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The Gypsy Brother’s Series?

ONE LOVE is LIVE!

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*The final book in the #1 iBooks bestselling Gypsy Brothers series* 

Will Julz complete her mission for vengeance against the Gypsy Brothers? Or is Dornan still one step ahead?

More shocking secrets will come to light and lives will be lost in this final, devastating instalment of the Gypsy Brothers series.

One Love Trailer 

GYPSY BROTHERS FAN MADE TRAILER from Scandalicious Fans on Vimeo.

Chapter One

By Lili St. Germain

The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies.

CHAPTER ONE

“I want my lawyer,” I repeat for the hundredth time.

There are two CIA agents in front of me, and they’re playing a very cheesy rendition of good cop / bad cop.

We’ve been at this for hours. Boss Bitch — Agent Dunn, as she’s since told me — on one side, and her completely dumb but cute male offsider, Agent Brennan, on the other. In my head, to pass the hours, I’ve nicknamed them Agent Bitch and Agent Dumbass. I sit across from them, my hands in my lap, heavy metal cuffs weighing them down.

My throat is dry, my tongue parched. Agent Dumbass has a fresh can of Coke in front of him, and I can see the tiny beads of condensation running down the sides. I want it. I want to reach over and grab the can. I don’t even need to drink what’s inside. I’ll settle for the condensation making its lazy descent down the side of the bright red can and onto the dusty Formica table that separates me from them.

“Let’s try this again,” the female cop says, tucking a loose blonde hair behind her ear. The rest is up in a severe bun that reminds me of a matronly grandmother, even though this woman only looks about thirty. She’s got a slight southern inflection that reminds me of Elliot’s grandma.

I don’t reply, waiting for whatever it is she plans on doing next. Her next big thought, her latest overdone gesture, to try and convince me that I should spill all of my dirty secrets onto this table between us. So far she’s used threats against Jase, a plea deal that would grant me immunity, and long stretches of silence.

None of that will break me. I’ve been tortured by Dornan fucking Ross. This woman’s going to have to try a lot harder, or maybe get out some pliers and start yanking my teeth out of my mouth, before I’ll give her a single damned thing.

She snatches up a manila folder and opens it, handing a photograph to her male offsider. “Stick these up,” she barks at him, and he moves slowly, ripping a section of blue-tack from a large blue ball of the stuff that must live permanently on the wall to my left. I watch, just slightly interested as to what they’re going to try and scare me with.

They don’t disappoint. As I watch them pin 5×7 photographs to the wall, I can’t help but feel some sense of satisfaction for the lives that ended at my hands. I have to remain impassive though, so I tamp down the gloating grin that wants to spread across my face and settle for my resting bitch face instead.

Dunn peeks at me from the corner of her eye, and I return her gaze impassively. She might think she can get under my skin, but I grew up in the Gypsy Brothers MC for shit’s sake. I know how to hold out in front of a cop.

“Chad Ross,” Dunn says, smoothing her pants as she stands up and circles the table, coming to stand next to the photographs her partner is sticking up in a haphazard fashion. I wait for her to reach out and straighten them. Boom. Three seconds later, she does just that, making sure all of the photos line up.

“Chad Ross was poisoned,” she continues, tapping one manicured fingernail against the photo of his bloated death face.

“Looks nasty,” I reply.

“It’s a nasty way to die,” Dunn says, peering at me. “The killer added pure methamphetamine to an energy drink he later consumed. He was probably dead before he hit the ground.”

He wasn’t. He suffered. Thankfully.

“And you’re showing me this why?” I ask, studying my own nails, bitten down to the quick. I never was a girly girl. It’s not easy to keep your nails tidy when you’re constantly trying to claw your way back from death.

Dunn looks at me pointedly before jabbing her fingernail towards the second photo. Ahhh, yes. Maxi in all his naked, bloody glory. His face is a mess from the coke I shoved underneath his nose, the coke laced with strychnine that made blood gush from his nose like warm water from a faucet. I still remember the way his blood felt on my hands. How surreal everything was, bright and garish, as my skull burned with a small amount of the poisoned coke I’d snorted myself.

How I’d nearly died in my quest to kill him.

How it was so worth the risk to see the look on his smarmy fucking face, when I whispered in his ear who I really was and sat back on his lap to watch the fury rise in his cheeks.

As he realized a black widow was the one who’d just fed him his last meal of poison and cocaine.

