Final Call Cover Reveal!


Title: Final Call (Call #2)

Author: Emma Hart

Genre: Erotic Romance

Release Date: June 16, 2014



We crashed and burned like a falling plane. Hard and fast with an inevitable explosion. Another few weeks together changed my life the way the first did. At twenty-four, I became naïve again. I became a dreamer again. A believer. And walking away hurts just as much as it did seven years ago.


But over doesn’t have to mean over-at least in Aaron Stone’s mind. His pursuit is relentless, his determination unwavering. He’ll go to any lengths to keep me and prove that I belong to him. Unfortunately, love isn’t easy, and whether or not I forgive him is irrelevant to his past catching up with us. Once again, our relationship is haunted by a secret, one that could destroy everything, and the secret is born from the need to protect the other…


But the tables have turned, because the secret is mine.


About The Author


By day, New York Times and USA Today bestselling New Adult author Emma Hart dons a cape and calls herself Super Mum to two beautiful little monsters. By night, she drops the cape, pours a glass of whatever she fancies – usually wine – and writes books.

Emma is working on Top Secret projects she will share with her followers and fans at every available opportunity. Naturally, all Top Secret projects involve a dashingly hot guy who likes to forget to wear a shirt, a sprinkling (or several) of hold-onto-your-panties hot scenes, and a whole lotta love.

She likes to be busy – unless busy involves doing the dishes, but that seems to be when all the ideas come to life.


Find Emma online at:



Twitter: @EmmaHartAuthor



I throw a few bills at the cab driver and slam the door behind me as I get out, my eyes tracing the silhouette of Aaron Stone sitting on my bench.

“If this happens again, Mr. Stone, I may have to look into taking legal action. Two nights in a row? I hardly imagine you sitting outside my house is a coincidence.”

He looks up, his eyes piercing in the evening darkness. “Back to work, Miss Black?”

“I have a job. As much as I’d love to sit around and feel sorry for myself, I’m afraid I have far more important things to do.” I stroll past him and put my key in the door.

He closes his hand around mine. “Things, or people?”

“I fail to see what business it is of yours.”

“It’s very much my business, as you’re well aware.”

“Perhaps in your opinion. But if it will make you feel better, it’s things, not people.” I turn around. “I’m not back to work fully. Yet.”


“I have to earn money somehow, and my big spenders aren’t pretty little rich boys who need a date for the night. So yes, yet.”

“Never,” he growls, leaning into me. “You aren’t fucking another guy, Dayton.”

“That’s not your decision, Aaron. You had your chance to decide that, and you blew it. Now if you’d like to remove yourself from my property, I’d appreciate it.”

His lips touch mine in a scorching, forceful kiss that knocks me backward. I gasp at the sudden touch, and he slides his tongue between my lips. His hands cup my face, holding me against him, and my back is flush against the door. He tastes of the woody whiskey he adores, and he tastes of power and determination and finality.

“Tell me one thing,” he says, his lips brushing across mine with his words. “Has anyone else kissed these lips?” His thumb comes between us and flicks my bottom lip.

Who the fuck does he think he is, answering that question? I’m ready to push him away, to shove him on his ass, but instead what happens is a whisper of, “Fuck you.”

“Answer the fucking question, Dayton.”

My chest heaves at the thickness of his voice. I can hear the emotion beneath the demand. “No. They haven’t,” I answer.

His lips crash against mine once more, rougher, harsher. I can feel nothing but his palms rough against my cheeks and his lips soft against my own. His tongue sweeping through my mouth and owning it completely. The ball of need building in my lower stomach and sending aches down through my pussy.

He kisses me deeply, completely dominating my mouth, possessing me until I’m consumed by him and for a long moment, I forget why this shouldn’t be happening.

Until he pulls back, his nose resting alongside mine, and I remember again.

I take a deep breath, meeting his eyes as the reality of what just happens settles into a heavy ball in my chest. “You have five seconds to get your ass out of here before I go crazy at you.”

He smirks, igniting a new kind of fury inside me. “Remember that next time you think what you do is none of my business.”



Buy Late Call (Call #1)

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Worth the Risk (The Game, #4) Cover Reveal!




US: May 27th

UK & Commonwealth: May 29th




She lost a part of her soul when he died.
He lost his right hand man, his ultimate partner in crime.
But it’s that tragedy that might just push them together.

If Kyle Daniels regrets anything, it’s not being home the night his best friend died or going home for his funeral. Leaving Berkeley and heading back to Verity Point, Oregon, for the summer feels like returning to a hollow cave without Cameron there. The only thing that makes it bearable is the knowledge that Roxanne, Cam’s younger sister, is still there.

Roxy Hughes isn’t the same girl he left behind six months ago. Destroyed by losing her older brother, her downward spiral has been uncontrollable. Alcohol and sex is her escape – complete oblivion being the only place she can forget the agony of that night. Because she’s the only one that truly knows it.

Kyle always promised Cam that if anything happened to him he’d protect Roxy, but one kiss takes his need to protect her to a whole new level. Now, she’s more than just his best friend’s sister. She’s everything he wants, and he’s everything she doesn’t know she needs. But if he doesn’t figure out a way to pull her from the deep, dark hole she’s dug herself, she might just end up the same way as her brother.



“Roxy. What are you doing?”
She drops her hand like the radio is burning her and looks at her hands in her lap. “Um. I don’t want to go home,” she whispers.
“But you said—”
“I want to go home to Verity Point, but not to my house.”
“Your mom is worried sick about you, you know.”
“When isn’t she?” she snaps. “I don’t want to go home.”
Fucking hell. I thought the girls at college were firecrackers, but Roxy would give them a run for their money. Her temper fires up quicker than a bush fire in the outback.
“Want me to pull over then? Sure you’d be comfy on the side of the road.”
“I take back what I said before. You’re not always a jackass, but when you are you’re a prize one.”
“Great. I’m right up your street, then.”
“What happened to “I’ll do whatever you ask?””
“I take back what I said before,” I throw her words back at her. “I’ll do whatever you ask when I feel like it.”
“You just climbed another rung on the jackass ladder.”
“Awesome.” I pull up outside my house and turn to her. “Does that mean I’ll get to fuck you one day?”
She opens her mouth to reply but no words come out. Instead she stares at me, her whole body frozen with shock. Good. That’s the response I was hoping for.
I get out of the car, slam the door, and walk around to her side. I yank her door open. “Are you getting out or you sitting in my car all night?”
“I can’t believe you just said that.”
“I’m sorry – is that right reserved for fully trained jackasses?”
Roxy climbs out of the car with fire in her eyes and jabs a finger in my chest. “You’re a real prick sometimes, you know that?”
“Yep.” I grin slowly. “And you love it.”
“I don’t. I fucking hate it.” She storms past me.
“Only because I’m the only person that can shut you up.”
She pauses on my doorstep. “I’ve been shut up many ways, Kyle. Many ways.”
She’s fucking with me again. She knows it and I know it. I don’t know what it is but she just can’t help herself. No matter what happens we always end up back here, both of us fighting. The problem is, I love pissing her off. If she’s pissed off she’s not hiding from me.
My long strides swallow up my front yard and I stop behind her. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her back into me. Her back slams into my chest, and I reach up and pull her hair to the side. My lips move close to her exposed ear, and she shivers.
“I’ve told you before. Don’t fuck with me, Roxy. Don’t even try it. Stop playing your little games with me, because you won’t win.”
She swallows and takes a deep breath, her back heaving against me.
“Oh – and I can shut you up. And you know I can do it fucking good. Keep giving me your shit and I just might have to remind you of that.”
She really does take a deep breath this time, and her whole body goes tight. My fingers are splayed over her taut stomach, and she turns her face into mine. Her eyes are bright in the darkness when they meet mine, and her voice is breathy.
“Is that a threat?”
“No. It’s a promise.” I release her stomach and push my front door open. “Get in.”
“You’re not taking me home?”
“Roxy, you asked me not to so I’m not going to. You can stay here tonight. And quite frankly, I’m reaching the point where I don’t care if you stay in my sister’s room or mine, so get your ass in and go and find her before I make your fucking mind up for you.”






