by Michele Hauf
All That Glitters
Michele Hauf
Mona Risk
Dani Haviland
Leanne Banks
Jen Talty
Melinda De Ross
Susanne Matthews
Chill Out! Books
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Contents
All That Glitters
Boxset Description
Something Wild by Michele Hauf
A Dance For Prince Eric by Mona Risk
Diamonds Aren’t for Everyone by Dani Haviland
Billionaires Extraordinaire by Leanne Banks
Color Me Yours By Jen Talty
Celebrity by Melinda De Ross
Just for the Weekend by Susanne Matthews
Also by the Authors’ Billboard
All That Glitters
Boxset Description
Lifestyles of the rich, famous, royal, and glamorous! This brand new collection of seven contemporary romances includes three never before released stories from New York Times & USA Today Bestselling award winning authors.
A socialite fraternizing with her bodyguard, a kindergarten teacher dancing for a prince, sexy billionaires, cosplay mistaken identity, falling in love with a Hollywood heart throb.
Something Wild (new): Michele Hauf, USA Today bestselling author: A wild child socialite’s fantasies about her sexy bodyguard become reality, but will their affair compromise his ability to protect her?
A Dance For Prince Eric (new): Mona Risk, USA Today bestselling author: A ballerina with a promising career on the run for her brother’s sake. A charismatic prince who saved them both, but never speaks of commitment.
Diamonds Aren’t For Everyone (new): Dani Haviland, USA Today Bestselling author: Money, jewels, and good looks don’t mean anything to the lonely beauty who just wants a companion. Will she spurn him just because he does ‘have it all’?
Billionaire Extraordinaire: Leanne Banks, NYT & USA Today bestselling author: Billionaire Damien Medici plans to avenge his family by seducing privileged information from his new assistant Emma Weatherfield. But can he romance Emma without falling for her himself?
Color Me Yours (new): Jen Talty, USA Today Bestselling author: Hawk Jefferson never anticipated he’d fall in love, much less want to settle down and give his parents the grandchild they’ve always wanted. Only, getting Kennedy Monroe on board with that plan seems to be harder than anticipated.
Celebrity: Melinda De Ross, USA Today Bestselling author: The Journey of a young writer who trades her simple existence in Chicago for the glamorous Hollywood life, full of luxury and scandal.
Just For The Weekend: Susanne Matthews, Amazon Bestselling Author: When a Kindergarten teacher decides to play dress-up in Vegas, she gets far more than she bargained for.
Something Wild by Michele Hauf
1
Rebecca Wylde pushed back the white silk sheet and reached for her cell phone on the nightstand. She inhaled deeply. Ah… Black coffee and a cinnamon scone. The maid always tiptoed in around six-thirty and left her breakfast on a tray beside the bed.
Pulling the phone under the sheet with her, she checked her emails. Bills, spam, ads from department stores, nightclubs, and restaurants. One from her agent suggested she take acting classes to increase her chances of snagging a movie role.
“Not interested,” she muttered and deleted that one. The world did not need another celebrity heiress testing her acting chops on TV, be it reality or fiction.
A half-dozen emails from various girlfriends suggested a night out on the town at Silver. Mickey Taylor was in town shooting a music video and rumors said the nightclub on Washington Street was his favorite hangout.
“Possibility,” she said, sitting up and letting the sheet fall to her lap.
The breakfast tray sat within reach. She sipped the steaming coffee. “Yes! Gotta love it blacker than my father’s heart.”
Now that she’d had an infusion of caffeine, she checked her private email address that very few had access to. One note regarding this past weekend’s charity event thanked her profusely, and wondered when the next event could be held.
“Soon,” she typed in, and also included that she would be in touch within the week.
She could never get enough of the feel-good vibes such events infused into her soul. And she liked reciprocating those vibrations. It counterbalanced her wild child persona, and that was very necessary to her sanity.
Tossing the phone to the end of the bed, she stretched for the copy of Page Six the maid also always left for her. Sipping coffee, she unfolded the paper to reveal the headline—and let out a yelp when her surprise tilted the cup and spattered hot brew onto her leg.
A huge photo above the fold featured a woman dangling from a man’s arms as he carried her down the exit stairs of a private jet. She appeared passed out, probably from a wild and crazy bender.
That wasn’t just any woman. That was… “Oh, no, he didn’t!”
Clinton Hawk spooned sugar into his coffee, then stirred in a hefty measure of cream. And then, just because, he added another pour. He liked his brew pale and sweet.
Among other pale and sweet things, he thought to himself with a smile.
Although, the woman he had in mind was far from sweet. Pale as porcelain, yes. And with soft pink lips that never rivaled her luminescent blue eyes. But sweet? Perhaps closer to one of those sweet and tangy candies that lured you in with a sugary taste then turned sour so fast you were forced to spit it out.
