Authors: Chelsea Camaron and Jessie Lane
Release Date: December 8, 2014
She's an investment banker.
He's an outlaw biker.
A little bit of heaven is about to meet a whole lot of hell.
Morgan Powell was raised to be perfect, to set an example for her sisters to follow. Her life has been dedicated to making something of her career, so she wouldn’t know what to do with a man even if you gave her an instruction manual.
Brett 'Ice' Grady spends his days trying to keep up with his teenage daughter, his nights consumed in Regulators’ MC business. He has no time for anything more than a casual hookup.
Two worlds collide when the dangers of his life crash into the calm of hers.
Can she go beyond her own boundaries and chip her way through to the man known to be as cold as ice?
Loosely attached to Chelsea Camaron's Hellions Series and Jessie Lane's Ex Ops Series.
“Suck harder. Right there… Fuck yeah, that’s it.”
The half-naked platinum blonde kneeling in front of me sucks dick like a damn champ.
“Shit! Dammit, Dad!” my teenage daughter, Brooke, suddenly shrieks from across the living room while covering her eyes with her hands. Her voice immediately kills my hard on.
Pushing the bimbo off me, I stand to pull up my pants, wincing as I tuck my still sensitive cock away. I move forward to go find my daughter, who is not supposed to be home today. The blonde paws at me as I go to make my way past her. I would have preferred it if she would have run her mouth and taken off; instead, she is pouting at me because we didn’t finish. I wish Brooke could have just given me five more minutes to get off. Then I could have gotten rid of the broad on her knees. Tossing this barfly out the door would be a hell of a lot easier then.
“Get out. I’m done with ya,” I dismiss her, tired of the sulking look on her face. Damn woman, take a hint already.
With a huff, she rights her clothes, collects her things, and scurries out.
After making my way down the hall, of my not so modest home, I bark a sardonic laugh when I turn the knob to my daughter’s room and find it locked.
“Open this door, young lady,” I order, in what comes out as a bellow. We have danced this dance on more than one occasion.
“Sorry, I’m busy searching for the eye bleach. I can’t unlock the door right now, check back later.”
Looking at my phone screen, I smile at the text in front of me.
I’m off 2nite. Movie @ ur house or mine?
Texting back, I tell my best friend I will be at her house after work with takeout. Working in a bank, I have every weekend off. Casey’s career path is far different than mine, though, and it is one that requires weekend time; as a result, this is the first Friday she has had off in a while.
My day drags on as I review current investment portfolios and market changes. I have the best job ever. I get paid to spend other people’s money as an investment broker here in South Beach. My life is sun, sand, and dollar bills.
Before going to Casey’s, I stop by my condo and change clothes. The down side to my job is the stuffy suits I have to wear: reasonable, past knee-length skirts, reasonable women’s dress pants, and reasonable button up shirts. I might hate them; yet, in a sad way, the dress code fits my life—reasonable.
It is not long into girl’s night before the difference in our lifestyle’s show.
“Damn, we’re not even halfway through the first movie, and you’re ready for bed? What the hell? Grandparents stay up later than you,” My best friend wakes me out of my doze.
“Sorry, some of us keep normal business hours.”
“Yeah, your hours scream forty-two, not twenty-four, as does everything else in your life.”
“I’m not that bad,” I protest half-heartedly. However, that voice of doubt says “maybe I am.” Maybe my stiff upbringing has rubbed off on me more than I care to admit.
My parents raised me to be an example. As the oldest of three, I had to be the light to guide my younger sisters, Madyson and Mallory. Everything with my parents was about fitting the mold, keeping up appearances. Their brainwashing worked to some degree. Going away to college did nothing for me in my attempt to escape my overbearing parents, either. No, they live in my head, every rule engraved into my brain matter. Too bad no one warned me there is no cure and no escape once they get those rules engrained into my very being.
Morgan Ann Powell: pathetic, stiff, borderline pseudo-old lady, and a college educated, suit wearing, have my shit together prude—that is me. I am, quite possibly, the only woman in her twenties who can count on one hand how many guys she has kissed. I am also a twenty-four-year-old virgin. I wouldn’t know what to do with a penis if it was given to me gift wrapped in Christmas paper and topped with a bow. I am not cut out for parties, guys, or any wild times, either. My destiny is to be the old lady who lives alone, feeding all the stray cats in the neighborhood.
