"Warning: You will need tissues and clean panties. Several pairs. This book blew me away." - NYTimes/USA Today Internationally Best Selling Author, Emma Hart
Stalking and restraining orders are a thing of Alayna Wither’s past. With her MBA newly in hand, she has her future figured out—move up at the nightclub she works at and stay away from any guy who might trigger her obsessive love disorder. A perfect plan. But what Alayna didn’t figure on is Hudson Pierce, the new owner of the nightclub. He’s smart, rich, and gorgeous—the kind of guy Alayna knows to stay away from if she wants to keep her past tendencies in check. Except, Hudson’s fixed his sights on her. He wants her in his bed and makes no secret of it. Avoiding him isn’t an option after he offers a business proposition she can’t turn down and she’s drawn further into his universe, unable to resist his gravitational pull. When she learns Hudson has a dark history of his own, she realizes too late that she’s fallen for the worst man she could possibly get involved with. Or maybe their less than ideal pasts give them an opportunity to heal each other and finally find the love their lives have been missing.
ExcerptUnable to go another minute with the loneliness that had settled in my chest, honesty won over. “I want you,” I whispered, my face pressed against the glass, too embarrassed to look at him.“Alayna?” I felt his eyes on me.“I know what I said.” I wiped my eyes, determined to keep the rest of my tears in my eyes. “But maybe I was wrong. I mean, I don’t know if you’re right—if spending time with you can make me better. But I know that since we’ve been apart, I’ve been worse.” Taking a ragged breath, I braved a look at him. “I miss you.” A nervous giggle escaped from my throat. “Told you I get attached.”A trace of a smile crossed his lips. “Where do you think I’m taking you?”I glanced out the window, having not been paying attention to our destination. Lincoln. Headed East. We were blocks away from Pierce Industries. The loft.I straightened, a blush crawling on my cheeks. “Oh,” I said, the lonely ache inside burning away with the spark of desire. Then irritation took over. “I told you no more sex, and you were taking me to the loft without asking?”“Alayna,” he sighed with frustration. “You are a bundle of mixed signals. At the symphony you seemed to indicate—““And you totally blew me off,” I interrupted. “Don’t talk to me about mixed signals!”He put his hand on my knee. “I was trying to avoid mixing business with pleasure. A difficult task with you, precious.” His voice grew low. “Especially with your wandering hands and how hot you look in that dress.”I blinked. “Oh,” I said again. How did he do that? How did he compartmentalize, dividing the pretend from the real, never the two to cross while I tied myself up in knots?“If you want me to ask, I will, though you know it’s not my style.” He took my silent stare as a “yes” even though it was simply me processing. “May I take you to my bed, Alayna?”His request came out in a rumble that had my passion buttons going off like fireworks. “Yes,” I half moaned as he pulled up to a red light.
About the Author
Laurelin Paige is a sucker for a good romance and gets giddy anytime there’s kissing, much to the embarrassment of her three daughters. Her husband doesn’t seem to complain, however. When she isn’t reading or writing sexy stories, she’s probably singing, watching Mad Men and the Walking Dead, or dreaming of Adam Levine. She is represented by Bob Diforio of D4EO Literary Agency.