Ultimate Alphas: Bad Boys and Good Lovers (The Naughty List Romance Bundles)

by Synthia St. Claire

  “Ready?” Eric asked.

  “Do I have a choice? Let’s do it,” I replied, giving my empty glass to a waiter and picking up another glass. I could get used to this.

  “Come with me,” Eric said as he navigated through the crowd, saying hello and giving hugs, until we reached the other end of the room and walked toward a group of men.

  “Which one is he?” I whispered to Eric

  “The tallest,” he said as we got to the group.

  He had not given me enough warning of who I was to entertain that evening because had I seen him a little earlier, I may have bolted and forfeited the money. My eyes went to the tallest of the four men, and my heart skipped a thousand beats. I wasn’t sure how to describe him as handsome wouldn’t do him justice. From the way his suit fit his body, he looked expensive, and I could tell that he took great care of himself. He seemed relaxed and comfortable with the group, but I noticed he wasn’t talking much; instead he seemed to be listening and nodding his head.

  As we got closer, he suddenly noticed us approaching, and I heard him say “Gentlemen, excuse me.”

  With a few long strides, he was next to us.

  “Mr. Brickstone . This is Ms. Sara Faye. She’ll be your hostess for tonight,” Eric said to the man whom I just noticed had the deepest brown eyes ever.

  Eric turned to me. “Ms. Sara, Mr. James Brickstone .” And with that he walked away from us, leaving me standing in front of one of the richest men in town.

  “Hello,” I said, extending my hand to him.

  “Kiss me,” his rich baritone said.

  “Huh?” I wasn’t sure I had heard him right. Who kisses someone the first second they meet them?

  “Kiss me right now and make it good.” His eyes threatened.

  “But how…”

  He cut me off and pulled me into his arms and placed his lips on mine. I started to resist and push him away, but I remembered my ten thousand dollars, and so I let him keep his mouth on mine, but I did not kiss him back. Even in my heels, I was about four inches shorter than him, so he was at least a few inches taller than six feet.

  Though I willed my body to block out the sensation of his kiss, I couldn’t help noticing that his lips felt warm and sweet. He had his hands wrapped around my waist. My hands were at my sides, but he was squeezing me in a tight hug and I was uncomfortable, so I reluctantly placed my hands on his shoulders, causing him to hold me even tighter and deepen his kiss. I started to feel a tingle all over my body as I realized that my body was betraying me to a man who hadn’t even said hello to me. My lips, which I had tightly closed, released of their own volition, letting him into me, and soon, I was kissing him back, slowly at first, and then faster to match his own pace. My hands roved from the top of his shoulders to his back, feeling the tightness of his muscles. I was pressed to his body, and I could feel the contours of his tight stomach within the expensive material of his suit. Then I felt his hands move lower to my back and rest on top of my hips. I knew I should have made him stop, but I was enjoying his touch too much to want him to stop. It’s not every day a bus-riding girl like me gets kissed by a man who could buy the entire bus line a million times over.

  “Emm,” someone cleared their throat behind me.

  I stopped kissing him, but he took his time to end the kiss, and when his lips finally left mine, he looked into my eyes and mouthed “thank you” to me before releasing the hold he had on me. Just one look into his eyes melted all the anger I had for being forced to kiss him, and instead, I was left thinking of how much I had enjoyed the feel of his mouth and how I should have participated more. I knew my lips would be scarlet red from the kiss and my cheeks would be fully flushed, but it would be rude of me not to turn around to see who was requiring our attention. He kept one hand on the curve of my hip and still held me close as we both faced an angry woman.

  “Hello, James,” a lady who was looked to be about the same age as me, but was far more sophisticated than I could ever be, said to him. Her hair and makeup were professionally done. She wore a red tight dress that had brought out curves I would die for. I could see a frown curving her lips.

  “Hello, Vera,” he said in a very odd voice that made me look at his face.

  I didn’t know this man yet, but I could tell that he was very angry and that Vera was not welcome in his presence. I knew instantly that something had gone bad between them.

  “You moved on fast,” she said, coming closer to him and placing a hand on his arm. Her fingers were well-manicured. He recoiled and pulled his hands away from her.

  “You as well,” he said, and at that point, I noticed a man standing beside her.

  She turned and introduced her partner. “Scott Well. Scott, darling, this is James Brickstone .”

  The man named Scott came over to us and extended his hand to James, who ignored him.

  “This is …” his voice trailed off.

  “Sara. A friend of James,” I said, taking the hand that Scott was still holding out and saving face. James didn’t even remember my name. How embarrassing.

  “Nice to meet you,” Scott said as he took my hand. I could tell he was grateful that I was relieving him from the awkwardness of the situation as well.

  “Hello, Vera,” I said, extending my hand to her, but she ignored me and got closer to James.

  “She must be your escort,” Vera whispered to James, but clearly so I could hear.

  James took hold of my extended hand and held me tight. “Let’s go, Sara,” he said, dragging me away from them and walking in long strides.

