Credo By Nashoda Rose ♥ Pre-Order Blitz

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Book Title: Credo (Scars of the Wraiths, #3)
Author: Nashoda Rose
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Release Date: October 24, 2016
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

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New York Times & USA Today Best Selling Author Nashoda Rose brings a fresh twist to the paranormal romance world with ‘the Scars’.

An unrequited love.
A tortured past.
An unbreakable bond.

Their love was well-known throughout the immortal world.
The powerful Taldeburu Waleron and his Delara.
But tragedy struck and tore them apart for years. One believing the other was dead.

When fate finally brings them back together again it isn’t kind.
It’s cruel and testing. Sacrificial.

Because love has no remorse for its victims.
It doesn’t give you options.
And it won’t be stopped.

This is Waleron and Delara’s story.
It’s not pretty and it’s not kind.
But it’s theirs.

A band of fierce warriors walk in the shadows of the human world with capabilities derived from the senses: Trackers, Sounders, Healers, Tasters, Visionaries and the rare Reflectors. They are known as the ‘Scars.

Scars of the Wraiths Series (Must be read in order)
Stygian (Scars of the Wraiths, Book 1)
Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths, Book 2)
Credo (Scars of the Wraiths, Book 3) Oct/2016

meet the author

Nashoda Rose is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author. She writes romance with a splash of darkness. When she isn’t writing, she can be found sitting in a field reading or writing with her dog at her side, while her horses graze nearby. She loves interacting with her readers and chatting about her addiction–books.

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Tyrant By Nashoda Rose ♥ Book Tour

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Meet Kilter & Rayne in

Tyrant by Nashoda Rose! #ParaRomance

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New York Times & USA Today Best Selling Author Nashoda Rose brings a fresh twist to the paranormal romance world with ‘the Scars’.

“I don’t do nice. Period.” -Kilter (nickname: Off-Kilter)

Kilter is crass, reckless and stubborn. He has alienated everyone—just the way he likes it. Until the day he meets Rayne and emotions he buried long ago reawaken.

“I was nothing but a science experiment.” -Rayne

Rayne has been locked away and used for research ever since she was a child. The abuse caused her to withdraw into a tomb of numbness where she’s found a safe place to hide. But her safe place isn’t safe at all, it’s slowly killing her.

When Kilter rescues her and she is unexpectedly drawn to his raw honesty, Rayne must decide whether to trust him and fight for what she can’t see or drown into the depths of darkness.

For some Scars, it’s the story of healing and redemption, for others it’s the beginning of a tortured existence. Which will it be for Kilter and Rayne?

A band of fierce warriors walk in the shadows of the human world with capabilities derived from the senses: Trackers, Sounders, Healers, Tasters, Visionaries and the rare Reflectors. They are known as the ‘Scars.

*Stygian must be read first. 18+

Scars of the Wraiths Series

Stygian (Scars of the Wraiths, Book 1)

Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths, Book 2)

Take (Scars of the Wraiths, standalone)

Credo (Scars of the Wraiths, Book 3) (coming 2016)

Author’s Note: Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths, Book 2) was originally titled “Step” (Senses Series). The book has been completely re-written. However, please check your Kindles before purchasing.

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tyrant rayne

I sat on the cold cement floor of the bathroom, knees to my chest, arms tight around them as I waited for the door to open.

Booted steps strode through my adjoining bedroom toward me.

Closer. Louder.

Goose bumps scattered. My body trembled as raw fear gripped me. It was like I was hanging off the side of a cliff by my fingernails, knowing I’d eventually fall and the pain would come.

Unbearable pain.

He’d come. My husband or whoever he’d sent to get me.

There was no escape. No where to run.

The heavy thuds stopped outside the bathroom door, and I glimpsed the tall, dark shadow that filtered through the two-inch gape.

I put my chin on my knee and closed my eyes, afraid to look. If I didn’t look, then no one was here. My breath came in short, sharp, quiet gasps and I dug my fingers into the sides of my thighs so hard, blood trickled down my skin through my pants.

