Steamy Duets and Standalone Ultimate 12 Book Bundle
Steamy Duets and Standalone Ultimate 12 Book Bundle
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Get 12 steamy stories in one awesome bundle written by New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lane Hart!
This bundle is NOT available anywhere else, and is priced at 60% off the retail price of the individual books.
This is the perfect collection of steamy duets and standalone stories for binge readers.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “I just love these hot and steamy stories!”
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “You may as well give up the fight and prepare yourself for an all-nighter! Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “The author has given us a wonderful collection of stories that pull you into the lives of the characters and does not let go.”
Sneak Peek from Wreck Me:
“I want you,” I whisper against his lips, hinting that we should go inside. It’s like my words break our spell because he jerks clear away from me.
“We shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t…”
“Why not?” I ask, taking a step toward him to close the distance again. “You obviously want me too.” I bite my lip, remembering how he felt pressing into me.
“No. I’m too old for you and you’re Sara’s friend.”
“So?” I ask in confusion. “Neither of those things matter to me.”
- Exploited (Dark Romance)
- Redeemed (Dark Romance)
- Tainted Love (Love Potion)
- Crazy in Love (Professor/Student Romance)
- Rush (Reverse Harem Romance)
- Encore (Reverse Harem Romance)
- Haven (Bodyguard Romance)
- Logan (Boss's Daughter Romance)
- Wreck Me (Friend's Father/Age Gap Romance)
- Indiscretion (Age Gap/Forbidden Romance)
- Thrill Ride (Dark Romance)
- Let Him Reign (Paranormal Romance)
- Possessive Heroes
- Age Gap Romances
- Forbidden Love
Exploited & Redeemed
The fate of one innocent woman rests in the hands of an assassin, but she's the only one who holds the answers he desperately needs. Get ready for a wild ride that will leave you breathless!
After a series of unfortunate events leads Josie Carter to her local auto shop, she’s floored by the hot, cranky mechanic. Could Lawson be the man of her dreams or is he too good to be true?
Crazy in Love
Professor Daughton is the type of man I’ve always dreamed of marrying. He’s smart, funny and so hot it hurts to look at him three hours a week during his lecture. I’ve had a huge crush on him all semester; but now that I’m certain he’s my soulmate, I have to convince him we’re meant to be together.
Skyler’s had a crush on football star, Graham Lawson, for years. So when he asks her to come stay with him and his roommates to tutor him and help him save his college career, she jumps at the chance. Sky has no idea that she’s about to embark upon a summer she’ll never forget and fall in love over and over again.
Tessa was only supposed to help the rock band Malus find inspiration for their new album. When she starts falling for all four of the sexy
musicians, she puts her job with the record label on the line. Will she
accomplish her assignment of bringing the four men together, or will the band crumble and fall apart all because of her...
Haven Ward is more than just the bodyguard to a billionaire’s daughter. He believes Mackenzie Stiles was always meant to be his to protect. But not even Haven is strong enough to save her from her own demons.
After workaholic Logan Davenport is sent to rescue his boss’s daughter from her latest fiasco, he discovers that being a boring lawyer is not nearly as exciting as being Brayden’s knight in shining armor. When he starts to fall for her, he tries to remind himself that she’s completely off limits. Too bad his heart didn’t get that memo.
Brody can't stay away from his daughter's friend, even though he knows he should. After just a week, Riley leaves him wanting more but at what cost?
How can something that feels so right ever be wrong? Doctor Grant Matthews doesn’t care what anyone says, loving Sam wasn’t a mistake. The only mistake he ever made was letting the wrong person see the two of them together. And once he's a free man again, Grant will do whatever it takes to get Sam back.
On her wedding day, Libby Price was kidnapped by a man from her past. She hasn't seen Hendrix Blake in over three years, and the two didn't end things on the best terms. Now, she's locked inside of a limousine with the wanted criminal who broke her heart, and Hendrix doesn't plan to let Libby go until she admits that she's still in love with him.