  I looked back to see that Vera’s eyes had darkened. She seemed even more upset. Scott, on the other hand, looked amused. “Nice to meet you,” I said to them as I hurried to keep up with James.

  When we got away from them, James slowed down and pulled two glasses of champagne from a waiter and handed one to me.

  “You handled that well,’ he said as he sipped on his drink.

  “What?”

  “Vera.”

  “Oh. So what was all that about? I mean, you don’t have to tell me.” I wanted to add that I did deserve to know, but honestly, I didn’t care as long as I got my money at the end of the night.

  After a moment of hesitation, he said, “She’s my ex-fiancée.”

  “Oh, I am so sorry,” I said, placing my hand on his hand and quickly withdrawing it.

  My lips were still burning from the kiss which he had claimed for the benefit of his ex-fiancée and meant exactly nothing to him. That was fine with me. I was still a paid employee, and I had a personal strict policy about fraternizing with the boss, although in this case, I had a feeling the lines were going to be blurry, but as long as the closeness did not go past kissing for show, I was fine. I looked at my watch and noted that I had barely spent fifteen minutes in his presence and still had many hours to go before my shift ended. I noticed that he had seen me looking at my watch.

  “How many more hours do I have with you?” he asked.

  “About five,” I said, my thoughts running wild on what he would want to do with his remaining time. He'd kissed me within the first few seconds we met, so I knew that a lot of damage could be done in five hours.

  He looked at his watch. “That’s enough time.”

  I was almost afraid to ask, but did. “Enough time for what?” I hoped my voice was steady enough and didn’t appear panicked.

  “For a little cruise on the inner harbor. Would you care to join me?”

  END BOOK ONE

  ***

  About the author:

  Author Zania Summers is a Washington D.C native who loves writing naughty hot erotica and romance stories. Her stories are often steamy, and her characters are often independent men and women with mutual respect for lust, love, passion, and romance.

  When she is not writing, Zania is certainly shopping, cooking, running, reading, spending time with her family, or engaging with her readers.

  One of her to-do things for this year is to
run a marathon!

  Find more from Zania Summers:

  The Billionaire’s Help 2

  All of Zania’s Book on Amazon

  ***

  Wild: Dark Riders Motorcycle Club

  By Elsa Day

  CHAPTER ONE

  THIS WASN'T WHAT I was supposed to be doing.

  I folded the shirt again. Carefully. Left shoulder. Right shoulder. Crease in the middle.

  Still, every time it came out wrong.

  What would mom have said? I know. She wouldn't have said anything. She would have taken the shirt, folded it herself, and placed it gently in my suitcase.

  I looked at the crooked shirt again.

  But mom wasn't here to fold my stuff for me, was she? I picked up the shirt, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it across the room. My legs melted underneath me and I slumped to the floor.

  This was not what I was supposed to be doing.

  The college catalogs advertised shiny happy people. The students in them smiled. They went to classes and studied. They wore fashionable clothes, and went to graduation with both parents smiling in the audience.

  They weren't in the catalogues, but I knew the other things that college students were supposed to be doing. They were supposed to be getting drunk off of cheap beer. They were supposed to be having wild parties, falling in love, and having sex. I was supposed to be doing that. Right? Isn't that what college kids do?

  I didn't even realize I was crying until I tasted the salt on my tongue. I wiped my face with my old, ratty sweatshirt.

  The paper was still on my desk.

  Name: Olivia Clarkfeld

  Date of Birth: 02/19/1953

  Weight: …

  It came with a card, just like all of her letters. This one had a little bear on the cover. He was holding a heart-shaped balloon and smiling.

  Sending you a BEAR-Y big hug!

  I didn't see her chart until it fell out of the card. Just like that. As light as air.

  Prognosis:….

  The doctors sent her home. They could operate, but it was almost pointless. They couldn't guarantee anything. Better for her to be with family, they said. Enjoy her time. What she had left.

  So I got this card. With this little bear. Mom didn't say to come home, but she didn't have to. I knew.

  So instead of studying, instead of partying, instead of sneaking into some guy's bed while his roommate sleeps, I was there. Folding t-shirts over and over again. Alone.

  I walked over to my desk and picked up a picture frame. The top was covered in dust, and I gently pushed it off with my finger. How long had I had this?

  We were at the park. The flowers from trees hung low, and I tried to grab a bud with one hand. Dad was wearing that nautical shirt that he liked so much and sitting on a wooden bench. His arm was around mom, and the wind was blowing her sundress wide-open so that she had to hold her hem down with her hands. They looked so young then.

  I was in my overalls phase, and looked like a little boy. My face was even covered in smudges of dirt. But I wasn't the only one.

  He was holding my other hand. Even then, he was taller than me and pulled the flowers down towards my face. After such a long summer, the sun had almost bleached his hair stark white.

