FOUR red-hot stories about the bad,
wicked and twisted characters of Briarcrest Academy, featuring a dirty-talking
gym owner, a football player, a sexy rock star, and a British bad boy.
Bad Wicked Twisted: A Briarcrest Academy Box Set is
Amazon
UK: http://amzn.to/1KqUYot
EXCERPT
Nora
“I’d like to sleep for a hundred
years, wake up and try again.” – Nora Blakely
“Drop the paint and turn around
slowly with your hands in the air.” The loud command was said with a deep
voice. “I’ve got a gun, asshole, so move nice and slow.”
I bent over and placed the can on the pavement. I started to
turn when— “I said put your hands in the air!” he yelled.
I yanked my hands up and eased around to face the owner of
the voice.
He was about ten feet away from me, standing six feet and
then some. He was missing a shirt but wearing a pair of black athletic shorts
and flip-flops. Judging by his disheveled dirty blond hair and bloodthirsty
eyes, I’d have to guess this might be
the owner of the Escalade.
And I’d just woken him up.
He came closer to me, and my eyes were immediately drawn to
his green-and-blue dragon tattoo. Like a giant snake, the scaled body of the
dragon wrapped around his forearm and bicep with the neck coming down from his
shoulder and the head resting on his broad chest. Red flames poured from its
mouth, between laser sharp teeth.
This guy looked medieval.
I pictured him as a rugged Viking, wearing a horned helmet
and gripping a spear instead of a gun. Maybe holding a shield instead of his
flashlight and definitely wearing some of those laced-up leather boots. The
word berserker (from round two of the
famous spelling bee) came to mind, and I rolled the syllables around my
tongue . . . ber-serk-er.
Yep, that was him alright: one pissed off Norse warrior.
I grinned at my amazing analogy because, well, I was
trashed.
“You think this is funny, son?” he snapped.
I shook my head, suddenly aware that this was really
happening, that I’d been caught, and an angry car owner was pointing a gun at
me. And he thought I was a boy.
“That’s what I thought. Now, what the hell are you doing out
here messing with my car?” he said, biting out the words through clenched
teeth.
I said nothing.
“You’ve got twenty seconds before I call the cops,” he said,
stepping closer.
And then it happened.
Everything clicked in my head, and I knew him. He was the one, the gorgeous guy from the open
house whose gaze had been the glue that held me together in the parking lot. I
forgot about the gun and got tangled up in my thoughts, remembering the
countless times I’d played out the memory of our eyes clinging to each other,
how I’d wanted to jump out of my car, get into his and just drive away. I
flicked my eyes back at the Escalade, dimly remembering he’d driven a black
car. I really hadn’t paid much attention to it that day because all I’d seen
had been him.
“Ten seconds,” he yelled, blasting his light full in my face
until bright spots were floating in front of my eyes.
“Get that off me,” I snapped, swaying a little.
He lowered the light a miniscule bit. “Drunk and disorderly plus vandalism are two misdemeanors.
Looks like you’re going to jail.”
“S’kay with me. Put me in jail,” I said weakly. But even as
I said the words, I knew I was lying. I wasn’t a minor anymore, and I could
kiss Princeton goodbye if I got arrested.
Nausea reared its ugly head and my stomach began to roll.
“Five seconds,” he retorted.
I bent over and hurled, missing my shirt but not my adored
cowboy boots. After that, I dry heaved, and the force made my legs buckle,
making me take a header straight on the concrete, the side of my face slamming
into the wet pavement. My ball cap fell off in the craziness, my long hair
spilling out over the wet ground.
“Holy shit,” he muttered, easing the gun down, “you’re a
fucking girl.”
“Last time I looked,” I whispered, running my tongue across
my teeth to check for chips. I scooted myself away from the mess I’d made and
reached up to touch my face to see if I was bleeding. There wasn’t any blood,
but I could feel my temple swelling. I put a hand on the car and pulled myself
up. My knees were on fire, and when I looked down, I saw the concrete had ripped
through my jeans and blood was dripping down my legs.
He cursed, pulled a phone from his pocket and dialed a
number. “Sebastian, it’s all good. No, no cops. Yeah, come on out here. I might
need some help.”