Let Him Reign
Born a prince of the underworld, Frederick Coughlin III is forced to stop running from his legacy after his father is murdered and all hell breaks loose around him. Little does Eric know that the key to his future just might be a woman from his past.
CLICK HERE TO READ AN EXCERPT
CLICK HERE TO READ AN EXCERPT
Before I can gather the courage to walk back inside the pawn shop, the sparkly chrome from a beautiful motorcycle parked on the curb in front of the Audi catches my
eyes. It looks so familiar to the only other one I’ve ever seen before in real life. A classic Harley-Davidson, there’s even the same red flames and black leather padded seat like the one I remember seeing my mother sitting against once. Just once, when he was dropping her off, and I was playing outside with my
babysitter. My mother had looked…happy. No, more than happy. It was like she was elated either because of the ride on the bike or because of the man she had her arms wrapped around. The memory always stayed with me since it was the first time I ever saw that look on her face. And the last.
Without thinking, my fingertips reach out and stroke the fading flame closest to me.
“Get your fucking hands off my bike,” a gruff voice bellows from behind me, causing me to jerk away from the Harley and scramble back up on the sidewalk. Looking
over my shoulder, I see the smoker coming out of the store, the one who looks up to no good. His eyes are narrowed, and the look on his face says he’s considering breaking all the bones in my hand as punishment for daring to touch
his baby. Instead of running away, I hold his icy blue gaze as he comes closer and lift my chin. Someone should punish me. I deserve to be beaten bloody and left for dead after what I’ve done. Why not let him do it? It would save me from having to do it myself.
When he simply continues to stare at me, only a foot of space between us, I place the plastic bag containing my new gun into my kitty messenger bag before I do the unthinkable. Something completely out of character for the old, scaredy-cat Blair. New Blair, the courageous one, who only has a few hours left before she blows her brains out, turns around, grabs the handlebar and throws her leg over
the leather seat. And then, because I can’t prevent it, I smile. The expression on the big, bad dude’s face is too funny, a mixture of shock and rage. There’s also what could be lust; but since I haven’t ever been around many normal men before, I could be wrong.
“Are you out of your fucking mind, little girl?” he finally asks, making me want to giggle since he hit the bullseye. I am out of my fucking mind. The words are there, right on the tip of my tongue. Having never said a swear word or any word, for that matter, in over ten years,
the urge to do so in this moment is so strong I barely resist. I want to say fuck and say it often, especially when referring to my own mental health.
I am royally fucked up in the head. There’s no other way to describe it.
“Get the fuck off my bike!” the man roars. He’s definitely a man who uses the F-word a lot, I bet, reminding me of the dirty talking sailor from last night. It must
be nice, freeing, to be able to say whatever you want. That’s not a pleasure I’ll ever know since the last time I spoke ended with my mother being brutally murdered in front of me, during which I screamed until my throat was so sore I couldn’t decipher my screams from hers.
Right now, I should probably be afraid of this man’s threatening tone, but the look on his brutal face has softened; and I’m not sure how, but I just know that he’s not really
upset. He’s amused and…something else. Likely annoyed because I didn’t follow his command. It’s hard to tell since all the brown fuzz covers his mouth and the lower half of his face, blocking most of his expression. My theory that he’s annoyed is confirmed when he flicks his cigarette, stomping it out with
his boot before his hands go to his hips, and he blows out a frustrated breath.
“Fine, you want a ride, sweetheart? I’ll give you a fucking ride.” With that pronouncement, he strolls over with the casual gait of a confident, ruthless predator. “Move,” he says with a raised eyebrow, pointing to the padded passenger seat behind me. I squirm backward until my back hits the bar, and then I watch in awe as he throws his long, denim leg over the seat in one swift, sexy
Sexy? Scary, yes. But sexy? I guess I have a fetish for bearded bikers in leather. Oooh! I wonder if he has any tattoos! I could ask him…
“You better hang on tight, little girl,” he says over his shoulder before he stands up and jumps. The powerful machine under my ass sputters to life. Not wanting to get thrown off, I wrap my arms around his waist, trying to get a good grip on the smooth material of his jacket. Giving up, I clasp my hands together.