For almost a month, I’d expected this day to come, stomach churning every time I heard someone in the corridor outside my bedroom. Living in a black hole, I was desperate to get out, but knew the day I did, it was to face punishment for helping the Scars escape the compound.

The door pushed open with what sounded like a kick of a boot.

Tears pooled in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. I squeezed my eyes shut harder as fear drilled into me like tiny darts piercing my skin.

Another step.

Then another.

Then nothing.

Please don’t let it be Ben. Anyone but Ben.

“Fuck, babe. What the hell?”

My breath hitched at the sound of the familiar, deep voice. A voice I’d never forget. A voice that gave me hope then snatched it away with his lies.

I raised my head and locked eyes on the Scar I’d helped escape.

Well, more like he used me in order to help him and his friend escape.

He was also the man who had haunted my dreams for weeks since then. And they were haunting because he was scary. Not ugly scary, far from it, but intense scary.

He had a chiseled jaw with a few days of scruff and defined cheekbones. His look was old-world, which made sense since the Scars were immortal, but he definitely wasn’t an old-world English gentleman. More like a Highland Scot.

A long, jagged scar dragged from his right brow to his ear and another across his neck, which attributed to the scary factor. But that wasn’t what did it—that gave him character, it gave him a story.

It was his eyes that really intimidated, black and cold without a hint of compassion. And after spending a night in an air duct with him, I knew, compassion was not part of his disposition.

Actually, he’d been an asshole and didn’t try to hide it.

“Get up.”

I didn’t move.

I didn’t know what to do. He’d used me before, so I guessed he was here to use me again, although the reason was unclear because my husband didn’t have any Scars in his compound for this guy to break out.

“Babe, don’t have time for this shit. Get the fuck up.” He didn’t wait for me to get up, but bent, grabbed my forearm, and hauled me to my feet with a rough yank. I landed against him, my palms on his chest.

I quickly shoved back, but his hand remained locked on my forearm, and he didn’t allow me further than arm’s length. Staring, he performed a quick assessment, his dark eyes narrowing and trailing down the front of me.

“You look like shit. Worse, actually.” With the calloused pad of his thumb, he haphazardly wiped the tears from my cheeks.

I had no response. I was confused as to why he was here and how he managed to get into the basement and find me without the alarms blaring.

He cupped my chin. “You hurt?”

Not really, but I was an emotional wreck. Did that count?

“You need to answer me when I ask you a question.”

He was right, I did, and not because he told me to, but because there was a sliver of hope. I always had it. Most of the time, it was buried deep, but when my eyes hit the Scar… it surfaced whether I wanted it to or not.

So, that hope was him, and pissing him off was going to kill it.

“No,” I said. He frowned. “I’m not hurt.” Then I had a moment of bravery that came with the hope. “Ummm, why are you here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Not really. But the answer wasn’t important, because he’d lied to me before, so no matter what he said, it was highly probable it was complete bullshit. And so was my hope.

His jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed; yet his hand on my chin was soft and gentle. “Do I need to fuckin’ carry you?”

What was he talking about? “Carry me? Carry me where?”

His lips pursed together as he glared at me with black, unforgiving eyes. “Listen, babe, I don’t feel like becoming some guy’s lab rat, so I need you to pull your shit together, answer my questions, stop asking them, and maybe we’ll get out of here alive.”

Get out of here? The hope plowed back into me, but I was afraid to grab onto it because I didn’t dare believe the Scar had come back to get me out of here. Why would he?

But there was something different in him than three weeks ago. Maybe it was the way he gently wiped my tears away or how he held me right now, his fingers no longer bruising, but holding me steady as if he knew I needed the support.

He was tall, probably six foot two, and I’d noticed when I was against his chest that my head tucked under his chin. I also noticed, beneath his black T-shirt, he was rock-hard with ridges and valleys of muscles.

His hand moved to the back of my neck. It wasn’t exactly gentle, but more like he was attempting to get my attention. He already had it, but I was still confused.