Late Call Chapter Three!

Read Chapter One Here

Read Chapter Two Here


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Chapter Three


“Aaron Stone? The guy you met in Paris?”

“Know any other Aarons, Aunt Leigh?”

“Of course I do, Dayton. I know several of every man.” She snorts and sits opposite me. “What you gonna do, girl?”

“Same thing I do every day. My job.”

She snorts again.

“Seriously. I mean it. Running into him was a shock, but it was a one-night job.”

I’m still reeling from that shock. I barely slept last night after leaving the hotel. My mind was full of Paris seven years ago as I remembered the hopes of a naïve seventeen-year-old girl. As I remembered the feeling of falling in love for the first time.

And the memories were full of his piercing blue eyes, looking at me with amusement, tenderness, and heat. They were full of his fingers trailing across my body, touching deep enough that they seeped into my bones despite barely skimming my skin. They were full of promises and believing… And an inevitable goodbye.

“Dayton!” Aunt Leigh snaps.

I drag my gaze from the window back to her. “What?”

“One-night job my ass. You’ve been staring out of my window for the last five minutes chewing on your lip. My rose garden is pretty, but it isn’t that fucking pretty!”

I click my tongue. “I’m… I don’t know. I’m shocked, all right? Jesus, I haven’t seen him for seven years. Then he’s my goddamn client? He doesn’t even live on the West Coast, so what the hell is that about?”

“It’s about life throwing you a curveball. You gotta swing with it, sugar, or it’s gonna hit you in the gut.”

“Because my client being the only guy I’ve ever loved isn’t enough of a hit in the gut?”

She shrugs and lights a cigarette. “Dayton, it doesn’t matter if you loved the guy. Shit, honey, it doesn’t matter if you’ve fucked him six ways to Sunday. What matters is he knows your real name. What matters is he knows where to find you.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Oh, you know that. I just don’t think you have a clue what to do about it.”

Goddamn, I hate it when she’s right. But that’s the problem with having an aunt who used to do this exact job. You can’t get anything past her.

I grab my purse and stand. “You know what? I’m going to see Liv.”

“Do what you want, sweetie, but do me a favor.”

“What?” I pause at the front door.

“Just remember—call girls don’t fall in love.”




I stare into the glass in my hand and twist it by the stem. The remaining wine swirls in circles, rising up the sides of the glass and dropping back down with a tiny splash with each full circle. Sitting here in the wine bar Liv works in, I can almost pretend Aaron Stone didn’t explode back into my life, that I’m waiting for my best friend to finish work like any other twenty-four-year-old.

But I’m not any other twenty-four-year-old. I never have been. I never will be. And I’m okay with that.

Becoming a call girl was my choice, and when the time came, I chose to make it a career. I’ve always known the rules, and hell, I watched Aunt Leigh’s marriage break down because of her unwillingness to give it up. She chose escorting over love, and I understand it. I get why.

Being an escort gives you control. Sure, the client plans it from the location to what happens. They pick how they want you to look—girl-next-door, dominatrix, or just plain sexy—and they choose how everything unfolds, but the second the money leaves their hand, the control switches. It’s up to me to give them everything they want. The look, the feel, the whole experience. It’s like porn without a camera.

I relish the control. There’s nothing in this world like having someone at your every command and sometimes at your mercy. It’s invigorating, a rush like nothing else. It’s compelling and addictive. And it’s a constant. It’ll never change—and that’s why I love it.

As long as men need sex, I have a job.

But with love… With love, you surrender control. Love is promising to give someone everything and not expect anything in return.

This is the very reason call girls don’t love. We don’t love, we don’t lust, and we don’t spend our days thinking, What if? Being a call girl is taking and giving without really giving any of yourself at all.

I don’t give my name, my age, my likes or dislikes. I don’t give anything except what the client pays for, and there’s only one part of me they’re paying for. They don’t pay for the story of my parents’ deaths, of how I took this life because it was a quick and easy fix for me financially, or of how I dropped out of college and a chance at my dream career because this was so much higher paid.

And isn’t everything about money?

You pay me it to fuck you, and I take it. That money gives me pretty things—a house full of beautiful clothes and shoes—and that money gives you the time of your fucking life. The same money keeps our tryst hidden from prying eyes and silent from oversensitive ears.

It also guarantees that you’ll be back again and again.

Usually that’s a good thing. Usually clients know nothing about you. They don’t know your bra size or how you gasp when lips brush a certain spot on your neck, and they definitely don’t know what it feels like to be truly inside of you, connected in every way.

Usually clients aren’t Aaron Stone.

“Thanks,” I mumble as Liv fills my glass.

“Looks like you’ve had a shitty day.” She sits opposite me with her own drink, her eyes soft and nonjudgmental. Thank fucking god I have a best friend who gets me.

“Apart from my aunt pointing out my  latest client knows exactly where to find me followed by reminding me we  don’t fall in love, it’s hunky-fucking-dory.”

“Back up. I missed something.”

“I had a late call last night—a function for some guy taking over Daddy’s company. Just a date.”

“And? The big deal is?”

I bury my face in my arms on the table. “The guy was Aaron.”

My best friend says nothing, and I know I’ve truly shocked her. Liv always has ten words where two will do. “As in?”

“Paris Aaron. Summer-fling Aaron. Love-of-my-motherfucking-life Aaron!”

“Well, shit.”

“Shit? Shit? That’s all you have? Because I have some words that are several letters stronger than damn shit!”

Her shoe comes into contact with my shin.

“Ouch!” I sit up and glare at her.

“Pull it together, Dayton,” she orders. “You don’t lose your shit over a guy. Ever.”

“This… This shocked the ever-loving life out of me, Liv. I had no idea it was him. He was an anon and he thought he’d  hired Mia Lopez. The girl he got was little old me.”

“I can’t see how it’s such a bad thing.”

Jesus Christ. Every brunette might need a blond best friend, but next time I’ll have a switched-on one, please.

“Do I need to spell it out for you?”

She nods.

“One”—I hold up a finger—“personal relationships are off-limits with clients. Pretending to be a girlfriend is different, but you never, ever fall in love with them. Two, Mia Lopez is that for a reason. She separates the pretend from the real, the working from the playing. And three, Aaron Stone knows my name. He knows who I am. There are a handful of people in this city who really know who Mia Lopez is, and he’s now one of them.”

“Okay, but it’s not your fault you have a personal relationship with him. If you’d known it was him when Monique called, you wouldn’t have done it, right?”

“Obviously not. You don’t mix business with pleasure in my life.”

“So you don’t even…” She raises her eyebrows.


“Sorry. Sorry. I’m just sayin’…”

“No. I don’t. Can we get back to the problem now?”

She shrugs one shoulder and leans back, tilting her glass side to side. “I get everything you said, babe, but I just don’t see the problem. He needed a date for one night and you did it. It’s not like you’re going to see each other again, is it?”




“See you again soon, Mr. Michaels.” I shut the door to the extension and lean against it. God. He’s always a tiring one. There are only so many ways you can have sex with a fifty-year-old man before you’re afraid you’ll break his back—a memo he didn’t get, because he thinks taking Viagra before he gets here will make it nice for us both.

Thank God my fake orgasm would show up a porn star’s.

I leave Monique’s twenty percent in the envelope, and tuck my share into my purse, ready to deposit it in the bank tomorrow. The only thing on my mind right now is a hot shower to scrub old man off me and then sinking into a bubble bath until I turn into a prune.

The water practically burns my skin as I stand beneath the spray, but I definitely feel cleaner when I get out. If I lived anywhere other than Seattle, the water bill would kill me, even with my higher-than-average earnings. As it is, it costs me more to heat the water than it does to use it, and my water tank barely holds enough to wash a freaking bunny rabbit.

