now I understand. This is why Bitsy wears panties, and me going commando was a bad idea.
What the hell is going to soak up all the wetness that the bass in his voice just produced between my legs?
"I need to excuse myself please."
And all I hear is Cutter King's arrogant, rumbling laughter echoing behind me, as I hightail it from the table to find the nearest ladies room.
NOTE FROM LISA
Thank you soooo much for reading Cousins In Love. When I first came up with the idea for Cousins, it was only suppose to be a duet (a two book series). It was my first novel, and I wasn't sure that I could handle writing a longer series.
Well things have just organically evolved, and Cousins is growing into a longer series. Readers wanted to know more about Roman and Elizabeth as well as what would happen with The King brothers, Sloan and Jade. So I will be writing about them, as well as developing a new series. Thank you for all encourage and support!
Also, your feedback is critical to my writing process. So please write me at [email protected] or visit me on Facebook at http://Facebook.com/authorlisalangblakeney and tell me your thoughts. I love to hear from readers:)
Finally, I need a favor. If you have enjoyed the Cousins series, I humbly ask that you please leave a review for any or all of my books on Amazon and recommend the series to your friends. This really helps me as an author, as those ratings are so very important to us independent authors and allows other readers to find our bo
oks. Here's a link to my Amazon page: http://amzn.to/1YsCTKS
WHERE YOU CAN FIND ME
1. I have a VIP Readers Group which is my mailing list. I only send free books, new release, or special giveaway information to this group. No spam. You can join here: http://LisaLangBlakeney.com/VIP .
2. I also have two Facebook groups. The first is my private Readers Group also known as my "Ninjas" a.k.a. "Alpha Romance Warriors" where I share all things new going on, teasers, yummy pics, and just chit chat. It's a closed group for ages 18+ and over, and what we post won't show on your public feed: https://www.facebook.com/groups/romanceninjas/
3. The other Facebook group is my street team also known as my "Street Ninjas". If you like my books and want to help me promote, then feel free to apply. You need to fill out a short application here first in order to be added to the team:
http://lisalangblakeney.com/street-team/
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
When I met my husband Deric at 18 years old, I told him I wanted to be an author. Then life got in the way, but now I am. I want to thank him for all his pushing, prodding and support during this quite extended period of growth! He's the best alpha a girl could have! Thank you to my wonderful daughters, my extended family members (Yes, my mother-in-law reads my books!), and my personal group of cheerleaders and champions: Tracy, Vicki, Erica, Robin, Kelly, Donna, Stacey, Kelly J. & Trina.
Thank you to my ever patient editor & fellow NYU alumnus: Marla Esposito. Thanks for working with my inability to stick to my own deadlines:) Thank you to my author mentors: Liv Morris & Jordan Silver.
A BIG thank you to all my Ninja Alpha Romance Warriors and my bomb ass Street Ninjas. You ladies are amazeballs! You've injected enthusiasm in many a difficult writing day for me and support me all day, everyday. I'm humbled. I'm honored. I appreciate it so very much. Special shout out to my super ninjas who lead the charge: Johnnie-Marie Howard, Kathryn Dunaway, Lainey De Silva, Leann Frantz & Devine Warnes.
Shout out to all of the fantastic bloggers who support indie authors everyday. None of you have ever said no to anything I've asked, and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside that women are out here supporting each other in such a major way. Special thanks to: Deb Carroll of "The Club" & Crystal Grizzard Burnette of "BBB Romance Book Pimps". You ladies rock and have supported me in a big way that I sincerely and deeply appreciate.
Finally, I want to thank every single reader who has taken a chance on the Cousins Series. I appreciate that you could have spent your money elsewhere. On a more established author. Or something at Target:) But you invested in me and that means so very much.
Gratitude,
Lisa
Note: Please enjoy this complimentary excerpt of Eve Montelibano's latest book G.I. BABY.
G.I. BABY
by EVE MONTELIBANO
LIVE! @ AMAZON
CHAPTER 1
HE NEEDED TO FUCK.
Sleep.
Eat.
In that order.
Once his feet landed on US soil, his dick no longer welcomed the idea of his trusty ol’ hand bringing him release.
He’d been gone a year on a tour of duty in the Middle East, and he had no means of sexual outlet but through his hands and old porn clips saved on his phone. Those clips got old a long time ago.
Pussy.
