Writing a book is agony. Doing it again and again could only be considered insanity. For the last six months, I have dragged my masochistic little heart back to this manuscript to toil in my misery. I wrote on plains, trains, and automobiles. I wrote between signings and traveling and birthdays and letting my dogs out to potty 5,394839823 times a day. I wrote in the dead of night, and the buttcrack of dawn (most of which I erased because my brain doesn’t function before noon). Most of it was awful, and for the first time in my life, my own book actually made me cry because I felt every emotion from these characters. I took a chance on letting them tell their stories, and I’m grateful you did too.
So to all my perverse, sadistic readers who for reasons I can’t fathom continue to love and support my work, thank you. Thank you for keeping me insane because I wouldn’t want it any other way. You are the reason I get up every day and stare at my computer screen and string together words that I hope will eventually make a story. I never want to let you down, and I’m so grateful for each and every one of you who actually enjoys the twisted places my mind takes me. I couldn’t do what I do without you.
Also, I couldn’t do what I do without my number one supporter and personal assistant, aka rockstar, Melissa Crump. You do so much for me that I could never possibly thank you for all of it. But here’s my attempt. Thank you for being a friend, beta, pimper, chaos coordinator, and just all-around good person. The world needs more people like you. I also want to thank my editor, Jenny Sims, for being amazing and dealing with my crazy schedule and not hating me for pushing back deadlines. Lara at Coverluv for your amazing cover creations. My betas—Tara, Melissa, and Kristina. Femme Fatales and Dark Rebels. The list goes on. It takes an army to succeed in this biz, and I love each and every one of you for your amazing friendship and support. Last, but not least, thank you to Mueller. If it wasn’t for your handy dandy elbow braces, I would never have finished this book. ;) Xoxo
Thank you so much for reading Confess! If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving an honest review.
If you enjoy dark, brooding male heroes, you’ll love my dark billionaire romance duet BLEEDING HEARTS.
“Five stars of perfection. This book was AMAZING. Fans of dark romance and all-consuming love do NOT want to miss out on this series. For me, this book totally messed with my emotions. You want a book that will send you off on an emotional roller-coaster ride than this one is it! Six spanking stars, top favorite of all time, one of the best series of the year.”
~ Pretty Little Book Reviews
Want to go even darker? Slip into the dark fairytale world of BEAST.
Pushing the limits of right vs. wrong, hauntingly and poetically written this one will reach in your gut and bleed you dry. Deeply dark, with characters that exude depravity, feral emotion, causing the reader to feel… everything.
~Book Haven Book Blog.
You can also join my Facebook reader group, , for giveaways and up to date information on future releases.
Like your men dark, dangerous, and accented? The Boston Underworld series continues with Nikolai’s story in THIEF.
“I suspect this is going to be my book of the year. I don’t think it can be surpassed. It affected me in ways I don’t think a book ever really has.”
~ Anna Edwards, Author
EXCERPT FROM THIEF-
“Nakya.”
The chill of Nikolai’s voice startles me, and when my eyes rise to meet his, a weighted awareness returns to my chest.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demands.
The magazine in my hands falls together. I was right to worry. His energy is dark and distinctly volatile. It was out of line barging into his office when he was in a meeting, but to admit it would be a mistake.
“I’m not doing anything.” My voice is too soft, barely audible, but it does not tame the harshness of Nikolai’s features.
“What do you mean to do, coming into my office dressed in…” He gestures to my clothing. “It’s not appropriate.”
If he weren’t so nettled, the irony of his declaration might be humorous, considering there are women leaving this house at all hours of the night in various states of disarray. What unspeakable offense I’ve committed by wearing a leotard is a puzzle only his mind can solve.
When he stalks towards me, instinct triggers me to hunch down and protect my head by curling into myself. My heart is sluggish, and my palms clammy as I wait for the inevitable. But when it doesn’t come, I dare to peek up at him, only to find him frozen mid-step, his expression uncertain and his eyes dazed.
His actions are at odds with the certainty I feel in my gut. Life has taught me well that when the storm comes, you take whatever shelter you can find. When he doesn’t move, I dare to try.
Scrambling from the chair with feverish limbs, I hobble desperately in the direction of my only sanctuary—the bathroom. Deprived of my crutches and too far gone to reach for them, I’m nearly immobile. Even with the brace, pain splinters every step, and tears prick my eyes. Before I’m halfway across the room, my legs give out and I collapse to my knees.
