Book Blitz: Hero Undercover, A Collection of Undercover Romances

Posted July 2, 2017 by Minx

Book Blitz: Hero Undercover, A Collection of Undercover Romances

Today I am featuring a compilation of stories titled as Hero Undercover. It is a collection of romances, some sweet and some steamy, that are all together in a pretty package. This is a great way to bring a variety of stories on your summer vacation for your reading enjoyment. For my friends who are experiencing autumn, this would be a great read for when the snow comes. ☺️


Hero Undercover: 25 Undercover Romances
Publication Date: June 27th 2017
Genres: Erotica, Romance

SUMMER IS COOLER WHEN YOU STAY UNDERCOVER!

25 New York Times, USA Today, and award-winning best-selling romance authors offer this sizzling compilation of panty-melting undercover bad boys, from swoon-worthy cowboys and alpha military men to deliciously decadent dominants. This smoking-hot collection features a wide array of stories including dark fantasies, seductive sci-fi, and erotic BDSM, all with the sweet happily-ever-afters you crave!Hundreds of pages for one unbeatable price. Turn up the AC, lie back, and escape into these brand new, red hot riveting reads.

Authors include: Annabel Joseph, Addison Cain, Renee Rose, Maggie Ryan, Maddie Taylor, Emily Tilton, Trent Evans, Jennifer Bene, Jane Henry, Sophie Kisker, Megan Michaels, Katherine Deane, Maggie Carpenter, Maisy Archer, Alyssa Bailey, Claire Conrad, Stevie MacFarlane, Piper Stone, Anya Summers, Lucy Wild, BJ Wane, A.C. Rose, April Hill, Amelia Smarts, Meredith O’Reilly

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo


Excerpts from Hero Undercover:

Revenge Served Hot by Sophie Kisker

“Sir? If I promise to obey you in every way, will you keep me safe from him?”

He took a step back, then turned away from me. I risked a glance up. His fists were clenched tight, and when I looked at the side of his face, I saw the vein that always popped out when he was stressed or upset. My question had gotten to him.

“Are you sure you’d be safer with me than with him?”

I took a moment to answer. “Yes. I am.”

He let out a breath and turned back to me.

“I’m not the man you thought you knew. I am not a nice man. I won’t promise to be fair. I will punish you sometimes just because I enjoy hearing you cry. There won’t be any safe words. And forget about any tenderness.”

My mind flashed back to my dreams. “But I’ll be alive.”

He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes.”

A weight that I didn’t realize I was holding slid off me. I had a protector on my side. Now I had to hold up my end of the deal.


The Arms I Run To by Stevie MacFarlane

J.R. watched her. God she was beautiful and oh so foolish. She was taunting him, angry because he knew all her secrets. Still, it was not necessary to put herself in any more danger than she already had. Then he did something he never did, something completely against the rules. He keyed his mic, flipped a switch that connected him to her office and only her office.

“Put is out, Miss Bradley,” he said in warning. “Smoking is bad for you.”

She laughed; a bitter sound that rubbed against his nerves like sandpaper.

“This whole place is bad for me,” she snorted indelicately. “Don’t act like you don’t know what’s going on here,” she jeered. “You’re all nothing but a pack of miserable lap dogs, spying for your master. Fuck you…whatever your name is.” Her voice trailed off as she turned away.

She heard the faint hum stop and knew he’d disconnected. Bastard! Walking to the bathroom she tossed the butt of her smoke into the toilet and flushed it away. Unfortunately the jerk was right.



 

Testimony by Maggie Ryan

“Miss Fields, you’ve been found guilty. Sentencing is over and it’s time to pay the piper.”

“Objection!” Mia squealed again when he stood, sat on the wide rim of the tub and flipped her over his knees.

“Overruled,” Damian said, slapping her left buttock.

“Ow! That hurts!” Mia cried, her hand flying back to rub her abused cheek, a bit shocked at exactly how much a simple swat could sting.

“It’s supposed to hurt,” Damian said calmly, easily avoiding her hand to add a second swat to her right cheek. “Consider it as a form of rehabilitation.”

“Wait! This is cruel and unusual punishment!”

“No, babe, cruel would have been if you’d died in that explosion. And I would have been the one punished for the rest of my life if I’d lost you.”