  I put the photo frame in the growing pile of unfolded clothes that rose out of my suitcase. Asher. As if I needed to be thinking about him now. He probably forgot me a long time ago.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I SLAMMED THE SUITCASE shut and dragged it out of my dorm. It thumped along as I pulled it down the ancient staircase. There were no elevators when this building was built, so every year the suitcases of students moving in and out clattered over the stairs.

  I was already exhausted by the time I made it to my car. The alarm beeped off as I approached, and the trunk lifted when I paused before it. Every time it did that, the little sedan made me smile.

  Thanks dad, for this at least.

  The only thing the car didn't do for me was actually get the suitcase inside the trunk. I swung it inside, scratching the paint a little. Whatever. I knew dad would fix it. Gotta have his little girl driving a nice car, right? Or else what would people say?

  My fists curled into balls before I stepped into the car. I took a deep breath and turned the ignition. An eight and a half hour drive down south. Could I do it?

  Ever since I received mom's letter, my hands couldn't stop shaking. I clenched the steering wheel to still them. Yeah. I had to do it.

  At first, it seemed like everything was going fine. I left behind the big city lights and soon I was on my own. The highway stretched through miles of nothingness. Just trees, rest stops, some truckers, and me.

  I passed strange signs for diners. There were neon billboards where happy pigs invited me to come eat some pork. Or sexy chickens who were stocking and advertised cheap fried drumstick dinners. I drove past them without stopping.

  If things were going the way they were supposed to, this would be a road trip. It would be exciting and fun, and I would take pictures to post online of the strange things I encountered on the way to Virginia.

  But this wasn't a road trip. I was alone. Driving to take care of my mother. My mother who had cancer.

  Cancer.

  Even after my classes. Even after doing the rounds in the wards. Even after reading all the case studies, it still bothered me. It suffocated me.

  I rolled down my window and let the cool air hit my face. It felt good to let my hair whip in the breeze. Maybe for a couple of hours, I didn't have to think of anything. I could let the gentle humming of my safe little car rock me all the way back to Virginia.

  After a while, it wasn't so bad. Driving down a straight stretch of road wasn't exactly the most difficult thing in the world. The air became heavier, more humid as I kept driving. Soon, the sky grew dark and street lamps flickered on along the side of the road.

  There were only a few more hours left. My head nodded a little, and when I opened my eyes there was something large in the middle-of-the-road. Shining eyes blinked at me and it took me a while to understand what was staring me down.

  A possum. A big mama possum and a whole litter of kids. They were stuck in my headlights, unable to move.

  I jerked the steering wheel to the right. It should've been fine, I should've just curved around them and continued on my way. But the tires skid. Maybe I was late on my maintenance?

  I slammed against the door. My seat belt tightened up just before I hit my head on the side of the window. It wasn't until I crashed into one of those big lampposts that the airbag blew up in my face. You know, they are a lot harder than you would expect for bunches of fabric filled with air.

  By the time I came to again, it was pitch dark. The possums were gone, the lamppost was flickering, and my car was wrecked. It was silly, but I tried to start up the engine. Of course, no matter how much I turned it, it didn't make a sound.

  I looked around, and I realized that there probably couldn't have been a worse place for me to crash. There was nothing on either side of the road for miles. Not even those silly diner signs. I had crashed into the only light, so I was almost in complete darkness.

  I listened for the sound of a car, a truck, anything really. But there was nothing. It didn't even make sense to stick out my thumb because it was clear that no one was coming.

  After a while of walking around, I slumped against my car. Then an idea hit me. What about my phone? I slapped my head because it seemed so obvious. There must be a 24 hour tow truck service somewhere around here.

  I opened the car door and rifled around, looking for the little rectangular screen. But as soon as I found it, I started to cry. The glass front was shattered. The case was dented, and no matter how many times I swiped across the screen it wouldn't come to life.

  So that was it, my last try. My other options were to hope that someone else was coming down this desolate road, or that my car would magically start up again. Frankly, the second option was most likel
y.

  I hopped on top of my car hood and sat down. I curled my legs into my chest and started to sob. Not just about the car, or the phone, but about everything. About my mom. About going back to this place I had been away from for so long.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I DON'T KNOW HOW long it took before I fell asleep.

  It wasn't until a loud noise woke me up that I even realized I had dozed off. I jerked my head up. The noise became louder. It was coming near me, a huge rumbling sound. Was someone actually coming?

  I jumped off my car and ran to the side of the road. That's when I saw it. It wasn't a truck, or a car. Whatever it was, there was a ton of it. The lights came towards me, arranged in some kind of formation. Soon they were close enough that I could feel the rumbling shaking the earth underneath my feet.

  Motorcycles?

  It was a huge group of guys on motorcycles. Not just guys, but girls who sat on their laps or hugged them from behind. The girls wore almost nothing, and a few times I thought I saw hands slipping underneath shirts and below skirts.

  These weren't small guys. Their muscular arms gripped the handle of the motorcycles forcefully. Tattoos covered their arms like dark sleeves of ink, marred here and there by deep scars. Shit, these were not the kind of guys I wanted to meet up with all alone in the middle of the night.