by Celia Aaron
ACQUISITION: THE COMPLETE SERIES
Darkness lurks in the heart of the Louisiana elite, and only one will be able to rule them as Sovereign. Sinclair Vinemont will compete for the title, and has acquired Stella Rousseau for that very purpose. Breaking her is part of the game. Loving her is the most dangerous play of all.
*includes Sinclair, Counsellor, Magnate and Sovereign
Blackwood
I dig. It’s what I do. I’ll literally use a shovel to answer a question. Some answers, though, have been buried too deep for too long. But I’ll find those, too. And I know where to dig—the Blackwood Estate on the edge of the Mississippi Delta. Garrett Blackwood is the only thing standing between me and the truth. A broken man—one with desires that dance in the darkest part of my soul—he’s either my savior or my enemy. I’ll dig until I find all his secrets. Then I’ll run so he never finds mine. The only problem? He likes it when I run.
Dark Protector
From the moment I saw her through the window of her flower shop, something other than darkness took root inside me. Charlie shone like a beacon in a world that had long since lost any light. But she was never meant for me, a man that killed without remorse and collected bounties drenched in blood.
I thought staying away would keep her safe, would shield her from me. I was wrong. Danger followed in my wake like death at a slaughter house. I protected her from the threats that circled like black buzzards, kept her safe with kill after kill.
But everything comes with a price, especially second chances for a man like me.
Killing for her was easy. It was living for her that turned out to be the hard part.
Short Sexy Reads
The Hard & Dirty Holidays
A steamy series of holiday-inspired novellas that are sure to warm your heart and your bed.
A Stepbrother for Christmas
Bad Boy Valentine
Bad Boy Valentine Wedding
F*ck of the Irish
The Forced Series
These are just as filthy as they sound. Scorching stories of dubious consent, all with a satisfying twist.
Forced by the Kingpin
Forced by the Professor
Forced by the Hitmen
Forced by the Stepbrother
Forced by the Quarterback
The Sexy Dreadfuls
A series of erotica novellas starring Cash Remington. Not romance, but something hotter and a bit more risqué.
Cash Remington and the Missing Heiress
Cash Remington and the Rum Run
The Reaper’s Mate
This job. Boring is too colorful a word for it. I’ve been escorting humans to the afterlife for millennia. I’m over it. But when you’re the son of the two greatest reapers of all time, reaping is in your blood. My latest appointment is with one Annabelle Lyric, a twenty-eight year old New Orleans party planner. Snoozefest. But there is one bonus to this assignment: it’s Halloween night. In New Orleans. And she’s attending a posh party whilst unaware of her impending demise. I’ve been tasked with taking Annabelle’s soul right after the masked ball. The good news? I’ll fit right in with all the costumed partygoers. The bad news? That hits me when I realize Annabelle is much more than my next victim, she’s my fated mate.
Christmas Candy
A Christmas novella where everyone gets their just desserts.
Olive had a major crush on Hank in high school. She was the too-smart, slightly chubby girl who gawked as Hank ran track and made all the cheerleaders swoon. After high school, the two went their separate ways. Olive opened a yoga studio and swore off sweets while Hank traveled the world. No problem, right? At least there wasn’t a problem until Hank moved back to town and opened a candy shop across the street from Olive’s studio. Now, Olive will do everything she can to shut her old crush down. But Hank has other plans, and all of them end with an Olive sundae.
About the Author
Celia Aaron is a recovering attorney who loves romance and erotic fiction. Dark to light, angsty to funny, real to fantasy—if it’s hot and strikes her fancy, she writes it. Thanks for reading.
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The Bad Guy Bonus Chapter
Sebastian
Hal strode through the hotel, confident he was about to meet Mint’s mother for a little afternoon delight. I sat at the bar and watched him pass. Over the past few weeks, Camille had spent several minutes—seventeen in fact—of our alone time texting Mint and reassuring him that his home situation would get better and that he wasn’t alone.
