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Discover More Kristen Ashley
Rough Ride: A Chaos Novella
By Kristen Ashley
Click here to purchase
From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Kristen Ashley comes a new story in her Chaos series…
Rosalie Holloway put it all on the line for the Chaos Motorcycle Club.
Informing to Chaos on their rival club—her man’s club, Bounty—Rosalie knows the stakes. And she pays them when her man, who she was hoping to scare straight, finds out she’s betrayed him and he delivers her to his brothers to mete out their form of justice.
But really, Rosie has long been denying that, as she drifted away from her Bounty, she’s been falling in love with Everett “Snapper” Kavanagh, a Chaos brother. Snap is the biker-boy-next door with the snowy blue eyes, quiet confidence and sweet disposition who was supposed to keep her safe…and fell down on that job.
For Snapper, it’s always been Rosalie, from the first time he saw her at the Chaos Compound. He’s just been waiting for a clear shot. But he didn’t want to get it after his Rosie was left bleeding, beat down and broken by Bounty on a cement warehouse floor.
With Rosalie a casualty of an ongoing war, Snapper has to guide her to trust him, take a shot with him, build a them…
And fold his woman firmly in the family that is Chaos.
* * * *
Rock Chick Reawakening: A Rock Chick Novella
By Kristen Ashley
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From New York Times bestselling author, Kristen Ashley, comes the long-awaited story of Daisy and Marcus, Rock Chick Reawakening. A prequel to Kristen’s Rock Chick series, Rock Chick Reawakening shares the tale of the devastating event that nearly broke Daisy, an event that set Marcus Sloane—one of Denver’s most respected businessmen and one of the Denver underground’s most feared crime bosses—into finally making his move to win the heart of the woman who stole his.
Dream Maker
The Dream Series, Book 1
By Kristen Ashley
Coming May 26, 2020
Click here to purchase
From New York Times bestselling author Kristen Ashley comes the first sexy, contemporary romance in a brand-new, spin-off from the Rock Chick and Dream Man series, in which two broken hearts find love and healing in each other.
Evie is a bonafide nerd and a hyper-intelligent chick who has worked her whole life to get what she wants. Growing up, she had no support from her family and has only ever been able to rely on herself. So when Evie decides she wants to earn her engineering degree, she realizes she needs to take an alternative path to get there. She takes a job dancing at Smithie's club thinking this would be a quick side gig, where she can make the money she needs. But with her lack of dancing skills and an alpha bad boy who becomes overly protective, Evie realizes this might not be as easy as she thought.
Daniel “Mag” Magnusson knows a thing or two about pain, but the mask he wears is excellent. No one can tell that this good-looking, quick-witted, and roguish guy has deep-seated issues. Mag puts on a funny-guy routine so he can hide his broken heart and PTSD. But when Evie dances her way into Mag's life, he realizes that he needs to come face-to-face with the demons of his past if he wants a future with her.
* * * *
Read an excerpt from Dream Maker:
I did not have the time, or the inclination (that last was a bit of a lie) to be charmed by, become besotted with and put the effort into taming a brokenhearted manwhore who was so pretty, my heart wept just watching him laugh.
But in the end, that heart would just be broken.
Because he’d break it.
“What’s funny?” I asked.
“You might have wanted to leave some of the stock of Urban Outfitters for the other nostalgics,” he answered on a grin.
Did he…
Actually…
Say that?
“Some of it’s from Anthropologie,” I sniffed.
He busted out laughing again.
“And some of it is vintage,” I snapped over his hilarity.
Now, he looked like he was fighting bending double with his amusement.
“What do you drive?” I queried.
“F-250,” he answered, still chucking.
“Sorry?”
“Ford F-250. A truck. A big one. And no, it’s not diesel and it absolutely does not plug into anything.”
I felt my lips thin.
He grinned again.
“I see we’re gonna discuss global warming over dinner,” he noted.
“There’s nothing to discuss. The globe is warming. Thus, we all should take some responsibility for turning that around. End of topic,” I retorted.
He was still grinning when he said, “Chill, Evan. I’m teasing you. Your pad is tight. I like it. And cross my heart,” and he did just this with a very long, well-shaped forefinger, “I put all my leftovers in those reusable Ziplocs Mac bought us, and as often as I can, I refuse a straw.”
“The end of the world as we know it isn’t funny,” I informed him.
“I’m not kidding.”
I studied his face in an attempt to ascertain if that was a lie.
He was apparently being honest.
Or he was a good liar.
He smiled at me again and said softly, “Your jewelry.”
“Right,” I muttered, turned and walked back to my bedroom.
My mind ran amuck (mostly with thoughts about how soft his hair might be, then trying to stop thoughts of how soft his hair might be) as I put my little gold ball studs in my ears and one midi-ring on my left forefinger that had a line of tiny emeralds across the font.