This job requires shower after shower after shower to scrub old man and sneaky husband off my body—something that would be slightly more bearable if there was the chance of an orgasm once in a while. But no. No orgasm. Not even a tremble of one.

That’s why I have Mr. Jack Rabbit under my bed.

Yep, that’s me. Dayton Black, high-class escort and responsible for my own orgasm since 2006.

I’m about to dip my toe into my corner tub when my cell shrills. Fuck that. Monique won’t call when she knows I’ve just finished with a client, and anyone else can just wait. I let it go to voicemail, and I’m about to sit down when her voice rings through my house.

“Dayton, get your ass to my house now. We need to talk.”

Aw, shit.

What was that about her not calling?

I throw on some sweatpants, a tank, and Ugg boots and shove my still-wet hair into a ponytail. She wants me now? She takes me as I am now.

The drive across Seattle to her suburban dream is surprisingly stress free, and when I pull up, she’s standing with her hands on her hips in her doorway. Her lips are pursed and her brows furrowed in a look I know too well. It’s a look that says only one thing—my agent is pissed. Incredibly so.

“Inside,” she barks.

I look to the sky and follow her in. Monique in a bad mood is never fun. For anyone.

She sits me at the kitchen table and leans against the side. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you knew him?”

Of course.

“He was an anon. I didn’t even know myself until I got there.”

“An ex-boyfriend? Fuck, Dayton. Why didn’t you get the hell out of there?

“Rule one hundred seventy thousand and ten of being a call girl: you don’t run out on a client once you’re introduced. Ever.” I fold my arms across my chest. “I had a job to do, Mon. He paid, I delivered.”

“No personal relationships!”

After hire!” I argue. “I haven’t seen Aaron Stone for seven years and I never thought I would again.”

Monique’s eyes flit across my face, examining every feature, and she finally relaxes. “Do you still have feelings for him?”


“Good. Because he’s your client again.”

I’m sorry. What?

“He called this morning. He’s traveling to his father’s other offices—Vegas, Sydney, Milan, London, and Paris. He needs someone to accompany him for the next six weeks, and you’re the lucky fucking girl.”


“And you’re telling me this why?”

“Because you’re going.”

“But you just said—”

“Oh, believe me, Dayton. This has been fucking killing me all day, but Ross said I should just let you do the job. You have a past, but he thinks you’re too smart to go fall in love again, right?”


“And Mr. Stone is paying triple your damn rate to get you on his arm looking pretty. But you listen to me. You go out? He buys you dinner. You need a new dress? He buys that fucker too. You need your hair done? A bikini wax? Your eyebrows shaped? He pays for every fucking thing you need. Even if it’s a candy bar.”

“I don’t depend on a guy to buy me stuff, Mon. I’m pretty damn sure I can afford to get my eyebrows shaped.”

She leans forward and slams her hands on the table, her light blue eyes piercing mine. “You need something, he buys it. Capiche?”

My jaw tightens. “Capiche.”

“Good. Now go home and pack. You’re leaving at seven a.m. for Las Vegas.”

“Seven a.m.?!”

“Seven a.m., and your share of the first week’s money will be in your account by the time you land.”

“Fine. What am I doing?”

She smirks. “You’re his girlfriend.”



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Unfortunately, it doesn’t look as though I’ll be able to offer a pre-order on Amazon for Late Call. I accidentally pressed publish when I uploaded earlier this week, and I’m currently waiting to hear back from my contact at Amazon to see if the pre-order will be a possibility. If it is, I will post the links here!

Late Call Chapter Two!


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Chapter Two

My body jolts as if it’s been struck by lightning when his eyes rise from his hands resting on the table and connect with mine. I can barely breathe, and through the skipping of my heart, I’m consumed with a longing I haven’t felt in years.

His blue eyes slowly trace every part of my face, his own disbelief as evident as mine must be. Finally, they come to rest on mine, and he stands slowly.


“What…” I put a hand to my chest. “You’re my client?”

Aaron motions for me to sit, lowering himself down when I do so. “You’re my date? I hired a Mia Lopez?”

“Mia is my working name,” I say quietly. “Being an escort is a double life.”

“I can’t believe this.” He pushes a button and a waiter appears. “A bottle of Pinot Gris. Two glasses,” he orders, the guy disappearing quickly. Neither of us speaks again until he returns and places the tray on the table.

My heart pounds as Aaron pours two glasses. In the five years I’ve done this, since escorting became my life, I’ve never had a client I know. I’ve never had to worry about anything other than getting the job done. Now, sitting in front of Aaron Stone, I know this job is anything but simple.

I drain my glass as a brown envelope appears on the table. Taking it silently and slipping it into my purse is the single most awkward moment of my life. Aaron pours me another glass.

“Thank you.”

“This was unexpected.”

“Ya think?” I raise an eyebrow. “I can’t say I’m in the habit of having a previous personal relationship with my clients.”

And what a relationship we had. Six weeks filled with fun, kisses, and endless passion in the city of love.

“I’d imagine not.” He pauses, dropping his eyes to the table before bringing them back to mine. “Can I ask why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you do this?”

“That’s a bit personal.”

“Dayton, I’ve seen every inch of your body. Don’t fuck around and tell me it’s too personal.”

“You’re my client,” I remind him, sitting up straight. “Our past is irrelevant here. You’re paying me to do a job, and I’m going to do it. No personal details. Tell me what I need to know so I don’t look like a complete idiot when I’m out there tonight.”

He clenches his jaw and reaches up to adjust his tie. “Dad has decided to step back from the company, and this is one of many events designed to introduce me to the people I’ll be working with when I take over in just under two months.”

“The modeling agency?”

“We branched into advertising and rebranded the summer after Paris. It went global three years ago, and now there are offices in Australia and Europe as well as here.”

“Impressive. And you needed a date because?”

“Because if I turned up alone, the vultures would get me.”

My lips twist. “The vultures?”

“The daughters of my mother’s friends. They’re single.”

“And you’re the perfect target. Nice to know I’m hired to be a buffer.”

“I’m sure Mia Lopez is used to it.”

“Oh, she is. But we both know there’s not a chance in hell I’ll get away with being Mia tonight.”

He studies me intensely. His tongue traces a path across his bottom lip, and my eyes flick there before I can stop them. He smirks.

“Mr. Stone?” a voice asks from behind the curtain.


“Your father is asking for you, sir.”

“Tell him we’ll be there momentarily.”

“Of course.”

Aaron looks at me again and reaches a hand across the table. His fingers curl around mine, sending jolts up my arm. “Day, you don’t have to do this. You have a working name for a reason. I won’t ask you to jeopardize that for me.”

I slide my hand from his and stand, smoothing out my dress. “You hired me to do this job, and I’m going to do it. Besides, I can’t have you being eaten alive by the vultures, can I?”

His eyes light up when his smirk turns dangerously sexy. “Very true.”

He stands, and for the first time since I walked in the booth, I take note of how he looks. His black-and-white suit is perfectly tailored to the body that’s bulked out since I last saw it, the jacket stretching across broad shoulders and tucking in at his waist. Dark hair curls against the collar of his white shirt and frames his face perfectly.

Aaron Stone cuts a damn fine figure in that suit .

His hand rests on my lower back as he leads me toward the elevator, and boy am I glad I passed right on over the backless dress in my closet. I’m not sure I could deal with such intimate skin-on-skin contact with this man without being swamped by the past. God knows I can barely breathe through this as it is.

My back straightens a little more each minute his hand is resting there. I take a deep breath and remind myself to act as Mia would. I have to be Mia. I have to be unaffected yet believable.

The elevator doors open and Aaron closes them again. I look up at him, frowning.

“What are you doing?”

“Dayton.” He pushes some hair back from my face, looking at me almost tenderly.

I swipe his hand away. “Standing in an elevator isn’t going to change the fact I have a job to do, Aaron. Can we get on with this?”

