Category: Release Blitz

What Really Matters by M.A. Innes

Genre: Gay Romance

Pairing: Age Play/Mild BDSM

Series: No

Synopsis:

Zac has a secret…and he’s worried about what his husband would think.

When you’ve been married for years, you aren’t supposed to pop up with a new and interesting kink. At least, that’s what Zac keeps telling himself. His husband Hunter is sweet, loving, and understanding, but he hadn’t signed up for anything like what Zac wants to explore.

Zac has a secret…but Hunter isn’t worried…just confused.

Zac is a constant source of surprise and humor for Hunter. But he’s been acting even more interesting than usual, and Hunter has a feeling it’s time to see what his sexy husband is up to. When he begins to understand what Zac is holding back, Hunter has a decision to make.

Two loving men. One big question about what really matters when you’re in love.

60k words

Story Contains: M/m sexual content, mild BDSM, spankings, and mild age play

Excerpt I:

I could only assume that they made clothing for the lifestyle. I had a vague memory of an old CSI episode that had a man who’d dressed up as a baby. I couldn’t remember if the show had been nice about it or not, but there had to be some truth in it. If they made diapers for people Zac’s size, then they had to make other clothing as well.

Would he let me pick it out?

Did I want to pick it out?

Maybe.

The first flashes of images that had crossed my mind had been me picking them out. That’s what a Daddy would do. Right? If Zac’s…role in a relationship like this was to be young, then that meant he’d make the same decisions a child would. Right?

Yes.

No.

We were back to maybe.

Research. This called for more research.

A quiet voice in the back of my mind that sounded a bit like a sarcastic Zac said that I just needed to do what came naturally. Were there instincts for something like age play? Were some people just born Daddies who either figured it out or walked through life never knowing?

I couldn’t help but wonder if I had instincts for something like this. Could I make him happy?

Excerpt II:

“All right, bedtime.” As the cartoon came to an end, I reached for the remote.

Zac frowned and looked down at his picture. “But I’m not done.”

I reached out to run my hand over his head without thinking about it. “You’ll have time later this week to finish.”

He hunched over and huffed, giving me a pout. “But next weekend is so far away.”

To Zac, big or little, it probably did feel like an eternity away. “How about this…if we have any days this week where we both get home at a real hour then we’ll have more…more time like this…more little time? If you’d like, then I might even make dinner again and we’ll have a full night where you can be little.”

I was curious to see if that would be enough of a temptation to get him to work more normal hours. I understood that his job wasn’t always nine to five, but it felt like he needed to learn when to step away and not just wait until he was exhausted at the end of the week.

He nodded slowly and I could see his mind start to think. Not sure if he was ready to be a grown-up again or not, I looked over at the crayons. “Let’s pick up your toys and then I’ll tuck you in.”

Zac smiled, a teasing grin that looked close enough to his normal expression that I wasn’t sure what to expect. “Do I get to sleep in the big bed tonight?”

As opposed to what? A crib? A toddler bed?

There were too many interesting options.

Also, I couldn’t help but wonder if that meant he wasn’t ready to be big yet. “Yes. You’ve been a good boy today so you can sleep in the big bed with Daddy.”

I wasn’t sure if it was my willingness to play along that made him so excited or if it was just the reaction that came normally when he was in his role, but he bounced up on his knees and threw his arms around me. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Smiling, because who could resist him, I kissed his cheek. “Thank you, baby. Now let’s clean up.”

My next thought was to remind him that he had school tomorrow but I wasn’t sure if that was right or not. Would that be weird or a wrong assumption about how he wanted to play the game…explore the role?

Could we talk about real-world things when we were having…little time…role-playing time…when he was like this, how was I supposed to talk about the other time?

Research.

I needed time to research.

About Shaw:

I’m Shaw Montgomery and M.A. Innes…two sides of the same coin. Some things I write are traditional BDSM stories and some are taboo. I love trying to explain peoples needs and desires. No matter if you’re reading one of my female domination books or my gay taboo stories, you’ll find sweet open characters who are discovering what they want out of a relationship.

Social Media Links:

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Three Dirty Harts by Cara Dee

Title: Three Dirty Harts

Genre: Contemporary Romance/Erotica

Pairing: Daddy Kink/MFM

Amazon US: http://bit.ly/amus-tdh

Amazon CAN: http://bit.ly/amca-tdh

Amazon AUS: http://bit.ly/amau-tdh

Amazon DE: http://bit.ly/amde-tdh

Amazon UK: http://bit.ly/amuk-tdh

Goodreads: http://bit.ly/gr-tdh

Smashwords: http://bit.ly/smash-tdh

Paperback: https://www.caradeewrites.com/

Synopsis:

Belle has a wicked fantasy and a secret desire, and she doesn’t know how to hide her feelings anymore.

