COMING FRIDAY 7 PM PST. KELLY JAMIESON AUTHOR OF: SCREWED (SEE EXCERPTS)

COMING
FRIDAY
7 PM PST.
KELLY JAMIESON

AUTHOR OF:




Cash Hale has been in love with his best friend’s wife forever. Now Callie and Beau are divorced, but she’s still way off-limits. Dating her would betray his friendship with Beau. And Cash is nothing if not loyal.

Callie Sutherland is starting over. The end of her marriage was just one more way she failed to live up to her wealthy family’s expectations, so from now on she’s not even going to try. It’s time to live her life the way she wants. And she wants Cash.

Cash and Beau aren’t just friends, they’re business partners, and the drop in the price of oil has hurt their business. They need to win the bid for Sutherland Industries’ next big project—but it may get messy since Callie’s family owns the business. Not only would Cash risk his friendship with Beau to be with her, he’d be risking the company they worked so hard to create.

But this new Callie isn’t taking no for an answer.

He’s so screwed...



To her surprise, Cash turned his hand and caught her fingers in his. She stared at his big, tanned fingers holding her smaller ones. His hand was warm and strong. A little shiver worked over her arm, then down her spine. She lifted her gaze to meet his.
“A gentleman,” he repeated. “Yeah.”
Mesmerized by his deep, dark eyes, her head spun even more. “I think maybe I should go home. I’m not feeling so well.”
“You didn’t drive here, did you?”
“No, Kristy brought me. I should find her.”
“I’ll take you home.”
“But you just got here!” She tried to stand. Cash rose at the same time, and when one of her skinny heels slipped on the rough stone patio, she started to go down. With a little squeak, she grabbed for the chair and missed.
Strong arms caught her waist and kept her from hitting the ground. Cash pulled her up against him. “Damn, darlin’. You’re right. We better get you home.”
“Shit.” She closed her eyes. “I am so embarrassed.”
“Hey, I got you. It’s all good.”
He was big and muscled and warm. “You’ve kept in shape since you played football in college.” Oh, sweet baby Jesus in the lap of Mary. She was totally shnockered. She shouldn’t be saying things like that to Cash. She shouldn’t be noticing things like that about Cash. “We’re friends, right?”
He loosened his grip on her, and she caught the twitch of his lips as she turned to face him, still close enough to smell his cologne, a scent already familiar to her, though tonight it smelled especially enticing. “You smell good.”
He muttered something under his breath. “Come on. Do you have a purse or something?” He began to lead her across the patio, and she held onto his arm, grateful to have that because her feet weren’t cooperating.
“I think so.” She frowned.
Inside, Cash paused to survey the club. “There’s Kristy. Stay right here. I’ll tell her we’re leaving.”
“No, I want to talk to her. I have to…” What? She rubbed her forehead. “Thank you. Thank her. I have to thank her.” She grabbed hold of his arm again and maintained her balance as they walked. She could hold her liquor, and she could do it in four-inch heels.
“You know what the problem is?” Cash asked. “Other than you’re as drunk as Cooter Brown on the fourth of July?”
She giggled. “What’s the problem?”
“Those shoes.” He nodded at her Christian Louboutin pumps. “Look at those heels. They’re so skinny it’s a wonder you can walk at all.”
“I learned how to do that in Miss Lily’s Classes for Young Ladies.”
“Valuable life skills.”
“I know.” She sighed. “I tried.”
“Hey, Kristy.” Cash tapped Kristy’s shoulder where she stood talking to some people.
Kristy swung around and beamed at him. “Cash! You came!” She gave him air kisses.
“I’m leaving, though. Taking Callie home.”
Kristy blinked and looked between them. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m not feeling so great.” Callie tried to smile reassuringly at her friend, although her stomach was heaving and she was getting a little concerned about losing the contents of it on the dance floor. That would not be decorous.
“You sure?” Kristy looked at Cash and bit her lower lip.
“Yeah. It’s all good.”
“Thank you, Cash. I do need to stick around and pay the bill.”
“I’ll pay you back,” Callie said.
“Oh no, honey, we did this for you.” Kristy’s eyes squinted with concern. “You do look a little…tipsy, hon.”
Callie sucked her bottom lip briefly, trying not to sway on her heels. “I think I should be insulted.”
Kristy turned her worried gaze back to Cash.
“Don’t worry.” He clasped Callie’s hand again, and damn that felt good. “I’ll make sure she’s okay. Come on, little lush.”
He tugged her toward the private room.
“I just thought of another one.” Callie hiccupped delicately.
Cash shot her a frowning glance. “Another what?”
“Joke. How do you know your wife is a good housekeeper?”
After a pause, he said, “How?”
“After the divorce, she keeps the house!” She burst into a gale of laughter.
“Oh my fuck,” he muttered.
“Get it? I’m a good housekeeper! Because I kept the house.” She giggled again.
“We are so out of here.”










