Hot Alphas

by Lora Leigh

  He remembered the shirt she’d been wearing that morning. It had been in the closet before that. Directly on top of the box. The box that was open for anyone looking to see into. It would have been hard for her to miss it.

  Wait. Did she say…? “You thought I was a drug dealer?”

  She let out a strangled sort of croak. “Yeah. Funny, right?”

  “Because you thought my books looked like drugs?”

  “Bricks of cocaine. Yeah.”

  He burst into laughter. It was too ridiculous not to. “Why on earth would you assume that?”

  “Because there’s a rash of drug crime here. And why else would someone have packages wrapped up in brown paper?”

  His anger had faded in the exchange. How could it not? He shook his head and tried to explain. “I send those for giveaways. People don’t always want other people—”

  “—to know what they’re reading,” she finished with him. “Got it. Now. This also makes more sense when I think about that cougar you were talking to. She wanted you to sign her book, not refill her coke stash.”

  “Yeah, I don’t get recognized on the street very often, but my fans are very sweet. I always take a moment for them when they do notice me. No cocaine involved.”

  She bit her lip. “So I did something shitty, and you can punish me for it later if you want to, but can we talk about the more important issue here?”

  There was a more important issue than a possibly trafficking charge? Good grief. But. Her suggestion of punishment had his thoughts drifting naughtily. Probably not the right time, but he was a guy, after all.

  Jay held up the book, flashing it in his face as if he’d never seen it. “You wrote this, Noah. You wrote this and you didn’t tell me.”

  She already knew, so why was it still so hard to admit?

  And why was it hard to admit at all? This was his work. He wasn’t ashamed. In fact, he loved his fucking book. And so did half the women in Boston. Like that blond lady, like a million more like her. He threw his shoulders back. “Yeah, I wrote it. I write sexy books. And I read them, too. And I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d get all narrow-minded again, and I’m tired of it, Jaylene. Not just from you, but from everyone. It’s why I don’t tell people. I don’t tell anyone.” He exhaled heavily, as if the weight of his sigh could somehow convey all his feelings to her. She made a face.

  “I wish I could say that I didn’t deserve that, but I can’t. I’ve been wrong about things. I see that now. But I’ve tried to change. I’ve trusted you, and you didn’t trust me. Were you going to keep this from me forever?” Her own sigh was just as weighty as his, reminding him that he wasn’t the only one feeling betrayed.

  “Maybe.” No, he would have told her. Eventually. Probably. But he was still feeling a tad bit contrary.

  “That’s no way to have a relationship. Keeping secrets from each other? I thought you wanted to have something real. Or was I mistaken about that, too?” Her arms crossed, as if to protect her heart. It broke his.

  “No. No, you weren’t mistaken. I do want to have something real with you.” His hands moved futilely, wanting to hold her, to reassure her, but knowing it wasn’t going to be okay.

  “Good. Because I want to have something real with you, too.”

  “You do?” He froze, certain he’d misheard that. Judgey Jay still wanted him, even after this?

  “Yes. I do. Which is why I spent all evening reading your book. It’s good, Noah. It’s really good.” Her arms fell to her sides, the book no longer a barrier between them.

  “You liked it?” He still couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “I loved it.” She smiled, for the first time, and his heart started to put itself back together.

  “Even though you think it’s demeaning to women?” he clarified.

  “It’s not demeaning to women. I made some incorrect assumptions.” Her grin spread, those cherry-red lips exposing her white teeth. Maybe instead of a barrier, his book could be a bridge.

  “You know what they say about assumptions.…” He grinned back, already planning their makeup sex. Maybe it was too soon, but his relief was so palpable.

  She laughed. “It’s assume, you dope. It doesn’t work with the word assumption. Some writer.”

  “You got my reference, though. And am I right that you’re now thinking about my ass?”

  “I’m thinking you are an ass.” She crossed to him and threw her arms around his neck.