Mia turned her head to him, the look in his eyes causing her heart to hitch. He was right. This all could have been avoided if she’d only obeyed him. Sliding her hand from her bottom, she nodded, accepting his right to carry out the sentence. Her acquiesce didn’t make the spanking easier to take. His hand was huge and hard, but for some reason she couldn’t explain, it just felt right.


A Taste for Red by Piper Stone

“All right, asshole. Let’s see what you have.” Shanna Jacobs shoved the Glock in the pocket of her jacket, threw her leg over the Harley and buckled her helmet. She kicked the stand into the up position and revved the engine. Mr. Jerkoff thought he could get away. Well, he had another thing coming. She eased the bike out from the alley and waited, watching as he slid into the Corvette. He had no idea she was on his tail. The elusive Stoker Wilde, the perp she’d been following for a solid week, didn’t have his entourage with him. Mistake. Bad mistake.

Chuckling, she idled as he started the engine, then she rolled out to the curb. No matter where he went, she would follow.

He roared out of the parking lot, flooring the engine within seconds. She hunkered down and followed closely behind, weaving her way through the darkened city streets. How many nights had she staked out the man who her client believed was responsible for at least two deaths? How many times had he alluded her? Too many. Not tonight. She’d learned all about his weaknesses for wine and women. On this sizzling summer evening, she’d take him down singlehandedly.

Stoker picked up speed, running several red lights as he made his way out of the city. She knew his destination, had learned everything about a man believing himself to be the King. As wind whipped through her hair, she lowered her body toward the handlebars. She had one last chance to catch Stoker in illegal activities before her client walked, securing another investigator. That shit wasn’t going to happen on her watch. She was the best at what she did.

Accelerating out of the city limits he picked up speed, racing past the last of the titty bars and massage parlors, his bread and butter in criminal activity. All she had to do to complete the lucrative assignment was confirm his relationship with the most powerful man in the city. Pictures were worth a thousand words and in her case, ten thousand dollars, money she desperately needed. The prize was worth the danger.

Shanna was careful, remaining behind two cars and a van. After losing him for a few seconds, she craned her neck as he made a sharp turn. No way you’re getting away from me. Ten seconds later she made the same turn and gasped. Flashing blue lights blinded her and she skidded, the bike shifting in a perpendicular manner. She noticed the Bronco crisscrossing the road just seconds before she slammed on her breaks. Where the hell did Stoker go? “Fuck!”

 Wham!

Stars floated in front of her eyes as she rolled across the pavement. She was cognizant enough to hear her beloved Harley crash into an immovable object, the crunch matching her high-pitched scream. The mother fucker had figured out he was being tailed. Then what were the blue lights about? She landed with a hard thud. Every muscle ached like a son of a bitch. There was no way she could pass out. She’d never be seen again. Struggling to move, she managed to turn over, and dug her fingers into the dirt as she opened her eyes. She could vaguely make out a set of cowboy boots and long legs closing the distance.

“Well, well. What do we have here?”

The flashlight beam cut her vision to scattered streams of light. Shanna groaned as she pushed up from the ground. Woozy, she blinked, trying to focus and was unable to see any details of his face. “What in the hell are you doing?”

“I should ask you the same question. You’re lucky to be alive.”


 The Mercenary’s Girl by Emily Tilton

Tess hoped for one wild moment that Jack would do something. Ever since he had said the strange thing about having to make it hurt, as, trembling, she felt her panties taken down for a public whipping, Tess hadn’t been able to escape the feeling that he understood her terrible dilemma more deeply than she did herself. Now, desperately, she looked at him, filled with the certainty that he must stop this awful thing that seemed to make a mockery of Tess’ confusion and conflict, her struggle against the dark force of her relationship with Jeffrey.

Three weeks ago, when Tess had heard Jack say that he had to whip her hard, her newly-exposed pussy had clenched, and she had felt the wetness flow so urgently that her face blazed like the sun, but she had had not the faintest idea why. When he had told her to take hold of the opposite edge of the table, and begun to bring his belt down, it had felt so different from when Jeffrey had spanked her or whipped her. Something in his voice, something in the hand he laid on the small of her back, controlling her, seemed to say that while Jeffrey punished her only to take out his aggression and for an erotic thrill, Jack had something different in mind.

I have to make it hurt. That was what he had said. He had seemed to mean that he knew the necessity of complying with Jeffrey’s command that Tess be thoroughly punished for speaking out of turn. But she had never been able to rid herself of the feeling that Jack had really meant something else. She couldn’t push that feeling away even now, when he had gone to get the toy-box that held the vibrating dildo with which Jeffrey brought the girls to orgasm after disciplining them but whose other contents Tess had never known. She kept thinking, despite everything, He loves me.

“Tess, darling,” Jeffrey said in the cultured voice that always conveyed more menace than she thought the roughest lower-class accent from the London docks might have done, “take off your dress.”


A Thief for the Duke by Megan Michaels

 But then it begged the question.  How did Miss Henrietta become a street urchin, begging and stealing to eat?  Did she have a family?  These were questions he’d find answers to, unraveling the mystery of one Miss Henrietta Leticia Beaumont.

“Stop tugging at that damnable dress before you tatter it more than it already is, and look at me when I’m speaking, girl.”

“Must you always be so gruff? I’ve done nothing to incur this attitude.” Her eyes narrowed, her lips thinning. The pert tilt of her chin made him want to pinch it between his thumb and forefinger, kissing her plump, red lips—hard.

“Well, your situation says otherwise, my dear.  You actually did do something to invite both attitude and correction. First, you stole.  This is both a breaking of not only the public law but also the moral code of ethics. Second, your impertinent, sassy mouth has caused you to sit on what I’m assuming is a still very sore little bottom. If I’m wrong about this, and I’ll know in a jiffy by your continued bratty behavior, I’ll rectify the matter straight away.  But this time, Miss Ettie, I assure you there will be nothing between your arse and my hand.”

Even though it was only infinitesimally, her eyes widened before she quickly righted them again.  And damn if Charles didn’t love it, she tilted her chin up again, this time a little higher, sniffing loudly through her nose, refusing to respond.

Charles loved a good game of chess or the clash of swords, and it appeared he’d found someone to duel with.  “I tally two cheeky responses, girl.  Once we hit four, your recompense will commence. You’ve been warned.”

She shifted on the seat, and he assumed her backside was more than likely goose bumped with dread, and he delighted in the thought.  His penis stirred at the immediate visualization of her upended, her rosy bare bottom jiggling and her cunny pressed against him.   And almost simultaneously, his hand involuntarily twitched, aching to bring the fantasy to life.

“I think we should talk about the school and some of the expectations, as well as what the Magistrate has ordered for your stay, which is minimal, I may add.”


Slave for a Day: An Idan a Svali Novella by Jane Henry

“My lord, the men of the inner sanctum are not…nice men,” he says.

I clench my jaw and nod. I have already surmised as much. “Yes, of course,” I say.

“If they detect that you are treating her with kindness, they will suspect you–”

“I understand,” I interrupt. Svali’s eyes widen. I pull the chain that binds her to me and bring her ear to my mouth. “I may take you beyond where you are comfortable, lovely,” I whisper. “But I promise you two things. First, that I will do whatever I can be ensure you like it. And second, that you can always trust me.”


The Scarlet Stiletto by Maggie Carpenter

He’d just laid his trousers over the chair against the wall when he heard a gentle knock. Realizing he was still wearing his socks, he half-hopped-half-walked across the room as he pulled them off. A woman had once told him, a man in his socks and boxers was about the most unattractive thing she could imagine. Boxers and an undershirt could be sexy, but not boxers and socks. Slightly out of breath, and determined he would not be sharing Ruby’s bed, he opened the door.

“Hi,” she said softly, gazing at him, her blue eyes inviting more than a perfunctory response.

He could feel his resolve melting away. Standing before him was a Goddess cloaked in shimmering pink. The thin silky satin nightgown floating around her body highlighted every curve, her nipples were pressing urgently against the flimsy fabric, then his eyes fell to her lips, her unbelievably lusciously kissable lips.

“I want you,” she whispered, closing the foot of space between them and circling her arms around his neck. “I don’t care about what’s right or wrong, I don’t care about tomorrow morning, I don’t care about morals or virtues or any of that. I want you, I need you, and if you think badly of me, so be it. Please, Patrick, please make love to me.”