A haunted beauty inspires a Navy SEAL turned playboy bar owner to change his ways in this tender and sensual novel from the bestselling author of Hot Shot and the Heller Brothers series.


Waitressing at a tequila bar on the beach in sunny San Diego may not be what Reece Kirkwell wants to do forever, but for now, it’s perfect—other than the flashbacks to the tragedy she caused in Boston. And the fact that one of her bosses is a domineering, first-class manwhore who’s as stubborn as he is sexy. If he’d just listen to her, she could double his business. But it would also mean getting close to someone, and that’s a risk she can’t afford.


Cade Hardy’s partners at Conquistadors are like his brothers, but he’s the money man trying to keep them all afloat. To blow off steam, he’s been sleeping around a little. The last thing he needs is business advice from their crazy-hot new waitress. Cade can’t figure Reece out. She’s smarter than she lets on, and she doesn’t hide her disgust for his active sex life. But after he recognizes her PTSD symptoms, Cade is determined to save her . . . unless she saves him first.



His head jerked back.

“Well, I’m sorry I went behind your back. I know it wasn’t honest. I didn’t mean to cause problems. Just don’t . . . I don’t want Sid to be in trouble about this, because it was my doing.” She jumped to her feet. “I’ll get my things and leave.”

“No!” He pushed up, too, then laid his hands on the desk, leaning forward. “No. Sit down.”

She didn’t move for a few seconds, holding his gaze with her own fierce stare.

Jesus. For some reason, he was turned on. Hot need punched his lower belly. She was stunning with her passion and confidence and honesty. Then she turned and started to walk away.

No fucking way.

He vaulted over the desk and grabbed her arm, spinning her around.

She gasped, eyes big. His gaze dropped to her mouth . . . her full lips shiny and parted . . . fuck, he wanted to taste her and feel those lips.

Tension shimmered around them, the temperature in the office rising several lustful degrees. Her breasts lifted and fell with her quick respirations and he tried not to look there but damn, it was hard not to, and he wanted to pull her closer so he could feel those sweet, soft tits pressed
against him.

“Let me go.” Her voice came out low and husky.

He was losing his goddamn mind. This was a sexual harassment suit waiting to happen. But for some reason, he didn’t fucking care. “You’re not leaving.”

Their eyes met again and the air around them crackled. “Why?” she demanded. “You’re obviously angry. I lied to you. That’s grounds for termination.” She glared. “You know you want to fire me.”

He nearly groaned. “You have no idea what I want to do to you.”

Her eyes widened again. Tension arced between them. His muscles bunched and jumped, his heart thudding. When her lips parted again, he knew . . . she did know what he wanted to do to her. And she wanted it, too.

Drawn to her like a magnet, he bent his head. He breathed in that scent he now knew, spiced vanilla and pear. Heat pulsed through his veins.

He couldn’t screw this up.

“Shit.” He relaxed his grip, but then probably made things worse by reaching for her other arm. Holding her like that, his grip gentler, he stared down into her face. “You make me crazy, Reese.”

Her eyelashes fluttered and her pulse flickered at her throat. Her face now wore a glowing flush of color and her eyelids dropped to half mast. “I know.”

He choked on a laugh and lowered his forehead to touch hers. “Sometimes I think you try to make me crazy.”

“It’s pretty easy. Control freak.”

“Shit,” he murmured. “You know what buttons to push.”

“I didn’t do this to make you crazy. I swear.”

He sighed. “I believe you.” He moved back, still holding her arms, and he gave her a searching look. Then he eased her back toward the chair and down into it. “Sit.”

“Yes, sir.”

His lips twitched. “That’s much better.”


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Kelly Jamieson is a USA Today bestselling author of over 40 romance novels and novellas.

Her writing has been described as “emotionally complex”, “sweet and satisfying” and “blisteringly sexy”. She likes black coffee, white wine, and high heels…and, of course, cheering on her Winnipeg Jets during hockey season!

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