A door slammed, and a younger version of the man, probably
around my age, came around the corner, his long legs striding briskly. He
stopped in front of the graffiti I’d drawn and whistled loudly. “Oh baby, those
pretty hearts and flowers are rocking your ride, Leo.” He chuckled and then
stopped when his eyes took me in. “Whoa, she’s bleeding. Did you beat her up?”
The guy called Leo rubbed his scruffy jaw. “I don’t hit
girls. She fell.”
“She’s hurt,” the young guy stated, frowning. He stared at
me with a puzzled expression and then grinned and slapped his leg. “Hot damn.
It’s her,” he said in a loud whisper.
“You know? Nora? From registration?”
“Yeah. I see that,” Leo said, his eyes searching my face.
“I see no official introductions are necessary. Everyone
knows me now as the girl with the potty mouth,” I said, leaning completely
against the car, smearing the yellow paint everywhere.
The younger one came to my side. “You okay?”
I focused on him and decided I liked him. He had an open
face that made me think he laughed a lot, so when I felt myself swaying again,
I reached out to him.
“Watch it,” he said gently and grabbed my shoulders to
steady me.
Leo walked over and loomed beside me, a disapproving look on
his face as he watched us. I shifted closer to the one he’d called Sebastian,
but stumbled and lost my balance, falling down again on my knees. Shit. This
night had gone downhill fast.
Sebastian kneeled down next to me and looked over at Leo.
“Hey, how ’bout I carry her inside so she can get cleaned up?”
Leo let out an exasperated breath. “Ridiculous,” he
muttered. “She ruins my car, and you want to invite her inside? You’d feel
different if it had been your Beamer, Sebastian.”
Sebastian gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “She’s my
classmate, bro, and I think she’d just drunk.”
Leo let out a grunt. “Whatever. Fine, I’ll get her, and you
get the backpack. And don’t forget the spray paint.” He walked over and glared
down at me. “If I call the police later, we’ll need the evidence.”
Then, without any effort at all, he swept me up, his hard
arms slipping under my knees and around my back as he scooped me off the
ground.
And just like that, the night caught up with me, and I
nestled into his bare chest, feeling like I had come home. He smelled so good,
like—
“Butterscotch,” I mumbled, turning my nose into him.
“What?” he grumbled, carrying me inside the glass doors.
I didn’t answer because I was too busy laying my cheek
against his hot skin and staring into the crystalline eyes of his dragon.
He took me down a long hall with several doors on each side
and past a large workout room with treadmills, ellipticals, and free weights.
“Hold on,” he said and adjusted his grip on my legs and started up a wide
staircase that opened to a spacious loft area. He carried me past a den area
and a kitchen and into a large white-tiled bathroom. I suppose I was too wet
for any other room. And I wasn’t exactly a welcome guest.
He sat me on the toilet seat, made sure I was steady, and
eased away from me. Maybe he wanted me to sit, but I didn’t. I jumped up, went
over to the sink and turned the water on. He stood there, his broad shoulders
tense, watching me as I splashed cool water on my face and rinsed out my mouth.
I grabbed a hand towel and dried off, wishing I wasn’t intoxicated.
“Tell me why you vandalized my car,” he stated, crossing his
muscled arms and spreading his legs, his stance making it obvious he was pissed.
The tension heightened in the small room as we stared at each other, and I tore
my eyes from his to sit back down on the toilet seat, not knowing how to answer
him. I would only sound crazy.
He tapped his fingers against his legs. “What’s your
parent’s phone number? And don’t think of lying because I can always look it up
online. I know who you are.”
“There’s no point in calling them. They aren’t home. They
never are,” I said, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and cleaning off my boots.
My throat tightened painfully at the thought of my parents, and I soothed
myself by counting the tiles on the floor.
He didn’t speak and several seconds passed, and I tensed up
more, fearing that like Mother, he excelled in using silence. But no one was
better than Mother, who’d once refused to speak to me for an entire month when
I’d come in second at a debate competition. During the first week of that
horribly quiet time, I’d followed her around, begging her to talk to me. She’d
ignore me and say to my dad, “Silence is
golden.” As the weeks had progressed, I’d learned her silence was her speech, her way of saying I was
worthless.
