Publisher: Limitless Publishing
“Sophie is running for her life because she knows too much. She frantically calls Gaige, her boyhood crush who she hasn’t seen in years, to help her just before she’s attacked. Gaige, one of the GHOST team creators, grabs an extra team member just in case he needs help and, heads toward Sophie. Gaige is somewhat hesitant about this because, Sophie hasn’t told him anything about her problems but, since she has always been the one woman he can’t forget, he is determined to do whatever he can to keep her safe. Once Gaige finds Sophie and, she tells him her story, he realizes he is going to have to employ all team members for this case and, pull in quite a few other favors!
This is a super charged, hold on for dear life, read that you won’t be able to put down!
If you love Romantic Suspense, you REALLY need to read this book!!!”~ Cynthia Reifel
“If you are looking for a book that will leave you on the edge of your seat and unable to put it down -look no further. Running for her life, Sophie calls on her deceased brother’s best friend, and highly classified private secret operative, Gaige for help. What she does not realize is that Gaige has dreamed of connecting with her for years but was afraid to go against the bro code. Caught up in a wild ride of lies, deception, rape and murder the two not only figure out the mystery but also find each other. But can a relationship based on as simple spark be enough once the danger has passed? I love, love, loved these characters!! PJ Fiala has a way of combining fast paced action and characters you want to hug. I cannot wait for more in this series!!” – The Overflowing Bookcase
“Can I join you?” he asks, motioning to the table.
There’s interest in his eyes, the kind a man has for a woman, but who knows, maybe it’s real or maybe it’s not real. Maybe he knows who I am and sees a path to power and fame. The way Tobey wanted me for money and power, right up until the moment I’d called his number aka his agenda; thus, he has not called me since I left. Maybe Harvard will lie even better than Tobey did. Maybe Harvard will at least kiss better than he did, and the lies would taste like temptation rather than convenience. At least then, if I’m used, I’ll enjoy being used.
Whatever the case, it’s clear I might actually be angry with Tobey and that aside, the interest that Harvard has shown in me, must be controlled before my Denver sanctuary is destroyed. “You can join me,” I say, “but only because I’m trying to save the rest of the place from the attorney in the house.”
I am pleased when Harvard laughs, where Tobey would have scowled, proving that Harvard has a sense of humor, which is rare for those in my life. I’ve barely completed this thought when he moves forward and claims the seat next to me, not across from me, settling his briefcase on that chair instead. In the process, his leg brushes my leg and for the briefest of moments, I’m transported back to the place that I’m now trying to forget: to Austin, to Drew’s leg next to mine, his wink, and I do now what I did then. I jerk back. If Harvard notices he doesn’t react. “Since we haven’t been formally introduced,” he says, resting his naked hands on the table. “I’m Logan. Logan Casey.”
“Logan Casey,” I repeat trying to ground myself in the present, at least for now, but some part of me is still swimming in that memory, which naturally has me wondering if this man is a shark in the water around me. “Two first names,” I add. “Sounds like your parents fought over who got to pick your first name. Did they draw straws for which choice became your middle name?”
“You’re actually right on target,” he says, laughing again, and it’s a nice, masculine laugh, and oddly this thought feels familiar while Logan does not. “No one has ever guessed that,” he adds. “My mother won the name war. The women always win. Speaking of names. Do you have one?”
“Hailey Anne Pitt,” I say, “and in my house, my father won the name war.” Because in my father’s world, I add silently, the women don’t win the wars. At least, not that he knows, not in an obvious way. I’ve learned this well.
“Well then, Hailey Anne Pitt,” he says, “what’s a Stanford girl like you, doing in a place like this? You’re a long way from school.”
I’m smacked in the face with a lesson I’ve long ago learned and forgotten with this man; strangers do not always remain strangers and all offhanded remarks can come back to haunt you. “That was a joke,” I say, shutting the door connected to my real life, and a path that leads to my father. “I hate attorneys, remember?”
He narrows his eyes on me, and for no reason other than instinct, I believe he’s looking for a lie that he won’t find. I’m simply too well-taught from birth, too skilled at being more than one person to allow such a detection. Well that, and the fact that I really do hate attorneys, which is why I’ll be a good one.
“That was a joke?” he confirms.
“Yes,” I say. “Are you amused?”
“Yes, actually. I am. What does a lawyer-hating smart ass like yourself do for a living?”