Nikolai watches wordlessly as I totter forward onto my elbows, clutching the carpet between my fingers as I crawl away like an injured animal.
“Nakya,” he bellows. “Stop. Stop this right now.”
Logically, I know I should. But I can’t. I’m too terrified of what will happen if he catches me. And so I go on, dragging my body forward until my fingertips cross over the threshold of the cold bathroom floor. The marble gives me something concrete to grab onto, but it’s of little use when Nikolai’s iron grip catches me around my good ankle.
A strangled cry squeezes from my lungs when he flips me over and pins me down with the overbearing weight of his powerful body. There isn’t a chance in hell that I could fight him off now. His pulse is strong and steady, his muscles unyielding. I’m out of breath and out of hope.
His hand hovers over my face, and I shake my head frantically, pleading to a higher power to save me. Calloused fingers come to rest on my jaw, contracting in warning.
“Stop,” he repeats.
It’s another wasted command, considering I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. The wall of his chest has me trapped. My head spins and my pulse thrashes in my ears. Every breath is a labored struggle, and I think I might pass out.
“I’m not going to hurt you, zvezda. Breathe. Relax, and breathe.”
My hands come to rest on his biceps, determined to push him away. I can’t take false comfort in his honeyed assurances. I don’t want to. But right now, it feels like that’s exactly what’s happening.
He’s a liar.
But if it’s true, he’s a convincing one. More skilled than perhaps even me. When my eyes clash with his, the fight in me dissolves.
He is blue. Hazy blue. Electrifying blue. Blue like the sea and the sky and the storms that rule my life. And right now, his blue is ruling over me. In a matter of seconds, he’s rendered me a servant to the breezeless ocean in his eyes. They are soft around the edges, unmarred by the lines of time. Everything about him is harsh, but I did not realize his eyes could be so sedating.
I’m hyper aware of him now. The way he smells of tobacco and cloves and vanilla. His scent is smoky, dark, and faintly sweet. His body is warm and rigid. And I have witnessed men in all their muscular glory on the stage of the ballet, but I have never been so close to one. I have never felt a man’s weight pressing into my body, making me feel small and soft in contrast. I have never stared so intimately into eyes like these while he touches my hair, untangling it from my face the way I imagine a lover would.
I’ve never had a lover. I’ve never been touched by a man or even a boy. But there is no mistaking which side of the spectrum Nikolai falls on. He is all man. And his domination of my smaller, weaker frame has left me feeling drunk and slightly disoriented. A battered driftwood wrestling with the tide. Rocking against the waves, desperate for solid ground, he’s pulling me farther and farther from the shore. I’m going to drown in his energy.
“Stop.” The word rushes from my parted lips, reeking of my desperation and confusion.
Nikolai halts, his hand still tangled in my hair. The air between us is thick and sticky. Hot and humid like an east coast summer. His ocean eyes carve a path to my lips, and he is so close I can taste the cinnamon on his breath. I think that he might kiss me, and it horrifies me that I want him to.
I feel like I’ve been doused in ice water when he yanks away abruptly and without explanation. In the time it takes me to blink, his face has neutralized, the dangerous chemistry between us expertly defused.
“I’ll carry you back to the chair.”
His voice is without color or emotion. A man without feeling. Somehow, I am the one who is left feeling wrecked when he lifts me without effort and deposits me into the chair like a child.
This isn’t right. None of this is right. When Nikolai stalks out the door without another word, my ankle throbs, and my chest does too.
I knew my captor was dangerous.
I just didn’t realize how dangerous he was to me.
I’m a good girl.
I live by a code that can’t be bent or broken. It is my duty to my family to stay innocent and pure. To marry an Italian man. The stars are already aligned.
But Nikolai Kozlov re-writes my destiny with five simple words.
You belong to me now.
EXCERPT FROM BLEEDING HEARTS-
I heard the sound of a zipper being undone followed by the rustling of clothing.
“Stand up,” he said softly. “Undress yourself for me.”
From the location of his voice, I could tell he was sitting in the chair across the room. Watching me. The distance between us felt more threatening than when he was actually touching me.
I rose on trembling legs, lifting my dress up without any kind of finesse.
“Slowly,” he chided.
