Showing results for "lilith ember"

Amara thought her life couldn't get any harder. A struggling artist on the brink of giving up, she was desperate for a chance to prove her worth—until she stumbled into an exclusive auction that would change everything. Instead of selling her art, she found herself sold. Not as a piece of artwork, but as the prize.And the man who bought her? Gabriel Cross, the enigmatic billionaire with a reputation darker than his suits and a gaze that could strip her bare.From the moment ...

The city at night is a confessional booth on wheels, a place where secrets bleed into the neon-slicked streets and the privacy of a locked car breeds a dangerous intimacy. For Elias, it's just a job, a way to survive, navigating the endless loop of pick-ups and drop-offs. Until she gets in his car.She's a passenger unlike any other, her voice a low, husky invitation, her presence a charged current in the stale air. She speaks of desires, of forbidden wants, of the intoxica...

The warehouse fire Dani is investigating traces straight back to his crew — and getting close to both men is the fastest way to the truth and the fastest way to get burned.Twelve years reading other people's disasters, and she has never once gotten personally involved in a case. This fire was set by someone who knows exactly how a building burns.Captain Luca Ferraro is twenty years of forced doors and banked anger and an old burn scar nobody talks about. Marco Reyes is his ...

Needle & Salt is already closed when Chioma Adeyemi hits the buzzer for the last slot of the night. She wants a serpent through thorns on her shoulder—black and grey, sharp enough to look like it bites—and she wants Remy Baptiste's hands steady while the neon still hums against the wet street.Remy locks the door, lays the stencil, and tells her to hold still. He is careful with consent and reckless with attention: the burn of the needle, the brush of a gloved wrist, the word yet ha...

The causeway to Point Briar Light floods before Saskia Veld can finish arguing with the weather. She is thirty-three, ice-blond, and paid to make a Fresnel lens tell the truth about winter—structural notes, coastal load, glass that has outlasted softer contracts. The storm does not care about her clipboard. Neither, it turns out, does the man who opens the cottage door.Cruz Almanzar keeps the light on a government contract: radio checks, diesel, iron stairs, and a blunt kindness th...

Captain Ward Lassiter has spent six years being careful. He keeps his eyes on his paperback in the crew lounge, his hands to himself, and his thoughts about the two women who run the cabins on the charter fleet locked up tight where nobody can find them.Then a billionaire cancels at the last minute, a big-cabin jet has to fly home empty overnight, and Ward is the only passenger aboard.Lucía Ferrer has been trying to get him on one of her flights for a year. She is warm and ...

The side door of The Pitch stays unlocked after close. Brody Lang is still shirtless from the last route, and the two women who stayed are done pretending they only wanted the wall. Hana Okada set the overhang because she wanted him under it. Freya Lind lied about belaying so she could be on the mat when the lights went down. The cleaner is late. The street is empty. The glass faces the road.What follows is continuous, uncensored, and risk-sharp. Mouths on the crash mats. Hana agai...

Theo Lang came to Limit to fix a shoulder that still remembered the fall. He did not come to get claimed by the two men who ran the place.Dominic Raine is the one who owns the silence and the standards—tall, heavy-muscled, former military precision wrapped in gray training clothes and a gaze that catalogs every compensation Theo's body still makes. Cassian Holt is the heat: soft-tissue specialist, easy smile, hands that know exactly how to open a man on the table and then keep goin...

Eleven years of war. One night of snow. One woman standing between them.Maren Solvik is thirty-two, a treaty-scribe from the river kingdom caught between two armies, and she has climbed the Kestrel Pass alone in emerald velvet to make peace in a ruined elven temple. A riot of copper-red curls, green eyes, freckles from her cheeks to her bare shoulders, curves no gown has ever entirely tamed, and a mind sharp enough to read the words carved into an altar everyone else forgot.

Niko Sato signs on as seasonal trail tech for the private Ridgeline Preserve expecting hard work and quiet nights. What he finds is Omar Nadir, the grave, barrel-chested land steward who runs the ridge like a body he refuses to share, and Mateo Ibarra, the copper-skinned trail crew lead whose filthy mouth and easy intensity never quite hide how carefully he watches.A windstorm takes down a cedar across the highest private switchback. The three of them hike in alone to clear it. Hea...

Nine months of her hands on his shoulder. One rule she helped write. One empty arena after midnight.Nadia Ferreira is thirty-one, the first woman ever to run the Bramford Ironclads' treatment room, and nobody on the roster has ever seen her flustered. Tonight she traded the team-issue black for wine-red satin: a floor-length wrap gown with a plunge she cannot honestly defend, spaghetti straps, red lipstick, hazel eyes, warm golden-bronze skin, long glossy dark-brown waves spilling ...

One house on the hill. One rule. One word that stops everything.Every October, Wade Castellano turns Blackthorn House into the best scare in New England, and every Halloween, after his actors go home, he runs it one last time for the winners of a single midnight ticket. He is thirty-eight, six foot three of former film-set monster maker, with olive skin, short black hair, a full dark beard, and a broad, hard, hairy chest he has not bothered to cover since he peeled off tonight's bl...