His cock wanted pussy. A soft, warm cocoon of female flesh wrapped around his length as he pounded away to nothingness. A tight, wet tunnel of paradise sucking him in deeper, milking him of a year’s worth of accumulated blood lust, expelling everything out, out, out!
Out of his battered system.
He needed this release badly to be able to function well in his next tour.
He dropped his duffel bag on the granite floor.
He scanned the vastness of his very modern apartment situated in one of the posh addresses in Miami.
His instincts, sharpened by years of dwelling in dangerous territories immediately noticed something that wasn’t there before he left for his tour months ago. The place smelled different.
Pine wood.
And—
What the hell…?!
A tall vase full of fresh flowers stood at the counter top bisecting the dining area and the state of the art kitchen. It was the only soft spot in the middle of the stark austerity of the apartment’s interior.
Stark.
Austere.
Rigid.
Empty.
That was him.
Whatever was left inside him were the last threads of hope holding his sanity together. Little threads desperately trying to mend his wounds that would never heal.
Aside from the damn daisies and the pine wood scent, everything in his apartment was exactly the way he’d left it. He liked his personal space to be in perfect order. Any sign of disarray would trigger some shit in his head, driving him back to his natural habitat— the desert.
The hostile deserts of the Middle East to be exact.
The housekeeper Bella had hired to keep this place clean did a great job. Except for the damn flowers. He hated flowers. They reminded him of goodness. Of innocence. Of peace and tranquility. Of life.
A sub-human like him didn’t deserve to see or smell flowers anymore. Too hard on his almost non-existent soul.
His apartment was huge. He blew seven million dollars on it, a small percentage from his trust fund which came into his control when he turned twenty-one. That was forever ago. He was thirty-three now, going on eighty.
He felt ancient. Beat to the bone.
War could do that. Wear you down to your barest minimum.
America was always a strange place to come back to after spending months in that desolate place reeking of gunpowder and decimated populace. He would have withdrawal syndrome every time, unused to the calm and quiet. Peace was no longer a comfort zone. His comfort zone was inside his fighter plane flying over the endless, barren sand dunes breathing with insurgents ravenous for his blood, and he was equally hungry for theirs.
He wondered why they weren’t able to shoot him down yet. He’d been waiting for it for almost a decade now. That one shot that would blow him back to the time when he was but a dream in some woman’s love struck heart. He would disintegrate up there in the sky and he would fall down to the ground in tiny little pieces.
Maybe into the sea. Best into the sea.
Then he would be free.
Free to be himself again.
He cringed at his thoughts. That scent was making him feel like a fucking yellow-ass pansy.
He was last seen roaming the skies of Syria. His last tour had been eventful, to say the least. He couldn’t complain of the action. He couldn’t wait to get back into the thick of it.
Since the middle of last year, the US Air Force had been busy trying to destroy the ISIL stronghold in Raqqa. But not even 3,000 air strikes from the combined fire power of the coalition forces of the US, Jordan, Bahrain, Qatar, Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates could completely decimate the ISIL stronghold in Syria. They’d even expanded their territory a few months ago, taking the city of Mosul in Northern Iraq and made it their second headquarters. Mosul had not been recovered yet.
He removed his battered leather jacket and black shirt, then his boots. He padded barefoot and topless to the kitchen and opened the ref. It was stocked with his favorite beer as he had instructed Bella to do. Liquor was a rare indulgence for pilots, but during vacation, spirits were purging agents, like sex. They helped dull whatever was hurting inside of him.
Bella was the executrix of his business affairs while he was on tour. His money was being managed by a reputed investment company. Everything had been set up by his old man before he died, the only indication that the old fart loved him, after all. But Lewis could have done better. He would have appreciated it better if his father had attended his baseball games when he was a kid. But Lewis loved spending more time with the stock market than with his only child.
His eyes went back to the fl
owers. They seemed to mock him, their natural beauty making the ugliness inside him worse.
He grabbed the vase and threw it in the trash.
He was here in the US to visit his half-sister, Bella, a successful fiction writer living with her husband and their two children in Fort Lauderdale. Bella’s husband ran a winery there. It was their pact that he should come see her and his twin nieces every tour break. Bella was terrified he would never come back every time he'd leave for some war-torn country.
Cousins In Love: An Alpha Bad Boy Romance (Book 3) Page 28
