Aruba (Bad Boys on the Beach Book 3)

by Kimberly Fox

  “I still can’t believe you did this,” I say, shaking my head as I walk up the green grass (which is now mine!) and look up at the tall tree on the front yard. I touch the trunk and run my fingers over the rough bark. “This tree is ours.”

  “It sure is,” Tucker says with a laugh. “Every single leaf.”

  I’m in awe as I walk around the property, too nervous to step inside.

  The last three months have been pure bliss since Cynthia’s wedding. Tucker set up his real estate investments with a property management firm, which freed him up to move anywhere on the planet. Lucky for me he chose my favorite street in Buffalo, New York.

  We barely fight anymore, and he’s been the perfect boyfriend. Except last Saturday. Last Saturday, he was his old Mother Tucker self, but I don’t mind that once in a while. It keeps things interesting.

  “Want to see inside?” he asks, holding up a key.

  My heart starts racing as I stare at him with wide eyes. “Are you sure it’s ours?”

  “It has your name on the deed,” he says. “Might as well go check it out.”

  I take a deep breath and walk over, taking the key from his hands. “Are you sure about this?” I ask, giving him one last chance to back out. We’ve been talking about moving in together for the past few weeks, but I wasn’t expecting this. I was dreaming about this, but I wasn’t expecting it.

  “Will you go open the door already?” he asks with a grin. “I want to show you your closet.”

  “My closet?” I ask, getting goosebumps. “Is it big?”

  “You’ll have to open the door to find out.”

  I rip the keys out of his hands and open the door with shaky fingers. “Wow,” I gasp when I swing the door open. The inside is even nicer than the outside.

  I have a constant surge of warmth flowing through my veins as I walk through the house admiring the high ceilings, granite countertops, hardwood floors, and huge windows. It’s an open layout and perfect for hosting parties with our new neighbors. I can think of a few in particular.

  “What do you think?” Tucker asks, leaning against the wall with a grin.

  “I think I’m going to rip your clothes off and christen the house right now,” I say, looking around the empty house in amazement. “This is incredible. I mean it’s not my parent’s basement, but it’s still nice.”

  “Wait until you see upstairs,” he says with a laugh. “You just might be changing your tune.”

  “My closet?” I ask with an excited squeal.

  He grins as he turns toward the staircase. “Follow me.”

  Adrenaline rushes through my veins as I follow him up the stairs into the huge master bedroom. There’s no furniture in the house, which makes the rooms look even bigger.

  I swallow hard when I see two French doors on the far wall. “Is that?”

  “Yes,” he says with a nod. “It’s your new love.”

  I take a deep breath, shake my hands out, and open the doors.

  “Ho. Ly. Shit.” It’s massive. I mean, frigging massive. Even I would have a hard time filling this thing.

  I walk into the middle of the room and stretch my arms out. I spin around and don’t even come close to touching a wall.

  “Do you like it?” he asks with a smile.

  “Like is not the word,” I say, gulping as I look around at all of the empty racks, shelves, and drawers. “Love is not the word either.”

  “What is the word?”

  I shake my dizzy head. “I don’t know.”

  “You haven’t seen it all,” he says, pointing to a door on one of the walls. I was so taken with the monster closet that I didn’t even notice the door.

  “What’s that?” I ask as my hands start shaking again.

  Tucker just shrugs. “Open it and find out.”

  I rush over and open the door with my heart pounding. “No!” I shout, nearly falling to my knees as my legs buckle. I grab onto the door frame for support. There’s a second closet, about a third the size of this one but it’s floor to ceiling shelves. “Is that for…?” I can’t finish the thought.

  “Yup,” he says, nodding his head up and down. “Even you can’t fill that up with shoes.”

  My eyes start watering as I stick my head in. “You don’t know me at all.” I’ve always wanted my own shoe closet. All kinds of dreams are coming true today.

  “I’d like to see you try,” he says, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a black American Express card and hands it to me. “The first two walls are on me.”

  “I can’t take this,” I say, trying to hand him the card back even though I desperately want to keep it. I won’t fill two walls with it, but maybe two shelves.

  “Why not?” he asks, sticking his hands into his pockets as I try to hand him the card.

  “Because we’re not… you know.”

  “What?” he asks. “Married?”

  “Yeah.”

  He pulls his hands out of his pocket and my heart skips a beat when I see a little blue box in his hand. “Then we’ll have to change that,” he says. “For the shoes.”

  I gulp when he drops to a knee and opens the box. The most beautiful diamond ring is staring up at me, begging me to wear it.

  “Julia,” Tucker says softly. “Will you marry me?”

  My thoughts are scattered, and I’m too excited to think straight, so I just lunge onto him instead, tackling him to the floor.

  “Yes,” I say, kissing him on the lips. “Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes!”

  He slides the ring onto my finger, and I nearly have a heart attack when I see the size of the diamond. It looks even bigger on my hand.

  “Where do you want to get married?” he asks, watching me as I stare at my new best friend. Sorry Cynthia, but diamonds are definitely a girl’s best friend.