Parking my bike on the edge of the road, I hop off with Hammer and Coal following suit. They don’t bother asking questions, because my reason for coming here is obvious as we make our way into a house full of drunken teens.
Walking inside like I own the place, I see kids in every corner, making out. The sight makes my blood boil. If I find some little dipshit with his hands all over my baby girl, it is going to take both Hammer and Coal to keep me from beating the shit out of him. I don’t care if they are teenagers; no little prick is good enough to touch Brooke.
I glance into the formal dining room to my left, and someone has one very expensive table that seats eight, making a perfect set up for beer pong. Jesus, this is the nightmare of every parent. If I see one kid doing any drugs, my head is going to explode.
“Brooke,” I call out. “Brooklyn Rayne Grady, get your ass out here… Right. The. Fuck. Now!” I roar without a second thought.
All the teens stop and stare at me and my brothers filling up this ostentatious entryway. When nobody moves, Coal steps up to be right behind me on the left.
“Brooke, find her now,” Coal clips out, giving his cold glare to every teen in the room.
At the top of the stairway, I watch my daughter meet Coal’s gaze without one ounce of trepidation. Baby girl is showing balls of steel for her friends. Her short as sin shorts make my blood pressure shoot up even higher. The camisole tank top that I bought to go with pajamas is far from hiding her buds from all these teen pricks.
“Dad—” she starts as I interrupt.
“Don’t say another fucking word. Get your ass on my bike.”
“Death of you,” Hammer chuckles behind me as he turns around to get ready to leave.
Yes, my daughter will be the death of me. I watch as she grabs her friend by the wrist and half drags her down the stairs, mumbling at her the whole way down. When the two girls reach me, I don’t move.
“Come on, Dad,” Brooke lets out a huff. “Let’s go. This is embarrassing enough already.”
“Everybody here, you have twenty minutes to get this house cleaned the fuck up. Since you dumb shits have been drinking, a bus will be here to pick each one of you up and take you home. My man Coal here is gonna stay behind and make sure you do as I say.”
“Daaaad,” Brooke whines, “leave everyone alone.”
“Brooke, I suggest you shut your mouth and get your ass over to my bike. If your friend needs a ride, Hammer will take her. Outside. Now. You’re in enough trouble, don’t add more.”
Defeated, the two girls stomp off while Hammer shakes his head at me while I turn to follow them all out. I haven’t even made it to the door when I hear some pre-pubescent shithead slur out a question.
“Do you think they are, like, real biker dudes? Maybe we can ask them to pop a wheelie or something. Wait!” His voice cracks as he gets excited. “Maybe they’re from that show on TV! We should ask for their autographs!’
God save me from teenagers. No doubt, Hammer is cussing me out in his head for sticking one on his bitch seat.
Jessie Lane is the best selling author of The Star Series, Big Bad Bite Series and the Ex Ops Series.
She lives in Kentucky with her two little Rock Chicks in the making and her over protective alpha husband. She has a passionate love for reading and writing naughty romance, cliff hanging suspense, and out-of-this-world characters that demand your attention, or threaten to slap you around until you do pay attention to them.
Jessie writes Adult Paranormal and Contemporary Romance & Upper YA Fantasy/Paranormal Romance.
Chelsea always wanted to be a writer, but like most of us, let fear of the unknown grab a hold of her dream; she realized that if she was going to tell her daughter to go for her dreams, that it was time to follow her own advice.
Chelsea grew up turning wrenches alongside her father, and from that grew her love for old muscle cars and Harley Davidson motorcycles, which just so happened to inspired her ‘Daddy’s Girls’ series. Her love for reading has sparked a new love for writing and she currently has a few more projects in the works.
When she is not spending her days writing you can find her playing with her kids, attending car shows, going on motorcycle rides on the back of her husband’s Harley, snuggling down with her new favorite book or watching any movie that Vin Diesel might happen to be in.
She hates being serious and is still a big kid at heart. She is a small town country girl enjoying life and, Chelsea hopes that her readers remember not to take life too seriously and to embrace your inner five year old, because five year olds know how to enjoy the simple things in life and how to always have fun.