Dearest Series Boxed Set

by Lex Martin

  To My Readers

  Thank you so much for reading my series! I would love to hear what you thought and hope you’ll consider leaving a review on Amazon and Goodreads. Keep an eye out for Jenna and Ryan’s story later this year. (Yes, you’ll see Harper again!)

  Keep flipping for Dearest Series bonus scenes and a sneak peak of Shameless (Brady’s book), which releases on April 26. Shameless can be read as a complete standalone.

  To celebrate my upcoming release, I’m giving away gift cards and other prizes on my Facebook author page, so check it out for more details!

  If you’d like to receive an email alert when I release future books, get sneak peaks, and be eligible for exclusive giveaways, please SUBSCRIBE to my newsletter.

  Acknowledgments

  My deepest gratitude goes to my husband, who puts up with pizza and takeout so I can write. Matt, thanks for the encouragement to go after a life-long dream. Hugs to my daughters, who make me want to try harder and be better every day. Love you.

  I never would've gone to BU and written these stories without my amazing parents who sacrificed so much to get me there. Mom and Dad, thanks for always being my biggest fans.

  Kimberly Brower, you're the best agent a girl could ever have. I'm so grateful for your friendship and advice.

  RJ Locksley, thanks for your amazing editing skills.

  Jade Eby, you’re a doll to squeeze in my formatting.

  Krista and Becca Ritchie, you taught me everything I needed to know about publishing my first book. Krista, thank you for my beautiful covers. *tackle hugs*

  To the authors who encouraged me throughout this series…Whitney Barbetti, KL Grayson, Jules Barnard, and M. Pierce. I'm so grateful for your friendships.

  Lauren Perry, thanks for the beautiful Kissing Madeline cover photo. I'm so excited to continue working with you on Shameless!

  Doris Gray and Jullie Anne Caparas, thank you for starting the Wildcats group for me! Best gift ever.

  Wildcats, I love you with reckless abandon. *ass smacks*

  Alexis Durbin, Candi Kane, Serena McDonald, and Cristiane Karamanolis, thanks for your enthusiasm and support. I owe you girls a few drinks.

  Of course, huge thanks to the bloggers who have supported me in one way or another, especially Aestas Book Blog, The Dirty Laundry, The Literary Gossip, Three Girls and a Book Obsession, Love Between the Sheets, Give Me Books, One Click Addicts, Smut Muffins, Schmexy Girl Book Blog, The Bookaholic Fairies, The Book Bellas, Smokin’ Hot Book Blog, Rumpled Sheets, Sinfully Sexy Book Reviews, The Romance Vault, I Bookin’ Love To Read, Smut Fanatics, Book Baristas, Literary Misfit, Owl Always Be Reading, and Teacups & Book Love. There are so many more who shared my books and reviewed. I wish I could tackle hug you all.

  Lastly, to my readers... I hope you enjoyed this series! I can't wait for you to read Shameless. (Keep flipping for a little peek of Brady’s book.) And I’m trying to get Jenna and Ryan’s story out in late 2016, so pencil me in. Thanks for coming on this ride with me!

  xoxo,

  Lex

  Bonus Scenes

  Deleted Scene from Kissing Madeline

  (Cut from the end of chapter 30, right after the pasties and a thong convo.)

  - MADDIE -

  Daren’s fingers drift lazily over my collarbone, and he leans down to kiss that spot behind my ear before he pulls me closer.

  Sighing, I reach back and grab him, threading my fingers through his thick hair.

  “You should stay tonight,” he whispers.

  His room is dark, his bed a mountain of linen that’s been kicked to the side, but I’m warm, wrapped in a sheet and Daren’s warm body.

  “Mm.” I lick my lips, not sure what I should say. “I have to get up early.”

  “So get up early here.”

  Does he actually want me to stay or is he just being polite? “I’m really okay going home. It’s five feet on the other side of your front door.”

  His body reverberates against me as he laughs.

  “What?” I sit up halfway so I can look back at him.

  He shrugs. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but usually girls don’t want to leave my bed. And yet I can’t ever get you to stay.”