“You want to get out of this pisshole? ‘Cause if you don’t, tell me now so I can leave you here and get the fuck out.”

I tried to lower my head, but his grip on the back of my neck tightened and I was forced to meet his eyes. “I hate him.” Why did I say that? I mean, I did, but he didn’t ask me that.

His brows drew together and his grip on my neck tightened. “Yeah, I got that, babe.”

Logically, I should be terrified of him, yet I wasn’t. It was more nervousness than anything.

There was a hint of something I recognized in his eyes that was oddly comforting. And I recognized it because it was the same look I saw in myself; the haunting tornado of emotions trapped behind a wall.

Our walls were very different, though. His wall was a shield of anger. Mine was a shield of numbness.

He let me go, eyes scanning the bathroom before grabbing my sweatshirt hanging on a hook on the wall. “Arms up.” I did and he pulled it over my head. “It’s cold and you don’t have an ounce of fat on you,” he said while his gaze traveled the length of my body. “Jesus, you look like you’ll break in a gust of wind.” He swore beneath his breath and shook his head. “You good to run?”

My legs felt like uncooked spaghetti ready to crack in half at the slightest push and my heart beat erratically, having to work hard to keep my body functioning. I was falling apart, so probably the truth would be a hell no, but I nodded anyway.

He hesitated then nodded, as if satisfied that, regardless of my lie, he thought I’d be able to at least keep up.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me from the bathroom, through the bedroom, to the door.

He pulled a knife from a leather sheath at his hip and opened the door, peering out before looking back at me. “Keep close. Lag behind and I’m not coming back for you. Understand?”

I nodded.

I didn’t trust him, but I did know he would leave me because he’d done it before.

The fight inside me had died years ago, as had the ability to trust anyone. I had trusted. I had fought. Neither had done me any good. So now I trusted myself, and that meant killing parts of who I was.

It meant protecting me.

Burying me.

“Babe?”

I snapped my eyes to his. For a second, I thought his eyes softened, but it was more wishful thinking on my part. He was probably thinking he’d just made the stupidest mistake of his life by coming back here. Escaping my husband’s compound twice had a high probability of failure.

His fingers curled around my fragile hand, squeezed, then tugged me forward. “Let’s get the fuck out of this shithole.”

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STYGIAN IS NOW FREE ON ALL RETAILERS

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Meet Nashoda Rose

Nashoda Rose

Nashoda Rose is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who lives in Toronto with her assortment of pets. She writes contemporary romance with a splash of darkness, or maybe it’s a tidal wave.

When she isn’t writing, she can be found sitting in a field reading with her dogs at her side while her horses graze nearby. She loves interacting with her readers and chatting about her addiction—books.

STALK HER: Website | Facebook |Twitter | Goodreads | Subscribe

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STygian By Nashoda Rose ♥ Sale Blitz

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The Scars want me imprisoned. The Wraiths want me dead.

But the woman I can’t forget needs me. And I’ll risk everything to protect her.

Even if it means killing her.

Because in order for her to live—first she must die.

STYGIAN IS NOW FREE ON ALL RETAILERS

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New York Times & USA Today Best Selling Author Nashoda Rose brings a fresh twist to the paranormal romance world with ‘the Scars’.

Danielle

I remember nothing of my abduction two years ago. Sounds and scents trigger horrific flashes, but it’s all a blur except for one man with brilliant green eyes. When the tatted six foot two Adonis shows up at my door, my knowledge of the world is shattered.

Bound to the immortal Scar by an ancient spell, we are on the run. Because Balen is the hunted.

And if he dies, so do I.

Balen

My code of honor was respected without question … until I consumed the blood of a vampire in exchange for a mortal woman’s freedom.

The Scars want me imprisoned. The Wraiths want me dead.

But the woman I can’t forget needs me. And I’ll risk everything to protect her.

Even if it means killing her.

Because in order for her to live—first she must die.