He liked the challenge those goodies offered. Almost as much as he enjoyed her.
Smirking at his thoughts, he replaced the cream in the fridge, and wandered barefoot to the breakfast table. Clad in nothing but sweatpants following his forty-five-minute morning workout routine with free weights, he always accompanied his recovery protein bar with coffee. Candy was never on his list of healthy foods.
“Candy?”
He chuckled, because even when he wasn’t around her he thought of her. And that was so wrong. Because…really? He was always around her. That was his job. He was her bodyguard. On call twenty-four/seven, even on Sundays, his day off. Which he didn’t mind. The pay was excellent. And he was saving for a boat so he could leave everything behind and sail the world.
And—well, hell—standing behind Rebecca Wylde was a great place to be. At least, on those days when her sour wasn't in top form.
A sudden thud resounded from the penthouse above him. Hawk closed his eyes and smirked, shaking his head. The princess had risen. Surprising, though. Usually she was quiet as a mouse in the mornings. It took her a while to wake, to fully come to her senses before heading out into the world. But once out there? She was a force. One he sincerely hoped didn’t have a travel hangover this morning.
Thudding footsteps marked a path overhead, and he heard her front door slam. Thirty seconds later an angry knock battered his front door.
Hawk muttered as he padded over to answer. “Who spiked her coffee? I didn’t think it could get more high-octane—”
He opened the door, and Page Six was thrust before him. “What. The. Hell?” The angry voice h
idden behind the tabloid growled.
He was about to take the paper from her when he recognized the two people in the image. It filled the entire top half of the periodical and had been printed in brilliant color. It featured a dark-suited, sunglass-wearing man with close-shaved hair, carrying a woman clad in a skimpy dress down the steps of a private jet. The woman was passed out in his arms. Her blonde hair dangled to near the tarmac, her arms flung out recklessly, and one fancy, red-soled shoe barely clung to her toe.
The headline read: Wild Child’s Rough Night.
Christ. He’d thought the coast clear last night when he’d lifted her not-drunk-but-thoroughly-exhausted body from the cushy airplane sofa to carry out to the waiting limo. He’d scanned the tarmac for signs of paparazzi, as he always did whenever she went out in public. He could spot a sniper hidden in an African jungle at three hundred paces. How had he missed the lone photographer who had clearly been close enough to snap this incriminating shot?
“Well?” Miss Wylde snatched the paper away from him. That was the first glimpse he got of her, and Hawk couldn’t help but suck in an appreciative breath.
Though she often wore five-inch heels to compensate for her tiny frame and stature, the woman was a force that defied any boundaries of size or fashion statement. And while he’d had occasion to see her flitting about the penthouse in lingerie, usually in the mornings she also donned a robe and her hair was wet from the shower, and—well, he’d cautioned himself from looking at her overlong on those occasions. It was always wise to hide a hard-on from a socialite who thrived on the tease.
Barefoot, the top of her head only rose to his chin. She wore a flimsy white sheath that was almost see-through. Her nipples pushed bold peaks into the fabric, and his eyes focused directly there, not bothering with the tangle of ice-blonde hair that spilled over one blue eye and swept across a bare shoulder.
“What the—?” She snapped her fingers at him.
Hawk abruptly adjusted his gaze to her face. At sight of her open mouth and wide eyes, he cautioned himself against kissing her silly. He was not one of her lovers. Nor even a hook up. He was her employee. And he’d best start acting like one.
“Hawk! How could you let this happen?” She stomped into his apartment. It was difficult to keep his gaze from veering to the sensuous glide of silk over her tight ass. “I was not partying last night!”
He knew that. She’d just returned home from a dash across the country for an event in San Francisco, with a quick stopover in Washington DC. She hadn’t slept for nearly forty-eight hours straight, and during the leg from DC to JFK, she’d dropped like a horse. Snored even. Poor woman hadn’t even stirred when he lifted her to carry her out to the limo.
Yet after a year of working for Miss Wylde, he’d learned not to fall for her tantrums.
“Isn’t that photo just another feather in your wild child cap?” he asked. “More publicity for the wild and crazy heiress?”
“No! You know I like to keep everything I do with JUSTGIVE private.”
Why, he couldn’t understand. But he certainly respected her for that discretion. The woman gave so much to charity, she'd fallen off Forbes' list of billionaires last year. Crazy, but true.
“I’m sorry,” he offered sincerely. “I thought the coast was clear. I didn’t see any paparazzi when I carried you out of the plane.”
“You were wearing those stupid sunglasses.”
“I—” He had been. But they were not stupid. She always teased him for wearing them at night. What she didn’t know was that the lenses adjusted in the darkness, allowing him clear vision. And he never liked to show his cards. Meaning, if he was looking at you, he didn’t want you to know. “I had my hands full, as you can see in that picture.”