  I roll my eyes, wanting to give him a hard time. “Maybe it wasn’t that good. Did this ever cross your mind?”

  He snorts and yanks me back down to him. “You came twice. If it weren’t that good, I don’t think your thighs would be aching right now.”

  Jesus. It’s true. I ache from the apex of my thighs all the way down my quads. And if I’m being really honest, my clit is still throbbing and altogether enchanted with that thing he did with his tongue.

  Giggling, I let my body meld to his. “Fine. Maybe it was good.” He tickles me, and I squeal. “Very good.” He keeps tickling. “Goddamn it, Daren. Stop.” I find myself flat on my back with a full-on tickle assault going on. “Okay, it was awesome! The best fuck of my life! Stop!”

  He pauses and raises his eyebrow. “The best, huh?” I swat at him, and his grin widens. “I was just going for panty-melting, but if we’re talking the best? Do I get a trophy or something? I could put it next to my Heisman.”

  It’s my turn to snort. “God, you’re cocky.”

  “What about my cock?”

  How can men make any conversation about their dong?

  He grabs himself and taps my thigh. My mouth drops open as I laugh. “Did you just thwack me with your dick?”

  “Yup.”

  He shifts until his huge, naked body hovers over me, and I shake my head. “Don’t get too excited there, tiger. My pussy is closed for service.”

  “Babe. Say that again.” He grips my hips, settling between my thighs, a devilish look in his eyes.

  “Don’t get too excited?”

  “Not that part. The pussy part. Forget the ‘closed for service.’ Just say ‘pussy’ again. Maybe like, ‘Daren, lick my little pussy. Pretty please.’”

  Snorting, I pull him to me, still laughing. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Part of my charm, Wildcat. Part of my charm.”

  Bonus Scene for Dearest Clementine

  (This takes place right after the Kissing Madeline epilogue, and there’s a major spoiler ahead if you haven’t read that yet. This is for all of the readers who asked for more Gavin & Clem!)

  - GAVIN -

  Want to know the worst thing that could ever happen in your life? Here it is.

  Step one. Marry the girl of your dreams. For me, there was always only one person who met this criteria. Clementine Avery. The sweetest, most amazing, beautiful smart ass I’ve ever met.

  Step two. Get your drop-dead gorgeous wife pregnant with twins. Twins! This has you thinking you’re a superhero and have sperm with Titan-like strength that charged up her body to create two human beings. So far so good, right? You tell yourself you’re the boss. A bad ass. A god among men.

  Step three. This is the part that kicks you in the balls. You’re skipping along, thinking you can do no wrong… until you come home from work and find that lovely creature hunched over the toilet, sweaty and pale while she wretches because the pregnancy makes her so sick, she can’t even make toast. Toast!

  “Oh shit. Baby.” I gently scoop her off the cold tile floor and hold her to my chest where her fingers dig into my shirt.

  “I smell like puke,” she whimpers.

  I brush her golden hair from her sweaty forehead. “I don’t care.”

  Sitting on the edge of the tub, I place her on my lap and reach over for a washcloth and wipe her face.

  Puffy blue eyes stare up at me. Her lower lip quivers.

  “It’ll be okay,” I whisper. “You’re doing great. The doctor said the morning sickness should let up soon.”

  “This isn’t morning sickness. It’s fucking six o’clock in the evening. I could deal if it were morning sickness.”

  I kiss her before I remember I shouldn’t. But no way can I wipe my mouth because Clementine will
freak out more.

  Her eyes pop up to mine because she knows I hate puke. She studies my face, and after a moment, her lips turn up into a smile.

  “You love me, don’t you?” she asks, almost shyly.

  We’ve been married for two and a half years, and she still blushes.

  “Of course I love you. You’re my wife. You’re carrying my children.” I’d sacrifice life and limb for you. I kiss her forehead. “You’re my golden girl.”

  It’s possible I’m not a fair judge, but I happen to think I have the most amazing wife. In fact, my friend Daren and I have a bet to see who has the perfect wife, Clem or his wife Maddie. The girls think it’s hysterical. And secretly, I know they’re both vying to win.