He sighs, following it with a small smile. “Fine. But what do I tell my parents when they inevitably recognize the girl who stole me for the duration of our vacation seven years ago?”

Shit. I didn’t think of that. “You let me think of that.”

The doors open again and we walk toward the ballroom.

“Last chance,” he murmurs.

“Shut up and open the damn door for me.”

I hear his quiet laugh before he opens the door. Men in suits and women dressed in expensive dresses fill the buzzing room. A bar takes up one corner and tables line the walls, leaving the main floor free.

As I am standing here in the doorway, surrounded by Seattle’s elite, it’s so very easy to see why this is the top hotel in Seattle. This room reeks of money and class.

Aaron leads me inside, and almost immediately his parents appear in front of us. His mom looks the same as she did back then—perfect brown hair without a grey in sight and flawless skin any woman would be jealous of. Her blue eyes, the same as Aaron’s, survey me before widening slightly.

“Well I never. Dayton Black?” She places a hand on her chest.

I smile. “It’s lovely to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Stone.”

“I don’t believe this is the little teenager who had our son performing disappearing acts for weeks on end.” Mr. Stone beams at me.

“I plead the Fifth. He acted of his own accord.” I return his smile and he laughs. He leans forward to kiss me on the cheek, Aaron’s mom doing the same.

“And none of this Mr. and Mrs. stuff. Brandon and Carly,” he insists. “Can we get you a drink?”

“A bottle of wine would be great, Dad,” Aaron answers.

“Aaron, darling, why didn’t you tell us you were bringing Dayton?” Carly questions him as we walk toward the bar.

“Yeah, about that,” he replies uncertainly. I try not to roll my eyes.

“We ran into each other a few weeks ago,” I cut in. “Completely by chance. I think both of us were really shocked, right, Aaron?”

He struggles to keep a straight face. “Right.”

“We’ve been out for drinks a couple of times. Catching up, you know? Then this afternoon he calls me out of the blue and tells me he needs a date for tonight. And well, how could I say no to this face?” I raise my eyebrows and brush my thumb across his jaw, giving him a fond smile.

“You didn’t say you’d seen her!” Carly taps his bicep.

“I wasn’t aware I was supposed to, Mom.”

“Well it would have been nice to know she was still in Seattle and you were back in contact.”

“We’ve only seen each other a few times.”

“Stop grilling him, Carly. He’s a grown man now. Let him have his secrets.” Brandon places a bottle of wine and four glasses in front of us then pours. “Well, it sure is a lovely surprise, Dayton. How are your parents?”

Be Mia. Be Mia. Be Mia.

“They, uh… They actually passed away five years ago.” I look down, feeling the same sting that always accompanies the mention of them. Aaron’s hand creeps across my back to my waist. He steps slightly closer to me and I take comfort in the gesture.

“I’m so sorry.” His dad takes my hand briefly. “That must have been terrible so young .”

I nod and take a deep breath. “Yes, but my aunt  Leigh was there for me. I got through it eventually.”

Aaron squeezes me gently. “Mom, Dad, I think Mr. Warner is trying to get your attention.”

Carly turns. “Of course. Brandon.”

He steps up, she links her hand through his elbow, and they head in the direction of the guy who was waving at us.

I sigh deeply and sip my wine, using all the restraint I have. I doubt chugging  would be acceptable.

“Thank you,” I say softly to Aaron.

“You’re welcome.” He stands in front of me, gazing down at me with his piercing eyes. “I didn’t know your parents passed.”

I smile wryly. “Yeah, well. It’s not exactly a conversation starter, is it?”

“I suppose not. How did they die?”

“Plane crash,” I say flatly. “They were flying back from New York. The plane had some technical difficulties and went down. No one survived.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? You aren’t the reason they crashed.” My fingers flex around the stem of my glass.

Aaron wraps his other hand around my neck and brings his lips to my forehead. Warmth and tingles travel through me at the contact. It’s been so long since I had a touch like this—tender, gentle, almost loving—that I almost forget one of the rules of my life.

No personal feelings for clients or any of their actions.

“What are you doing?”

“After politely dismissing herself from Mr. Warner, my mother traveled  across the room to Mrs. Royce. Once there, she will have proceeded to tell her the story of how we found each other again after seven long years of being apart, and isn’t it great how we’re reconnecting? And don’t we look so good together? And Mrs. Royce will have agreed and voiced how beautiful our babies would be,” he replies in a hushed tone with a hint of amusement. “And this will happen with every one of my mother’s friends throughout the night. I’m merely keeping her happy, Dayton.”

“Aaron?” An older lady approaches us, and Aaron winks at me before dropping his hands.

“Mrs. Warner. May I say how lovely you look this evening?”

“You may, but it won’t get you anywhere. Well, maybe a little.” She looks at me and winks. I smile politely.

“Mrs. Warner, this is Dayton Black, my date for this evening. Dayton, this is Mrs. Warner, my mother’s closest friend. Her husband is an investor in our company.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” I shake her hand.

“And you, my dear. Carly has told me how the two of you met. How wonderful you found each other again after all this time!”

Here we go.


“Is that everyone yet?” I whisper in Aaron’s ear. “I’m not sure how many more times I can listen to “How delightful you ran into each other!” and any and all variations of that sentence.”

Aaron laughs quietly into my hair. “Most, but not all.”

I groan. “How about an escape outside for five minutes?”

“I think we can manage that.” He wraps an arm around my waist and, keeping his head down, pulls me through the room to the doors. We slip out, surprisingly unnoticed, and run into the waiting elevator. Neither of us says a word until we reach the sidewalk.

I step from his hold and cross the street. The wall overlooking Elliot Bay is cold and rough when I rest my arms on it and lean forward. The cool night breeze teases through my hair, and I close my eyes into it, taking deep breaths. On nights like tonight, when so many things are expected of me, it’s hard to stay composed.

I’ll take the fucking over the escorting part of this job every time. It’s simple and I know exactly what is expected of me. It’s planned and it’s controlled. It’s in my comfort zone, but this…

Escorting is improvisation. Every word, every look, every movement. It’s all spur-of-the-moment actions and decisions. None of which I can dictate.

“Why do you do this?”

“I thought I put that in the personal box.”

“You did.” Aaron smirks in that dangerously sexy way that does stupid things to my stomach and leans against the wall next to me. “But I’m asking again.”

“I do it for the same reason other people work. I need to pay the bills.”


“Is it that hard to believe? Really?” I turn my face toward him. “When my parents died, I lost everything. I was at college and suddenly lost my home and all my financial support. By the time my fees were  paid, there was next to no money left. I couldn’t get a job, so I went to my aunt’s old agent.”


“She took me on and gave me a job. Aunt Leigh let me move in with her during breaks from school, and by the time I was twenty-one, I had enough money saved to put down the deposit on my own house.”

“Impressive. So you do it for the money?”

“Well I certainly don’t do it for the lack of fucking orgasms.”

“That bad, huh?” His smirk changes to a grin.

“Aaron, there’s no reason in the world anyone would do this job except for the money. Besides, I’m not paid to orgasm. I’m paid to make them. And occasionally, I’m paid to be a date for pretty little rich boys.” I smile back.

“Pretty little rich boys who pay more than necessary in desperation to please their parents with a beautiful girl?”


“Then it’s a good thing you’re worth every cent, isn’t it?”

I stand up straight, my eyes on his. “That’s what they tell me.”

Aaron’s eyes flash with an emotion that disappears too quickly for me to register it. He holds my gaze for a long moment, seemingly looking right through me and my façade. He takes a step closer to me and holds out his arm.

“Shall we go back inside?”

“Are they likely to send out a search party?”

“I wouldn’t put it past my mother.”

I loop my arm through his, focusing both my mind and my body on the job. Not the past. Ours or otherwise.

“For the record,” he says as we walk through the lobby, “she probably thinks we sneaked off to make out like teenagers.”

“I think your mom is too excited about this totally coincidental meeting.”