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Tyrant (Book Two)

Releases March 7th

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Kobo: http://bit.ly/1QEV3da

Meet Nashoda Rose

Nashoda Rose

Nashoda Rose is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who lives in Toronto with her assortment of pets. She writes contemporary romance with a splash of darkness, or maybe it’s a tidal wave.

When she isn’t writing, she can be found sitting in a field reading with her dogs at her side while her horses graze nearby. She loves interacting with her readers and chatting about her addiction—books.

STALK HER: Website | Facebook |Twitter | Goodreads | Subscribe

Stygian By Nashoda Rose ♥ Release Day Blitz

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Book Title: Stygian
Author: Nashoda Rose
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Release Date: March 30, 2015
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

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Book Blurb

Danni: Mortal

I remember nothing of my abduction two years ago. Sounds and scents trigger horrific flashes, but it’s all a blur except for one man with brilliant green eyes. When the tatted six foot two Adonis shows up at my door, my knowledge of the world is shattered.
Bound to the immortal Scar by an ancient spell, we are on the run. Because Balen is the hunted.

And if he dies, so do I.

Balen: Scar Tracker

My code of honor was respected without question … until I consumed the blood of a vampire in exchange for a mortal woman’s freedom.
The Scars want me imprisoned. The Wraiths want me dead.
But the woman I can’t forget needs me. And I’ll risk everything to protect her.
Even if it means killing her.

Because in order for her to live—first she must die.

Full-length novel. Come meet the Scars.

Scars: Immortal warriors with capabilities derived from the senses: Trackers, Sounders, Healers, Tasters, Visionaries, and the rare Reflectors. They each have what is known as an Ink, a tattoo that can be called to life.

There are three full-length prequels to TAKE (scars of the wraiths). This is book One.
All three prequels were previously published and have been re-written entirely and are now in multiple first person POVs.

*Stygian was originally entitled JUMP.

excerpt

*warning graphic

Before: Danni

The terror of dying had vanished—now I prayed for it.

His dagger-like nails tapped slow and precise up my neck until he reached the underside of my chin. He caressed the sensitive area with the pad of his finger then shoved his thumb upward between the curves of my jaw bone. It forced my mouth shut and I bit down hard on my tongue. Blood began to pool in my mouth and I couldn’t swallow with the pressure.

I breathed in and out frantically through my nose. I was going to choke on my own blood. I was going to die.

“Tilt your head,” he ordered.

The pressure increased and I turned my head, exposing the side of my neck. He moved his thumb away and I quickly spit out the blood. Remnants dribbled from the corners of my mouth and down my chin.

“Beautiful,” he purred, then curled his hand around the back of my neck and lifted slightly. I clenched my hands into fists, waiting for the familiar pain. I refused to scream—it made no difference anyway—no one was rescuing me from this monster.

I squeezed my eyes shut as he leaned over me, the odor of black licorice flooding my nostrils. He hissed and it sounded like the slow drag of a zipper being undone. I tensed and stopped breathing just before his fangs pierced my neck.

I silently cried as I lay unmoving, powerless to refuse him, frozen in the nightmare that had become reality. His lips were cold against my skin as he sucked the warmth of my blood. Each pull draining my strength until my hands unclenched and my nails embedded in my palms, released.

His tongue flicked over my neck and he lifted his head. “My sugary, Danielle.”

His voice was a calm melody, as if a paintbrush across a fresh white canvas, sweeping, rhythmic and subtle. I hated how it was captivating, how I compared it to something I loved, but I had no control over it.

I lay limp as the shackles released and cold, fish-like hands grabbed my arms and dragged me across the damp, dirt floor to the cage. My haven. Away from him. Away from the torture.

The monster threw me inside and I landed hard on my knees then collapsed to my side. The door slammed and locked.

Footsteps.

Metal grinding.

Clicking.

The cage lifted off the ground, rocking back and forth as it was cranked upward until it settled next to two other cages.

I was so cold. Endless shivering that made my muscles ache from constantly trying to provide my body with warmth. My throat was dry and hoarse from screaming, as if a razor blade had scraped the flesh.