  As luck would have it, Maddie is also pregnant. But I get extra points because we’re having twins. A boy and a girl. See, super sperm.

  The girls don’t know this yet, but the goal is to see which of our families can have a basketball team. Two down, three more to go. If you’re counting, we’re ahead here.

  Clem’s arms wrap around my neck, and she sniffles.

  Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, I kiss her temple. “Think you could eat a little Cream of Wheat? I can make it next door.”

  “I hate that you have to go to the neighbor’s house to microwave something.”

  “I was going to make it on the stove. Not the microwave.”

  Her arms tighten around my neck. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. No lumps for you.”

  She hates lumps in her hot cereal, and if you microwave it, you end up with lumps. No bueno.

  Before you go thinking I’m a dick for offering her Cream of Wheat, you should know it’s one of the few foods she can stomach. That and sourdough bread for some reason. She just can’t deal with the smell—of anything. We had to buy scent-free soap and shampoo. Scent-free detergent and fabric softener. I even have to run down to Starbucks to grab coffee because the smell of my favorite beverage percolating turns her into the Exorcist.

  I hate torturing the girl because I know she misses coffee, so I’ve cut way back and only drink it at work.

  And let me just say nothing—no convenience, no snack or beverage—nothing is worth making her sick.

  Clem kisses my neck, and my dick goes to full mast, which she can probably feel on her thigh. But with all of the nausea, I can’t exactly break out my sexy-time moves on my wife.

  “I miss you,” she mouths against my skin.

  My eyes clench shut.

  Here’s the Catch 22. She’s sick all the time. Like every five minutes. But the hormones also turn her into a sex kitten. Yes, my wife—my sweet, lovely, incredibly hot wife—is a total nympho.

  Now that she’s pregnant, what had been a gorgeous body is now downright sinful. Because there’s a little more of her to love. Those slender hips? Just a bit curvier. That hot-as-hell ass? A little rounder. Those beautiful breasts? A lot bigger. This is where I thank Jesus, the Easter Bunny, Santa, that rock climbing wall at BU—whoever or whatever is responsible for her body. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

  However—and here’s the kicker—we can never act on those urges because one minute, we’re ripping each other’s clothes off and the next, she’s hurling into the trash can.

  She curls up closer and giggles. “Did I give you a boner?”

  Clem thinks dicks are funny. Until mine is pounding away and she’s screaming my name. Then it’s not so funny.

  “You know you did,” I growl.

  A listless sigh escapes her. “I wish I could give you a blow job at least.”

  My cock is all for it. Until I think of the projectile vomit that’s likely to ensue. “Hmm. Me too, babe.” God, me too.

  Her soft hand runs through my hair. “Maybe we could try having sex later?” she whispers. “The nausea usually goes away around nine or ten at night.”

  By then, she’s usually crashed in bed with one arm hanging off the bed and a little drool coming out of her mouth. Yeah, she’s adorable.

  I’m about to talk some sense into her, but one look at her hopeful expression, and I can’t do it. I’ll suffer the worst case of blue balls known to man to make this girl happy.

  “Your place or mine, hot stuff?” I kiss her nose.

  “Really?”

  Yes, it’s crazy. My wife is begging me to have sex.

  “Whatever you want.” Just… please don’t vomit.

  By the time we crawl into bed, the prayer is etched in my brain. Please. Don’t. Vomit.

  Two months is a long time to go without sex when you’re married to someone this amazing. But I’ve found I really miss sex, not when we’re in bed, but when we’re talking about literature. She starts talking about figurative language, and I’m a goner. Shut up. Don’t laugh.

  Tonight, she’s wearing this thin little t-shirt that’s snug around her breasts. The kind that’s soft and nearly see-through, so I have a great view of her rosy nipples. Her legs are bare, and she’s sporting white lace bikini underwear. When we first got married, she told me if I ever wanted to get laid, I could never call them panties. Not sure why that grosses her out, but I don’t need to be told twice.