The soft cotton material fell back to my knees, and I clenched it in my fists as I drew it back up over my body. I didn’t know how to be sexy. I didn’t even want to try. But I had to fulfill his request, so I did as he asked, taking my time before I pulled it over my head and discarded it on the floor.
I stood there and waited for him to say something, anything. It took him forever.
“Now the rest.” His voice was thick, and it disarmed me.
I was wearing a simple white cotton bra and panties. There was nothing sexy about me. If anything, I looked virginal. The irony was too painful to consider.
I reached behind my back and unclasped my bra, allowing it to fall to the floor. I tamped down every instinct I had to cover my breasts as the cool air hit them, hardening my nipples. The only thing I could do was focus on the next task, shimmying out of my panties and kicking them aside.
It was all out there now. He could see every part of me. I hated it.
“Now get down on your knees and crawl to me.”
I hesitated, and this earned me a cruel reminder of his control.
“Don’t make me ask twice.”
I sank to my knees and allowed a couple tears to spill from the corners of my eyes. This was the ultimate form of humiliation, and he was getting off on treating me like an animal. I couldn’t understand how someone could be so cruel. So callous.
And yet, I crawled. The carpet burned against my knees, and when my cheek grazed his thigh, I jumped.
“So skittish,” he whispered, tangling a hand in my hair and jerking my head upward. “I like that.”
“Please don’t be rough,” I blurted.
“You don’t get to make those requests,” he said. “Remember?”
His response made my blood run cold. Because it implied that he had every intention of being rough and that he would thoroughly enjoy it. More tears came, and I couldn’t hide them. He wiped them away with his thumbs before he continued his instructions.
“Stand up and put your palms against the wall.”
I rose up again and edged towards the wall, being careful not to trip myself. I only had my hands to guide me, and he made no effort of helping. But as soon as they were planted firmly in place, I felt his presence behind me.
He gripped my hips and pulled back at the same time he kicked my legs apart. I stumbled into the position reluctantly, every muscle in my body tense and ready for a fight. Then his hands were on me. Everywhere.
His touch was confusing. It was gentle and warm, and he didn’t even try to hide the sound of his pleasure as his palms roamed over my skin. His pained groans told me he’d been waiting a long time for this moment.
He started at the nape of my neck, drifting down my sides and over my ribs. I shivered when he squeezed my ass in his hands, then glided back up my stomach. When he cupped my breasts, something else flared to life inside of me. A strange sensation that burned in my gut and left me feeling a little bit drunk.
My breathing changed as his lips found my neck, and I couldn’t control it. I was panting, hard. My fear had transformed into something else entirely.
“Do you like my hands on your body?” he whispered into my ear.
I whimpered in response, hoping he wouldn’t make me answer him. That was too cruel. It wasn’t desire, it was biology. My body was adapting to the situation. Doing what it needed to survive. That, I was certain of. Because if I had liked it, liked the hands of this monster, that would have made me a monster too.
His teeth scraped along my throat, all the way down to my shoulder, leaving a certain trail of red marks. It burned, but it made my heart race faster too.
“I want to do everything to you,” he rasped. “Depraved things I haven’t even thought of yet, but that I certainly will.”
When he knelt behind me and dug his fingers into my hips, I cried out. He laughed and then buried his face between my parted legs. I forgot the pain of his grip when his tongue lashed against me. It was soft and gentle at first, and the traitorous desire that simmered inside of me now boiled over.
A sound of surrender escaped my throat when his tongue pushed inside of me. I’d never been so exposed in front of a man before, and I could only imagine how flushed I must be. Moisture clung to my skin, and my palms grew weak against the wall. I trembled when something zipped up my spine. My belly contracted, and my body grew so stiff I knew I would explode any second.
I squeezed my eyes shut and gasped for air as my toes dug into the carpet. I was so close. So close. Any moment now…
My pleasure fled in a violent shock of pain when he sank his teeth into my inner thigh and bit down. My scream echoed off the walls of the room as I collapsed forward.
He licked at the wound and kneaded my ass cheeks in his hand before he leaned in and drew in a long breath. He was inhaling me, and I wanted to die of shame.
He stood up behind me and pulled my back against his chest as he nipped at my ear. “You didn’t think I would make it that easy did you, Brighton?”