“You and me both, Day. That was an impressive story you told earlier, by the way.”

“Thanks.” I reach up and fluff my hair slightly.

“What are you doing?”

“Making it look like we snuck off to make out like a couple of teenagers.” I wink and give myself a final once-over in the elevator mirror. We creep back into the ballroom and I wipe under my lip, removing a bit of imaginary smudged lipstick.

A tantalizing smile teases his lips, his eyes flicking to my mouth. He pauses for a moment and raises his thumb to my mouth, rubbing it over the same spot I just touched.

“Missed a bit,” he breathes, running it across my bottom lip. I hold my breath at the intimate touch and his eyes find mine again. “Got it.”

“Good,” I mutter.

He leads us into an empty corner, his hand firmly placed on the small of my back.

I ignore the pounding of my heart and subsequent heating of my body as he pulls me into him, pressing our sides together. “Do you think anyone noticed we disappeared?”

“Not sure.” He looks around. “But they definitely noticed we came back.”

I follow the direction of his gaze to his parents. Carly is whispering in Aaron’s dad’s ear. Brandon has a smile on his face, a mixture of amusement and pleasure that makes me bite the inside of my cheek in a reaction that is all too genuine.

The teenage dreamer lingering inside me kind of wishes we had snuck out for a make-out session. She remembers all too well the consuming feeling of Aaron’s lips on mine.

I do too. It’s hard to forget something that made you feel so alive.

“Do you think anyone else will bother us?”

Aaron turns his face back to me. “Of course they will.”

Nope. I’m done being bothered tonight. A tiny, crazy part of me wants to savor these moments we have together, because I know reality will intrude once more tomorrow.

I curve my body into his. I slide my hands up his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath, and curl my fingers around the lapels of his suit. He presses me into him even farther until I’m flush against him and lowers his mouth to my ear.

“What are you doing?” His lips brush over my earlobe as he speaks. The strangely intimate touch ignites a spark of lust in the pit of my belly. It feels foreign and unwelcome, the desire bubbling in my lower stomach stronger than I’ve felt in a long time.

I tilt my face into his, feeling the slight scratch of the stubble coating his jaw against my cheek. “My job title might be escort, but I spend half my life as an actress. If the women in this room want to believe we’re reconnecting romantically, then they can for tonight.”

“I see.” He slides his hand down my back and runs it over the curve of my ass. It settles on my hip as the other snakes upward and into my hair. “Don’t you think this is a little rude?”

“Says the man running his hands over my body and whispering in my ear.”

I feel his smile against the side of my head. “Touché, Miss Black. Touché.”

“Anyway, this is exactly what you’re paying me for. Keeping the vultures away.”

“I’m an idiot for not paying for you all night, the vultures be damned.”

I raise my eyebrows. “If you’d known it was me, would you have?”

His face turns to mine, the tip of his nose brushing across my cheek. “If I’d have known it was you, I would have paid triple for all night.”

A knot forms in my throat and I swallow it down. Where the fuck is Mia when I need her? Oh yeah—the bitch up and left the second she looked into Aaron Stone’s blue eyes.

Even in my job, sometimes pretending is just too much of a stretch.


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Chapter Three will be posted on April 25th and will include Amazon pre-order links!

Late Call Chapter One!

I don’t understand how a woman can leave the house without fixing herself up a little, if only out of politeness.

And then, you never know, maybe that’s the day she has a date with destiny.

And it’s best to be as pretty as possible for destiny.

–        COCO CHANEL

Chapter One

This is taking forever.

It doesn’t matter how selective you are, how tight you squeeze, or how fast you go. There’s always one that’ll take longer to come than everyone else you know. It doesn’t happen often and they definitely don’t go on my regular client list. I get paid for this but I sure as shit don’t have the patience to bounce on some guy until he decides he wants to shoot his load.

He grunts and groans beneath me, his lazy thrusts no match for my desperate ones. Jesus fucking Christ, will you come already?

I steal a look at the clock on the hotel nightstand. Five minutes left. Time to end this. I cringe and creep my hand around his thigh to his backside. God, I hate this part. I squeeze his cock at the same time I slip my finger in his asshole.

“Oh god!”

And there it is.

I give him a saucy wink and get off of him. Finally. I’ve been on top of him so long my legs have forgotten how to work, but he paid for an hour so an hour is all he’s gonna get.

There are four golden rules in this business. Every escort I know abides by them. At all times. They’re non-negotiable. Ironclad. Set in friggin’ stone.

Get the money first.

Don’t go over the time.

Don’t fall for your client.

And no freaking sob stories.

Unfortunately for me, that last rule is one no one bothered to tell this guy. I’d barely tucked the envelope full of his money into my purse before he started telling me about his pregnant wife who isn’t up for sex.

Hey—don’t judge me. This is my job, and if a guy chooses to cheat on his wife with me, then that’s his deal. There’s a reason I don’t ask personal questions, and that’s it. Getting names and shit is what I pay my agent twenty percent for.

I button my coat and leave the hotel room as quickly as I entered it. There’s only one hotel I’ll work in in this city and that’s because I know the concierge. Connor is a darling, and despite my constant refusal to sleep with him, he always covers my back.

“Busy?” I sidle up to his counter and prop my chin up on my elbow.

His glittering blue eyes look down at me. “Busy keeping you off my boss’s radar.”

I grin and slip a fifty-dollar bill into his hand. “You’re a doll, Con.”

“You know you don’t have to do that every time.”

“Just keeping you sweet.”

“There are plenty of ways you can do that, Mia.”

“Oh, sweetie, you know where I stand there. I don’t do personal relationships. They just don’t work when you have my job.” I straighten and touch his arm. “When I stop to settle down with a white picket fence, a chocolate Lab, and two-point-five snotty kids, you’ll be the first person I call.”

“Better be. Until then, I’ll just stand here behind my little desk waiting for you to come to your senses and fall madly in love with my boyish charm.”

I laugh and peck his cheek. “I’m sure you will.”

He grins, that exact boyish charm glinting in his eyes. “Marc has your cab outside.”

Thanks, hon. I’ll see you soon,” I say. I throw a casual wave over my shoulder as I step outside. Evening is falling across Seattle, the lights from the buildings illuminating the darkening sky and drowning out the stars.

“Ms. Lopez.” Marc tips his hat and opens the cab door for me.

Marc.” I shoot a dazzling smile his way and get into the car, smoothly passing him a ten-dollar bill as I do so. He returns my smile as the cab pulls away, and I relax back in the chair, breathing deeply.

The ride home is when Mia Lopez becomes Dayton Black, when the call girl becomes the real girl.

Until my cell buzzes in my hand and my agent’s name flashes on the screen. I swallow my sigh.


“You’re late, Dayton.”


“I had to wait for the cab,” I lie, mouthing, “Sorry,” when the driver glances at me in his mirror. “I’m on my way now.”

“Five minutes.” The line goes dead.

I let out that sigh and lean forward. “Hey, can we go to 2440 Cascade Way in Bellevue instead?”

“Sure thing, lady.”


I stare out the window and stay in my state of limbo between the two versions of me. How could I forget to go to Monique’s after Mr. Can’t Come? It’s a Friday, and she takes her share of our earnings every Friday. Her share. Shit. Do I even have that?

I rifle through my purse, barely breathing, until I feel the envelope hidden in the lining. At least I was thinking this morning… Discreetly, I count out her share from today’s earnings and tuck it into the envelope as we pull up outside. Thirty of my hard-earned dollars fall on the driver’s lap with a, “Keep the change,” and I run—as well as someone can run in four-inch heels—up the path to Monique’s idyllic suburban dream house.

You know, the kind usually reserved for families with two-point-five bubbly, screaming kids and a bouncing puppy. Not a woman with a hot tub and an escort agency who mothers a teen with a penchant for crashing his car.