  I collapse in bed and pretend to snore, and she smacks my ass.

  “No fucking way. We are doing this,” she barks.

  Laughing, I roll over and grab her, and she squeals. I start to tug her down to me when I remember I need to be gentle. The girl is four and a half months pregnant, and although she has a little tummy, if you didn’t know her the way I do, you probably couldn’t tell. It’s easy to forget.

  Slow down. You can hurt her or the babies. Fuck.

  She stops mid-laugh and frowns. “What’s wrong?” Those blue eyes study my face, and before I can answer, her lower lip juts out. “It’s because I’m a whale already, isn’t it? You don’t think I’m attractive anymore.”

  “What?” Seriously, what is she talking about? “Darlin’, nothing could be further from the truth.”

  And then the tears start. “I can’t fit in any of my jeans anymore.”

  “C’mere.” I tuck her to me and smooth down her mass of golden hair. “You look fucking perfect to me. Do you hear me? Perfect. I’ve had a massive erection for you since I got home. Would I be sporting this kind of wood if you weren’t the most beautiful, sexy creature I’ve ever seen?” I grab her hand and place it between my legs. “Exhibit A.”

  Clem sniffles and blinks back a few more tears. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. This is all for you.”

  She strokes me, and I grit my teeth. It’s been way too long.

  “Hey, I’m not feeling nauseous.”

  “Oh.” Wow. We might really do this.

  “I’m just feeling emotional. Because I want to have sex with my husband and I’m afraid I can’t.”

  The tears start up again.

  No no no no no no.

  “Hey.” I nibble on her ear. “How about I kiss it and make it feel better?”

  Her chest stills, and I dip down to her neck and open my mouth and suck lightly until her pulse kicks up.

  She gasps. “That… that might work.” She sniffles again, and I will myself to go slowly. Even if I die, even if my balls explode in the morning because we couldn’t get there, I will make my wife feel better.

  But before I kiss my way down her body, I get up and kick the bedroom door shut.

  What? Did you think I was going to share all the details about how I have sex with my hot wife? Fuck, no. She’s my sex kitten. Go find your own.

  Shameless

  (Release date - April 26)

  Did you read Finding Dandelion and wish Brady had won the girl? Shameless is his story, which takes place right after Kissing Madeline. It can be read as a complete standalone.

  Brady…

  What the hell do I know about raising a baby? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing.

  Yet here I am, the sole guardian of my niece. I’d be lost if it weren’t for Katherine, the bea
utiful girl who seems to have all the answers. Katherine, who’s slowly finding her way into my cynical heart.

  I keep reminding myself that I can’t fall for someone when we don’t have a future. But telling myself this lie and believing it are two different things.

  Katherine…

  When Brady shows up on a Harley, looking like an avenging angel—six feet, three inches of chiseled muscle, eyes the color of wild sage, and sun-kissed skin emblazoned with tattoos—I’m not sure if I should fall at his feet or run like hell. Because if I tell him what happened the night his family died, he might hate me.

  What I don’t count on are the nights we spend together trying to forget the heartache that brought us here. I promise him it won’t mean anything, that I won’t fall in love.

  I shouldn’t make promises I can’t keep.

  Get Shameless for 99 cents only during the preorder! PURCHASE now.

  One

  - BRADY -

  Her slender hips sway to the heavy beat of the Arctic Monkeys pulsing through the speakers as she glides closer.

  “Gonna get naked for you,” she purrs, her shirt already hanging off her shoulder.

  What?

  “You only need to open your top and lower your bra.” I suppose I shouldn’t discourage her.

  She licks her lips and unfastens the clip in her hair, sending blond waves tumbling forward. But when she shakes it loose around her shoulders, a wave of industrial-strength perfume hits my nostrils. I try not to wince, but the scent is nauseating.

  Focus, Brady. Hot girl taking off her clothes. Eyes on the prize.

  I glance around, wondering how long it will take for the guys to notice she’s stripping out of her clothes like a pole dancer on a Saturday night. This girl is hot, so it’s not like I’m complaining.