“Oh! The trusted bodyguard had his hands full? He was too busy trying to look cool wearing his sunglasses at night, and didn’t notice we were going to end up on Page Six. I can’t believe this. You are incompetent!”
Like he hadn’t heard that one before.
Miss Wylde had a way of dashing from calm to outraged in a blink. Her outbursts never lasted long and they were generally all hot air, so he suffered them. Because he enjoyed her rages. Fury pinkened her pale cheeks and was generally accompanied by her pacing back and forth, waving her arms dramatically as if a pissed-off pixy.
“And you are spoiled,” he countered, another usual comeback. Their arguments were so common that he suspected she thrived on the interaction. He certainly did. Yet arguing was a poor replacement for what he really desired from her.
She flung out her arms in grand disgust. “How dare you?”
He crossed his arms and watched her pace. It was rare that she came down to his apartment. Last time, she had been in a rage as well. Something about him stepping before her while the paparazzi had been trying to get her picture. And at the time she’d wanted the attention to show off some designer dress or shoe that he could care less about.
“I sign your paycheck,” she blurted. “I rely on your protection, Hawk. And I am not spoiled!”
A billion-plus inheritance certainly did lend to spoiled in his book, but he would never place the label to her, knowing what she had really been doing this weekend.
“You are,” he insisted for argument’s sake. “And you’ll get over this scandal and move on to the next. It’s what you do, Miss Wylde.”
“It’s what you do, Miss Wylde,” she mocked with a fling of the offending newspaper to the kitchen table.
Hawk lunged but was too late to prevent the spilled coffee as the paper slammed against the cup.
“You put too damn much cream in your coffee,” she noted angrily.
“And your hell brew makes you edgy in the mornings.”
“Are you going to apologize?” She fitted a tiny fist at each hip and fixed him with the impertinent glare she’d mastered—likely on him.
“For netting the wild child yet more publicity? No.” And also, because giving in to the fight was not his style.
Of course, eventually he would concede. Because she always won. And that’s the way it was supposed to go. Or else his paycheck would cease to exist. Bye, bye, sailing around the world.
“You’re selfish,” she flung at him.
That was a new one. How selfish could a man be, when he was on call for a woman’s every whim? And it wasn’t as though his calls to duty engaged him in anything fun, interesting, or even remotely erotic. Following Miss Wylde found him either stuck in the passenger seat of a limo, sipping coffee in a diner across the street from a fancy event, or walking four paces behind her gorgeous ass. Damn, but that silky fabric conformed to her curvy little behind.
Ah hell, his gaze was wandering again.
The sour bit of curves and sass was trying to get a rise out of him. He was always there for her. Always. And after long hours of thankless service it was high time she acknowledged that.
“You know I’m not selfish,” he said. “I do everything for you, Miss Wylde.”
She scoffed. “Is my hero radar broken? Because I’m not seeing one anywhere near me right now. You let me take the fall last night, Hawk. You should have woken me.”
“How was that going to help things? I wanted you to rest. You were exhausted. And don’t call me a hero. I’m anything but.”
“I didn’t call you a hero. I indicated that one was sadly missing from the situation.”
Now that one hurt. Because there had been a time when he’d needed to be a hero and had been too young and frightened to accomplish it. Miss Wylde’s accusation stirred up the horrible memory. His service in the military hadn’t quenched his desire for revenge—to just pull the trigger—either. Could he ever atone for that awful night when the gun hadn’t been close enough?
Hawk exhaled, and just when he felt the obligatory apology forming on his tongue, his brain kicked that idiot response aside and moved him to take two steps forward.
Miss Wylde peered up at him, pixy-blue eyes narrowing. He sensed another
rant bubbling up within her. So, he did something that had been a long time coming, yet could be the most dangerous move he’d make. Could probably get him fired on the spot.
He gripped her by the shoulders and planted a kiss on her protesting lips.
2
The shirtless bodyguard was kissing her. The man who had followed her for the past year like a well-armed puppydog was now swapping spit with her. And…she liked it.
And she didn’t. Who did he think he was to steal a kiss like this? A hot, firm, devastatingly sexy kiss. A kiss that climbed inside her and tingled all through her being. A kiss that made her want to bend a knee and lift one foot behind her. Seriously. This one tipped the scales of unexpected kisses.
And because of that scale-climbing score, Becca didn’t immediately push him away. Even though all the wrong bells clanged in her head, she had never been a girl who gave in to society’s expectations of her. Or her own. Because, really, she expected very little of herself. Easier not to get disappointed that way.
Wait. Where was she? Right. In the middle of a nipple-tightening kiss from a man she had often dreamed about kissing, but then had always dismissed that fantasy as foolish because he worked for her. And yes, he was sexy and had all the right muscles in all the right places—and oh, did his pecs feel good pressed against her chest—but again, the dude worked for her.
But who really gave a crap about workplace ethics? Not her. Not right now anyway.