Andrew has a passion for family and a love for detail, and there are no words that can describe how much he’s looking forward to having his stepdaughter and his younger brother home for the summer.

Jace has an eye for beauty and a thirst for adventure, and he’s the first one to notice that something is different when Belle steps off the plane. From the outside, these three don’t seem to have much in common. But on the inside…their hearts are as dirty as they come.

Excerpt 1

I made a dismayed face in the rearview mirror and rolled up the sleeves of my button-down. If my hair had been lighter, those spots of silver would have been less visible. Alas…they shone like a beacon.

Should I dye it?

“Are you becoming vain?” Jace asked.

“No, but evidently I’m becoming old,” I muttered and left the car. Something was missing—and had been missing for a while. I couldn’t put my finger on it, only that I wasn’t content with my life anymore. As soon as I figured out what to change, I would. Until then, it looked like I’d be complaining about a whole lot. “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to shave.”

Belle coming home was a special occasion to me. Jace didn’t have to look like a slob.

I’d made sure the cleaning service had been extra-thorough yesterday, and I’d ordered Belle’s favorite flowers for her room. Or was I taking things too far? Was I too old-fashioned? I was going to spend the summer with my carefree little brother and my twenty-year-old stepdaughter; I wanted them to find me fun, too. I wasn’t only the…parent, for lack of a better word.

Jace ignored my remark with a smirk, and we entered the bustling airport to bring Belle home.

“How the fuck are we supposed to find her?” Jace grunted. “Christ, I hate people.”

This from the young man who missed having a social life.

I couldn’t blame him, though. Once upon a time, I’d loved Seattle. Now I was much more comfortable in our little town a couple hours north of here. An hour and a half, if Jace was behind the wheel.

As for Jace’s question, I had an answer. “She’s dyed her hair pink, she told me.” I hadn’t seen it yet myself because the last time we spoke, it was over the phone. I’d had this image of a shock of bright hair until her soft laughter had filtered through the receiver and she’d told me it was “faded magenta.” Whatever that meant.

We stood in a sea of arrivals and their families, and I checked my watch. It’d been a while since she’d landed, so she should be here soon.

Jace made a noise. “Holy fuck.”

“What, how pink is it?” I lifted my gaze, scanning the crowd.

“No, that’s not… Uh.”

I frowned at him, then searched for Belle some more, and—goddamn it all. Motherfucker. She emerged with a bright smile as she looked for us. I could only stare. My chest seized, and a flush spread up my chest. Unlike my brother, I’d known that she’d matured to an extent, and it was still a shock. Her gorgeous face had filled the screen of my laptop or phone whenever we Skyped; seeing her body was a whole other experience. And what the hell was she wearing? Those couldn’t be called shorts. The denim rode up high enough to reveal her pockets. Underneath an open flannel shirt, a skimpy top hugged her generous curves.

“Keep that reaction to yourself,” I told Jace, half irritated. With him or myself, I wasn’t sure. Perhaps both. “Belle!” I started walking toward her so I could help with her luggage. Her hair was oddly cute, the long waves shifting in subtle shades of pink. My mouth stretched into a wide smile as she spotted me, and I even had to swallow a lump of emotion. At that point, I successfully pushed aside the unspeakable reaction I’d had, and I hurried to get her in my arms.

“Daddy-o!” She threw her arms around my neck, and I lifted her off the ground.

“God, I’ve missed you.” Tightening my hold on her, I breathed in her light, sweet scent and reveled in having her home again. “My darling, why do you insist on living so far away?”

She laughed tearfully. “If it makes you feel any better, I can’t wait to be done with uni.”

That did make me feel better.

“Look at you, picking up local slang.” Jace walked up behind us with a grin, and Belle was quick to give him a hug too. “When the fuck did you grow up?”

I shot him a look.

Belle smirked and wiped her eyes carefully. These days, she wore makeup. “My roommate taught me a lot. She’s studying to become a stylist.”

“There’s not a thing you need to learn,” I told her firmly and grabbed her roll-aboard. “You’re beautiful as you are.” Maybe a bit too beautiful.

“Such a dad response.” She hugged my arm and held on as we made our way outside. “Can we eat at Coho? I’m starving.”