“When not busy taunting those who went to law school,” I say. “I’m an aspiring artist.” Both honest answers, if you put a “was” in front of the “aspiring artist” which I’d thought that I’d come to terms with, but the knot in my stomach says I have not.
Logan motions toward the art room. “Your career explains why you ended up here.”
“I guess it does,” I say, as this place serves me well to reconnecting to the Pitt part of my life, which is a place I really need to be right now, for all kinds of reasons.
“Are you good?” Logan asks, as if he’s read my mind.
My father’s words answer him in my head. Art is useless unless you’re famous, he used to say often, because of course, it was inconceivable that I might be good enough to be famous. “Art is like movies and food,” I say, shoving aside that bad memory. “Good is subjective.” I don’t give him time to reply. I ping the conversation back toward him. “What kind of law do you practice?”
“Corporate,” he says, and this time he pings back to me. “Do you live in the neighborhood?”
“Yes,” I say simply. “Do you?”
“I bought a building a few years ago where I live and work which means this is my home turf, and why I know you’re new here.”
“I am,” I say and since he’s clearly going to ask for details, I quickly preempt with an on-the-fly story. Actually, it’s the suggested story, Rudolf included in my file. “I came here for a job, and my new boss owns a house he’s rented to me for dirt cheap.”
“And what does an artist do but create art for a living?”
“I’m working for a private art acquisitions firm. I now hunt for treasures for a living.” This lie is actually my dream job that I’ve never been allowed to entertain.
The horror flick loving waitress delivers my coffee and brownie. “Thank you,” I say, because every politician’s daughter has manners beaten into her.
“No problem,” she says, “but if you come to your senses and want a better version of that coffee, just shout.” She eyes Logan. “I already know you want a crappy tasting coffee, on endless pour and a chocolate chip cookie. Coming right up.”
“Thanks, Megan,” he says, giving her a wink that I don’t classify as flirtatious, just friendly, and Megan is gone.
“Obviously you’re a regular,” I comment, “and they even like you.”
“And they like me,” he confirms, “despite knowing I’m an attorney.
“Because you’re good looking and use it to your advantage.”
He arches a brow. “You think I’m good looking, do you?”
“Oh, come on,” I say, crinkling my nose. “Everyone thinks you’re good looking. I’m simply stating a fact. We use what we have and those of us that are smart, know what we have.” I move on from what is really quite inconsequential. “Why work here, not at home, or in the office?”
“I find I get a lot of work done with a cookie, coffee, and no access to streaming television,” he explains.
No one in my D.C. crowd would make an admission of being human and distractible. Some people in my situation might take comfort in that fact, but I don’t. Logan’s an attorney, and my gut, which I’ll confirm with research, says he’s a powerful one, the kind that radiates toward my father. Maybe that’s a coincidence and maybe it’s not. Maybe he’s testing how well I execute my cover story. The possibilities are many. Though in all fairness to Logan, perhaps I’d lean toward his innocence, if not for the laundry list of recent events such as Tobey being gay and the FBI agent, who is likely working for my father, that I slept with to prove I was a) still desirable and b) not a killer.
Author: Madison Faye
illicit online auction? Yeah, not so normal.
knew what a crush was. I mean, the man checks every single box: gorgeous,
dominant, richer than sin, and built like a Greek god.
auction at an exclusive club, I know it’s a terrible idea. But, I’m out of
options, and a million dollars is a million dollars, right?
twice my age, totally-has-had-me-twisted-up-tangled-up-and-aching-for-him
for years Marshall Bane.
breaking the law.
But you know what’s worse?
…Being this excited for him to collect.
Madison Faye is the dirty alter ego of the very wholesome, very normal suburban
housewife behind the stories. While she might be a wife, mom, and PTA organizer
on the outside, there’s nothing but hot, steamy, and raunchy fantasies brewing
right beneath the surface!Tired of keeping them hidden inside or only having them come out in the
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Single-minded alpha hero, sinfully taboo relationships, and wildly over-the-top
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the place for you! (Just don’t tell the other PTA members you saw her here…)
Join the newsletter reader group for author updates, special prices, and two
for the Boston Ice Tigers, and at thirty he’s become one of the NHL’s top
scorers. Everything would be perfect if he didn’t have to hide the most
important thing in his life.