Only when he guns the engine, pulling away from the curb, do I realize neither of us is wearing helmets. Which for me is not a big deal. I would guess that cracking my head on the pavement would be a quick, painless way to die. But for him, does he have a death wish too?
I answer my question a few minutes later based on the speed and recklessness at which the man drives. Maybe he’s trying to scare me into crying Uncle, fearing
for my life. He’s obviously underestimated my own value of self-worth. Besides, riding with him is freaking amazing! I feel so…free.
“Had enough?” he asks over his shoulder at one of the red lights he stops for, instead of running like the three before it. In response to his question, I press my cheek to the back of his smooth leather jacket, and boa constrict my
arms around his waist until he chuckles and taps on my arm for me to let up. His laugh is such a rich, carefree sound, unlike his appearance. It’s the sound
of a man I can imagine with less facial hair, relaxing on a warm beach.
“I need food,” he grumbles. My stomach growls its agreement.
Without warning, he makes a U-turn. That’s the first time he actually does nearly scare
the shit out of me. The bike tips dangerously to the side before he rights it again, and then we’re flying down the highway at what feels like a hundred miles an hour. I duck my head against his back to keep the splintering wind out of my face, even though I love the liberating sensation, like we’re almost flying.
When we eventually slow to a stop, it’s to park in a row of a dozen other
motorcycles, Harleys to be specific. I have a feeling anyone who pulled up here on one of those crotch rockets would have a tough time getting in the door.
Holding on to his shoulders, I throw my leg over, climbing off first, and try to run my fingers through my long, tangled hair. Giving up, I just pull it all back and tie it with the hair bow around my wrist.
“You look like you could use a few meals, skinny minny,” he says before his calloused palm grabs my stomach that’s exposed because of my hands raised to my hair. He gives a harsh squeeze to my mid-section. Then his hand slips away, and he strolls lazily over to the bar’s
Finished with my messy bun, I smooth my shirt back into place and even glance down to examine my stomach that feels different, warmer
like it remembers his touch because it was branded into my skin. Or maybe that’s what skin-to-skin contact always feels like with a man. It’s not like I would know, having never experienced it before. But the sensation is nice and apparently addictive, since I already
crave more of his abrasive touch.
“You coming?” he asks, causing my eyes to glance over to where he’s holding open the bar door. “You’re letting all the cool air out.”
I somehow get my feet moving, although they still feel shaky and unstable from the vibrations of the bike or from his calloused hand on the soft skin of my stomach, I’m not sure which.
Inside, the bar is just as I expected. It reeks of smoke and booze, and loud rock music threatens to cause permanent deafness to my ears. The bottoms of my sandals
stick to the floor, and men with even more facial and body hair than the guy I’m with are sitting on stools at the bar or at small, rickety wooden tables, indulging in both bad habits. Even if I were blind I would feel their heated stares on me, hooded eyes lowered to my breasts and ass. Their perverted thoughts about
my body are nearly palpable, and I…like it. To be wanted, especially sexually, is exciting after being cast aside, removed from society for ten long, lonely years. After my mom died, no one gave a shit about me. No one loved me. Hell, no one even liked me, which is not surprising since I don’t really like myself either.
When we sit down at a table in the corner, my back to everyone, I look at the man across from me and study him, trying to figure out his name after he removes his dark sunglasses. Maybe I’ll just make a name up for him. He looks like he
would have a classic name to go with his young, attractive face that’s hidden under several inches of forest. His hair is longer on top and neat and tidy on the sides in contradiction. It was actually smoothed over to the side before our ride if I remember correctly. Now it’s sticking up and messy in a cute sort of way. But back to guessing his name, I think Jack or Thomas fits him. Or maybe Henry…
“Why the fuck are you staring at me?” he barks so suddenly that I startle out of my silent evaluation. Shrugging in response to his question, I can’t hide my smile
when I look down, pretending to read the plastic menu he tossed in front of me. He would probably punch me if I told him that I bet he’s attractive under his mountain man disguise.
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