“Jesus.” A few feet away I heard the familiar graveled voice—Balen, my only comfort here. The rusted pipes overhead groaned as the continuous spray of water sprinkled inside his cage. “Christ, I’m sorry.”

It took too much energy to move, but I opened my eyes to look at him. My neighboring prisoner gripped the bars, knuckles white. His tense body a spring wound up so tight that it looked ready to fracture. His leg hung at an odd angle, mangled from the sledge hammer they tortured him with.

Despite his ravaged body, he was beautiful. Tattoos contoured to the hills and valleys of his muscular arms and chest. I’d caught a glimpse of a tiger on his lower back that was so intricate it looked alive. But it was his eyes that captivated me. Brilliant green, piercing and hard, filled with a haunting torment. When he was angry, the green darkened and looked almost black.

“Don’t you dare give up.”

I had already. I never thought I would in the beginning, but now…

“Look at me!” I heard what sounded like his fist pounding into the metal bars. “Look. At. Me.”

His tone was furious, and yet, I wasn’t scared of him. How could I be? He was all I had in this place.

Our eyes locked and the tension in his jaw eased. “You need to drink, Danni. Move closer.”

Water. I closed my eyes and imagined holding a cool glass of water and chugging it back; the liquid sliding down my throat, coating the harsh dryness. I’d never thought about the daily bottles of water I’d consumed, but now … now it was all I thought about. “I’m not letting you die, damn it.” His voice was harsh and abrupt and yet to me it was soothing.

Fearless. That’s what he was. He never screamed when they tortured him, never broke. I wanted that. To be brave again. But he had sucked it out of me.

I crawled across the metal floor and put my hands through the bars, cupping them together. I closed my eyes, afraid he wouldn’t be able to reach me this time.

But when the cool saturation hit my skin, tears pooled in my eyes. Water trickled through the crevices between my fingers and I quickly jolted back, afraid to lose a single drop of what he offered.

I licked my palms, the wetness adhering to my throat—velvet.

I reached out again and this time opened my eyes. He collected the water from the shower head attached to the top of his cage. It was a light spray and it took agonizing minutes just to gather a small handful.

We repeated the process five times, until my arms resisted rising any longer. “Thank you,” I whispered.

He sat and leaned up against the bars, leg bent and his arm resting on it; casual and indifferent and yet everything in his expression contradicted it. “Damn it Danni, you need to lock your mind from your body. Shut it down like I told you.” He sounded angry, but I knew it was because he was worried. “Separate the two. Don’t let him win.”

It was too late for that. He’d won the battle already.

“Danni.”

I curled up on my side in a ball, my knees to my chin and my arms wrapped around them, trying to provide myself with some sort of warmth.

Then I closed my eyes and prayed for the darkness to take me.

I thought I heard him say something else, but I was already slipping into the void. It didn’t matter anyway. Nothing did.

Meet the Author

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Nashoda Rose is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who lives in Toronto with her assortment of pets. She writes contemporary romance with a splash of darkness, or maybe it’s a tidal wave.

When she isn’t writing, she can be found sitting in a field reading with her dogs at her side while her horses graze nearby. She loves interacting with her readers and chatting about her addiction—books.

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Take by Nashoda Rose ♥ Release Day

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TAKE_nashodaroseBook Title: Take (scars of the wraiths)
Author: Nashoda Rose
Genre: Paranormal Romance with Erotic Elements
Release Date: February 25, 2015
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Book Blurb

MAX

Feelings are a luxury I can’t afford. Hidden behind a shield of quiet placidity, I keep my secret safe from those who’d use it against me. Until him—the tatted up, self-centered Scar assassin hired to protect me.

He takes pleasure in tormenting me, chipping away at my defenses as if I’m a toy to be played with. I hate that he continuously reminds me that I’m nothing more than a job. I hate that my body responds to his touch. I hate him.

JASPER

I’m not a good guy and I don’t pretend to be. Condemn me if you want, I don’t give a fuck. You’re nothing to me. No one is … except her—Max. She’s my target. And I was hired to do a hell of a lot more than protect her … I was hired to kill her.