  “In this closet,” I say, smiling as I look around again. “We could definitely fit all of our guests in it.”

  Tucker laughs. “What about a destination wedding?”

  “I think I’ve had enough destination weddings for one lifetime.”

  He grins. “I want to get married on the beach.”

  I smile as I think about it. Seeing Tucker shirtless does always sound mighty tempting.

  “All right,” I say, sitting in his lap. “We’ll talk.”

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  Keep scrolling to read the first three chapters of Well Hung Over in Vegas, a hilarious romantic comedy by Kimberly Fox!

  Well Hung Over in Vegas: By Kimberly Fox

  What happens in Vegas doesn't always stay in Vegas. Especially when you wake up with a naked man in your bed and a ring on your finger.

  Some people just can't handle Vegas.

  My friend warned me that Vegas can turn the most straight-laced girl into a party-crazed slut.

  I didn't believe her.

  I've always been the straightest of the straight.

  Boy, was I wrong.

  I hate being wrong.

  My first morning in Vegas and I wake up in a hotel room with no memory of the night before.

  Oh, and there's a naked stranger lying next to me who gives a new meaning to the word hung-over.

  Things go from bad to worse when I find a wedding ring wrapped around my finger.

  Then things escalate from worse to catastrophic when I find out that the infuriating man who gave it to me is my new boss.

  When I find out he wants to stay married--all bets are off.

  My friend warned me that some people can't handle Vegas.

  I should have listened.

  Because I am definitely one of those people.

  A crazy Romantic Comedy that has Tyler and Dahlia butting heads as they run through Las Vegas trying to fi
gure out what the hell happened on their wild night out on the Strip. A perfect mix between The Proposal and The Hangover told in Kimberly Fox's hilariously snarky writing style.

  Get Well Hung Over in Vegas now!

  More From Kimberly Fox:

  Heavy Turbulence

  By Kimberly Fox

  My Cockpit. My Rules

  Dex Jameson is an arrogant ass.

  It's my first day on the job as a stewardess working on a billionaire's private jet, and the cocky pilot is already trying to hit my landing strip.

  I've always had a thing for pilots, but this arrogant jerk is going to cure me of that.

  I can handle the looks. I can handle the comments. I can even handle the sexual invitation that he threw down between us.

  But when my boss makes us pretend that we're husband and wife during a business trip, my willpower starts to crumble away.

  I'm trying hard to stay professional.

  I'm trying my best to keep his tattooed biceps at arm's length.

  But this hot alpha pilot knows how to push all the right buttons and has all the right moves.

  Buckle up. It's going to be a bumpy ride.

  He's a Bad Boy Pilot with a filthy mouth

  She's an uptight Stewardess who plays by the rules

  Prepare for some Heavy Turbulence

  Get Heavy Turbulence on Amazon Here

  The Hitman’s Baby

  by Kimberly Fox

  Nobody fucks harder than a girl that hates you. And this girl hates me. Hard. She's going to be fun.

  Sara

  I hate guys like him.

  So why am I always so attracted to his frustratingly arrogant and cocky type?

  Well, his muscular, inked up arms aren't helping at all.

  I should stay away from him.

  I should leave.

  He's more dangerous than just a killer smile.

  But it's not like he'd ever untie me and let me walk out the door...

  Colton

  When I want something I take it. Even if it is the boss' daughter.

  And when you're a hitman the boss is usually not someone to take lightly.

  See if I care. That pussy is worth dying for and it's definitely worth killing for.

  And there's a long line of people to kill for it.

  But now that my baby is in her belly not her father, the Russian mob, the police or the world class assassin on our heels is going to take her from me.

  Get it on Amazon Here

  Well Hung Over in Vegas Chapter One

  Dahlia

  Is that a man’s watch?

  I stare at it in disbelief, but there it is, tick ticking away like a bomb that’s about to go off. There’s a man’s watch lying on my night table.

  Wait a minute. This is not my hotel room.

  The wallpaper is different, and the lamp is not the—Why is my underwear on the lamp?

  My heart is racing as I peek under the covers. Holy shit, I’m naked.

  I’m naked in a stranger’s hotel room. A male stranger from the looks of his watch. A rich male stranger according to the diamond encrusted Rolex logo on it.

  Why am I naked in a stranger’s hotel room? I try to think back to last night, but my head is a blur of spilled shots, wobbly heels, and—oh shit. We had sex.

  It’s all so blurry with my head pounding like a jackhammer at a Metallica concert. I can’t think.

  Yes, I can. Think, Dahlia, think.

  But all I remember is a flash of me arching my back and screaming out as a rich male stranger fucked me like an animal.

  I close my eyes, trying to build up the courage to turn my pounding head to see who is there. Courage isn’t coming. It’s time for a pep talk.

  Okay, Dahlia. It’s time to face whatever fucked up reality you got yourself into. Just do it. You’re a winner. You clawed your way up to the COO position at Hospitech with only a high school degree. In only ten months, you cut the company’s costs by twenty percent and increased their profits by a record thirty-two percent. You can do this. Turn your head.