I glance at Agent Dunn, clearing my throat and attempting to look bored.

“Strychnine-laced cocaine,” she says. “In fact, the same thing you were admitted to hospital for that very night. Jason Ross brought you in to emergency room. They said you almost died.”

“It was a hell of a night,” I reply curtly. “My nose still bleeds just thinking about it.”

She raises her eyebrows in disbelief, and in that moment I have no doubt that she’s cataloguing me as a sociopath or similar.

“Can I ask you a question?” I say suddenly.

“Shoot,” Dunn responds.

I reach my hand out slowly, methodically and take hers, a bold move. She could pepper spray me, shoot me. You’re not supposed to touch the interrogators. But she’s ballsy enough that she doesn’t want to take her hand away, even as I watch her flinch minutely.

“How do you keep your nails so pretty?” I ask sweetly, the saccharine in my voice not reaching the cold death stare I give her. I hold up my other hand. “Mine are hopeless. You spend much time in the field, Agent Dunn?”

She takes her hand away, and I let my own cuffed hands fall back into my lap. I know her skin must be crawling from my touch.

I hope the feeling stays there for a long time. She should not have fucked with me.

“I take good care of myself, Miss Portland,” she says briskly. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

“My child died,” I say blankly. “Physical appearance isn’t on the top of my priority list right now.”

She bristles momentarily. “I am sorry for your loss,” she says finally.

I sit back, crossing my legs. “No, you’re not,” I reply.

She points to the third photograph, which is… hell, I’ve got no idea what that is. I tilt my head, trying to figure out what I’m looking at.

“It’s a leg,” Dunn supplies.

“Ohhh,” I say, nodding. “Thanks.”

It is indeed a leg, or at least part of one. Charred and black, with spots of unmarred flesh and blood still peeking through in sections. Huh. I wonder who it belonged to.

“Two Ross brothers were killed in an explosion. Somebody put homemade bombs in their fuel tanks, can you believe that?”

I shrug. “Sounds like they must have had it coming.”

Dunn points to the final photos, and a cloying heat bleeds up my chest and neck as I remember those three months of horror and torture I endured at Dornan’s hands before I was broken out. The way Dornan’s father Emilio flew backwards with a meaty thump as the top of his head was blown clean off, blood and brains flying everywhere. Mickey’s look of horror that didn’t fade after the bullet entered his face, such a satisfying end for men whose only fault in death was that their ends were much too swift. I imagine how much more satisfying it would have been to hang them by their feet and burn their eyes out with cigarettes and blowtorches, or pull their teeth out with rusty pliers, one by one.

That would have been much more fitting for the men who tried to destroy me, the same men who murdered my father.

Still… they’re dead, and that’s better than them being alive.

“That’s got to give you a headache,” I joke, referring to the last two pictures. The blood and gore have no effect on me. My stomach is made of iron after the atrocities I’ve seen, after all that I’ve endured. If this bitch wants to rattle my cage, she’s going to have to try harder.

“And then we have Jimmy,” she says, sticking one last photograph to the wall. Jimmy’s face, still frozen in shock, the trail of blood from his temple where Jase shot him barely noticeable in the extreme close-up.

“He looks unwell,” I comment. “Thing is, I’m still not sure why you’re showing me all of this.”

Dunn frowns so hard it looks like she’s about to burst a blood vessel.

“Here’s the thing,” she says, throwing a stack of photographs in front of me. “We’ve got you. We have your DNA on the first two victims, and motive. We’ve got probable cause to take you to trial.”

I sift through them, suppressing a twisted smile as I see what happened to Jazz and Ant after they bit the big one when bombs in their motorcycle fuel tanks exploded, ripping them to pieces. It isn’t pretty, what became of them. But to me, it’s beautiful.

I drop the photographs on the table and lean back in the hard metal chair I’ve been sitting on for the past five hours.

“These people are — were — like family to me. Don’t you think it’s a little tacky showing me all of this? I’m still grieving for these boys. They were like brothers to me.”

Agent Dunn actually rolls her eyes at me. At least she’s got some spunk somewhere in there. “Give it a rest, Miss Portland,” she says impatiently. “You’ve got more motive than anyone else, and no alibi for any of these murders.”

“Motive?” I ask sweetly. “And what might that be?”

Agent Dunn hesitates. Go on, I think. Say it. They raped me until they thought I was dead. The murdered my father, and you want to arrest me? Say it.