I knock twice and let myself in. I’ve been in this house more times than I can count in the last five years. It’s comfortable here—from the white walls with an accent wall in each room to the endless photographs wherever you walk. The pictures are all of Monique with her girls in various cities around the country, from Vegas to Miami to New York.

“You’re late,” Monique repeats her earlier words, and I sit in the only empty seat around the table. “If you tell me you went over the time, shit’s gonna hit the fucking fan, Dayton.”

“I haven’t gone over the time since you took me on, Mon, and I’m not starting now. The cab was late. I’m here now. Can we get on with this?”

My agent cocks her head to the side, her lips quirked. “Hot date tonight?”

“If you can call my slippers, ice cream, and Liv a hot date, then yeah. Smokin’.”

“Funny. All right, girls. Show me what you got.” She makes a ‘gimme’ motion with her hands, and one by one, brown envelopes rustle out of purses and onto the table.

“One and a half.”

“Seven hundred.”

“Seven fucking hundred? You on your period?” Monique snaps at Lori. “Get a damn implant. I don’t have the time for you to have a week off. Robyn, you better have better than that shit.”

“Three.” Robyn smiles, dropping the envelope on the table.

Monique nods.


“Eighteen hundred.”

“Twenty-six hundred.”

“Another three.”

Monique nods after each amount, finally turning to me. “Dayton?”

I place my fat envelope on the table and look her in the eye. “Six thousand, four hundred fifty.” I slide it along the table to her.

“Four hundred fifty? Where the fuck did the fifty come from?”

“You shack me up in a hotel with a guy who takes longer to come than a porn star on Viagra, you pay the concierge to keep it quiet.”

“It’s a good fucking thing I like you, Dayton. If you were anyone else, you’d be on your own with the shit you pull.” Monique opens the envelope and leafs through the amount. “As it is, you just got my kid a new car.”

“Good. Tell him not to crash it this time. I’m not buying him a fourth.” I stand.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home. I have a hot date, remember?”


“Ooooooh,” my best friend, Liv, coos. “Six gees?”

“Don’t forget the four fifty.”

“Fifty? Oh, concierge.”

It really says something when my best friend gets it and my agent doesn’t.

“What do you do with all the money? If that’s twenty percent, then you took home like thirty thousand fucking dollars this week.”

“Twenty-five. I pay off this place, expand my shoe collection, buy out Agent Provocateur and occasionally La Perla, and save the rest for a rainy day. Oh, and taxes. They kill me.” I stab my spoon into my tub of Phish Food. “And if you remember, I take cheapskates like you on vacation now and then. But this doesn’t happen every week.” I lick the spoon clean. “A couple extra clients dropped in, so voilà.”

Liv grins. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m in the wrong industry. Shit, I show my tits all the time and I don’t make half as much as you.”

“That’s ‘cause your tits are for the camera. Mine are for touching.”

“Point made and taken.”

“Anyway, you know we’re selective on my clients. Not selective enough sometimes, but they’re all big payers. What I earn in a month takes most of the other girls a year.”

“You get all the big jobs? Don’t the others get pissed?”

“Probably, but it’s some money or no money. It’s not like I haven’t worked for them. I’m the best in the fucking city at my job and they all know it.”

And it’s the truth. I have the most clients, and they just happen to be the ones who pay the most. Fuck well, get paid well. That’s how my life works.

“Yeah? Fuck anyone lately who can get the girls a good job?” Liv pats her natural double D’s. “Because my agent is shooting more blanks job-wise than he is dick-wise.”

“No, but I have a client in two days who might be willing to have a free hour of my time for a double page spread of you. And cover.”

“And cover?”

“Liv, my hourly rate is more than most people’s daily wage. Yes, the fucking cover too. And to sweeten…” I jump up and tug Liv upstairs and into my lingerie room. What else am I gonna do with a three-bedroom house? I’m a call girl. I live and breathe lingerie.

I grab the dark pink bodice with black lace detail that I ordered last week and show it to her.

“Oh!” She takes the hanger and gives it a once-over. “Yep. This is cover-winning lingerie, Day. Every time.”

“I know.” I smirk. “He has a thing for these, and a nice new one will do the trick.”

“Mm… Is he coming here?”


She shivers as we head back down. “I don’t know how you can do that in your house.”

“It’s no different than someone who works from home on their computer or something. I just have a bedroom instead of an office. It’s not like it happens in my room. I built the extension for a reason.”

I built it two years ago after buying this place when my client load got too big for constant hotel jumping. It’s an extra two rooms—one’s a normal bedroom while the other carries the kinkier stuff. I’m prepared for every situation.

“Okay. You know, we’ve been friends for eight years and I still don’t think I get why you do what you do.”

I smile wistfully. “Yeah, I never imagined I’d drop out of college for the thing I did to get me through it in the first place.”



“I have a job for you.”

I let my groan out and lift my legs out of the water. “It’s my day off.”

“I don’t give a fucking shit if it’s your day off.” Tell me how you really feel, Monique. “This is an easy one. Rate and a half.”

“Tell me more.”

“He’s taking over his father’s company and he has a function tonight. His father is expecting him to show with a date. This is where you come in. He’s paying extra for short notice.”

“Okay.” I wrap a towel around me and walk into my room. “So who is it?”

“He’s requested to stay anonymous until you arrive and he’ll introduce himself then. His profile is too high to deal with the stigma of hiring an escort.” The bitterness filters through her tone, and I feel it. Judgmental douche. “So you have to agree to keep that private.”

“Right.” I draw the word out. “Because talking about my clients is something I do every day. What do I wear?”

“Something classy. It’s a multimillion-dollar company, so something fucking expensive. Something that makes everyone look at both of you. Tonight is about him and stroking his ego.”

“Got it.” I pull out a brown-grey knee-length dress with a pencil cut and lay it out on my bed. “And sex?”

“Not required. Date only.”

“Huh. That doesn’t happen often.”

“I’ll text you the details. Don’t fuck up.”

“Never do.”

I toss my phone on the bed and peruse my collection of lingerie, looking for the perfect set to wear under my dress. Sex may not be on the cards, but that doesn’t mean I can’t wear nice underwear.

Give a girl a matching bra and panties and just the knowledge of its existence on her body will add a level of confidence she didn’t know she had.

Fortunately for me, I have more than enough confidence. At least Mia Lopez does.

Southfall Hotel. 7pm to meet, function at 7:30. Money on arrival. Receptionist Rachel is expecting you.

I nod once and throw my cell back on my bed to get ready. I know the Southfall well. I’ve been there several times before as a paid date. The functions are held in the largest room, and you have to be somebody to get in there. It’s one of the most exclusive hotels in the city.

I fix my dark hair to the side, letting curls fall over my shoulder, and slip my feet into some brown heels. Diamond earrings glitter in my lobes, and after a coat of lipstick, I tuck it into my purse.

I climb into the waiting cab and stretch out my legs. A lick of nervousness flares inside me. Not knowing the client’s name before a date is always unnerving—especially when they’re a last-minute hire. Usually I have time to research them, even if it’s only basic details. Tonight, I have thirty minutes to know everything about my client and the company he’s taking over.

That alone is worth my rate and a half.

I pay the driver and step into the Seattle evening. The Southfall is right on Elliot Bay, and the gentle breeze from the water wraps around me, bathing me in comfort. I pause in my steps to glance at the boats lined up, remembering a time when my father’s bobbed along there.

I shake my head. There’s no time to be Dayton tonight. If I’m being paid, I’m Mia. Dayton has no place in this high-class world of deception and pleasure. She’s too pajamas-and-ice-cream for this shit.

The doorman opens the door for me. My heels click on the marble floor as I approach the reception desk.

“Can I help you?” The receptionist looks up, and I glance at her nametag. Rachel. Perfect.

“Yes. I’m here for the function this evening.”

“It’s on the second floor, ma’am. The South ballroom.”

I place my hands on the counter, twenty dollars poking out from beneath my pinky finger. Her eyes find it.

