An unapologetic player and a reserved wallflower… one night would never be enough
Galan Black carries a burden he can’t share with anyone, least of all his two brothers. Not even after the blood, sweat, and tears, it took for them to open and make the Black Pearl Nightclub a raging success. He’s just glad his secret doesn’t haunt him half as much in the arms of the eager women he takes to bed.
Yet he can’t stop thinking about the plain Jane bartender and waitress, who he impulsively hired against his better judgment. Then she steps half-naked onto the stage for the club’s once-yearly charity auction, and he can’t keep his bidding paddle down, or his eyes off her. He’ll have her for the night and get her out of his system once and for all.
Layla doesn’t trust men, yet her infatuation with the eldest Black brother is getting beyond a joke. She needs to experience a night in his bedroom and get over her silly fixation. But then one night becomes two, with the heat between them showing no signs of cooling. Until Layla’s trust is put to the ultimate test and dirty little secrets are exposed.

It wasn’t until the fourth girl came out and blew kisses to the bidders that Aiden put in an appearance beside his older brother. He clapped Galan on the shoulder and murmured, “I knew these ladies would get the men bidding.”
Galan nodded. “You selected well.”
Aiden smirked. “Yeah, well, you know what they say. It’s a hard life, but someone’s got to do it.” He arched a dark brow. “Are you planning on making a bid?”
Galan sent him a sardonic look. “I’ll leave that to the paying customers.”
Aiden’s smirk widened. “You’ve got every right to bid too, you know. The highest one is all that counts.” He handed him a bidding paddle before Galan even realized what he’d been given. Aiden winked, “Keep hold of it. You never know, you just might need it.”
Galan stared after his brother, his lips thinning and his arms crossing. One thing he’d always hated—as both his brothers knew all too well—was subterfuge. He liked to be in control. It was less likely for things to go wrong. And right now, his every instinct flailed like a fish that’d been thrown on baking hot sand.
His brothers had concocted something. But if they thought for even one second, he’d bid on any of the women walking out on stage, they could think again. He shook his head. He had more than enough hookups without having to pay for it.
So, what had his damn brothers gone and done?
Wolf whistles and cheers jerked him back to the present, and for a moment his fool heart forgot to beat. His throat dried and his every nerve ending short-circuited as he stared open-mouthed at the sexy, inescapably beautiful woman strutting out on stage on impossibly tall stilettos.
Heart-shaped pasties just barely covered the nipples of her bared, beautiful breasts. A perfect fit for his big hands. Her waist-length, dark hair fell like a curtain around her exquisite body, where a short peacock feather skirt with a feathered train was her only covering.
Denial for a moment left him frozen in place. It can’t be.
But though he’d never seen her out of her men’s T-shirt and black dress pants uniform; never seen her without her glasses and her dark hair out of its bun… it was irrevocably, undeniably her.
“Layla,” he breathed. And he finally understood why she was the one woman in his life who had gotten under his skin like a damn burr.
She was fucking glorious.

The dragons will search the universe for their one true mate...
As a breeder, Rebel Mayfield attracts Riddich dragons like bees to honey. But to guarantee her next dragon capture, she has no choice other than to lay a trap for sharp-witted, blond-headed Valor. She waits in a dark alley, and when her breeder instincts sense Valor near, she signals to her male colleague to approach and pretend he’s hurting her. Valor falls for the ruse and is so enraged he nearly kills the male operative. Until the Paranormal Detection Agency—Rebel's team—step in and take Valor as their prisoner.
As Valor lays chained on a gurney, his body bloodied and bruised, and the air too frosty to call on his dragon, he dreams of escape along with hundreds of ways to kill everyone in the underground facility. Everyone except Rebel. He’s got a special kind of hell for her. He’ll use her body again and again before taking his ultimate revenge. That it’s Rebel who gives him the opportunity to escape might be her only salvation … but only if she can handle his dragon’s physical demands.