  Without hesitation, he pulled her closer, wrapping her into his embrace. Finally, he could show her how sorry he was. Yeah, he should have done this awhile ago. Forward women were definitely awesome.

  “Is this okay?” she asked, her face so near he could feel her breath on his skin.

  “Well, you went through my stuff and I kept secrets from you but we’ve both apologized now so I’d say we’re okay.” More than okay, judging from the arousal he could feel moving between them in waves.

  “Except, I don’t think you actually apologized.” She tipped her head back to fake-glare.

  “Oh, right. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Jaylene. There are a great many people who assume”—he stressed the word on purpose—“that if you write erotic romance that you’re a pervert or less intelligent or—”

  “—an oppressor of women?” It was cute how she poked at herself. Much as he was—okay, finish the conversation first, he reminded himself.

  “Actually, you were the first who assumed that.” He rubbed his nose along the length of hers. “I don’t usually tell people because I don’t care what they think of me. I like what I do. I’m good at it. But, the reason I didn’t tell you was for just the opposite reason—I do care what you think about me. I like you.”

  She drew in a soft breath.

  “I mean, I really like you, Jaylene. And I knew how you felt about erotic romance books. And I was afraid that if you knew that I wrote them, then that would be the end of us.” Fuck too soon. He was going to lay all his cards on the table. It was time to be real.

  “So you assumed? Is that okay?” She teased gently, nipping him on the neck. She was apparently going to take advantage of this brief respite in power play. He wasn’t at all upset.

  “You got me,” he murmured. “Not okay, I know that now.”

  “It’s understandable.” She pulled back to meet his eyes. “But actually I meant, is this okay that I’m touching you? Because you didn’t give me permission.” As if he hadn’t noticed.

  “We aren’t in the bedroom.” As if he hadn’t noticed that either.

  She fluttered her lids a couple of times and peered up at him.

  Oh. He was sure slow sometimes. Maybe he hadn’t noticed. “Did you want to be in the bedroom?”

  Her shrug was meant to be nonchalant, but he could read her like the blurb on the back of his bestselling novel.

  “There was a mention of punishment earlier.…”

  As he tossed her over his shoulder, he reminded himself he had meant to write a book about this. He was already plotting their happy ending as he slammed the bedroom door behind them.

  BURN FOR ME

  by

  Shiloh Walker

  Thanks to all of my readers. You all make this so worthwhile. Thanks to my editor, Monique, for taking a chance on me. Thanks to Aemelia for the early feedback for the series. And thank you so much to my family, for the love and support. You’re my world. I thank God for you.

  CHAPTER 1

  Blackness wrapped around them, a sheltering embrace as his body moved over hers.

  His hunger had an edge tonight.

  He’d come to her late, appearing in the darkened doorway of her room and she’d barely had a chance to catch her breath before he was there, strong hands slowly pulling away the covers and then the mattress gave way under his weight.

  Now, as his cock swelled inside her, as one palm cupped her hip and angled her up to meet each driving thrust, he buried his face against her neck as he muttered her
name.

  She gasped out his and had to bite back the words she knew he wouldn’t want to hear.

  Tangling her hands in his hair, she arched and whimpered as he shifted his angle, moving so that the head of his cock stroked the bundled bed of nerves buried deep inside her and that small adjustment had her panting. Heat blistered her and pleasure consumed her.

  “Tate!”

  He surged against her, harder. Faster.

  She climaxed around him, muffling her sob against his shoulder.

  His mouth covered hers, swallowing down that ragged, breathless sound.

  Then he stiffened, coming inside her.

  * * *

  She wanted that purse.

  Ali Holmes didn’t covet a lot of things, but as she stood behind the counter of the Madison Pizza Company, she decided she was going to let herself covet that purse.

  It was a safe obsession. Vivid, murder-red, butter-soft leather. It cost almost as much as she made in a week—it would have to. It was a Coach purse. She had an eye for those things, mostly because she obsessed over them. Drooled. Coveted.

