Roni wrote her first romance novel at age fifteen when she discovered writing about boys was way easier than actually talking to them. Since then, her flirting skills haven’t improved, but she likes to think her storytelling ability has. Though she’ll forever be a New Orleans girl at heart, she now lives in Dallas with her husband and son. If she’s not working on her latest sexy story, you can find her reading, watching reality television, or indulging in her unhealthy addiction to rockstars, er, rock concerts. Yeah, that's it. She is the National Bestselling author of The Loving on the Edge series from Berkley Heat.
He’ll do anything for you. But you’d better say please.
When tomboy sports reporter Charli Beaumonde loses a dream TV job because she’s not girly enough for primetime, she’s determined to land a big scoop and prove her boss made a mistake. But when she gets too close to a football scandal and finds her life threatened, Charli accepts an offer from family friend Grant Waters to hide out at his place—even if Grant predicts nothing but trouble from his buddy’s hard-headed, uncompromising, irrepressible, younger sister. There’s one more problem…
Grant’s “place” is The Ranch, a BDSM resort in Texas, and he’s used to being in charge —even if that means trying to keep Charli in line. But much to Grant’s surprise, she’s intrigued—even envious—of his trainees. They’re the epitome of what she’s never been: sexy, beguiling, and totally irresistible to a man. Still, Grant doesn’t believe for a minute that the sharp-tongued Charli has it in her to be anyone’s submissive. But Charli’s already on her knees vying for the chance to prove that even the Master can be wrong sometimes.
“Are you meeting someone?” The hostess’s voice drifted across the room, pulling Grant’s attention toward the main door.
His glass thunked onto the table as the muscles in his forearm forgot to work. He stared at the redheaded beauty murmuring to the hostess. Well, I’ll be damned.
Charli peered into the dining room, her fingers worrying what- ever she was holding in her hands. She looked lost. And unsure. And completely, jaw-hit-the-table gorgeous.
Grant rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling hot all over. Damn. He’d known without a doubt that Charli would clean up well. Not many women could still look beautiful in relaxed-fit jeans and a ponytail like she did. But he hadn’t expected her to channel a Hollywood starlet or something.
The hostess leaned over and pointed to Grant’s booth. Somehow he managed to raise his hand in greeting and not smile like some goofy teenager who’s realized he’s landed a date with the prom queen. He straightened his shoulders, trying to regain his mental balance. He was supposed to be the cool and in control one here. Since when did he get like this over a pretty woman? He had beautiful subs offering themselves to him on a regular basis and it barely registered on his radar. This should be no different. She should be no different.
As Charli got closer, Grant saw what she was holding in her hands. Shoes. A pair of sexy black heels he’d picked out for her earlier today. A perfect complement, Kelsey had assured him, to the dark green strapless dress he’d chosen for Charli. His gaze went to her stocking feet, then slid up her long legs, to the hem of her short dress, and not stopping until he reached the column of her bare neck.
Not bare for long. The collar tucked into the inner pocket of his suit coat seemed to warm against his ribs at the thought. Soon.
He stood as Charli walked over to the booth. She set the shoes on the seat, put her hands on her hips, and arched a newly mani- cured brow at him. “Broken ankles or bare feet. Those are your choices.”
He smiled down at her. “Already giving me orders, freckles? That’s not how this works.”
She released a breath and then leaned in, keeping her voice low. “Look, it’s been a long day. I’ve been through what I think may be considered cruel and unusual under my constitutional rights as an American citizen. I’ve been waxed and plucked and exfoliated and . . . ironed, I think. Some woman whose name I can’t pronounce has now seen more of me than my gynecologist ever has. And this dress is . . . drafty. You gotta give me something here.”
He stared at her for a moment, a bit stunned by her rapid-fire speech, then laughed, loud and open, not caring that it drew the attention of the other guests. He raised his palms. “Fine. Point taken. Sit down. We’ll save the shoes for later.”
“Thank you.” She took his offered hand and stepped up into the raised booth, obviously forgetting she had a dress on as she climbed in. He got a delicious glimpse of the bottom curve of her ass.
He palmed her waist and moved behind her to block anyone else’s view. “Lesson one, freckles. When wearing a dress, you need to be more aware of yourself. Giving half the restaurant a Basic Instinct moment is not that big a deal here. But back in town that may be a bit embarrassing.”
“Shit.” She grabbed her hem, clamped her thighs together and hurriedly sat. “You shouldn’t have made me wear such a short dress. I feel naked.”“You look beautiful,” he corrected, then slid into the spot across from her. “And be thankful. As my sub, I could’ve requested you to come to dinner only wearing those shoes.”
His expression remained placid, but the flare in his eyes said he was anything but. “Finish your sentence.”
She cringed but forced her vocal cords to work. “The thought made me mad. And jealous.”
He seemed to consider that for a moment, his head tilting ever so slightly. “Interesting. Kneel down.”
She responded in an instant and attempted to rock down gracefully. Her knees hit the polished wood floors with barely a sound. Yeah, buddy. She fought back a proud smile.
He nodded in approval as he walked a slow circle around her, like an animal sizing up its prey. He stopped in front of her again. “Very nice. Get used to holding that kneel.”
He stepped back a few feet but continued to watch her as he slipped his suit coat off his shoulders—a slow, fluid motion of a man in no hurry. He folded the jacket and laid it neatly over the arm of the couch, smoothing out an errant wrinkle. Next, he pulled at the knot on his tie, the soft silk-against-silk sound the only noise in the room. His movements stayed methodical, deliberate—his stare unyielding. With each removed item, Charli found her heartbeat ticking up a notch. She moistened her lips. Was he going to take off everything? Was she finally going to get to see all of him, touch him?
He ran the silk tie over his palm with an oh-the-things-I-could- do look on his face, and she could almost feel its smoothness against her own skin. What would it feel like against her wrists, her ankles? But he laid it across his suit coat, leaving it unused. His long fingers went to his cuff links and he unfastened the buttons at his wrists. Clink. Clink. The cuff links hit the glass side table, startling Charli.
Grant gave her a wicked smile as he rolled the sleeves of his white dress shirt up his forearms. “Am I making you nervous, Charlotte?”
“Smart girl. Your instincts are better than your brother gives you credit for.” He walked over to her, the tips of his shined shoes almost touching her knees. His hand cupped her chin, forcing her face upward. “Though I didn’t appreciate your defiance earlier, your jealousy pleases me. I like that you want to be the only one serving me.”
He ran the pad of this thumb over her mouth, and without pausing to think, she parted her lips and sucked. The dark blue in his eyes went almost black as he let her lick his salty skin. Seeing his response sent a hot rush through her, an ache. Knowing she could do that to him with such a simple act felt . . . invigorating.He brushed her hair away from her face with gentle fingers. “This is only supposed to be an intro training. But you’re making it very hard for me to restrain myself, Charlotte, especially when you look at me like that.”
And there you have her. The fabulous, fantastic, awesome, super duper Roni Loren!!!!!!! (Yeah, I'm not like a fan or anything, hehehe). Lordy, I can't wait to read this book. ::twitches::