  I swallow hard, my mouth tasting like a dry sewer, and carefully turn my head to peek over my shoulder.

  Oh, shit!

  I whip my head back around and pull the covers up to my chin, feeling extremely naked.

  Well, there’s definitely a male.

  I couldn’t see his face with it sunken into the pillow, but I did see his body—muscular chest, chiseled abs, arms out of a comic book that are covered in tats.

  He’s naked too. At least we have something in common.

  I peek back over to get another look. My heart is now pounding harder than my head is.

  His muscular thigh is sticking out of the crisp white sheets, and I carefully tilt my head up to see if he’s showing anything else.

  The corner of the sheet is resting over his package, his hard pelvis with the mouth-watering V visible in all of its glory. I let out an audible gulp when I see the tip of his trimmed pubic hair sticking out.

  Shit!

  Too loud.

  I drop my head back down and hold the blankets up to my chin, closing my eyes impossibly tight as he lets out a deep groan and starts moving around.

  What’s the game plan here, Dahlia?

  I always have a game plan. I always have a backup for my game plan and a backup for my backup.

  But this is unexpected. He’s thrown me off my game. I don’t even know what sport we’re playing.

  He gets up with a heavy breath and shuffles to the bathroom like a hungover zombie. Mr. Rich Naked Stranger doesn’t even bother to close the door as he fills the toilet bowl with last night’s beverages.

  I explode out of the bed like my pubic hair is on fire. I have less than ten seconds to get dressed before he comes out and sees my kibbles and bits.

  Pants first. No time for underwear. I yank them up my legs as I keep an eye on the door and an ear on the stream of liquid that’s hitting the water in the toilet bowl like a fire hose.

  Where the fuck is my bra? Arghhhh!

  I leap across the room when I see it hanging off the desk. I yank it on with my pulse racing, already looking around for my shirt as I snap the clasp closed.

  My head is pounding, my stomach churning, and I’m nearly hyperventilating as my bulging eyes dart around the room looking for my shirt.

  I’m on my hands and knees looking under the bed when the toilet flushes and Mr. Rich Naked Stranger walks out.

  “Looking for something?” he asks in a deep groggy voice.

  Yes. My dignity. My self-respect. Have you seen either of them, or are they gone for good?

  “Just my—” The words vanish from my throat when I turn around and see Mr. Rich Naked Stranger in all of his naked glory.

  My eyes are level with his cock that’s hanging down low between his muscular thighs. I can’t seem to take my eyes off of it. That was in me last night. I know because my hoo-ha is still achingly sore.

  With a shake of my head, I pry my eyes off of his dick and drag them up his hard body, my pulse racing dangerously fast with every inch that I climb.

  His abs are a work of art. They look like they should be on a statue of a Greek God in some dusty old museum instead of in front of my blushing face.

  “What are you looking for?” he asks, running a hand through his messy brown hair.

  My eyes follow his hand up, and I swallow hard when our eyes meet. He’s gorgeous—stunning, actually.

  Jade green eyes that bore into me, ripping away any chance of me answering him intelligently. I just stare up at him with my mouth hanging open. “Uhhhh.”

  How can someone look this hot right after crawling out of bed? His hair is messy and disheveled in a perfect way. His face looks like it could grace the cover of magazines with his strong masculine chin that’s dotted with the perfect length of stubble, his sexy lips that are curling up into a smirk, and his tanned, golden skin tone that makes his eyes pop impossibly bright.

  I shake my h
ead, catching myself. How long was I staring?

  “My shirt,” I blurt out, ducking my head under the bed.

  Yes! Thank God!

  I grab my shirt that’s under the bed for some reason and pull it out. “I was just looking for my shirt.”

  Now, I’ll be looking for the door.

  “Are you leaving?” he asks as he walks over to the bed. He drops down onto his back and folds his hands over his flexed abs as he watches me. The sheets are right beside him but he doesn’t bother to cover his naked package.

  Well, I don’t have to look. Maybe one more peek.

  “We can go again if you have some time,” he says, staring at my breasts.

  I quickly put on my shirt with shaking hands and glance at the closed door.

  “I can’t,” I say, trying to sound casual and relaxed, although my voice is unusually high-pitched and tight. “I have an important business meeting.” And it’s true. I do.

  In two hours, I’m meeting with Mack McMillan, the seventy-five-year-old billionaire who just bought the company I work for.

  Why I was out drinking last night to the point where I woke up here and not studying about the acquisition is anyone’s guess. I’ll figure that out later.

  But first things first. I have to graciously get the fuck out of here with what little shred of dignity I have left.

  “That’s too bad,” he says, his cock still in plain view. “I got a stupid thing this morning anyway. Maybe I’ll catch you around.”

  He steps off of the bed and walks over to me, way too naked for eight a.m.

  “Can you please put some underwear on?” I ask, turning away with burning cheeks.