Danny Fisher has had enough. Almost two years of hiding his relationship with
Tyler have taken a toll on him, and when his very own hockey hottie is supposed
to take part in his team’s social media dating show romancing women, Danny
considers leaving Tyler.
Lily Parker is struggling with her career. Training young horses isn’t an easy
job—one where she has recently been lying in the dirt more than being on the
horse. An evening meant to leave her problems behind her leads to a chance
encounter with Danny and Tyler, complicating her life even more.
Can Lily help Danny and Tyler overcome their problems, or will her presence
cause even more trouble in their relationship?
Defying Gravity (Ice Tigers Book 1) can be read as a standalone. HEA
reader from an early age, and when she’s not writing, she usually has a book in
her hands. Other than that, she enjoys a good hockey game, equestrian sport and
chocolate – lots of chocolate.
Cover Design: Steamy Reads
Photo: Lindee Robinson
Models: Fatima Kojima & Jordan Guske
weeks and adding zeroes to his net worth. But lately, work has left him feeling
burnt out and uninspired. Then he is given the chance to go head-to-head with a
legendary corporate raider and the man he’d idolized his entire career. He
seizes the opportunity, immediately jumping on a plane for Barbados to close
the deal in person. If he’s successful, it’ll be the biggest win of his career.
the power to derail everything…
intellect. Instead, she focuses all her energy on her studies and career
aspirations. But when her home—and a closely guarded family secret—is
threatened, she’s ready to defend all she holds dear.
away everything she’d ever loved…
characters from Everything’s Better With Kimberly, is full of alphas and steam
and has NO cheating.
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Underhill: Where are you?
for a moment considering my answer.
mostly truthful answer. Alex had the annoying but endearing habit of referring
to his suite as our home as if we were a couple of blissful newlyweds. I also
wasn’t sure I wanted him to know I was sleeping in his bed, wearing his clothes
and pining for him like a lovesick teenager.
Underhill: That’s a shame. I was imagining you naked between the sheets in our
Underhill: Your mane of curls, wild and draped across the pillows. You open
that sinful little mouth of yours and slide your two middle fingers between
those gorgeous full lips getting your fingers wet and ready.
were texting me commands, I followed his instructions to the letter. The
thought of Alex in a room full of people in business attire while secretly
sending me all of his dirty innermost thoughts was making me hot and bothered.
My legs parted, and my newly moistened fingers caressed my opening, hot and
slick with my longing for him. My phone pinged again.
Underhill: You’re parting the curls on those tender puffy lips so you can glide
your slick fingers over your aching swollen clit.
Underhill: You’re using the other hand to caress those delicious tits. Pinching
those tender little nipples imagining they were my teeth. I wish I was there to
slide my tongue over those sensitive peaks feeling them stiffen under my lips.
the phone and my back arched as I made circular motions with my fingers
satisfying the searing desire between my thighs, sliding my other palm over one
breast desperately, my body aching for Alex’s big strong everything. Whimpers
and moans provided the soundtrack for my full body writhing until I sucked in a
final gasp. Every muscle in my body was momentarily frozen after I tumbled off
of the cliff I’d driven myself to with my frenzied fingers and Alex’s filthy
felt heavy, my chest rose and fell as I drew in a deep lazy breath and my eyes
drifted closed. The drunk, heady feeling washing over me was amazing. My skin
shimmered and buzzed with a low electric current of satisfied pleasure, but it
was a distant second to the real thing.
middle fingers into my mouth savoring the taste of my need, briefly considering
sending Alex a picture of the aftermath of his text storm, but I knew better,
and he would know I was in his suite.
Underhill: Goddess? Are you still there?
Underhill: Where did you go?
Nirvana. Paradise. Cinnabon.
in the bathroom.
Underhill: (smiling devil horn emoji) I don’t believe you.
of romance she loves to read. She’s a sucker for alphas with a soft gooey
center, over the top romantic gestures, strong & smart MCs, humor, love at
first sight (or pretty damn close), happily ever afters & of
course, dirty & steamy love scenes.
to—every book she can get her hands on— romance or otherwise.
children, a turtle & a Yorkshire Terrier.
Cover Design: Soxsational Cover Art
Series: Mr. Match #4
the formula for love. So why is he still single?
couples have found love thanks to me, that was never really the point. The one
guy I most wanted to match?