This completed my outfit of army green crop pants, gray scoop-necked, relax-fit tee (which I’d also given the French tuck), and the sand-colored blazer I was going to don when I got back to the kitchen.
I walked out and I did so carefully because Mag was still standing in my living room, he was watching me, and I’d been known to be a klutz and I did not want to date this guy, but I also did not want to make a fool of myself in front of him.
I went to the kitchen to shove my phone and lip gloss in my little bag and put on my blazer.
As my kitchen had a huge opening to the living room, Mag asked through it, “Did you put on your jewelry?”
“Yes.”
There was a pause then, “Did good, babe. You as gorgeous as you are, you don’t need much.”
My fingers stilled.
I wanted to be offended he’d called me “babe” and thought I needed his approval of my accessorizing.
All I could hear was the word “gorgeous.”
And this was the charm I needed to guard against.
The problem with that was it felt too nice aimed my way.
I didn’t know what to do, or say, so I looked down to my bag, fumbled my lip gloss, it fell off the counter, I bent to retrieve it…
And then, typical, within minutes of meeting him, I gave him a massive dose of the real Evan Gardiner.
This being, I slammed my forehead into the edge of the counter.
And that hurt.
A lot.
“Shit. Evan,” Mag called.
But I did not reply because I was in the midst of overcompensating the recovery. Staggering back, I slammed into the counter behind me, the edge of it digging painfully into the small of my back, and between the crack on my head making me dizzy and the sting in my back, I went down, flat on my ass.
Fabulous.
Mag was there in what seemed like half a second, crouching
beside me, his long, strapping thighs splayed wide, his trousers molded to the curves and dips of his clearly muscular knees, his hand coming toward me.
I started to rear away from it, and he murmured, “Whoa,” and again moved fast so I banged the back of my head into his palm which cracked against the cupboard.
I heard Nancy Kerrigan’s plaintive cry in my head, but mine had to do with why I’d given into this date.
“Oh God, sorry,” I muttered, totally mortified.
“Just…don’t move,” he ordered, taking control of my chin and lifting it slowly.
I forced my eyes to his face to see him examining my forehead, but that close, I could see how curly his eyelashes were.
Not good.
Because they were awesome.
“Smacked yourself a good one,” he murmured.
Man.
This was just…
Humiliating.
“I think you need ice,” he went on.
“I—”
I stopped speaking because he moved fast again, doing this to pick me up.
Pick me up.
One arm under my knees, one at my upper back.
I was so stunned by this maneuver, not only him doing it, but his being able to do it, I said not a word as he walked me to my couch, laid me down on it, then strode back to the kitchen.
I heard the ice machine grinding and then he returned with a bundled dishtowel.
“Lay back,” he demanded.
I reclined against my fringed toss pillows and Mag gently set the bundle on my forehead.
“You need at least fifteen, twenty minutes of that which means we’re gonna miss our reservation. I’ll order a pizza,” he declared. “Let me guess. Your half, veggie.”
I was not thrilled (at all) that I’d blown this date the way I had.
But one could not say I wasn’t thrilled I’d blown this date and now had a real excuse to get out of it.
In an effort to do that, I peered out from under the towel and started, “Danny—”
“Mag.”
“Sorry.”
“What?”
“What?” I parroted, because he wasn’t close, but he was not far, and I could see how curly his eyelashes were again.
“You said my name.”
“I did?”
His eyes narrowed and he stopped bending over me, holding the ice to my head, and bent into me, pulling the ice away and staring into my eyes.
“What day is it?” he asked.
“Tuesday.”
“Who set us up?”
“Lottie.”
He held three fingers up to my face. “How many fingers do you see?”
“Three, Mag, stop it. I’m okay. I just…”
I didn’t finish.
“What?” he asked.
“Just…”
I again didn’t finish.
“What, Evan?”
God, really, was he actually that handsome?
And right there, hovering over me, looking concerned, which made him even more handsome?
“Evan?” he called.
“Your eyelashes are very curly,” I whispered.
That was when he did it.
His gaze changed, it was an amazing change I felt in amazing places, it shifted to my mouth, and I felt that too, it was also amazing, and last, he murmured, “Baby.”
“I’m not your baby,” I breathed.
His gaze shifted back to my eyes, and he rumbled, all sexy, hot and sweet, “Oh yeah, you are.”
My toes curled.
“Danny—”
“Mag.”
“Mag, I—”
My phone buzzed with a text.
He looked to the counter that delineated kitchen from living room, to me, put the ice back on and ordered, “Hold that.”
I did as told, and he straightened and took the single step it took him with his long-ass legs to get to the counter.