  Sometimes when she went shopping in Louisville or Lexington, she’d even let herself pet them.

  But she wouldn’t ever buy one. How in the hell could she buy a purse like that when she could barely afford to put food on the table?

  It was a safe enough obsession, because she knew she wouldn’t ever go and spend money she couldn’t afford to waste on something like a purse, not when her two boys needed shoes, not when she needed to figure out how to fix the roof, and not when she was still scrambling to pay the bills for the appendectomy she’d had to have last winter.

  The owner of that gorgeous red purse stood in the doorway, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dim light after being out in the bright sunny afternoon.

  Ali gave herself another second to lust as she gathered up a couple of menus and tried not to notice the way somebody was grinning at her.

  “If you keep staring at the purse, she’s going to think you plan on mugging her.”

  Just the sound of that voice was enough to make her heart skip, and maybe it made her knees a little weak, although she managed not to let it show as she turned her head and looked into the dark brown eyes of one Tate Bell, her other obsession.

  He wasn’t so safe.

  Lately, she was starting to think she might have to give him up.

  He was like too much chocolate, too much wine. She wanted to gorge on him, but he was oh, so very bad for her. If she could keep herself to just lusting after him, it wouldn’t be an issue. Lust was nice. Lust was healthy. But she’d let herself get lost in him. Lost herself to him.

  Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, if he could do the same.

  Tate had … commitment issues.

  Hell, screw that. Tate had emotional issues.

  With a lazy shrug, she said, “Nothing wrong with looking, sugar, right?”

  A smile curved his lips.

  That smile … damn it, that smile was what started it. That was why she’d given in to him in the first place, and all he had to do was flash her that smile at any given time and it made her want to forget herself all over again.

  Forget the promises she’d made herself late last night, as she lay in her bed, with the scent of him still on her skin, while her heart split just a little more.

  He might share her bed, but he wanted no part of her heart and she knew that.

  She knew she needed to pull away from him.

  What she didn’t know was if she could.

  “You’re doing a lot more than looking at that purse, Ali-girl,” he drawled, lifting his sweet tea to his mouth and drinking. His throat worked and she had to look away before she started thinking about pressing her mouth to that strong, tanned line. Before she started thinking about how they’d ended up in the shower last night—he’d been all hot and sweaty from hours spent in his studio and she’d been the same from hours spent hustling pizzas back and forth here at the restaurant.

  “Oh?” She cocked a brow. “Just what am I doing?”

  “You’re practically drooling.” He dropped his gaze to her mouth.

  Out of reflex, she swiped the back of her hand over her mouth. “I am…” Then she rolled her eyes. “You need to finish your lunch and get out of my place, Tate. I’ve got work to do.”

  “That was a subtle change of subject. Go on, go back to lusting over pretty purses. I’ll pretend not to notice.” He winked at her and lifted a slice of pizza to his mouth.

  She sighed and turned away.

  That was the damn problem. He did notice things. He noticed her lusting for purses, he noticed when she was tired at the end of the day, he noticed when something amused her or annoyed her.

  If only he never noticed things, if only he wasn’t so amazing with her kids.

  There were a thousand if onlys that had led to her current mess. She might not be in the shape she was in, if only he was just interested in sex; if he would just roll in her bed for a quickie, then back out, maybe life would be easier.

  But he cared. He knew her. He saw when she was sad, knew when she was mad.

  He saw that she was obsessed with pretty things like Coach purses that she could never afford.

  It was that very kind of thing that made it hurt more when he pulled back like he did.

  Pushing it out of her head, she moved away from the counter, menus in hand as she flashed a smile at the pretty blonde. “Two?”

  “No.” The boy at the woman’s side gave her a very insulted look. “I’m four.”

