The Dare Collection: April 2018
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- Жанр: зарубежная фантастика, зарубежные любовные романы, короткие любовные романы, современная зарубежная литература, эротические романыРедактировать
About the Authors
Lifelong romance addict JC HARROWAY lives in New Zealand. Writing feeds her very real obsession with happy endings and the endorphin rush they create. You can follow her at www.jcharroway.com, www.facebook.com/jcharroway, www.instagram.com/jcharroway and www.twitter.com/jcharroway.
USA TODAY bestselling author STEFANIE LONDON is a voracious reader who has dreamed of being an author her whole life. After sneaking several English Lit subjects into her ‘very practical’ business degree, she got a job in corporate communications. But it wasn’t long before she turned to romance fiction. After leaving her hometown of Melbourne to start a new adventure in Toronto, she now spends her days writing contemporary romances with humour, heat and heart.
For more information on Stefanie and her books check out her website at stefanie-london.com or her Facebook page at facebook.com/stefanielondonauthor.
ALEXX ANDRIA is a USA TODAY bestselling romance author who writes about bad boys with a tough exterior but a soft, warm heart deep down. She loves sweet but dirty romance with lots of witty banter—and, of course, sizzling scenes in the bedroom…or kitchen…or wherever they happen to end up—and a guaranteed HEA.
Want to connect?
Newsletter: http://bit.ly/1D7mH9A Facebook Page: http://bit.ly/1VK6d1L? Facebook Profile: https://www.facebook.com/alexx.andria.796? Twitter: @alexxandria2772 Instagram: author_alexxandria Website: authoralexxandria.com Email: alexxandria2772@gmail.com
ANNE MARSH writes sexy contemporary and paranormal romances—because the world can always enjoy one more alpha male. She started writing romance after getting laid off from her job as a technical writer—and quickly decided happily-ever-afters trumped software manuals. She lives in Northern California with her family and six cats.
The Dare Collection: April 2018
Her Dirty Little Secret
JC Harroway
Unmasked
Stefanie London
The Marriage Clause
Alexx Andria
Inked
Anne Marsh
ISBN: 978-1-474-08380-5
THE DARE COLLECTION: APRIL 2018
Her Dirty Little Secret © 2018 JC Harroway Unmasked © 2018 Stefanie Little The Marriage Clause © 2018 Kimberly Sheetz Inked © 2018 Anne Marsh
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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Version: 2020-03-02
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Table of Contents
Cover
About the Authors
Title Page
Copyright
Her Dirty Little Secret
Back Cover Text
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
Unmasked
Back Cover Text
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EPILOGUE
The Marriage Clause
Back Cover Text
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
EPILOGUE
Inked
Back Cover Text
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
About the Publisher
Her Dirty Little Secret
JC Harroway
The #1 rule for secret flings:
All kissing, no telling!
Nothing satisfies billionaire Jack Demont more than keeping socialite Harley Jacob from what she wants. After all, their families hate each other, and there’s unresolved history between them...along with some serious sexual chemistry! Now they’re consumed by a wicked game of lust—they’ll give each other mindless pleasure, but nothing else. No one can know, and keeping something this sexy a secret makes everything a whole lot hotter...
“DARE is Harlequin’s hottest line yet. Every book should come with a free fan. I dare you to try them!”
—Tiffany Reisz, international bestselling author
For G.
For pushing me, supporting me and cheering me on. x
CHAPTER ONE
THE FOUR-INCH HEEL of her hand-dyed shoe caught on a cable, one of a hundred that snaked over the bare concrete floor. She stumbled with a curse and a roll of her ankle that made her eyes water. Harley Jacob sucked in a breath, waiting for the pain to subside, and then frowned at the scuff in the leather—petrol-blue to perfectly match her cashmere dress, the signature piece from her fashion line’s autumn collection.
She sighed, funnelling her frustration into determination, her mission here today more important than a hundred pairs of hand-dyed shoes. Careful to avoid further injury, she picked her way across the cavernous space, her hesitant steps avoiding the hazardous maze of plastic dustsheets, vicious-looking power tools and stacks of dusty building materials.
Stupid jackass property developer.
Whoever was at the helm of Demont Designs Architecture and Property Development not only had a packed schedule, but he’d suddenly stalled on their deal for her purchase of the Morris Building. A deal that was days away from completion. And he’d stalled without explanation.
Harley headed towards a huddle of men at the far end of the room, swallowing down the humiliation of the hard hat and fluorescent vest combo—for someone with her eye for fashion, it represented the ultimate insult. She straightened her shoulders, mentally smoothing any wrinkle that dared to sully her immaculate, poised exterior and stepped around a nest of ducting pipes dangling from the ceiling like the building’s intestines spilling out.