“I’m here for the function.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. Excuse me, Ms. Lopez.” She picks up the phone. “Ms. Lopez has arrived. Please take her to the reserved private booth in the bar.”

Two seconds later, a boy no older than nineteen steps next to me. “If you’d follow me, Ms. Lopez.”

“Thank you, Rachel.” I shake her hand, mine coming away empty, and follow the young boy.

Money gets you everywhere in this world, and for me, it’s almost like my calling card. I show you green, you know who I am and why I’m here. I show you green, you shut the fuck up and be discreet.

“Ms. Lopez.” He pulls a curtain to the side slightly.

“Thank you.” I pass him a ten as he leaves and turn into the booth.

I pull the curtains shut behind me, and just like that, Mia gives way to Dayton, because I look into a pair of eyes I haven’t seen for seven years. Disbelief and shock ricochet through my body.

It can’t be. It’s not possible.

But my gaze follows the shapely, stubbled jaw and pink lips of the man I fell in love with one beautiful summer in Paris seven years ago. Before everything went wrong.


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Chapters 2 and 3 will be released on Monday 21st April and Friday 25th April respectively, with the whole book being released across all retailers in its entirety on Monday 28th April. 

Amazon pre-orders will be available with the release of Chapter 3 on Friday 25th April.

Barnes & Noble pre-order:

iBooks pre-order:

Late Call Cover Reveal, Giveaway, + Excerpt

I’m so excited to share the cover for LATE CALL, the first book in my adult erotic romance series. This book is a big step up from my new adult work, but I hope you’ll all love it just as much. And keep scrolling down – there’s a chance to win one of five eARC copies of the book 🙂


RELEASE DATE: April 28th


She’s a high class call girl. He’s taking over his father’s business.

Seven years ago, they fell in love in Paris.

They walked away at the end of the summer, never imagining they’d meet again.

Now he’s her client.

We fell in love the way you jump from a cliff. Hard and fast with a reckless sense of abandon. The six weeks we spent together changed my life, but at seventeen, I was naive. I was a dreamer. A believer.

Now I’m twenty-four and cynical. I don’t believe in love. There’s no place for such emotions as a high class escort. The only things I’m allowed to feel are physical – and that’s why it’s so damn hard when the client of a last minute job turns out to be the man I left in France seven years ago. When he buys me for six weeks at triple my rate, my agent makes it clear I have no choice but to take the job despite our previous relationship. And my heart makes it very clear I have to stay firmly on top of the cliff this time.

Because for six weeks, I once again belong to Aaron Stone.


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*Disclaimer: this is not from the final version of the book and is subject to change or removal before publication.*


“Don’t think I didn’t notice what you did back there,” he says in a low voice.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I give him my best innocent eyes.

His lips quirk into that smirk, and he steps forward when the barman disappears again. He rests his hand on my waist, his fingers flexing against the lace of my dress, and drops his eyes to mine.

“No, you have no idea of the effect you have on men simply by walking past them.”

“Not at all.” I run my fingers up his stomach, ignoring the feeling of solid muscle there, and tweak his bow tie. “It’s not my job to know the effect I have on them, rather, merely to affect them.”

“Well let me say you do it…” He bends his head toward mine. “…Spectacularly.”

“Thank you.” I pull on the tie harder and it unravels, hanging loosely around his neck, and I undo the top button of his shirt.

“What are you doing?”

I lean up and rest my mouth by his ear. “Giving people something to talk about. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be doing?” My thigh brushes against his as I cross my legs.

“It’s absolutely what you should be doing.” Aaron says his words into my hair, and I turn my face into his.

“Then you should stop questioning me and allow me to do it.”

His hand flattens against my back, drawing us closer. “You play a dangerous game, Dayton.”

“It’s only dangerous if you don’t trust the person standing in front of you – if you don’t know their breaking point.”

“What makes you think you know mine?”

I smile against his cheek. “Have you forgotten? I know your breaking point and your tipping point, and I know exactly how to get you there.”

“It’s been seven years, as you keep reminding me. What if it’s changed?”

“I’m very good at adapting.” I pull back so a whisper of air hovers between our lips. “But it hasn’t changed a bit.”

“She think she’s so smart.”

Another smile tugs at my lips, and I whisper, “She knows if she drops her hand and brushes it against your groin, you’ll be hard and ready to take her in the first possible place.”

“Is that right?”

“Mhmm. A wall is the likely choice…” I rest my fingers against his belt, and he tenses. “Looks like she’s as smart as she thinks she is if you’re tense at my fingers sitting here… nowhere near the erection you’re failing to hide.”

He chuckles low, a raspy tone to it. “Your game is very, very dangerous, Miss Black.”

“And you get to play it for a whole six weeks. Aren’t you lucky?”

He curls his fingers around mine at his belt. “The only luck here will be if we leave Vegas without me fucking you against every wall of our suite.”


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The Right Moves is LIVE… And a donation.


Today is the day I feel like I’ve been waiting months for – I have – because THE RIGHT MOVES is out in the world for all of you to read! Yay! *happy dance*

And now I’m gonna get serious.

If you know me, you’ll know I’m very open about my struggles with depression. To me, it’s a part of my life and just one of those things. I understand it. I know my demons, my triggers, and my warning signs. After four years, I know how to cope with it. That doesn’t mean I’m over it – I still fight it every single day, and this book was written when I was most vulnerable to it again. My son was two weeks old when I sat down to write this book, and four weeks old when I finished. Having had post-partum depression with my daughter, believe me when I say I was very, very lucky not to have fallen completely under once again. I truly believe writing this book helped me fight it off. Now, he’s six month old, and it still hits me some days.

This made writing The Right Moves, Abbi and Blake’s story, very easy and very hard. Easy because I get it. I could get down to the rawness of Abbi’s feelings, and I wrote more than one scene blind because of tears in my eyes. It was also very hard for that reason. It brought back a lot of memories and feelings I thought I was over. Luckily, writing is my therapy, so for each time I tore myself apart, I healed a little, too.

Abbi knows she needs dance to cope. However inadvertently, she got the help she needed and could start and continue her recovery. Just like I did.

Not everyone is that lucky.

Tori wasn’t – I won’t say too much about her because you’ll see her story in the book – but she shows the other side of depression. The side in which there is no light in the dark.

The side many people live every day because they’re too afraid to ask for help.

There are charities out there that do this – they help. They’re dedicated to helping people who struggle with depression, anxiety, and self-harming. They give them the support they need and remind them they’re not alone. You wouldn’t believe how important knowing you’re not alone is. When your depression is clawing away and eating at you, having someone to talk to can, and does, make the world of difference.

Two of these charities are To Write Love On Her Arms (TWLOHA) and NO STIGMAS. I’ve spent a lot of time on their sites over the last 9 days, looking at what they do and how they raise awareness for mental health. Why?

Because I am going to donate 100% of the monies earned from The Right Moves during release week (March 27th – April 3rd) to TWLOHA and NO STIGMAS.



(Please feel free to share the above image. Purchase links are below.)

I admire them and the work they do. I believe in it, wholeheartedly. So, as said above, whatever royalties I receive from the sales of The Right Moves during the first week of sale, I will split 50/50 between them. I want to help them help people just like me and I want to raise awareness for something that is still so stigmatized.

I want to see people understand their depression. And then I want to see people beat it. Because you can.

So please, while The Right Moves is on sale for just $0.99, grab your copy and know you’re helping to make a difference to someone’s life. You are.



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Her past is wrought with demons.

His past is full of heartbreak.

Yet he’s the one person that can remind her what it means to live.

Abbi Jenkins never thought she would leave the walls of the mental institution that’s housed her for the last year. Now she has, but that doesn’t mean she’s forgotten everything Pearce put her through. She knows there’s only one way to deal with the depression that claws at her mind each day, and ballet becomes more than a hobby, a dream. Ballet – and Julliard – becomes a reason to live. Something to hold on for.

