Praise for
MEGAN HART
âTold in the heroineâs first-person viewpoint, Hartâs latest is simply terrific. Smart, ultra-spicy and thought-provoking, it will certainly delight her fans and win some new ones.â
âRT Book Reviews on Switch
âA sensual and impassioned love story, Dirty may very well become a âre-readâ to many readers, a âkeeperâ to others ⦠it was so vividly written; not for the faint of heart ⦠Unforgettable!â âErotica Romance Writers
â[Broken] is not a traditional romance but the story of a real and complex woman caught in a difficult situation with no easy answers. Well-developed secondary characters and a compelling plot add depth to this absorbing and enticing novel.â âLibrary Journal
âA compelling tale of love and understanding ⦠The story is heartbreakingly familiar in its depiction of how teenage romance can shape our lives. I found myself on the edge of my seat.â
âRomance Junkies Reviews on Deeper
âHart did it againâwith Collide we get a story that is so different from your usual romance novel but still it works just perfectly the way it is. I think it is one of Hartâs strongest talentsâher way to make her characters different and a bit flawed but still making them likeable. Her stories always feel so real, and for me that makes them exponentially more appealing.â âBook Lovers Inc.
Light and shadow painted him. On little cat feet, like the fog, I crept toward the bed. Tug-tugging, I slid the covers off to reveal his body.
I liked to watch him sleep, despite the way it sometimes made me want to pinch myself to prove I wasnât dreaming. That this was my husband, my house, my life. Our perfect life. That there were good things to be had in the world, and I had them.
James stirred without waking. I crept closer to stand over him. The sight of him, all long, muscled limbs and smooth, sun-burnished skin, curled my fingers in anticipation of touching him. I held off, not wanting to wake him. I wanted to watch him for a while.
Awake, James was rarely still. Only dreaming did he loosen, soften, melt. If it was harder to believe he belonged to me when he was sleeping, it was also easier to remember how much I loved him.
Oh, I played a good game of confidence. I wore the ring and answered to the name Mrs. James Kinney. I even had the driverâs license and credit cards to prove I had the right to the name. Most of the time, our marriage was so matter-of-fact I couldnât have disbelieved it if Iâd wanted to, not when it came time to do the laundry and buy groceries, or clean the toilets, when I packed his lunches or folded his socks before putting them away. Then our marriage was solid and substantial. Granite. But sometimes, like when I watched him sleeping, the rock turned out to be limestone, easily dissolved by the slow-dripping water of my doubts.
Sunshine filtered through the tree outside our window and dappled him in all the spots I wanted to kiss. The twin dark circles of his nipples, the ridges of his ribs made sharper as he flung a hand over his head, the soft patch of hair furring his belly and meshing with the thatch between his legs. Everything about him was long and lean. Hidden strength. James looked thin, sometimes even breakable, but underneath he was all muscle. He had large, callus-fingered hands, used to working but perfectly suited for playing, too.
I was more interested in the playing as I bent over him to blow a puff of breath across his lips. Fast as sin, he grabbed me. He could pin both my wrists with one hand, and he did, pulling me onto the bed and rolling on top of me. James settled between my thighs, the only thing between us the thin fabric of my summer-weight nightgown. He was already getting hard.
âWhat were you doing?â
âWatching you sleep.â
James pushed my hands above my head, stretching me. It hurt a little, but then thatâs what makes the pleasure so much sweeter. His free hand inched up the hem of my nightgown and found my bare thigh.
His fingertips grazed the curls between my legs as he spoke. âWhy were you watching me sleep?â
âBecause I like to,â I told him just before his questing fingers made me inhale sharply.
âDo I want to know why you like to watch me sleep?â His grin tipped the corners of his mouth. Smug. His fingertip settled against me, but he didnât move it yet. âAnne?â