I wanted to cry, but I was in shock. He hadn’t even been inside of me yet, and already I could feel him everywhere. I was certain my hips were bruised from his grip, and he had marked my shoulder and thigh already with his teeth. A shiver ran through me when his arousal dug into my spine.
“Turn around,” he ordered.
I could barely hold myself up, and it showed. I spun in his arms, pressing my back against the wall as he caged me in with his body. He was large. I could feel it now. His body was lean and muscular, and much taller than mine. I felt his eyes on me, his gaze burning through me as he decided on his next method of torture.
It didn’t take me long to find out what that was. He dragged my fingers down to his cock, wrapping my palm around him. It was so thick my fingers didn’t even touch, and suddenly I couldn’t swallow.
“Stroke me,” he breathed.
His anguished voice was unexpected, and it filled me with a strange sort of raw power. I may have been blindfolded, but I wasn’t deaf, and it was obvious I was the one getting to him now. I didn’t understand it. I was nobody, that’s what I’d been told my whole life. But to this man, I was something. Something he wanted very badly.
The warmth of his breath on my cheek surprised me as he smoothed my hair back away from my face.
“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time now, Brighton.” His words skated over my lips, followed by the touch of his mouth.
The kiss was gentle at first, hesitant. And it was confusing. I didn’t want to like it, but his lips were soft and inviting, his breath minty and sweet. It reminded me of another time and place, and for a moment, I could pretend it was that man I was kissing.
My lips parted, and he seized the opportunity to taste me. To drink my resistance as if it fueled him. A strangled noise left my throat, and it spurred him on. He cradled my face in his hands as the kiss grew deeper, effectively stealing all the breath from my lungs. Heat coiled low inside my belly as I moved my hand against his rigid flesh. I wasn’t sure if I was doing it right, but he didn’t complain. In fact, he was making sounds in his throat that seemed to have a direct correlation to my own traitorous body.
Why it should turn me on that I was affecting him this way, I had no idea. This wasn’t happening the way I had envisioned. I was supposed to hate him, to feel nothing but disgust, but it wasn’t that simple. My body had betrayed me.
When his lips broke away, I actually whined. But then his hands were on me again, rough and possessive as he lifted me up and set me on the table. The wood was cool beneath my skin, and his voice was even colder when he spoke again.
“How easy you are to bend to my will,” he observed.
A cold front moved between us as his palms bit into my legs, prying them apart. Whatever had happened between us a moment ago was gone, and now fear was left in its place.
His mouth surprised me when he captured one of my nipples between his teeth and gave it a tug. I yelped, only to be shocked when his hand curled around my throat.
“You are here for my pleasure,” he growled as he moved in closer. “Don’t forget that.”
On instinct, my hand came up to his, trying to pry it from the delicate skin around my neck. It had only been a few seconds, but already I couldn’t breathe.
“Please,” I begged.
He slapped my hand away and tightened his grip.
“Don’t fucking move.”
His arousal nudged against my entrance as he squeezed my hip with his other hand to hold me in place. Spots flashed inside of my vision as he tore into me in one deep thrust.
A sob escaped me, and he released my throat and froze. I was burning inside, stretched beyond all comprehension from his rough entrance.
He cursed and leaned back, gripping my thighs as he examined the place where we connected with his fingers.
“Brighton,” he rasped. “Are you a…”
“Yes!” I cried out. “I’m a virgin.”
How far would you go to save someone you love? Would you give up your body? Your mind? Your heart?
I did, and it cost me everything.
He says he owns me. And it’s true.
I’ve signed over complete control of my body and life for six months to a man I don’t know. Five years he’s been planning this. They say revenge is a dish best served cold. But my blackmailer serves it up white hot. He’s addicted to my innocence, and I’m addicted to him.
EXCERPT from BEAST-
Before I even open my eyes, a vivid and familiar scent hits me.
Wild roses.
I am surrounded by wild roses. They are the first thing I notice when I come to. And they are everywhere. Crimson and soft velvet perched upon delicate stems riddled with thorns.
My eyes are dry and heavy, but a tear leaks from the corner and spills over onto my cheek. I don’t want to accept my reality. I don’t want to accept that this is anything more than a dream. But the high arched glass ceilings only confirm that I am trapped in a nightmare instead. A beautiful nightmare, with stars as far as the eye can see.
It’s a conservatory. I’m in a conservatory. On a bed. Surrounded by roses and stars.