Blake Smith left London for one reason and one reason only. Running from the heartbreak of his past was never something he wanted to do, but with constant reminders everywhere he turned, it became his only option. When he arrives in New York City, he vows he’ll keep the promise he made to his sister and get into Juilliard.

But he doesn’t expect to be paired with Abbi in class, the girl whose eyes show a world of pain he’s seen before. Pain he knows too well. As each hour they spend together pulls them closer, Blake can’t fight his need to save her from herself.

Lines blur as their pasts are wrenched into the open, and they have to ask themselves whether they’re too broken to ever to be fixed, or if they’re the healing the other needs.







Find out more about TO WRITE LOVE ON HER ARMS.

Find out more about NO STIGMAS.

The Right Moves – A Tease! 3 Weeks to go!

“I told you I’d catch you.”

I jump and scream, pressing a hand to my chest. Blake’s hands are hot on my arms, even through the material of my sweater, and he laughs loudly as I let all the air whoosh from my lungs.

“You ass!” I breathe out, shoving his chest. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

“What? Scared you or caught you?” He grins, and his eyes hold a playful challenge.

“Both,” I reply, putting my hands on my hips and staring up at him.

His grin widens, a hint of a small, sassy boy sneaking through. “You shouldn’t try to run, Abbi.”

“And why’s that?”

He steps forward, his toes almost touching mine. I take in a deep breath, my eyes fixed to him as the contradictory sparks of serious and teasing flash through his green eyes and captivate me.

“You can’t run from someone who really wants to catch you. That’s why.”

I close my eyes for a split second, and in that time, it seems like the evening sky gives way to the night one. I could swear it wasn’t this dark five minutes ago, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’ve been standing here with my eyes on Blake’s for longer than I thought.

“Then the cotton candy inside the amusement park should be really, really scared right about now,” I whisper.

His lips twitch on one side. “Maybe it’s not just the cotton candy that should be worried.”

My chest tightens, a mixture of fear and apprehension restricting my ability to breathe. Anticipation sneaks its way in, winding itself around the stronger feelings of fear and beating it down. I feel it taking over, tingling through my whole body, even down to my toes. My lips part of their own accord, making my shallow breaths feel scratchy as my mouth and throat go dry.

Blake’s eyes flick to my lips, and I can see the indecision flitting across his features in the mar of his brow, the twitch of his mouth, the slight clench of his jaw.

Do it. Don’t. Do it. Don’t. Do it. Don’t.

My feelings battle inside me, clashing over and over until I’m uncertain whether I want to end it and either grab him or run from him or stay here. Just stay here – his body closer to mine than I thought I’d ever allow and his eyes searing into me every place they look.

Slowly, he reaches a hand up and tucks my wayward hair behind my ear. “Let’s go scare some cotton candy.”




Amazon US

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Re-release day for Playing for Keeps!


Re-release – I know. But its worth re-buying, I promise you! The US Amazon link is still going live, but it’s live everywhere else!



USA Today bestseller!
From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Emma Hart, comes the second book in The Game series, and the story everyone wanted after The Love Game…

She’s in love with him.
He’s trying not to love her.
One night changes everything.

Aston Banks never meant to get close to Megan Harper – not even for that one night. Haunted by a childhood he refuses to face, he knew she could break through every wall he’d ever built and tear them down without even realizing she was doing it.

Betraying Braden by starting a relationship with Aston wasn’t on Megan’s to-do list, but the second she sees a glimpse of someone other than the arrogant ass she’s come to know, she can’t walk away.

Aston’s childhood is worse than Megan ever guessed, but as he tries and fails to push her away, it’s clear her love is stronger than the demons that cling to him every day. And now, because of it, he finally has to deal with what he’s buried deep down.

What he doesn’t want to face. What he’s fought against for so long.

And they have to do it all without Braden finding out.

Keeping a relationship secret has never been harder.



Amazon US: Will be added when is live.

Amazon UK:

Barnes & Noble:


And if you’re in the UK, when you buy – GO HERE – and post your order number or a screenshot of the book on your reading device, and you’ll be entered to win one of two £15 Amazon gift cards!

I’ll be doing a US giveaway for the box set later, so be sure to check back as I’ll update then!

BUY THE GAME SERIES BOX SET FOR $0.99, USUALLY $3.99! Will go to $3.99 on February 27th.


Amazon US:

Barnes & Noble:


AND if you’re in the US/Canada/outside the Commonwealth, you can enter below to win an eARC of THE RIGHT MOVES, to be sent when files are ready in the next 2 weeks. Please do not enter if you’re in the UK and Commonwealth, as I do not have the rights to distribute ARCs to you! Thank you!

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THE RIGHT MOVES cover reveal!



THE RIGHT MOVES, book three in THE GAME series, and Abbi’s story.


Title: The Right Moves (The Game, #3)

By: Emma Hart

Publication Date: 27th March 2014

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Organised by: The Book Lovers




Her past is wrought with demons.

His past is full of heartbreak.

Yet he’s the one person that can remind her what it means to live.

Abbi Jenkins never thought she would leave the walls of the mental institution that’s housed her for the last year. Now she has, but that doesn’t mean she’s forgotten everything Pearce put her through.

She knows there’s only one way to deal with the depression that claws at her mind each day, and ballet becomes more than a hobby, a dream. Ballet – and Julliard – becomes a reason to live. Something to hold on for.

Blake Smith left London for one reason and one reason only. Running from the heartbreak of his past was never something he wanted to do, but with constant reminders everywhere he turned, it became his only option. When he arrives in New York City, he vows he’ll keep the promise he made to his sister and get into Juilliard.

But he doesn’t expect to be paired with Abbi in class, the girl whose eyes show a world of pain he’s seen before. Pain he knows too well. As each hour they spend together pulls them closer, Blake can’t fight his need to save her from herself.

Lines blur as their pasts are wrenched into the open, and they have to ask themselves whether they’re too broken to ever to be fixed, or if they’re the healing the other needs.


EXCERPT (from Abbi’s POV):


“We always seem to be somewhere when it’s getting dark,” I comment absently, stepping from Blake’s hold and walking to the edge of the shelter. I look over the water, a few lone ducks still swimming along.

I see him shrug as he steps up beside me. He rests his elbows on the ledge and leans forward, his bicep brushing my arm.

“Hiding in plain sight,” he says simply.

I blink harshly, suddenly glad for the darkening of the sky. Something I said so casually, like it meant nothing, and he’s remembered it. He’s remembered it and somehow he’s applied it to everything we’ve done so far. He’s letting me hide right where he can see me.

He seems to understand so much about me – about how I feel, how to deal with the crazy breakdowns that can happen any second. He doesn’t blink at them and nothing seems to faze him. It’s unnerving and reassuring at the same time.

“It’s my favorite time of day,” I admit, twiddling my fingers. “Right now, when day is giving way to night. It’s the point I can drop the fake smile and stop pretending like everything is perfect. There are so many shadows and dark places I can barely recognize my own amongst them, and it’s a relief.”

“You can’t pretend all the time.” He turns his face toward mine, and his eyes are so serious I have to fight not to look back at him. “Anyone who smiles the way you do can’t have a fake one all the time. Either that, or you’re an even better actress than you are a dancer and I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“Maybe not all the time,” I say slowly and quietly. “I don’t always need to pretend. Sometimes it really is okay.”

“Like when you dance.”

I tilt my head toward him, my eyes meeting his through my hair, and I whisper, “Like when I’m with you.”




Amazon US:

Amazon UK:

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iTunes: (Coming in days)





Amazon US:

Amazon UK:

Barnes & Noble:


PLAYING FOR KEEPS (Pre-order for Feb 13 re-release):

Amazon US: no pre-order.

Amazon UK:

Barnes & Noble:



And if you’re in the US, grab THE GAME SERIES BOX SET for $0.99 on pre-order to get ready for THE RIGHT MOVES! Box set consists of the first two books in the series, and is usually priced at $3.99.


Amazon US:

Barnes & Noble: