I thought maybe you’d like a sneak peek of my next book, ‘Dark Curves’ (Dangerous Curves #6). This is Warren and Shay’s story, and it’ll be out on November 23rd.

I hope you enjoy it!


He got up again, crossed the room, disappeared once more in to the shadows. She squinted after him.

“Do you know where my glasses are?” she called in to the darkness.

“Yeah,” his faceless, formless voice answered. “On the window sill.”

“Thanks.” She lifted the long curtains, and sure enough, there they were. It was an immense relief to put them on at last, and see the world for the first time in what felt like a very, very long time. That was when he re-emerged from the darkness, and Shay took her first real-time, clear-eyed, non-brain-addled, look at Warren.

Dear. Sweet. Lord.

Why was her dream man also an MC asshole? Why? Why? What kind of cruel fate stuck her in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, all alone with the sexiest, hottest man that she’d ever laid eyes on… and then made said man a brutal, horrible human being?

But – was he? Was he really?

He lumbered over to her, all muscles and bulk in well-worn jeans and a tight black t-shirt, all soft blond hair and hard blue eyes, all raw power and cool toughness. It was literally unbelievable to her that this man – this man! – had held her through her fever and delirium and shaking. That this man had cared for her as tenderly as if she were a helpless infant. That even after their ugly argument and all his threats, this man had sat here in the dark, watching over her, keeping her safe.

It just didn’t make any damn sense. None of it.

“Here you go,” he said, extending his arm. “Put that on.”

She took the long-sleeved denim shirt, and he turned his back. Shay blinked in astonishment, then decided that she liked this little gesture of respect. She liked it quite a bit, actually.

She slipped the shirt on, and it fell over her slim hips, fell way past her knees. She did up the buttons, rolled up the sleeves, then she pushed the bed covers aside.

“All set,” she said, swinging her feet to the floor.

He turned back to face her as she sat in his shirt, and a glint of something flared in his eyes. Just for a second. But then his stare dropped to her exposed wrists, and he cleared the space between them in two steps. Knelt down in front of her, reached for her.

Shay gasped, but didn’t dare to protest when he took her hands in his. He turned them over, examined her wrists. His thumbs touched the bruises and cuts carefully, then he glanced up at her.

“Hurts?” he said, his voice raspy.

“A bit,” she whispered, caught in that intense blue gaze. “Not bad.”



He nodded, his eyes still locked on hers. “I’m sorry.”

She fell silent. She had no idea what exactly he was apologizing for, but she did know that it was sincere, and she knew that it was about more than a few bruises. This huge, terrifying man, this hard-boiled MC beast, was kneeling at her bare feet, saying that he was sorry – and she believed him. She believed him with everything that she had.