“What the fuck?” he asked.
I kept the ice where it should be but tipped my head to look at him only to see him reading my screen.
Yes.
Reading my screen.
“What are you doing?”
His eyes dropped down to me. “Who you gonna meet at Storage and Such on East Colfax at eleven fuckin’ thirty, Evan?”
Uh-oh.
“Why you gonna meet someone at Storage and Such on East fuckin’ Colfax at eleven fuckin’ thirty?” he continued.
I pushed up and reached out a hand. “Give me my phone.”
“Answer me,” he demanded testily.
I twisted in the couch to put my feet on the floor, saying, “I’ve known you all of ten minutes. You can’t read my texts and it’s none of your business who I meet where.”
“You got a situation?” he asked.
I didn’t.
My brother obviously did.
“No,” I semi-lied.
“You keep bad company?” he asked.
I didn’t.
But my brother totally did.
“No,” I did not lie, though I had a feeling, if I went to Storage and Such on East Colfax, I would be.
My phone chimed again with another text and his eyes went direct to it.
Now…
Really.
I stood, pulling the ice off my head and snapping, “Danny!”
He looked to me and growled, “It says meet outside unit six and come alone.”
I slowly closed my eyes and let my head fall back.
“Evan.”
He was still growling.
I said nothing.
Come alone.
Mick, what mess are you in now? I thought.
“Evie,” Mag clipped.
I opened my eyes and righted my head.
“There’s a favor I need to do for my brother.”
“At eleven thirty on East Colfax?”
I tipped my head to the side and shrugged, but that was a sham seeing as a chill was racing up my spine.
“Lie down. Ice on,” he bit out.
“Danny—”
“Lie your ass down and get that ice back to that bump, Evie, then we’ll talk.”
“We won’t talk, you’ll just go. Obviously, the date’s off for this evening. We’ll reschedule.”
Or we would not.
“Mac says you’re a genius,” he announced, apropos of nothing.
I blinked and asked, “What?”
“Lottie. She says you’re a genius.”
Wow.
That was nice.
“She says you told her that you took apart a radio, and put it back together,” he carried on. “When you were six.”
I did do that.
My mother thought I was a freak.
My father bought every broken radio he could find at thrift shops, brought them home, made me fix them, then sold them at triple what he bought them for.
I didn’t, incidentally, see a dime of those earnings.
I was six, but, you know, allowance.
Maybe?
Mag continued talking.
“So, genius, look at my face and tell me if I’m leaving.”
Available May 26, 2020!
Dream Man Box Set, Books 1-4
By Kristen Ashley
Now Available
Click here to purchase
Meet the intense and sexy men of the Dream Men series from the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Rock Chick Series!
Mystery Man
Gwendolyn Kidd has met the man of her dreams. He's hot, he's sexy, and what started as a no-names-exchanged night of passion has blossomed into a year and a half-long pleasure fest. Hawk Delgado has demons that keep him from connecting with anyone. But when Gwen is threatened, Hawk's protective nature comes out in full force. The problem is, when Gwen gets a dose of Hawk's Alpha attitude in the daylight, she's not so sure he's the one anymore.
Wild Man
Tessa O'Hara never expected the man of her dreams to walk into her bakery. Within
thirty seconds he asks her out for a beer. But when she discovers he's an undercover DEA agent-and he's investigating her possible role in her ex-husband's drug business, Tess declares their relationship is over. Brock disagrees. He's committed to his mission, but he's fallen in love with the beautiful woman who's as sweet as her cupcakes-and he'll do anything to win her back.
Law Man
Sweet, shy Mara Hanover is in love with her neighbor. For four years, she has secretly watched her dream man from afar. Handsome police detective Mitch Lawson is way out of her league. She's a girl from the wrong side of the tracks, and there's no way a guy like Mitch would want anything to do with her. But when Mara gets pulled back into the life she's tried so hard to leave behind, it's Mitch who comes to her rescue.
Motorcycle Man
Tyra Masters has had enough drama to last a lifetime. Now she's back on track and looking forward to her new quiet life. Until she meets the man of her dreams. The tattooed, muscled biker plies her with tequila-and the best sex of her life. She knows Kane "Tack" Allen is the kind of man she's always wanted. Unfortunately, he's also her new boss...
On behalf of 1001 Dark Nights,
Liz Berry and M.J. Rose would like to thank ~
Steve Berry
Doug Scofield
Kim Guidroz
Jillian Stein
InkSlinger PR
Dan Slater
Asha Hossain
Chris Graham
Fedora Chen
Kasi Alexander
Jessica Johns
Dylan Stockton
Richard Blake
and Simon Lipskar
Table of Contents
Book Description
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Quiet Man Page 25