This is not a place I have ever been. And yet, it feels acquainted to me. A place from my memories.
My father used to speak of a place like this. A mansion in the forest. Moldavia, he said it was called. I didn’t know where it was. At times, I often wondered if it even existed, the way he spoke of it.
But I recognize the architectural style. I recognize the trees outside the windows. They are things that I know can’t be a coincidence. There is no doubt in my mind that I am at Moldavia. And the person who was leaving rose petals at my door all along was really Javi.
The same man who refused to meet with me. The one I was so desperate to meet before.
I wonder now if Art knew. If he knew how dangerous Javi was and he was just trying to protect me. I can’t understand it. Nothing about this makes sense.
Has it been Javi all along? Has he been the one who has watched my every move for… I shudder to think of how long it’s been.
That terror seeps into every one of my bones when I try to move and I can’t. I am bound by my wrists to the bed frame.
My lungs burn with the need for air, and I can’t think. I want to scream, but I am paralyzed.
Javi murdered his own mother. That’s what his file said. And now he’s going to murder me too. Tears well up in my eyes and I silently curse my father, wondering why he ever brought Javi into his life. Into our lives.
With a jolt, I ride the rollercoaster of emotions. Hatred. Anger. Paranoia. And then, finally, determination.
I’m struggling to pull free from my bonds when the sound of a door echoes through the cavernous space. A draft blankets the room before I ever see the shape of him.
Even then, it is all I can see.
He stalks around the perimeter like the predator he is, remaining shrouded in darkness. His hood is up, and his head is tilted down. A wildly overgrown beard is the only unobscured detail beneath the shadow of his cloak.
The magnitude of his frame increases as he draws near, veiled in jeans and motorcycle boots. Every step is a gunshot to my ears.
My breath has gone still, and my thoughts are careening out of control.
I need to convince him not to hurt me. I need to hurt him first.
I need to escape.
He stops next to the bed, and those notions die a swift and brutal death.
A tank.
The man is a goddamn tank. And I’m going to die without mercy under the weight of those bear paws he calls hands. I don’t stand a chance.
“Please,” I beg him. “Please, Javi. You don’t have to do this.”
His name on my lips startles him, at least momentarily.
“You know of me?” his voice echoes through the space and sends another wave of terror straight through my chest.
Javi’s file said that he doesn’t speak to anyone. That’s what Art told me. That’s what my father told me. For all the agency knows—he can’t speak verbally at all. But it isn’t true.
It isn’t true at all.
His words are accented with a Spanish lilt. Beautifully so.And he said them to me. A low growl rises from his chest, and I try to curl into myself.
“How do you know of me?” he demands. “How do you know my name?”
“Your file,” I whisper. “I read your file.”
Another growl.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t block it out. I can still hear him. He takes a step closer. Then another. And then he is sitting on the bed next to me.
When I open my eyes again, he reaches for me. His fingers touch my face. Rough. Huge. Lethal.
I wait for his wrath. For my death. But it doesn’t come.
His palm drifts down my cheek and over the sensitive flesh of my throat before dipping to my heaving chest. He’s only an inch from my breast when he stops and jerks away.
The impact shifts his hood slightly, and I can see him now. See his wild, golden eyes staring back at me.
The scar that slashes right through his eyebrow. He has the bone structure of a Viking. One who looks as though at any moment, he might pillage my very soul.
“Javi,” I whisper.
Again, his name on my lips seems to knock his senses astray.
He rises and disappears, only to return a moment later, placing a fresh cut rose on the pillow beside me.
“Why are you doing this?” I beg. “Please tell me.”
“Are you ready, beauty?”
“Ready for what?” He smiles. And his teeth are perfect. His lips, sinister.
“To sing me a song.” He touches my arm with a featherlight caress. “With words only I can hear.”
Once upon a time, I believed in fairytales.
But then he took me.
And he taught me that life isn’t a fairytale.
He is scarred. Broken.
A dark and wild thing.
His beauty is violent and his words are cruel.
His heart is a shadowed landscape where nothing can grow.
He tells me he could never care for me, and he proves it every day.
He’s destroyed my life.
Tortured me.
And worse…
He’s trained me to beg for his affection.
This prison is a place where sunlight doesn’t reach.
He taught me that hate is born in darkness.
And then he taught me that sometimes love is too.