The Naughty Nine (Broslin Creek #4) by Nina Bruhns, Taylor Lee, Julie Leto, Lorhainne Eckhart, Mary Leo, Patricia Mason, Dana Marton, Rita Herron , Karen Fenech, Jill Sanders
Age Group: Adult
Release Date: July 8, 2014
Amazon ♥ B & N
The Naughty Nine — Where Danger and Passion Collides Included in this box set collection:
* Stop in the Name of Love by New York Times Best Selling author Nina Bruhns
* Deathblow by New York Times Best Selling author Dana Marton
* A Girl, A Guy And A Ghost by Patricia Mason
* Everything He Never Wanted by Mary Leo
* Red Rock Rises by Taylor Lee
* Dirty Little Secrets by New York Times Best Selling author Julie Leto
* Sex is Murder by Rita Heron
* Saved by Lorhainne Eckhart
* Snowbound by USA Today Best Selling author Karen Fenech
* Secret Identity by New York Times Best Selling author Jill Sanders
From Dirty Little Secrets
Several skidding turns and rolling stops later, Frankie killed the engine, allowing the momentum of the car to propel them up the driveway beside his mother’s house. When he’d first hit town, he’d planned to take up residence in the tiny apartment above the detached garage, but his arrest changed all that. Instead, he’d crashed in some flea-bit motels on the port side of town, avoiding Ian Blake and his far-reaching grip. Instinct alone had steered him here with Marisela, to the same apartment where he’d lost his virginity to her—and she to him—all those years ago.
He fished the key out of the flowerpot beside the door and by the time he turned to Marisela, she’d kicked off her boots and jeans, right there in the open air.
Lust surged and he grabbed her, not thinking about anything but feeling her naked against him. They fell into the apartment, landing half on the bed, half on the floor. Before Frankie could remove his shoes and pants, Marisela lost her jacket and her T-shirt.
For an instant, he spied the black holster she’d worn around her shoulder and waist, but the minute she crawled onto his bed, wearing nothing but pale pink panties, he willingly forgot about her gun. She hooked her hands under the lower rod of the cast-iron headboard, tested the strength of the metal with one wanton tug, then waited, her breasts round and tight-tipped, her areolas dark, her mouth slightly parted and still a blurry red from his kiss.
Frankie stopped, just for a fraction of a second, to drink in her illicit beauty. He tore off his shirt, but swallowed a grin when her deep brown eyes sparkled with appreciation. Not much for a man to do in prison but work out, and his last job on the docks had enhanced his physique. He wasn’t some scrawny schoolboy anymore—if he’d ever been.
“Jesus, Frankie. You look good,” she said, slicking her tongue over her lips. He loved her mouth. He’d always loved her mouth. How it felt pressed against his skin. How she could use all that hot, wet flesh to drive him insane.
“Vidita, I could come right here, just looking at you.”
She glanced down at her own prone and posed body, then shifted into the moonlight streaming in through the window. “That would be a big waste, wouldn’t it?”