Her determination to close this deal increased with every step. Not because of the reputation of her family name, one of New York’s elite and synonymous with real-estate royalty, but because she’d literally sweat blood and tears to ensure her fashion label and her social enterprise business, Give, succeeded.
And this deal was personal. She couldn’t fail again.
As she approached the group of men, who were similarly attired to her in safety vests and protective gear, the whine of machinery and the constant staccato of hammering lessened slightly. Harley breathed a sigh. At least she’d be able to hear Mr Demont’s excuses. And hopefully his reassurances and apologies. He owed her a pair of hand-dyed shoes, but she’d take his signature on their contract in recompense.
The group, perhaps hearing the clack of her heels, turned at once.
Conversation stopped.
A perfectly timed lull in the background hum of construction noise gave a moment of skin-crawling silence. Ten pairs of eyes landed on her, some curious, some surprised, some wide, no doubt taking in her inappropriate footwear and now cloying woollen dress.
Harley lifted her chin. She hadn’t come here to plaster a wall or plumb in a bathroom. She wouldn’t be dismissed this time and she was well versed in holding her own in male-dominated environments.
Like her siblings, she’d grown up working school holidays at the family firm. But where her brother and sister had filed documents and answered telephones, Harley’s dyslexia meant she’d been relegated to fetching coffee for her father’s executives and emptying the office trashcans.
‘I’m looking for Mr Demont.’
The group parted. The workmen closest to her stepped back, amused stares swivelling to the man at the centre of the group, who straightened from his stoop over an open laptop, his stare pinning her with twice the intensity of the bystanders’, their eyes now round with curiosity.
‘I’m Jack Demont.’
The air whooshed out of her lungs and heat slammed through her body—instant spine-tingling awareness.
No.
It couldn’t be.
Harley locked her knees, her fingers clutching the file in her hand.
Jack?
Jacques?
Jacques Lane?
Her disbelieving eyes scanned the man she’d come here to see, taking in the sexy, powerful, urbane demeanour he wore like an expensive suit. A man grown from a younger version she’d known, lusted after and once imagined herself in love with.
‘Can I help you?’ He showed no signs of recognition, but it was definitely him. The barest hint of a French accent—one that curled the toes inside her designer footwear. The same shade of azure-blue eyes, piercing her now as if she’d shrugged off the cashmere and stood before him naked. The scorching surge of hormones pounding through her bloodstream, clouding her reasons for seeking him out.
His stare didn’t waver, but darkened. Annoyed by her stunned dithering or, like her, reeling from the frisson of sexual awareness snaking between them like the myriad cables on the floor?
Harley pressed her thighs together, astonished by how quickly her own annoyance and frustration had morphed into burning arousal. Arousal for a man she no longer knew. A man from her past. A man who’d stalled their deal for no reason.
Why was she here? She searched her scattered thoughts, mind clunking into gear. Yes...the Morris Building.
His stare still burned into hers. Caught on the back foot, she jutted her chin forward, employing her haughtiest tone.
‘Could I trouble you for a moment of your time?’ Damn, even her vocal cords spasmed at the sight of grown-up Jack, her strangled voice emerging all breathy. She cleared her throat. Time to claw back the upper hand.
If he wanted to pretend he didn’t recognise her and had no idea why she’d hunted him down, she could play along. So what if her erogenous zones lit up like sparks from a welder’s torch under his continued scrutiny? She refused to back down or slink away. And the fact they’d known each other—intimately nine years ago—was irrelevant.
She’d forgotten they were there, but, as if sensing the tension thickening the air, the other men dropped their gazes to their steel-capped toes. Harley stepped forward, dropping her file and her purse on top of the blueprints on the table.
If Jack Demont thought she’d be intimidated by this testosterone-charged environment, or the fact their families had parted on bad terms nine years ago, he’d clearly forgotten the reputation of her hard-ass, cut-throat father, a man who’d raised her with his own personal brand of subtle put-downs, constant reminders of her failings and barely concealed disappointed looks.
With a twitch of his lips, Jack looked away, closing his laptop.
‘Gentlemen, excuse us. Any queries, speak to the foreman.’ The bite of his tone and the astute stare he levelled on her slammed her mission back to the forefront of Harley’s lust-addled mind.
Mission. Contract. Signature.
The group disbanded, dispersing one by one until all that separated her from the man who now went by another name was a heap of ancient history and the crackle of sexual tension that rent the air like the buzz of power tools.
Her paper-thin confidence wavered, blurring the lines between past and present. Yes, for a few heady months she’d believed herself in love with teenaged Jack, back when the idea of love and naïve romantic ideals had ruled her head.
But perhaps she was alone in this renewed violent surge of attraction. Perhaps he didn’t recognise her. Perhaps her ending their relationship had been insignificant to him then, easily forgotten the minute he’d returned to France with his family. And the subsequent heartache and guilt she’d felt on calling it off without explanation had been completely unnecessary.
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