“I’m not authorized to talk with you about an active investigation,” Dunn says finally. “But I really think you should start talking, Miss Portland.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay,” I say finally. “I give up. You got me. I’ll tell you something. Let me write it down.”

Dunn’s beady eyes practically wig out of her head. She studies me for a moment, probably to see if I’m telling the truth, and I stare right back at her. If she wanted a wallflower who’d stare at the floor, she arrested the wrong girl.

After a beat, she stands up, turns and bustles out of the room. I divert my attention to Agent Dumbass, who looks like he’s about to fall asleep in his chair.

“I’ll make a full confession,” I say, “if you give me that.” I point to the coke can and he eyes it dubiously. After a pause, he slides the can over to me with one finger. With a smile, I pick up the can between my cuffed hands and take a long drink.

The fizzy liquid burns on the way down my throat, but it’s delicious. I drink as much as I can before Agent Bitch returns, setting it back down on the table and smiling at Dumbass. I slide the can back towards him with a wink. Let him think we’re friends. Let him think I’m just a silly young girl who couldn’t possibly hurt anyone. He looks surprised, taking the can back as Agent Bitch walks back into the room.

She looks between me, the can and the goofy look on Agent Dumbass’s face and shakes her head.

Sliding into her seat, she drops a yellow legal pad on the table between us as she addresses Dumbass.

“She killed a man by poisoning his drink with pure meth,” she says to her partner. “You sure you want that back?”

“Allegedly,” I add.

The oaf stares at the can for a few seconds. Finally, he pushes it back in my direction with an embarrassed look.

In the past five hours or so since I was unceremoniously dumped in this interrogation room, I’ve gone through the whole gamut of emotions. Fear. Shock. Despair. Now, I’m at anger. Anger that bubbles within me. Anger that is thinly disguised as apathy to these two morons.

Dunn drops a blue Bic pen on the legal pad and pushes it over to me. I hold up my cuffed wrists helplessly.

“I can’t write with these things on,” I say.

Dunn gives me the filthiest look before nodding at Dumbass. He stands and circles around to me, removing my cuffs before returning to his spot.

I WANT A LAWYER. I write it as obnoxiously large as I can, underlining the word LAWYER three times.

Agent Bitch’s smile disappears, replaced by a thin line of contempt at her mouth. I grin. Good luck getting those cuffs back on me, motherfucker. I sit back in my seat and snatch up the Coke, draining the rest of the can before they think to take it from me.

“We can play this game for however long you want, Miss Portland,” she says curtly, fiddling with the stack of crime scene photographs in front of her. I smile.

“I’ve got all day,” I say sweetly, even though I really, really don’t. Dornan has Elliot’s daughter and ex-girlfriend, and possibly Elliot himself, and Jase and I have twenty-four hours to meet him and get the girls out of danger before he kills them. At least, that’s what I’m assuming he plans to do to them. I can’t even comprehend what else he might be planning to do to those poor girls to get back at us.

Agent Dunn shakes her head one last time, gathering up the files and stalking towards the door. “I’ll give you some time to think about your position,” she says.

“Isn’t this illegal?” I call out to her. “I’m an American citizen. I have the right to an attorney. Get me a goddamn lawyer!”

Really, I just need a lawyer to post bail so I can get the hell out of here. Not that I’m sure I’d actually be bailed out, but I need something, and talking to these two is proving fruitless. A cold panic is building up inside my stomach, in the hollow space where my baby once lived and died.

God, it’s still so raw, so vicious when the memory of our tiny little baby takes hold and squeezes me. Sometimes, selfishly, I wish I could forget about her, because losing her has cursed me with more pain than I could ever imagine.

If I had any remnants of doubt about killing Dornan before? They’re gone, bled from me in the moments after our daughter was born, still and dead, in the early hours of the morning when the world was still dark.

He took her from me. From us. And I cannot rest until he’s dead and buried, a rotting corpse in the cold ground, a memory and nothing more.

Dornan Ross needs to burn for the things he’s done.

Agent Dumbass follows his partner out of the room and pulls the door shut. I immediately stand up and go to the door, testing the handle. Locked from the outside. Of course. I go back to my chair, collecting the pen someone so thoughtfully left for me and shoving it into my pocket. You know, just in case I need to stab somebody sometime soon.

Which, as it turns out, is sooner than I’d anticipated.

About an hour later, Agent Bitch sticks her head back into the room. “Your lawyer’s on the way,” she says, closing the door behind her again.