“Anything you want, sweetheart.” I kissed the top of her head.

Excerpt 2

The eggs were almost finished when Jace limped into the kitchen with a bed head and sleepy scowl.

“Morning, sunshine.” I plated the scrambled eggs and added some sliced tomatoes and bacon bits. “Sleep well?”

“Sort of?” He squinted at nothing and scratched his head. “Um, are we gonna talk about last night?”

I furrowed my brow and slid the plate across the kitchen bar. “Did something happen?”

“You were there, Andrew. At Coho.” He tucked into his food as if it was going to disappear, and I poured myself some cereal. “Something’s changed with Belle. Jesus.” He seemed baffled by something, though it was difficult to tell with the way he was hamstering the food in his cheeks. “Wasn’t she crazy affectionate at dinner?”

“Hm.” To be honest, I’d noticed it. “I wouldn’t read into that.” Certainly not when Jace was a pervert who’d just discovered his niece—his niece, for the love of God—was a very gorgeous young woman. “She missed us, Jace. She was excited to catch up.”

And what a great evening it’d been. Over the best burgers and beers the town had to offer, Jace and I had mostly listened while Belle told us everything about her university and London. Some of the things, I already knew from talking to her. Her contact with Jace stayed at texting and occasional phone calls, so almost everything was new to him. Perhaps that was why the change appeared so drastic.

“Don’t forget your place,” I told Jace. “You’re her uncle. She’s not one of the girls you let hang around for a month before you trade her in for another.”

He shook his head and forked up some eggs. “There’s so much wrong with that sentence. First of all, we’re not related. Second of all, I haven’t gotten laid in almost a year, so don’t paint me as some manwhore. Third of all—” he pointed the fork at me “—you’re the one she was plastered to all evening, not me.”

At that, I had to roll my eyes. “I’m the only parent she has. Don’t cheapen her affection because you suddenly have a hard-on for the wrong person.”

If he pushed it, I might snap. Yesterday had been wonderful. Most of all, it was easy to keep her close when she seemed to want it that way. I’d had my arm around her throughout the evening, not because I possibly was a pervert too, but because I’d missed her very much.

Shortly after, bare feet padded along the floorboards, and Belle appeared in the doorway wearing an old band tee of Jace’s and a pair of cotton shorts. What was it with the length of shorts these days? Was fabric scarce?

Jace coughed into his coffee.

I hoped he burned himself.

“Good morning, darling.” I rose from my stool and switched on the stove again. The pancake batter was waiting for me. “Take a seat and I’ll make pancakes.”

She grinned sleepily and walked over to me. “I’m so glad to be home.” Sneaking under my arm, she wrapped her arms around my middle, and I chuckled. It truly was an affectionate girl who’d stepped off that plane. “Is there anything I can do, Daddy?”

I tilted my head.

Jace snorted behind us.

Daddy…

“No,” I responded slowly as my mind started spinning. “You can relax and let me take care of this.”

“’Kay.” With a slight blush covering her cheeks, Belle pulled her hair into a high, messy bun at the top of her head, and then she left the kitchen area to turn on the TV.

“Is she for real?” Jace whispered. “She’s never called you Daddy before, has she? The way she did it… Man, that’s pure filth.”

“Let it go,” I whispered back, irritated. Wound up. There was nothing to read into here.

About Cara:

I’m often stoically silent or, if the topic interests me, a chronic rambler. In other words, I can discuss writing forever and ever. Fiction, in particular. The love story—while a huge draw and constantly present—is secondary for me, because there’s so much more to writing romance fiction than just making two (or more) people fall in love and have hot sex. There’s a world to build, characters to develop, interests to create, and a topic or two to research thoroughly. Every book is a challenge for me, an opportunity to learn something new, and a puzzle to piece together. I want my characters to come to life, and the only way I know to do that is to give them substance—passions, history, goals, quirks, and strong opinions—and to let them evolve. Additionally, I want my men and women to be relatable. That means allowing room for everyday problems and, for lack of a better word, flaws. My characters will never be perfect.

Wait…this was supposed to be about me, not my writing.

I’m a writey person who loves to write. Always wanderlusting, twitterpating, kinking, and geeking. There’s time for hockey and cupcakes, too. But mostly, I just love to write.

Website: https://www.caradeewrites.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/caradeewrites/
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/cara-dee

Twitter: https://twitter.com/CaraDeeWrites

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/carawrites/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6936449.Cara_Dee

 

This Life I by Cara Dee

 

“Marry me.” He can take her away from a life that’s suffocating her.