My caring, amazing Camille. Of course she would do anything in her power to try and help the kid. But those stolen minutes they spent texting were mine. If I grumbled about it, Camille would just laugh and tell me I was the “cutest possessive psycho” she ever met. But I was much more than a psycho. I was a problem solver.
Timothy leaned against the wall near the elevator, a black messenger bag strapped around him. I gave him a nod, and he followed Hal into the carriage. That was my cue. I paid my tab and rose, smoothing my tie and striding toward the elevator bank. A few minutes later, I entered a cheap room on the second floor.
Hal, a black bag over his head and his hands zip-tied behind his back, sat on the bed. His large stomach pressed against the buttons of his dress shirt and gave him a decidedly Humpty Dumpty appearance.
Timothy dug in his bag and littered the bed with giant dildos, lube, and a delightful selection of anal beads. He pulled out Hal’s wallet and flipped his ID onto the bedspread, then took a few pics.
I checked my watch. An hour left before I had to be in Trenton to surprise Camille for lunch. Plenty of time to get my message across to Hal. I could have just fired him, but that wouldn’t have been a thorough solution to the problem. Hell, unemployment might make him cling even more tightly to Mint’s mother. This was the right plan. No nuance necessary.
Hal huffed, his breath coming out through his nose in rapid bursts. The tape over his mouth seemed to be doing its job. I slapped him in the back of the head and he squealed beneath the tape. This would be easy.
“Hal, I know everything about you—where you live, your net worth, your credit score, your family tree, the combination to the hidden safe in the floor beneath your bed, how many pieces of bread are in the half loaf in your pantry—eleven, by the way.”
He cocked his head, listening intently to every word.
I leaned close. “More importantly, I know you’re screwing your brother’s wife.”
He shook and made “mmf” noises beneath the tape.
“Don’t deny it, Hal.” I slapped him in the back of his head again, eliciting another pathetic squeal. “Nod if you admit you’re fucking your brother’s wife.”
He froze, then slowly nodded.
“That creates a problem in your life, her life, and the lives of people who have any connection to your lives. That includes my life.” I gripped the fabric of the black hood and twisted it in my fist. “I don’t like your mistakes interfering with my life. Not one bit, Hal.”
He groaned and tried to lean away from me.
I yanked him forward. “So we’re going to fix this right now. Sound good?”
He nodded against my grip.
“Good.” I let go and patted him on the head.
“You are going to stay away from your brother’s wife. You will tell her it’s over. And you will make sure it is. If you try to meet her, talk to her, tell you her you miss her, or so much as sneeze in her fucking direction, I’ll drag you right back here to have this conversation all over again.”
Timothy pressed the harmless back of a knife blade to Hal’s throat.
I walked to the door. “But next time, I’ll let
the knife do the talking.”
Hal shrieked beneath the tape, and his entire body shook.
“Oh, and if you mention this little interlude to anyone, photos of you will make the rounds amongst all your friends and business associates. Apparently, you’re into some seriously kinky kidnap fantasies, big black dildos, and anal play the likes of which is only to be found in the most adventurous of fetish circles.”
I gave Timothy a nod. He shoved Hal sideways on the bed and followed me to the door.
We returned to the front desk and slid over a wad of bills to the assistant concierge. She’d make sure any video of us on the property was never found, just in case Hal decided to do something stupid.
“What if he recognized your voice?” Timothy slid into the back of the waiting limo with me.
I smiled. “I hope he suspects me. When I see him at Lindstrom, I want him to be jumpy, worried, and—most of all—I want him to walk the straight and narrow. I think the fear of it being me will assist with all those things. He can’t prove it, but some part of him will know, and he’ll be afraid. Perfect.”
Timothy laughed. “Brilliant.”
After a while, he turned to me, a quizzical expression on his face. “But what if it doesn’t work?”
I smirked. “Have I ever told you the story about my neighbor’s pet rooster?”