This could be anyone. A cop posing as a lawyer to get a confession on tape. A hit man, sent by the Gypsy Brothers or the Cartel. I’m like a sitting duck in here, and I don’t like it one tiny bit.

But what greets me isn’t any of those things.

It’s so much worse.

I don’t move an inch as the door swings open and he walks into the room. Dressed in a suit I’ve seen before, clutching a black leather briefcase by his side. He looks positively fucking amused.

“Well,” I say bitterly, “They’ll let any motherfucker take the bar these days, won’t they?”

The saddest thing about betrayal

is that it never comes

from your enemies

Months, I’ve been invested in this series. Reading the installments one by one as they come out while practically salivating for the next one each time because Lili St Germain is the queen of cliffhangers. All those months, all those books, all that build up…it all lead up to this moment…to this incredible, make your heart beat out of your chest and absolutely fucking EPIC conclusion.

Was it everything I had hoped it would be. Fuck no! IT WAS BETTER.

Six brothers down and Julz is that much closer to her ultimate revenge against a man that took everything from her. A man that brutalized her, terrorized her, scarred her, and systematically took everything that mattered to her.

The thing about bargaining with a madman is that you never know just how far he’ll go.

And now he wants one final thing; an exchange. Her life for the lives of Elliot’s daughter and ex.

But much like everything is with this series, nothing is ever what you believe or think it will be.

I really don’t want to give you much more than that because this is something that you truly need to experience absolutely blind.

What I can tell you is that Lili St. Germain is an evil genius. The woman built up this series book by book and any questions you may have had all get answered eventually. It’s a brutal, dark, gritty and unapologetic story of revenge and loss. Betrayal and redemption. It’s not a love story, but the love between Jase and Julz is most definitely there.

So you’re probably wondering now if the ending was satisfactory. And the answer to that is an unequivocal and resounding YES. It truly was. It was exactly the type of ending this story needed and I can understand why Lili choose to go this route. I couldn’t see it ending any other way. If you’ve been waiting to read this series until all the installments were out, I have a warning for you; be prepared to binge on them all at once. You will not be able to stop once you get going. What a truly dark and bloody web this author has woven. It was fucking fantastic!

I can’t wait what else she has in store for us next and judging by her note to the readers at the end, it’s sure to be one hell of a doozy.

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iTunes: http://bit.ly/1rPgZFW

Lili writes dark romance, suspense and paranormal stories. Her serial novel, Seven Sons, was released in early 2014, with the following books in the series to be released in quick succession. Lili quit corporate life to focus on writing and so far is loving every minute of it. Her other loves in life include her gorgeous husband and beautiful daughter, good coffee, Tarantino movies and spending hours on Pinterest.

She loves to read almost as much as she loves to write.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads |Pinterest

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Cela knows how to be good. She’s had a lifetime of practice. But on the night of her college graduation, she decides she’s earned one wild night before she has to move back home to her overprotective family. So when the hot neighbor she’s been quietly fantasizing about for a year suggests a game of Never Have I Ever, she’s ready. But what starts out as a simple game takes an unexpected turn. Because Ian Foster doesn’t play games he can’t win.

Foster knows his desires aren’t for the faint of heart, especially not for someone as sweet and innocent as his pretty neighbor. But when Cela shows up at his door with an invitation that surprises him, he can’t resist indulging. Cela has no idea what she’s in for. The secret dark side of this man’s need will both intrigue and terrify her. But Cela has a secret of her own—and a new game to see just how far they’re both willing to go, and how much they’re willing to risk by crossing every boundary of desire.

CHAPTER 1

“Andre, this isn’t a good time. Can I call you back?”

I did my best not to let my cell phone slip from between my ear and shoulder. Just don’t drop the tequila. I adjusted the enormous bottle my friend, Bailey, had given me as a graduation present from my right hand to beneath my left arm and tried to dig my keys out of my purse so I could open the main door to my apartment building.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to make it, Cela,” my older brother said, his guilt obviously trumping my request to call him later. “I got caught at an investigation site this morning. I thought I’d be able to get there in time, but we had a witness wanting to talk and….”

I cursed silently as my keys hit the pavement. I crouched down, doing my best not to flash my underwear to anyone who may be passing by. “Really, it’s fine. They called my name. I walked across the stage and got a piece of paper and a sash for being summa cum laude. Papá yelled my name like he was at a baseball game instead of a ceremony. Mamá cried. We all went to lunch at Rosario’s and then the two of them headed back to the airport. Not that interesting.”