Valor Nicholz rattled the chains that bound him to the gurney, the cuffs around his ankles, his wrists, already stuck to his skin thanks to the many layers of dried blood.
Stop trying to escape, asshole. These chains are unbreakable and thanks to your blood loss and starvation, you’re too weak now to shift into a dragon.
Even worse was the damn cold. Riddichian dragon shapeshifters loved the heat, thrived on it. The cold weakened them, sucked away their energy. He exhaled slowly, the holding room’s icy cold air frosting his breath. He’d have done anything to breathe fire on the sadistic scientists and soldiers who entered the room on a daily basis.
“I shouldn’t have been caught in the first place,” he growled, his voice echoing eerily in the tiny room with its one-sided mirror.
He’d been such a fool, enticed by the flame-haired bitch who’d deceived him. And now here he was, locked in some underground facility, in a sterile, freezing cold room with less regard than what humans gave a tick or a leech.
And yet he sensed her—traitor, she-devil, spawn of evil—long before the door unclicked, swung open, and she stepped inside. Rebel Mayfield. Though her name was imprinted on his brain, he refused to use it. She might be a beautiful temptress, but he loathed her with everything he had.
He loathed even more that, although his limbs were immobilized and his body slowly healing from his last torture session, his cock still rose like a flag the moment she was near.
Her stare brushed over his nudity before lingering on his arousal. She bit her bottom lip, sending him an uncertain smile before she finally stepped forward.
He hid a savage grin. Like it or not she was stimulated by him, as a breeder, she couldn’t be. That she was also nervous amused him no end. She should be scared. He’d tear her apart when he escaped and kill every one of her colleagues who’d dared to touch him.
A pity all thought of retribution faded as his nostrils flared and he inhaled her musky, hormone drenched scent. She was unquestionably turned-on. Her panties must be drenching wet. Goddess helps him, it was as if her bouquet had been made especially for him.
He bit back a growl and shook his head, loathing how even more blood crusted his now overlong blond hair to the sides of his face and his nape. The humans here were the monsters, not their prisoners who were kept chained in these tiny rooms.
Her high heels click-clacked across the short expanse of a hard, concrete floor. No combat boots this time. He cocked a brow. Her shoes were the least of his concern. Instead of the usual shapeless camouflage uniform, a dress clung lovingly to her slender curves, the black and white patterned fabric showcasing her body to perfection. It was also low-cut, exposing a good portion of her gorgeous tits.
He bit back a groan. Had the PDA decided to use the breeder this time to seduce his secrets from him? Had they gotten that desperate already for answers? He’d been here—what? Four weeks? Five? —it was impossible to keep track under the constantly bright, artificial lights.
It was only lucky he knew the exact date he and the rest of the Riddich crew had crash-landed on Earth, so he knew when to reunite with King Asher, Princess Dahlia, Baron, and Wyatt. Because he would escape this hellhole … sooner rather than later.
“I brought you food,” she said softly.
The sweet tones of her voice sent his body into rapture and his mind into meltdown. Fuck.
But then his stomach gurgled, his more immediate needs all too apparent. He might want to hurl the food into the farthest corner of the room but eating every last morsel would help him to regain some strength and speed up his bodies slowed-to-a-crawl healing process.
“Are you hoping to soften me up—or should I say harden me up—for my next interrogation, breeder?” he drawled.
She flinched, her luscious lips thinning and her already alabaster face paling further. “I guess it’s obvious that I’m a breeder?”
“Of course.” He nodded at his cock that lay thick as a plank and just as hard on his belly. “I wouldn’t get a hard-on for you otherwise, now, would I?”
“I guess not,” she said, her face flushing a scarlet that was a few shades lighter than her gorgeous flame hair.
Valor mentally cursed the immediate need to reassure and tell her any hot-blooded male would desire her. Bloody hell. She was his enemy, and he was seriously losing touch with reality. “You mentioned food?” he gritted out.
She nodded stiffly. “I did.”
He banged against the restraints, barely feeling the flash of discomfort and the hot spill of more blood. It wasn’t even a twinge compared to the agony of shifting shape and the brutal, once-monthly pain rituals his people had deliberately endured before they were all but wiped out. Snuffed out like flames in the wind.
At least that pain had enabled him to endure the torture and degradation the PDA scientists and soldiers enjoyed inflicting on their prisoners. He’d suffered in silence while the scientists had tested his pain levels, poked and prodded with needles and cut with scalpels and other devices. The humans had enjoyed his torment and misery, his silence exacerbating their need to hurt him even more.