“I can’t! You’re a mobster.”

“Allegedly.” He turns on the Irish charm, but not even that can save him from his secrets.

Amazon US: https://goo.gl/nXtp8A

Amazon CAN: https://goo.gl/wimRDZ

Amazon AUS: https://goo.gl/vGAWF1

Amazon DE: https://goo.gl/MqKvum

Amazon UK: https://goo.gl/HprvN7 A

mazon FR: https://goo.gl/Yiy2Dm

Goodreads: https://goo.gl/ot9Quu

Paperback: https://www.caradeewrites.com/

Synopsis:

Finnegan O’Shea

The Sons of Munster have been living this life for generations. We have our own protocol, our own traditions, dating back to when two families merged and created our syndicate in Ireland. Now, we have our strongholds in Philly and Chicago, and the wrong man holds the highest position. The day my uncle decided to betray us, he signed his own death warrant, and after a five-year hitch in the can, I’m ready to take everything from him. In order to ensure the demise of his management, I have to get close to him. I need to earn his trust and that of his closest associates. I’ll be the top earner he wants me to be. I’ll be the very image of a conventional family man.

For that to happen, this Irish bastard has to find himself a wife. Someone sweet and compliant who will stand by my side and make me look like I have too much to lose to screw over the head of the family.

Emilia Porter

When it rains, it pours, so I guess it’s been pouring for eighteen years now. Being from an old mining town that’s full of drunk cautionary tales, I spend my days juggling—and failing—school, work, and paying the bills so my dad can drink himself into a stupor. Then this freaking guy rolls into town in his expensive sports car and thinks I should marry him. This isn’t the fifties, and there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell I’ll marry a well-known mobster. No matter how much money he promises me. No matter how intensely the chemistry sizzles between us.

He asks for three years of marriage. Then I’d be set for life, independent and free to start fresh on my own. Free to walk away. Who the hell does he think he is?

Excerpt I:

Emilia Porter

All the shit I read about the murders, the trials, and the rift between the two families that’d started this behemoth of a crime syndicate made everything even more bizarre. Finnegan belonged in the newspapers, not outside of my house asking me on a freaking date. I shuddered at the thought of his “offer.”

“Miss Porter?”

I squeaked in shock and quickly exited the Wikipedia page, then looked over my shoulder to find a man in a suit there. He didn’t work at my school, and he looked so misplaced in our little library.

“Yes?” I pushed down my nerves and eyed him. Crisp white button-down, black suit, definitely a holster hiding under his jacket. If he was another O’Shea, I was gonna scream bloody murder.

“I’m Kellan Caldwell,” he said and extended a hand. “I’m a federal agent, and I was wondering if we could talk.”

My life was officially over. Finnegan O’Shea had asked me to dinner, and now I was on FBI’s radar. Oh God.

“Can I see some ID?” I shook his hand nervously and stood up.

“Of course.” He retrieved it from inside his suit and flashed his badge just like they did in the movies. “You’re not in any trouble, Miss Porter. In fact, we’re asking for your help.”

*

One dinner.

I hugged myself as a cold wind swept between us, and I stepped a little closer to my door. “Why do I get the feeling it’s never just a dinner with you?”

“You gotta think highly of me, huh?” Finnegan was way too amused, and he leaned forward as if to reveal a secret. “I’m not going to fuck you, Emilia. It’s really just dinner.”

Right at that second, he could consider himself lucky I’d kept at least ten feet between us. Otherwise, I would’ve rammed my elbow up into his chin, and then he probably would’ve killed me. Him fucking me hadn’t even occurred to me. I was more worried about ending up in a body bag. Maybe.

I blew out a heavy breath and reined in the anger. What I wouldn’t give to put him in his damn place! Uh—well. I had the chance. That place could be prison, if he said anything incriminating that the Feds overheard.

And so I was nervous as hell again.

Could I really do it? Could I be brave and help the FBI?

One dinner.

If I had to be honest with myself, I didn’t actually think something would happen after just one date or whatever this would be. Sweet Jesus, a date. With Finnegan O’Shea.

Another cold breeze blew past, causing me to shudder. It prompted Finnegan to give me a once-over before he narrowed his eyes at me. I got it, he wasn’t very impressed. No one was.

“One dinner,” I heard myself say. Agent Caldwell’s card burned a hole in my pocket. Holy shit, this was happening.

It seemed Finnegan was as surprised as I was, though he masked it quickly, and then he smiled. “Are you available tomorrow?”