My brother’s heavy sigh said everything. I almost felt guilty that he felt so guilty. “Before you move back home next month, we’re getting together to celebrate. My baby sister, the doctor. I’m so proud I could burst.”

I smiled. I did like the sound of that. Dr. Marcela Medina, Doctor of Veterinary Medicine. Seven years of exams and studying and clinics, but it was finally done. Now it was time to leave Dallas and head back home to Verde Pass and take up the slack in my dad’s practice.

That last part had my smile faltering a bit. I hooked my key ring with my finger and wobbled back to a stand. “That’s sounds great. But I really have to get going. I have my hands full and need to get through the door.”

“Cela, you know better than to carry too much. Parking lots at night are one of the most dangerous places for women. Are you holding your mace?” he asked, his voice going into that bossy cop tone I was all too familiar with.

“It’s in my hand,” I lied, trying to remember where I’d stowed the last little canister he’d given me—probably in my junk drawer. “But I don’t have a free hand to pull the door open.”

“All right,” he said, placated. “Congratulations again. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

The phone call ended but I didn’t have a way to take the phone off my ear, so I just shuffled forward in a sideways hunch, trying to juggle everything I was holding to get my key into the door. After two attempts, I got the lock turned and pressed my back against the glass door to push my way into the lobby.

As soon as I’d cleared the entrance and turned toward the stairs, male voices sounded behind me. Of course someone would show up right after I didn’t need help anymore. I peeked back to see who it was, Andre’s danger warnings still echoing in my head, but found something more distracting than criminals—my neighbors, Foster and Pike.

Foster stepped through the main door first and glanced my way. As usual, everything went melty inside me, his smile like a zap of heat to my system. Ridiculous. “Need some help, neighbor?”

I straightened, but forgot about my phone in the process. My brand new I-

Phone went sliding off my shoulder.

“Crap!” I lurched forward, trying to save it from its imminent demise, and accidentally dropped my plastic bag of Chinese takeout on the way.

“Whoa, there.” Pike, Foster’s roommate, was at my side in a second. His hand caught my elbow, saving me from losing the ginormous bottle of liquor along with my balance. But my phone clattered to the ground, the harsh sound mixing with the splat of my noodles hitting tile.

I winced, anticipating a broken screen. “Dammit.”

Foster bent down, his tie brushing the ground as he swept my phone off the floor. He peered at the screen, dark brows lowering over pale eyes, then he turned the phone toward me—the happy puppy screensaver staring back at me in tact. “All is well. Luckily, these things are built to take a licking.”

My brain got snagged on the work lick, and the back of my neck went hot. My lips parted, but words failed me. Great, imitate a gaping goldfish–that’s cute.

Pike cleared his throat, easing the tequila from my arms, and then crouched down near the open bag at my feet. He grabbed a noodle from the spilled box of Chinese food, tipped his head back and dropped it into his mouth, his eyes watching mine. “The lomein’s a loss, though.”

I swallowed hard, his gaze even more bad boy than the tattoos peeking out from his open collar. His pierced tongue snaked around the noodle. Look away. I forced my face upward, but then ended up focusing on Foster again. Say something. God, I was standing there like an idiot. This was why I always avoided these two like they were contagious. They made me go stupid.

Foster held out my phone, and I managed to take it, the slight brush of his fingers against mine hitting the reset button in my brain. I managed a feeble, “Thank you.”

Foster glanced at the mess on the floor. “I’m really sorry I said anything. I didn’t mean to distract you from your intricate juggling act.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have been trying to carry everything at once. It’s been a long day, and I was hoping to save myself a second trip up the stairs.”

“The joys of a walk-up.” Pike grabbed a few napkins and started cleaning up the noodles at my feet like it was his mess to worry about.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” I lowered down to my knees. “I’ll take care of it.”

He grinned over at me, the mirror opposite of his roommate. Ian Foster was all suits and dark looks—a man who preferred to be called by his surname. Whereas, Pike didn’t seem to even have a last name. He was a drummer in some popular local band—jeans, a sex-on-the-mind-smile, and spiked, bleached hair his usual uniform. Not that I had studied either of them. Or listened to their escapades through the wall I shared with them. Not at all.

Keep telling yourself that, Cela.