Diego finds out exactly who I am. And then the questions will begin. Why
hasn’t Mr. Match found his match?
into question all the matches I’ve made so far. It’s time to step away.
business, I’m starting to wonder if love really is as easy as a mathematical
formula. Because Tatum Archer does something to me that defies logic and
confounds reason. I feel feelings for her, even though the algorithm says I
well, okay, that wasn’t part of the plan, but Charlie is my sidekick now and
I’m okay with that.
business sounds like just the kind of challenge I thrive on. I just
didn’t expect Mr. Match himself to be quite so…
temporarily, it makes perfect sense from a business perspective. But getting
involved with a client would be the end of everything I’d spent years building.
keep our hands off each other?
doesn’t date clients, and Max isn’t signing up for a romantic liaison that
hasn’t been mathematically guaranteed. So why can’t he stop thinking about Tatum? Or about her ridiculously enormous
dog, Charlie? Not that he’s thinking about Charlie romantically, of course. But
the dog is part of a package deal. And maybe he’s thinking about Tatum a little
The final book in the Mr. Match series sees Mr. Match finally find his own
match! Don’t miss the laughs in this hilarious series finale!
to answer a bunch of questions I didn’t want to answer. Before the whole thing
blew up and then tanked spectacularly because I was revealed to be a fraud. And
so naturally, I had a plan.
was lounging on the leather sofa in the middle of my living room. “It’s a
goldmine! Why would you do that?”
found me again. “Max,” she said quietly, looking sad.
That wasn’t my style. “It’s fine. It’s not even that. The whole secrecy
thing is exhausting, and I think I’m pretty close to being outed, which would
be bad for the business. Bad for me. And probably bad for the Sharks,
hurt the Sharks,” she said.
the living room from the patio and yard. My house was nice—big and open, lots
of upscale touches and fancy appliances. But it felt cold to me, despite the almost
constant San Diego sunshine, and I spent a lot of my time out on this patio.
Less oppressive than that unfilled space. “Why do you care if I keep it,
anyway?” I asked, turning to look back inside.
over the grass beyond the patio toward the fence, which sat just along the
curve of Mission Bay. The Isleys lived a few doors down, though I swear we
didn’t plan it that way. “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s
nostalgia, I guess. You always talked about figuring out how love wasn’t this
complicated mystical thing. And then you did it. I just thought it would mean
something to you, even if you never …” she trailed off, glancing at me
and then sinking into a cushioned chair next to the teak table.
efforts at finding a match of my own. I’d been one of the first complete
profiles in the database, but my file had sat there, gathering dust, for years
now. The algorithm was built to match and weigh the most crucial aspects of
someone’s personality, giving mathematical priority to those aspects
statistically most likely to correlate to longevity in relationships. I’d
tweaked the math multiple times over the years, and tons of happy couples all
around San Diego, Los Angeles, and now Arizona, had benefited. But I had
rainbow-maned kind with a cat riding on its back like a Viking conqueror,
throwing glitter around. I was like a sad gothic unicorn, horn draped in black
crepe and too much guy liner.
again?” Cat asked, interrupting my train of thought.
“I have a novel idea for you.”
novel or not.
her eyes at me and blowing out a breath in frustration. “Listen first,
jackass. Then tell me no.”
sentences that make sense.”
couldn’t help reverting to grade-school banter when we were together. It was
our dynamic. It drove Mom crazy, but when Mom wasn’t around, we reveled in it.
“Why not try this dating thing the old fashioned way?”
imagined a stagecoach rolling in, a frightened-looking Midwestern girl coming
down off the steps in a hoop skirt. It turns out I have a very visual
imagination. I do best when I keep my little imaginings to myself though.
I agreed. I wasn’t eager to see where Cat was going with this. Distraction
here.” Cat stood up. “I met an adorable girl at the gallery last
week, and I got her number. You set me up on dates before I met Xavier, so now
I’m setting you up.”
up on dates that had a high mathematical probability of working out
successfully. That’s how you met Xavier, remember?”
The formula had needed tweaking back then. But you had to hand it to a guy so
germaphobic he’d managed to find a place to buy condoms to put on the passenger
seat of his car. “Still. Definitely no to the setting-Max-up
and was texting someone.
wanted. I stood and went to look over my sister’s shoulder, but she’d already
You guys are probably perfect for each other.” Cat smiled like she had
just achieved world peace.
humor, heart and heat!Get the first book in her new sports rom-com series — MR. MATCH — absolutely
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