Weird day to go on a date—a Thursday. Unless he was eager to drag me into a criminal lifestyle, at which he’d fail so miserably.

“Sure.” I was off work, at least. “Just—make it public, okay? No backwoods or ditches.”

He let out a carefree laugh that divided my thoughts. Firstly, he was even more gorgeous when he laughed. Secondly, I couldn’t wait to be the one who got the last laugh.

“You got it, princess. A public dinner.” He chuckled and stubbed out his smoke. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Excerpt 2:

Finnegan O’Shea

“How did your date go, little brother?” Patrick asked.

“Good,” I replied, eyeing the food Ian was cooking. Sampling deli meat and cheese wasn’t enough when the kitchen was starting to smell like a steakhouse. “I’m trying not to think about her too much.”

“Why’s that?”

I shook my head, fingers drumming against the kitchen bar. “I thought she’d be fucking timid.”

Emilia Porter was the opposite. Wary and easily frightened, sure, but that was understandable. Her quick wit and feistiness, however…? I’d had no clue I’d crave it like an addict. I was already looking forward to our next date, which she’d agreed to reluctantly.

I had her in the palm of my hand, though she took every opportunity to bite my fingers.

It was sexy as hell.

Something far less sexy was her comment about her own mother. “She said something weird last night,” I admitted. “She thinks her mother is dead.”

“That’s fucked up.” Patrick frowned. “Did her pop make her believe that?”

“I guess so. I’ll do some digging.”

One way or another, I was going to use this to my advantage.

“Anyway,” I said, “hand me that, will ya?” I nodded at the box farther down the counter.

Patrick complied, and I dug out the new phone. It was a gift to Emilia. I just had to prepare it a bit before sending it to her. For one, I wanted it synced with my laptop so I could access her texts and phone history and see what apps she downloaded. For two, I had to install a call distorter so our friends at the NSA and the FBI didn’t get any ideas.

*

Someone rudely interrupted me by knocking on the door and then entering before I could even tell them to fuck off. It was Patrick and Kellan with snacks and a couple six-packs of beer.

“Have you done anything?” Patrick stared at the state of my living room.

“I’ve been busy,” I said defensively. Closing my laptop, I left it on the coffee table, something I’d actually assembled earlier.

“The plastic’s still on the couch, mate.” Kellan snorted and crossed the living room to reach the kitchen.

“That’s ’cause you spill, Agent Caldwell!” I called after him, and he laughed. Then I faced my brother. “The stalking has paid off again. The girls are texting, and Sarah mentioned being in the mood for Chinese.”

His forehead creased. “So?”

For fuck’s sake. “So take her out, numbskull! Call her and say you want Chinese. Bond or some shit.”

“Good idea.” He nodded firmly and pulled out his phone.

So did I, ’cause I’d waited long enough. At this point, with a phone she’d had less than a couple hours, Emilia had communicated more with her best friend and a fake FBI agent than me, the bloke who’d given her the damn thing.

I wanted some attention now.

 

About Cara:

I’m often stoically silent or, if the topic interests me, a chronic rambler. In other words, I can discuss writing forever and ever. Fiction, in particular. The love story—while a huge draw and constantly present—is secondary for me, because there’s so much more to writing romance fiction than just making two (or more) people fall in love and have hot sex. There’s a world to build, characters to develop, interests to create, and a topic or two to research thoroughly. Every book is a challenge for me, an opportunity to learn something new, and a puzzle to piece together. I want my characters to come to life, and the only way I know to do that is to give them substance—passions, history, goals, quirks, and strong opinions—and to let them evolve. Additionally, I want my men and women to be relatable. That means allowing room for everyday problems and, for lack of a better word, flaws. My characters will never be perfect.

Wait…this was supposed to be about me, not my writing.

I’m a writey person who loves to write. Always wanderlusting, twitterpating, kinking, and geeking. There’s time for hockey and cupcakes, too. But mostly, I just love to write.

Website: https://www.caradeewrites.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/caradeewrites/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/CaraDeeWrites

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/carawrites/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6936449.Cara_Dee

 

1.Hate-screw my high school nemesis.

2.Remember to hate him.

3.Prove my brother wrong.

It should be easy.

It isn’t.

As the owner of Pick-A-Dick, New Orleans’ premier hook-up website, my job is simple. Connect two people for a no-strings, no-expectations hook-up. The plus for my clients is that I’m the one who gets to sift through the dick pics—except this time, they’re required.