“Please don’t call my parents,” I added, hiding my shaking
hands behind my back.
He tightened his mouth. “Fine, who can I call to come get
you?”
“Don’t hold it against Portia from the bakery across the
street, but she’s my aunt. I’m staying with her.” I dug my phone out of my wet
jeans, scrolled down to her number, and handed it to him.
Our fingers brushed when he took my phone, and I jerked, shocked
at the unexpected sizzle of heat sweeping over my body. He pocketed my phone
and then opened the medicine cabinet, gazing into it for a long time without
moving, like he was considering what to do next. I watched him warily,
wondering what he had planned for me. Finally, he sighed and pulled out
hydrogen peroxide and a handful of gauze.
“Sebastian has a change of clothes you can borrow, and
you’ll need an ice pack for your face. It’s going to leave a bruise,” he told
me as he bent down to touch my temple with his long fingers. He cleaned my face
with cold water and then dabbed it with the hydrogen peroxide, his touch
surprisingly gentle even though I could sense his anger just under the surface.
In the bright lights of the bathroom, I let my gaze run over
him freely, taking him in, not missing how beautiful he was. He had an
unyielding face, with a jaw line that looked like it could chisel granite,
matching his well-built, defined body. Yet even with all the hotness in front
of me, the one thing that made my heart fly was his icy pale-blue eyes. This
close up I could see how the light, almost transparent color contrasted with
his tan face, making his eyes glow like the precious opals I’d studied about in
science. And right now they were focused entirely on me as he scrutinized my
bruise.
“Is this your gym?” I asked, trying not to wince as he
patted my temple.
“Yes,” he said, tossing the used gauze into the trash, his
arm muscles rippling. He stood up and raked a hand through his wavy blond hair,
holding it there as he studied me with those piercing eyes. I returned his
look, my breath kicking up a notch at how sexy his naked chest was, how his
dragon tattoo seemed to slither and slide over his chest as he moved. My eyes
moved down to his taut abs and the way his shorts barely hung to his lean
waist, hinting at what was underneath.
Of course, while I’m buzzing, I remembered my bad list and
grew curious about having sex with him.
Would he be gentle or demanding? Would he like me on top or would he get behind
me? Would I enjoy it?
But it didn’t matter if I got off as long as he made me
forget.
Forgetting was the important part.
It had been months since I’d had sex with someone. Not since
that wild weekend in New York with Drew. Even though our relationship had ended
badly, I still remembered the sex and how good it had felt to be held by
someone. Like I wasn’t alone, like someone cared about me.
I needed a night like that again, to lose myself in sex. I
wanted this Viking.
I gave him a fake smile. “Leo’s a great name. Guess you know
it means lion. It also means bold one. Are you bold?” I said in a low
tone, reaching out to stroke his arm.
He jerked away from me, like I’d scalded him, but it didn’t
deter me. True, I was a little younger than him, but what guy would turn down a
no-strings-attached night? Drew hadn’t.
I stood up and toed my boots off. “How old are you?” I
asked.
“Too old for you,” he quickly retorted.
“I’m not a virgin, you know. I’ve been with other guys, some
good at fucking, some not.” I let my eyes run over him slowly. “You’re older
which means more experienced. I bet you’d blow them right out of the water,” I said,
putting it all out there and letting bad Nora take over completely.
“I don’t care how many douchebags you’ve fucked,” he said
with a hard face, his eyes gleaming with distaste.
I felt some of my false bravado slip away, but not enough to
stop. He was what I needed tonight. I began unbuttoning my shirt, and his eyes
followed my progress. “You tell me your age and I’ll tell you mine,” I said in
the best teasing voice I could muster.
I undid the last button and shrugged out of my shirt,
relieved I’d worn the black lace bra. “You like?”
He yanked a towel from the shelf near the door and tossed it
in my face. “Cover up, Nora. I don’t do spoiled, rich girls.”
I caught the towel and held it against me, ignoring that
remark. Those types of insults never affected me.
Not when you hear them every day.