  Ali bit the inside of her lip to keep from grinning. Solemnly, she met his gaze. “Only four? I thought you had to be six, already.” He looked only slightly mollified. “I meant are there just two of you eating today?”

  Then she shifted her gaze to the woman.

  “Yes.” The woman grinned back. “Sorry. He’s very proud of the big four.”

  “Can’t blame him.” Ali winked and led them to a table. “You all in town visiting?”

  The lady shot her a glance as she slid into the booth and settled her son. “No. We just moved to town.”

  “Oh?” The dots connected. Madison was a small town. The small-town grapevine was pretty efficient, probably even more efficient at getting the word around than any other means known to man. Pretty lady, looked like money. Young son. Just moved to town. She cocked a brow. “You bought the old Frampton place.”

  The woman blinked, confusion in her eyes.

  “Big old place, looks out over the river. Surrounded by an old stone wall.”

  “Ahh.” She smiled and curled an arm around her boy’s shoulders. “Yes. That’s our place.”

  I wouldn’t buy that hellhole if you gave me all the Coach purses in New York City.

  Ali kept the words behind her teeth and smiled. “Welcome to Madison. I’m Ali.”

  * * *

  Tate tried to pretend he wasn’t bothered as she turned away without so much as touching him. But it bothered him. A lot. She treated him like …

  Fuck. She treated him like he was any other dumbass who came in here just to flirt with her. She gave friendly service with a friendly smile and took his order. That was it.

  Okay, maybe they chatted a bit, but they were friends. They’d always chatted a bit.

  Nothing had changed.

  Wasn’t that how he had wanted it? Of course it was. He’d helped set up those rules.

  Friends, Ali. Just friends. Except when we want more.

  But he didn’t flirt with his friends when he saw them eyeing a pretty red purse. Shit, other than Ali, he didn’t think he’d ever noticed what any of his friends were all that interested in, unless they shared the same interests as him. Although he’d be pretty damn amused if somebody like Guy or Adam showed any sort of interest in something like a Coach purse.

  At least he thought it was a Coach purse. He’d spent enough time with her to see her curled up over her computer, eyeing them with something akin to longing.<
br />
  Maybe he should …

  Stop. That’s a little more than friendship.

  He couldn’t stop eyeing the purse in the mirror attached to the wall behind the bar top. Those things were expensive. Not that he’d paid a lot of attention. He’d just happened to notice. That was all. He wasn’t going to hurt over a few hundred dollars, but for Ali, a few hundred dollars meant the kids’ school supplies, their shoes, maybe even some groceries.

  Scowling, he made himself look away from the purse, focusing on the hunk of pizza he no longer wanted.

  Behind him, he could hear Ali’s voice, warm and friendly. She didn’t just make small talk. That was one of the reasons why people who came here liked her. She actually liked talking to the customers, made them feel welcome.

  Of course, quite a few of the guys came in here to stare at her ass.

  It was one of the reasons he liked coming here. One of the reasons he’d started coming here to begin with, but then, he realized he missed her when she wasn’t here. Without even being aware of it, he’d started coming in here on the days she worked, just so he could see her. That slow, subtle flirtation led to something more, although he’d put down the rules, because … well. There was only so much he had to give.

  Maybe at some point it had started to bug him when he noticed other guys in there were doing the same thing he’d started doing a few years ago. Ogling just how well her ass filled out those jeans.

  Guys had always checked her out. Anymore, it pissed him off.

  Pretty Ali Holmes … his friend. Pretty Ali Holmes, mom of two, part-owner of a small, busy pizza place in small-town America. Ali Holmes, a cute brunette with silken skin and wide, green eyes and the sexiest fucking mouth. Ali Holmes … the girl he’d had tucked under his body last night. A little over twelve hours ago, she’d been clutching at his shoulders and gasping for air.

  Now she looked at him and talked to him like …

  He suppressed a groan as he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. She treated him the same fucking way she treated everybody else here. Exactly the way he’d said he wanted things to be.