He glowered, hating the breeder and her friends almost as much as his Tantonic enemies that’d come so close to eliminating his race. “Are you going to free me so I can eat?”
She held his stare. “The restraints stay on. I’ll be feeding you.”
His throat closed, his heart pounding loud in his ears. Every one of his senses seemed enhanced as she stepped closer to him and then bent to proffer him a small triangular cut sandwich.
Her beautiful, emerald-green eyes lifted to meet his hard stare. “It’s basic,” she conceded, “but it will keep you alive.”
Her breasts were tantalizingly close, her scent seemingly reaching out to caress his dirty, blood-encrusted body. But he couldn’t touch, couldn’t fuck, couldn’t even pretend she didn’t affect him when his cock jerked and thickened, impossibly harder.
He squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment, holding onto the constant simmer of his inner rage before he looked at her once more and growled, “I’m sure you and the rest of the PDA parasites don’t want me to die before I give up all my secrets.”
She stiffened, then shoved the whole triangle of bread into his mouth. He nearly choked before he bit into the soft sandwich with its filling he couldn’t name. As much as he wanted to spit out the food so that it landed at the breeder’s delicate, high-heeled feet, he couldn’t afford to waste any calories and therefore his strength.
Instead, he savored the explosion of flavor that hit his taste buds. He identified meat of some sort  and something tangy and a little bit sharp. He’d relied on his Riddich rations for as long as possible and had eaten very little Earth food since crash-landing here. He knew little to nothing about what regular fare humans ate, except for those advertisements he’d seen on the Riddichians craft’s screen-capture.
“Ham, cheese and pickles,” she said as he chewed then finally swallowed. She tipped her head to one side, a glint of curiosity in her stare. “Is it anything like what your people ate?”
He inhaled sharply, ignoring her question to ask one of his own. “What scent are you wearing?”
 “Scent?” She blinked. “I don’t wear perfume.” Then she smiled and conceded, “It must be my honeysuckle soap. I’ve always used it.”
Honeysuckle soap. Jesus, it even sounded sexy.
When she slid the next triangular sandwich into his mouth, he again closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the food and her scent while he imagined sucking her fingertips, her breasts, her clit.
His dick lifted and swayed, as though seeking out the sexy breeder. She cleared her throat and pretended not to notice his erection when she asked, “Water?”
He wanted to kill the traitorous bitch, not imagine making love to her! The breeder had already betrayed him by his compulsion to save her from a huge man who’d pulled her into an alleyway. But it’d all been a setup, a ruse to snare him and bring him to the PDA.
It was a bitter pill to swallow.
Ignoring the tightness in his chest, he nodded before she tilted a cup against his lips and the cool, sweet nectar filled his mouth. Did the breeder know the water they’d served him in this hellhole up until now had been dirty and brackish, and possibly worse than sewerage?
She set the cup down, her jewel-green eyes a feverish, primal glitter, her cheeks now a delicate shade of pink. “I hope you’ve regained a little of your strength,” she said huskily.
He snorted, doing everything in his power not to react to her siren’s call. Because everything she did was staged, an act he wouldn’t fall for again. “It’d take a hell of a lot more than one sandwich to renew my energy.”
Her flush deepened, her eyes bright with need even before she lifted her hands to the front of her dress and slid the concealed buttons undone one-by-one. “It doesn’t matter. You won’t need to use any of your vitality if I ride you.”
He gaped, even as his balls tightened and his dick jerked, a white pearl of pre-cum oozing from the slit of his cockhead. He shouldn’t be surprised by her matter-of-fact sex talk. She was a breeder who worked for an agency without a conscience.
She was here to fuck him, plain and simple, and it clearly wasn’t to get answers out of him. He’d heard the scientists muttering when they thought he was unconscious. They were working on making a super-enhanced baby. And the she-bitch was playing her part in creating exactly that by having him impregnate her.
His stomach twisted, a vile taste filling his mouth. Was this just another day on the job for this flame-haired she-devil?

Mel Teshco loves to write scorching paranormal, sci-fi and contemporary stories. Not easy with five cats, two dogs and a fat black thoroughbred vying for attention, especially when Mel’s also busily stuffing around on Facebook. With only one daughter now living at home to feed two-minute noodles, she still shakes her head at how she managed to write with three daughters and three stepchildren living under the same roof. Not to mention Mr. Semi-Patient (the one and same husband hoping for early retirement...he’s been waiting a few years now...) Clearly, anything is possible, even in the real world.

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