It should’ve been simple, but it was complicated as hell.

*erotic paranormal romance. Standalone full-length novel. Come meet the Scars.

Scars: Immortal warriors with capabilities derived from the senses: Trackers, Sounders, Healers, Tasters, Visionaries, and the rare Reflectors. They each have what is known as an Ink, a tattoo that can be called life.

excerpt

Jasper stopped, turned toward me, dragged his eyes down my front then yanked off his black t-shirt and tossed it to me.

I stared at his naked chest that was a hard slab of muscle with tats drawn across his left shoulder to link with the ones on his arm.

“Put it on. You stick out like a fuckin’ cotton candy with those stupid horse sparkles.”

I quickly put it on over top and it hung down to my mid-thigh. The scent of him drew into my lungs and I inhaled deeply with my chin down until I heard his distinct chuckle. Then I wanted to shoot myself in the foot.

Jasper’s hand came around the back of my neck and he jerked me toward him. He cupped my chin with his blade still in his hand so the handle was cold against my jaw. Then he leaned in and before I could take my next breath, his mouth was on mine.

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Meet the Author

Nashoda Rose

Nashoda Rose is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who lives in Toronto with her assortment of pets. She writes contemporary romance with a splash of darkness, or maybe it’s a tidal wave.

When she isn’t writing, she can be found sitting in a field reading with her dogs at her side while her horses graze nearby. She loves interacting with her readers and chatting about her addiction—books.

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Take By Nashoda Rose ♥ Cover Reveal

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Take CoverBook Title: Take (scars of the wraiths)
Author: Nashoda Rose
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Release Date: Feb. 24, 2015
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

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Book Blurb

MAX

Feelings are a luxury I can’t afford. Hidden behind a shield of quiet placidity, I keep my secret safe from those who’d use it against me. Until him—the tatted up, self-centered Scar assassin hired to protect me.

He takes pleasure in tormenting me, chipping away at my defenses as if I’m a toy to be played with. I hate that he continuously reminds me that I’m nothing more than a job. I hate that my body responds to his touch. I hate him.

JASPER

I’m not a good guy and I don’t pretend to be. Condemn me if you want, I don’t give a fuck. You’re nothing to me. No one is … except her—Max. She’s my target. And I was hired to do a hell of a lot more than protect her … I was hired to kill her.
It should’ve been simple, but it was complicated as hell.

*erotic paranormal romance. Standalone full-length novel. Come meet the Scars.

Scars: Immortal warriors with capabilities derived from the senses: Trackers, Sounders, Healers, Tasters, Visionaries, and the rare Reflectors. They each have what is known as an Ink, a tattoo that can be called life.

excerpt

“How long since you fucked a guy?”

“What?” Her arms moved as if she was about to cross them over her breasts and then decided against it and put them back at her sides. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Because when I fuck you, it will be hard. I need to know if you can take it.” I’d expected her to grab her shirt and put it back on. That was what I had intended. To scare her. Instead, she stared at me as she undid her bra and let it fall to the floor.

Fuck.

I was a guy. A guy that didn’t give a shit if a woman hated me in the morning, but they never did. I may be a selfish bastard but I never left a woman unsatisfied. And it was more a self-serving reason as I could always get seconds when I wanted. But this was different. Everything about it was different.

Max was different.

And that should’ve scared me enough to walk away.

But Max … staring at her milky white naked skin … her handful of breasts with nipples erect and waiting for my mouth to be sucking on them. I should’ve walked back into the bathroom, shut the door and jerked myself off in the shower.

I didn’t.

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Meet the Author

Nashoda Rose

Nashoda Rose is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who lives in Toronto with her assortment of pets. She writes contemporary romance with a splash of darkness, or maybe it’s a tidal wave.

When she isn’t writing, she can be found sitting in a field reading with her dogs at her side while her horses graze nearby. She loves interacting with her readers and chatting about her addiction—books.

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