The embers burning inside him flared into a white hot flame, and swooping her up he carried her to the bed, laid her down, and resting his weight on top of her, he dropped his lips on hers. He kissed her holding nothing back, exposing his hungry need as he crushed her lips, praying she would know his fervent desire for her was based on more than just lust, and when he finally broke away, his heart was pounding, his cock was standing at full attention, and he was completely breathless. Raising his gaze he found her panting as he was, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes half-lidded. For a moment he thought she was about to speak, but she didn’t, instead moaning her pleasure and raising her chest, silently begging his lips to visit her breasts.

He wanted to slow things down, but his burning fever had taken control, and as he traveled his mouth to her cleavage, his hands moved to the thin spaghetti straps resting on her shoulders. Sliding them down, exposing her luscious mounds, he dove his mouth from one nipple to the next, hungrily sucking as he listened to her utterances of joy, then hastily sliding off her gown and tossing it aside, he pushed his fingers into her naked sex. She cried out and wriggled against his touch, and as he thrust his finger into her soaked strait, he heard himself groan. Rising up he tore off his undershirt and boxers, then laying back on top of her, he pushed her legs apart with his own, and rested his cock against her sex.


The Rangers Shotgun Bride by Maddie Taylor

His boot heels rang out across the wood floor as he approached. She watched as he pulled off his hat, and dropped it on one of the benches, his actions contradicting his comment that he had to go.  Before she could ask if something was wrong, he slid her book from her fingers, set it aside, and with both hands clasping hers, tugged her to her feet.

They stood close. He was so tall—an attribute she liked about him, a lot—she had to angle her head back to look up at him.  Just as she did, he bent toward her, his large palms warmly bracketing her face, and much to her surprise and great delight, he kissed her.

Soft, at first, when she moved a step closer, welcoming his advance, one arm slid around her waist, hauling her up against him as he deepened the kiss.  As he pressed her close, their bodies melded together, supple and curved to hard and well-muscled, just like in all her daydreams.  Breathless immediately, she became more so when his tongue slipped inside her mouth.  It searched out every nook and cranny, the intimacy robbing her of rational thought and making her legs limp as noodles. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, clinging to him to keep from slithering as though boneless to the floor when he lifted his lips moments later.

“Amelia, darlin’.” His husky voice rumbling low in the chest pressed hard to her breasts made them tingle more than they already were. “We’ve grown close these past few months. I want you to remember how you feel at this exact moment.”

“How could I forget?” she asked dreamily, seeing that it was the best moment of her life.

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”


 Her Protector by Annabel Joseph

He was dancing on her last nerve, and she wasn’t in the mood for a cha-cha, not after all that had happened. “Don’t come at me with your authoritative, angsty government-agent posturing.” She looked around their claustrophobic cabin. “I’m not in the mindset to put up with it.”

Far from being deflated by her scathing warning, he leaned in on bulging arms and pinned her with his gaze. “Sorry to be so authoritative, Cracky, but I’m in charge of your safety.”

“Did you just call me Cracky?”

“Until we get the all-clear from the DOD, you’re under my protection.”

“I didn’t ask for your fucking protection!”

His blue eyes darkened as he frowned. “I asked you not to use coarse language, Miss Park. Here are the rules of our sojourn together, which you will follow whether you like it or not.”

As she spluttered in irritation, he leaned an elbow on the table and ticked off each order on his fingers. “Number one, we respect each other. That’s non-negotiable. Number two, no leaving this cabin, not for any reason. Number three, no contact with the outside world. You can’t leave any physical or digital footprint that might be traced.”

“But my friends, my parents, when they can’t reach me—”

“We’ve left an outgoing message on your voicemail and email, letting everyone know that you’ve taken an impromptu cruise to the Bahamas. Wyckoff’s watching your apartment and picking up your mail. If anyone gets suspicious, the security division will take care of it. They know how to make it look like people aren’t missing.”

“This is bullshit. All of this is utter, freaking craziness.”

He sighed. “Language. This is your third warning.”

“My third warning?” She snorted. “I know you’re old, but you’re not my dad. You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I can, to an extent. I’m your commanding officer right now, and I make the rules.”

“What if I don’t follow your rules?” Rowan sassed, not quite recklessly enough to add an expletive. “What happens then? A court martial?”

She could see, visually see, some last tendon of patience snap behind his patrician regard. “If you keep pushing me, you’re going to end up over my lap, getting taught some manners for both our sakes. And it won’t be one of those fun spankings you perv on your phone in the break room. It’ll be the kind that makes you wish for a court martial instead…”


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