Despite my protest, Pike helped me finish picking up the mess. “So what’s the big ass bottle of tequila for? No one could’ve had that bad of a day.”

I glanced over at the bottle I’d set on the floor, debating whether I could be trusted to have normal conversation with these two without sounding like I had a speech impediment. “I, uh, graduated today. It was a gift.”

“Oh, right on.”

“Congratulations, Cela,” Foster said. Just the sound of him saying my name in that smooth, dark voice had my stomach clenching. He was all southern refinement, but I didn’t miss the glimmer of a drawl underneath it all.

Ay diosmio. My body clamored to attention like an eager Labrador ready to be petted. Down, girl. These guys were way above my pay grade. I wasn’t dumb or delusional. I’d seen/spied on/secretly hated the women who’d passed through their apartment door—women who looked like they’d earned their doctorates in the art of seduction.

I hadn’t even reached the kindergarten level in that particular department.

“Thank you.”

“You were going to vet school at Dallas U, right?” Foster had tucked his hands in the pockets of his slacks, and though the question was casual, I had the distinct impression he was tense beneath that suit jacket.

Pike handed me a napkin for my hands and stood to toss the food into a nearby trash can.

I wiped off my hands and pushed myself to my feet, trying to do it as gracefully as possible in my restrictive skirt. “Yes, how’d you know that?”

“The scrubs you wear have the school insignia on them,” Foster said, as if it was totally normal that he’d looked at me that closely.

“Observant.” Especially considering I usually only managed a head-down, mumbled hey-how-are-ya exchange when we passed each other in the hallway. Secretly listening to one of your hot neighbors having sex had a way of making eye contact a bit uncomfortable the next day—particularly if said eavesdropper had used the soundtrack to fuel her own interlude with her battery-operated boyfriend.

Not that I had. Several times. Whatever.

Pike sidled up next to Foster—a motley pair if there ever was one. “So, doc, now that you’ve got no dinner and clearly too much liquor on your hands, why don’t you join us? We already have pizza on the way, and we can play a drinking game with the tequila. Do college kids still play Never Have I Ever? I was always good at that one.”

Kid? Is that what they saw me as? Neither of them could be that much older than I was. Though in terms of life experience, I had no doubt they trumped me a few times over.

“Oh, no, that’s okay.” The refusal was automatic, long practiced. How many times had I turned down such offers—from guys, from friends? My parents had been so strict when I was younger that I almost didn’t know how to say yes even after living on my own the last few years. Studies first. Fun later. Yet, there never seemed to be any time for fun after the first one was finished.

“You sure? I don’t want you going to bed with no dinner because of us,” Foster said, frown lines marring that perfect mouth of his.

Going to bed and us was about all I heard. My father’s stern voice whispered in my ear. You don’t know these men. You’ll be all alone in their apartment. Medina women have more respect for themselves than that.

“Really, I’m fine. I had a big lunch,” I said, my smile brief, plastic. “But thanks.”

“Oh, come on,” Pike said, his tone cajoling. “We’ve been neighbors for what, two years? We should at least get to know a little about each other.”

Get to know each other? I knew that Foster was loud when he came—even if he was alone. Knew that Pike liked to laugh during sex. Knew the two men shared women. And the other sounds I’d heard over the last two years…the smacks, the commands, the erotic screams. My face went as hot as if I’d stuck my head in an oven.

“Y’all just want me for my tequila,” I said, attempting to deflect my derailing thoughts.

The corner of Pike’s mouth lifted. “Of course that’s not all we want you for.”

“Uh…” Oh, hell. Pictures flashed across my brain. Dirty, delicious pictures. I almost dropped my phone again. I had no idea what to do with my hands, my expression.

Foster put a hand on Pike’s shoulder. “The lady said no. I think we should let her go celebrate her graduation however she wants.”

“All right.” Pike’s face turned hang dog, but he handed me the tequila bottle. “If you change your mind, we’ve got big plans. Supreme pizza and a Star-Wars-themed porn marathon. The Empire Sucks C—”

Foster smacked the back of Pike’s head, and Pike ducked and laughed.

“Kidding. I mean, a Jane Austen marathon,” Pike corrected, his green-gold eyes solemn. “Pride and Pu—”

Foster was behind Pike, his hand clamping over his friend’s mouth in a flash. “I seriously can’t take him out. He’s like an untrained puppy. Maybe you can lend me a shock collar or something.”

Pike waggled his eyebrows, all playful wickedness.

