Contemporary Erotic Romance/BDSM
She’s a genius with biotechnology. He’s a sadist in tailored suits. Their business arrangement is about to get personal…in more ways than one.
For workaholic Arden, the vacation to a tropical paradise was supposed to be relaxing. But when a past lover unexpectedly crosses her path, every desire she has been smothering roars to life. When Garvey offers her a lucrative business proposition handling technology that will revolutionize the industry—and change the world—like a moth driven to flame, she can’t resist.
One year as president of Riding Irish, and Garvey is struggling to balance the burdens of the motorcycle club, his personal life, and his security firm. Weighed down with responsibilities he is convinced he can’t manage, he is near the breaking point. But Arden’s reappearance is a perfect distraction. And his second chance with the only woman he ever loved.
When Garvey teaches Arden to turn the pain he gives her into the pleasure she craves, dark desires are awakened. Limits are tested. And the line between play and love starts to blur. Just as they discover how far they’re willing to go, a heart-breaking deception is revealed that threatens to extinguish their rekindled passion.
Warning: Take a sadist with a talent for edge play, add in a masochist who craves his masterful touch, mix in a belt, some ropes, and a set of special knives and this is one second chance love story that will have you aching to get marked.
Copyright © SARA BROOKES, 2015
All Rights Reserved, Loose Id Publishing
The rumble of a motorcycle ruined the quiet atmosphere. Stupid tourists couldn’t appreciate the easy, laid-back rhythm and flow of the island. The roar of the engine grew louder as it drew closer, the noise echoing off the hotel’s covered driveway.
Annoyed, she frowned as the biker appeared around the corner and pulled up to the far end of the circular drive, his back to her. She had to admit, the bike was a beauty. Sleek chrome, leather, and glittering blue accents.
The engine died, plunging the area in silence once again. The rider swung his leg, encased in denim, over the seat and stood. His height was impressive. Menacing even. The leather vest didn’t help matters.
A large off-white patch took up most of the back. An arm and fist ran vertically in the center of the circle. The forearm was decorated with the intricate patterns that comprised Celtic knotwork. Lettering had also been embroidered around the circle, a vivid kelly green that stood out in the sea of off-white.
Huh. The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
The last thing she would have thought was a motorcycle club in Oahu. While the population was substantial, bordering on a million, she didn’t think the land mass was enough to merit such a club. But she guessed all that was necessary to have one was a few people organizing together.
Either way, her interest was piqued. She looked closer, especially when he bent to stow his helmet. The denim stretching across his ass certainly gave her an image.
Tattoos. Motorcycle. Leather.
A bad boy who liked things very, very wicked. He wouldn’t know a suit if it jumped off the rack and smacked him on that delectable-looking ass.
As the rider removed his helmet, she caught more flashes of ink on his forearm. One bit of the artwork was identical to the large patch on the vest. Suddenly something clicked. She knew that tattoo. She’d stared at it for a week when she hadn’t been ogling bright purple running shorts.
Shiiiiit. Didn’t expect that.
The expensive attire Garvey had worn for their meetings hadn’t alluded to the fact he was the very same man walking toward her. He certainly hadn’t ridden a motorcycle all those years ago. And those ropes of muscles had been free of ink as well.
Though she didn’t think it possible, he kept surprising her.
“Well, if the saint didn’t just present himself as a sinner.”
He leaned closer and brushed a kiss against her ear before he whispered, “You have no idea how much of a sinner I truly am.”
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