My problem? My brother, co-owner of Pick-A-Dick’s sister dating site, doesn’t believe it’s possible to hook up with someone three times and not fall in love.

I disagree. I know it’s possible.

And my disagreement is exactly how I end up reconnected with my high school nemesis, Elliott Sloane. The guy who asked me to junior prom and then stood me up. Who egged my car when I rejected him, and convinced my senior homecoming date to ghost me.

It should be easy to hate-screw him. If only he was still that person, instead of a hot-as-hell single dad, working as a builder to make ends’ meet, fighting for custody of his daughter.

Not to mention packing in the pants department…

Three hook-ups.

One outcome.

Right?

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FIND OUT MORE: http://www.pick-a-dick-net

“Is she okay with that juice?” Peyton watched her go.

I selected the Blu-ray from the cupboard and shot a smirk her way. “Sorry to break it to you, but you’re getting a juice box.”

“I can live with that.”

I turned away and hit the eject button on the player. “You didn’t have to say yes to her, you know.”

“Of course, I had to. Have you seen those eyes? How do you say no to her, ever?”

“I think of all the times she screams and swings her arms like a tiny terrorist, and it’s pretty easy.” I put the disk in and turned around.

Peyton had one eyebrow raised. “See, now, I’d think that’s reason to say no.”

“It depends on the day. Sometimes it results in her being put to bed to calm down, which means she ends up taking a rare afternoon nap, and I get some peace and quiet.”

“That’s a thing around her? She was talking to me for thirty minutes flat about what I did and didn’t like.”

“Only thirty minutes? Lucky you. She has about three hours of material of that.” I took a seat on the sofa, making sure to leave space between us for Bri. “Did she get started on hedgehogs yet?”

Peyton looked a little confused. “Hedgehogs?”

“YouTube is the devil.”

“That…was quite the jump in subject.”

I laughed as the main menu music hit on the TV. “I’m going to preface this by saying kids are weird.”

“Some get that from their parents.”

I blinked at her for a second. She wasn’t wrong if half these people who had a mini-career opening fucking toys on YouTube were parents.

“There are a bunch of stupid videos on YouTube, and apparently, watching people open toys is thrilling.”

Now, she looked really confused.

“And on one of those she watched, the person had a pet hedgehog who wasn’t having the nonsense of her opening a Hatchimal on camera, so it stole the egg.”

She blinked several times in quick succession. “I have no idea what you just said, and if I’m honest… Please don’t explain it.”

I laughed and hit play on the TV.

“Here’s your dooce-box,” Briony said, handing Peyton two. “And das mine. I can’t do the straws.”

“Oh. Right. Okay.” Peyton looked at the two juices that had been thrust at her.

Smiling, I took one from her. I pulled the straw off the back, out of the tiny plastic slip, and poked it through the foiled hole in the top. “There you go,” I said to Briony. “What do you want for dinner?”

She put the straw in her mouth and pursed her lips as she sucked the juice up. Peyton watched her, lips twitching, as she put her straw in place.

“Pizza!” Briony announced.

Oh no. I’d eaten too much pizza lately.

Was there such a thing as too much pizza?

Maybe if the toppings were changed up…

“Peydon, do you want pizza?” Bri asked, leaning right into her.

“I like pizza,” she replied, smiling sweetly down at her. “What’s your favorite?”

“I like spots and cheese.”

“Spots?”

I coughed on my water. “Pepperoni,” I explained. “They look like spots on the pizza.”

Peyton’s eyes met mine for a minute. Silent laughter shone back at me. That really was toddler logic at its finest.

“You know,” she said, looking down at Peyton. “Spots are my favorite, too!”

Once again, Briony gasped. “Reawy?”

“Really, really. I love spots.”

Oh, Jesus.

It might have been a mistake introducing these two. Not only was my daughter becoming increasingly obsessed with someone who seemed to be a brunette, adult version of her…

No, that was the problem. Peyton was the brunette, adult version of Briony, attitude and all—and if there was anything my daughter didn’t need, it was someone who could teach her a thing or ten about sarcasm.

“I’ll order pizza,” I said, going to stand.

“Oh, you got it last time. I’ll go call them.” Peyton put her juice on the side table and tried to move, but Briony stopped her.

“No. Mimi told me that only gentlemen buy dinner. Princesses sit and look priddy.”

Peyton looked down at her. “Sit and look pretty? I like to buy my own pizza sometimes, and that’s okay.”

Without missing a beat, Briony said, “Princesses sit and look priddy so the mens buying dinner don’t know dat we can kick dere butts.”

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.

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