BLURB:
One date with the sexier-than-sin Detective Drake Nash.
Simple.
Until you take into account that my brother finally proposed
to his girlfriend, so Nonna is on a warpath—and the crazy old bat has Cupid by
the balls.
The upcoming mayoral elections has everyone running on full
speed, and while I couldn’t give any less craps about the corrupt Holly Woods
mayor’s office, a dead body in the middle of a campaign speech has me thrown
right into the middle of it. The victim is close to the mayor, but all he cares
about is minimizing the damage to his campaign, so he hires me to work
alongside Drake to close the case as quickly as possible.
Bad news for our tentative relationship.
We disagree far more than we agree, but being at loggerheads
won’t get this murder solved… Or deal with the arrival of someone from his
past.
The mysteries behind the murder aren’t the only things
unraveling, and despite being knee-deep in lies and corruption and bonds so
tangled they’re almost indecipherable, I have to figure out if I’m willing to
fight for Drake the way I do justice…
Or if he’ll be my one who gets away.
Author Bio:
By day, New York Times and USA Today bestselling New Adult
author Emma Hart dons a cape and calls herself Super Mum to two beautiful
little monsters. By night, she drops the cape, pours a glass of whatever she
fancies - usually wine - and writes books.
Emma is working on Top Secret projects she will share with
her followers and fans at every available opportunity. Naturally, all Top
Secret projects involve a dashingly hot guy who likes to forget to wear a
shirt, a sprinkling (or several) of hold-onto-your-panties hot scenes, and a
whole lotta love.
She likes to be busy - unless busy involves doing the
dishes, but that seems to be when all the ideas come to life.
LINKS:
AMAZON
AUTHOR PAGE: http://www.amazon.com/Emma-Hart/e/B00A3QSV0M/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1410362990&sr=8-2-ent
Twisted Bond:
I’m an Italian-Texan woman in a family full of cops. I’m
passionate and shoot before I think. You only f*ck with me if you’re stupid.
Photograph cheating spouses. Hand over the evidence. Cash my
check.
That was my plan when I returned home to Holly Woods, Texas,
and became a private investigator.
Finding the dead body in my dumpster? Yeah… Given the
choice, I think I would have opted out of that little discovery, especially
since all three of my brothers are cops. And my Italian grandmother is sure the
reason I’m single is because of my job.
Of course, my connection to the victim is entirely
coincidental. Until I’m hired by her husband to investigate her murder and
shoved bang-smack into the path of Detective Drake Nash.
My nemesis, a persistent pain in my ass, and one hell of a
sexy son of a bitch.
Shame he still holds a grudge from that time I shot him in
the foot twelve years ago, or we could have something. In another life.
So now all I have to do is avoid my nonna’s blind dates, try
not to blackmail my brothers into giving me confidential police files, and
absolutely do not point my gun at Drake Nash. Or kiss him. Or jump his bones.
All while I hunt down the killer.
Sounds totally simple—until a second body proves that
sometimes things that start as coincidences don’t always end up that way…
(Twisted Bond is book one of the Holly Woods Files series
and while it does not end in a cliffhanger, it is not a standalone.)
BUY LINKS:
EXCERPT:
“Take a seat, Detective, and tell me all about your official
business with your warrant.”
“I prefer to have my discussions standing.” He grasps my arm—not
tightly, but strongly enough that I’d have to insert my Louboutin into his
ballsac to get him to release me.
“From experience, you prefer most things upright.”
Slowly, his lips curve to one side, his smirk both sexy and
infuriating. His eyes flash with the memory. “Especially where you’re concerned,
Ms. Bond.”
I drop my eyes to his belt, allowing them to linger on the
buckle before falling another inch or two to his crotch. “Don’t tell me you
dropped in for a midday booty call.”
“Are you offerin’? Since you’re holdin’ out on me, I think
you owe me.”
“Excuse me?” My eyes snap up to his, and the smugness
reflecting in his gaze tells me that I fell for his trick.
Son of a bitch.
“Our date? It’s been two weeks since you agreed to go out
with me, and call me obsessive, but I’m counting nine missed calls, ten missed
texts, and five missed visits to your office.”
“You counted? Hell yeah, that’s obsessive.”
“Maybe I just really want to date you.”
“Or you want to return the favor of a bullet through the
foot.”
His arm rests on the weapon at his hip. “That can be
arranged right now, if you’d like to call it even.”
My fingers curl around the handle of the one at his other
hip. “And I’ll up the score just as quickly.”
Drake laughs, his anger seemingly gone, and leans in. “Go
ahead. It’ll give me the reason to get you in cuffs I’ve been waiting for.”
I’m ninety-nine percent sure my blood pressure has gone
batshit crazy at his words. Hell, my pulse is much stronger than it was thirty
seconds ago.
“Five minutes ago, you were yelling about a warrant,” I
breathe, swallowing the burst of desire bolting through me. “Your official
business seems far more personal, though, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Not at all,” he replies. He takes my hand from his weapon,
but instead of releasing it, he keeps his grip. “I’m surprised you didn’t reach
for your own gun.”
“And tell you where it is? I’m no amateur, Drake.”
“And still, I underestimate you.”
“Rightly so.” I remove my hand from his and reach up my
skirt. Then I pull my favorite Tiffany-blue Glock from my thigh holster. The
muzzle presses against his upper thigh, but to his credit, he doesn’t even
flinch at the contact.
“I underestimate you,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing my
waist. “But I don’t take you for stupid. You won’t pull that trigger. Not
there. It’s too close to the part of me you like.”
“You assume far too much, Detective.” I drop the gun anyway
and dart around him, strolling to my desk and setting it down softly on top of
my latest case folder.
Drake comes up behind me, reaches around me, and rests his
hands next to mine on the desk. I briefly close my eyes as his hard body melds
against mine, because the man has one fine fucking body. I can feel it now—all
muscle and tone and pure, hard strength. His biceps brush mine, except his are way
more…bicep…than mine. Like, seriously, how does he fit those into that hot-as-hell
white shirt?
This is what happens when he touches me. I go all giggly
schoolgirl. Sweet Jesus though. It’s hard not to.
I know what that body looks like and feels like and acts
like, and those memories can’t be erased. I can’t erase the memory of his body,
slick with sweat, tensed with determined pleasure, moving against mine as I
took everything he had to give me.
I take a deep breath, but despite my efforts to inhale slowly,
it fills my lungs in a rush that jolts me. Drake feels it, because he drops his
face to the curve of my neck exposed by my sleek topknot. Every part of me
wishes I could unravel the hairbands and pins, but still, his lips against my
collarbone… Oh, hell. They feel so good. So sweet and hot.
“This is highly unprofessional,” I manage, unwillingly
tilting my head to the side and exposing my neck to him. “For your official
business, I mean.”
He trails his lips up to my ear, where they brush the lobe,
curving into a smile. “You are my official business, Ms. Bond.”
Drake is something else I think he and Noelle are perfect for each other, “sweet eff, cupcake. I think you just gave me a brain aneurism.” He chuckles. “Wear whatever you want. Preferably something that shows your leg and a hint of panties when you bend over.” Drake is one of those men who can appreciate his woman's assets, “have you seen your a** in those shorts? They’d wake up the entire graveyard if you walked through.” Noelle is such a smart***, “are you seriously asking me if this”—I motion to his exposed body—“is a problem?” I enjoy this series Noelle is so snarky and Drake is the man to handle her properly if you get my meaning.
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