“If you won’t tell me your age, I’ll just have to figure it
out on my own. And I’m guessing you’re at least twenty-five, maybe twenty-six?”
I said.
He shook his head and clenched his fists, not answering me.
I took a deep breath, dropped the towel to the floor and
unclasped my bra, letting my size C breasts fall out. Even though I’d been a
pudgy most of my life, I’d blossomed into a girl with generous curves. He
seemed to like what he saw because he didn’t look away. I glanced down at my
erect nipples and lightly touched one with my fingertip, surprised by the
desire I felt. I brought my eyes back to his face, imagining his tongue on me.
A muscle jerked in his tight jaw.
I dropped my hand and steeled myself to keep on toward the
goal. “Of course, it’s getting harder to tell someone’s age now because people
take better care of themselves, like you with your tight abs. But, if you study
someone long enough, you’ll find out their secrets.”
“I don’t have any,” he ground out, tearing his eyes from my
body.
“We all do.”
He rubbed his hand across his mouth as his eyes swept over
my breasts again. “You don’t know jack about me.”
I studied him, my brain picking through what I’d observed
tonight. “Well, you own your own business, so you’re a responsible person. And,
I bet you a new pair of boots you’re the guardian of the young man out there,
who has to be your brother because he looks just like you. I think your parents
are out of the picture.”
I unsnapped my jeans, shimmied them pass my skinned knees,
and tossed them in the trash. “You’ve also shown self-control tonight that’s
impressive. Someone less in control
might have shot me on sight. In a nutshell,” I said, taking off my black
panties, “you’re well-off, take care of a younger brother, and keep your
emotions on a tight leash. Am I right?”
He glared at me, his entire body frozen up, like a tiger
poised to pounce. Like he was going to jump on me and devour me. I wondered if
he’d eat me the way I wanted.
I couldn’t stop talking. “I’m good at observing people: body
language, mannerisms, how they talk, style of clothing, everything. It’s a
puzzle I like to put together. It’s better than Facebook stalking,” I said with
a forced shrug, trying to be casual when inside I was freaking the hell out. What was I doing?
Why was I trying to seduce this guy?
He didn’t want me.
No one did.
His eyes burned like blue flames. “What kind of girl strips
for a guy she just met?”
A girl with no self-respect, I thought.
I shrugged. “I need a shower, which involves me taking my
clothes off.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “You could have waited until I
left.”
I flicked my eyes at his crotch. “You’re hard for me. You’re
bigger than a tree trunk in those shorts,” I said. “And you haven’t walked out
of this bathroom. I think you’re a little fascinated with me. I think you like
watching me take my—”
“Fuck!” he barked out and spun around to go.
“Wait, wait,” I called out, reaching out to make him stop,
needing him. Please stay, I wanted to
say.
He turned back with his fists held tight by his side and
spat out his words. “You’re a naked girl,
and I’m a grown-ass man. I’m walking out of this room while I still can.”
But he made no move to leave, and it gave me a tiny bit of
hope.
“I . . . I just wanted to know how old
you are.”
“Twenty-five. I’m twenty-five,” he muttered, “and you’re
jailbait and not my type.”
“What type is that?” I asked.
“Girls who aren’t in high school. In other words—not you.”
And as we stood there, facing each other, I waited for him
to make his move, to snatch me up and take me to his bed like I wanted.
But he didn’t, because I wasn’t good enough or pretty enough
or smart enough.
I was never enough.
I cleared my throat and powered on. “Eighteen isn’t jailbait.”
We stared at each other and the longer our eyes held, the
more I knew my boundaries were gone. It seemed like there was nothing I
wouldn’t say to him. Even though my insides were quaking with nerves, I went
over to him until our bare chests were only inches apart. I was five feet ten
inches, and he was at least six inches taller, making him the tallest guy I’d
ever stood next to. Not only that, but his body was built like an NFL football
player, with lethal yet lickable muscles. I liked being near him. I felt safe,
like no one would ever hurt me again.