I laughed, putting my hand to my too hot forehead, and turning toward the stairs. “Yeah, so, I’m going to go now.”

“Cela,” Foster said as I put my foot onto the first step.

I glanced back. “Yeah?”

His ice melt eyes flicked downward, his gaze alighting along the length of me before tracing their way upward again in a slow, unashamed perusal. “Promise you won’t go to bed hungry.”

I wet my lips, my skin suddenly feeling too tight to accommodate the blood pumping beneath it, and nodded.

But it was a lie.

I always went to bed hungry.

And it had nothing to do with a spilled dinner.

4 Stars

Never have I ever…

Broken the Rules.

Had a one-night stand.

Lived out a fantasy.

Slept with the hot neighbors I’ve been crushing on for a year.

Lost Control.

But I want to…

First of all, if you haven’t read any other books by this fantastic author, you’re seriously missing out. If you liked erotic BDSM romance than you really need to read her Loving on the Edge series. I first fell in love with this series when I stumbled onto the very first book, Crash into You and absolutely loved it. Not Until You was originally written as a serial spin off from that series, with the heroine being Cela, who is the younger sister of Andre (the hero from Melt into You). I knew right away that I wanted to read it, but my poor impatient self just couldn’t bring myself to read it one crumble at a time…so I waited for the full serial to be out and read it as a full book.

I was spellbound. Things like this did’t happen in my life. I didn’t allow them to. My world was safely constructed and populated with people who didn’t push my boundaries.

Marcela or Cela has been a good girl all her life, constantly feeling the pressure to be the obedient child while stuck under her father’s overbearing thumb. Now she’s finally achieved her goal of graduating veterinary school and is preparing to go back to the family nest to join her father’s practice. But before she does that, she wants to truly experience passion and life…and what’s a better way to do that then one sinfully sex night with her two incredibly sexy neighbors.

Now before you go getting any ideas, while this book does have a VERY hot MFM scene, it is NOT a MFM romance. It’s made clear from the very first encounter that the true passions burns the hottest between Cela and Foster.

You want to play this game, angel, and know what I’m really like? Want to see what you think is such a little issue? Because I’ve had a real bad day, and there’s nothing I’d like more right now than to fuck that notion right out of you.

Foster was absolute perfection. He was also a breath of fresh air since he was (are you sitting down for this) a dom that actually WANTED a relationship and a commitment of having a sub. That’s not to say that he doesn’t have issues, because he had those aplenty. Guilt from a tragedy from his past, fear of the woman he wants not wanting his particular brand of dominance. He falls hard and fast for Cela (though no insta-love found here), but he’s afraid that she’s just sowing her wild oats with him.

It was the perfect moment.
With the perfect woman.
And for just those few minutes, as they rolled over and curled into each other, he let himself imagine that it wouldn’t be temporary. That’d he’d found that girl.

Cela develops feelings for Foster but she’s afraid of being weak or getting out from one man’s thumb and right under another. She struggles with her submissive nature and questions their relationship.

I really enjoyed this book, but I also felt that it was a little dragged out at parts. I found myself skimming through parts of the book since my interest would wane. But this wasn’t frequent and didn’t last long.

My only other quibble is Foster’s constant use of the “angel” endearment. It drove me a little batty. I understand that was his “thing” for her, but switching it up at times wouldn’t have hurt. It was used 153 times. And I’m a reader that tends to nitpick, so you can tell my dilemma here.

But nonetheless, the book was still highly entertaining, the romance was sizzling, and even considering my 2 quibbles I did still really like it.

There is also a bonus novella included here, So Into You. Which was a nice little addition to the book. I loved getting Bret’s story since she really intrigued me in Cela and Foster’s book.

If you’re wondering if you can read this without having read the other books in the series? Absolutely. Though if you’ve read Melt into You, you’ll appreciate the appearance of Andre, Jace and Evan in this one. However, it can easily be read as a standalone.

Roni wrote her first romance novel at age fifteen when she discovered writing about boys was way easier than actually talking to them. Since then, her flirting skills haven’t improved, but she likes to think her storytelling ability has. Though she’ll forever be a New Orleans girl at heart, she now lives in Dallas with her husband and son.

If she’s not working on her latest sexy story, you can find her reading, watching reality television, or indulging in her unhealthy addiction to rockstars, er, rock concerts. Yeah, that’s it. She is the National Bestselling Author of The Loving on the Edge series from Berkley Heat.

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