My eyes caressed the dragon on his chest, and I wanted to
trace it with my tongue. I thought about how warm his skin would be, how it
would feel to have his strong arms wrap around me as I kissed his sensuous
lips. When his breathing accelerated along with mine, I knew I wasn’t
completely alone in my feelings. I searched his eyes, surprised at the new
sensations coursing through me.
I pressed myself against him completely, and he hissed at
the contact. “Don’t you want to touch me?” I whispered, rubbing my breasts
against his chest to get some friction.
He gripped my arms and shoved me away from him. “You’re
playing with fire. You think you want this?” He laughed darkly. “Buttercup, you
can’t handle me.”
And with those words, he pivoted around and stomped out of
the room, slamming the door hard behind him.
Synopsis
Each book in the Briarcrest Academy series is written as a
stand-alone love story following a new couple.
1: VERY BAD THINGS
(Nora and Leo)
2: VERY WICKED
BEGINNINGS (Dovey and Cuba--prequel novella)
3: VERY WICKED THINGS
(Dovey and Cuba)
4.
VERY TWISTED THINGS (Violet and Sebastian)
VERY BAD
THINGS (Amazon Top 5 Book and #1 in New
Adult and College Age Romance)
Leaving behind her mansion and Jimmy Choos, Nora Blakely
becomes a girl hell-bent on pushing the limits with alcohol, drugs, and
meaningless sex.
Then she meets her soulmate, but he doesn’t want her.
Sexy gym owner Leo Tate has one rule: never fall in
love…until Nora shows up with her list of bad things. He resists the pull of
their sizzling connection, hung up on their age difference.
Welcome to Briarcrest Academy, where the best things in life
are VERY BAD THINGS.
VERY
WICKED BEGINNINGS (Prequel Novella: Amazon Top 100
Book and #1 in Urban Fiction)
When wicked ballerina Dovey Beckham meets football star Cuba
Hudson, she didn’t plan on having her heart shattered into a million pieces.
He’s the bad boy with a dark past and when he falls for Dovey, he knows she
can’t be part of his future.
Welcome to VERY WICKED BEGINNGINGS.
VERY
WICKED THINGS (Amazon Top 100 Book and #1 in
Urban Fiction)
Dovey Beckham is a ballerina from the wrong side of the
tracks with a scholarship to prestigious Briarcrest Academy. She gives her body
but never her heart. Cuba "Hollywood"
Hudson is a wealthy football player with fast cars and even faster girlfriends.
Until the day he meets her, and she offers him something he's never tasted: true love.
Their passion is electric, their connection deep, but once in a
lifetime kind of love doesn't come easy, especially when dirty money, past
sins, and old flames come calling.
Welcome to Briarcrest Academy…where the best
things in life are Very Wicked Things.
VERY
TWISTED THINGS (Amazon Top 100 and
#1 Urban Fiction)
Violet St. Johns is a talented violinist
hiding out in a Hollywood mansion, struggling to forget the devastation of her
parent’s sudden death.
Vital Rejects front man Sebastian Tate never
imagined his music video would go viral, skyrocketing him to instant fame.
Okay, maybe he did. He’s a cocky dude, and he knew his name would be in lights
someday.
When he sees the elusive girl in the mansion
next door playing her violin nude,
they begin an erotic game of spying.
When they finally come face-to-face, sparks
fly and clothes comes off. But giving his heart to a girl isn’t Sebastian’s
plan; falling for a guy who craves attention isn’t Violet’s.
Welcome to Briarcrest Academy….Hollywood
style….where the best things in life are VERY TWISTED THINGS.
Praise for the Briarcrest Series
"Cuba is hot, delicious, and
intoxicating...the perfect book boyfriend. Be prepared for an addictive
read." ~Tijan, NYT Bestselling
Author
Meet Ilsa Madden-Mills
New York Times and USA Today
best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy
alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.
She's
addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in
books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate,
Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she's a Gemini), Sephora
make-up, and tattoos.
She
has a degree in English and a Master's in Education.
When
she's not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old
furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.
SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS
You
can stalk her on her website as well as get signed books: http://www.ilsamaddenmills.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ilsamaddenmills
GIVEAWAY
$50 Amazon Gift Card (Open Internationally)
No comments:
Post a Comment