Justify Me by J. Kenner
“Kenner may very well have cornered the market on sinfully attractive, dominant antiheroes and the women who swoon for them.”
—RT Book Reviews
Justify Me, a Stark International/Masters and Mercenaries crossover novella, part of The Lexi Blake Crossover Collection by J. Kenner is LIVE!
McKay-Taggart operative Riley Blade has no intention of returning to Los Angeles after his brief stint as a consultant on mega-star Lyle Tarpin’s latest action flick. Not even for Natasha Black, Tarpin’s sexy personal assistant who’d gotten under his skin. Why would he, when Tasha made it absolutely clear that—attraction or not—she wasn’t interested in a fling, much less a relationship.
But when Riley learns that someone is stalking her, he races to her side. Determined to not only protect her, but to convince her that—no matter what has hurt her in the past—he’s not only going to fight for her, he’s going to win her heart. Forever.
Read Justify Me Today!
Amazon US: https://amzn.to/2EuJUGT
Amazon Universal: http://mybook.to/JustifyMe
Google Play: https://bit.ly/2GKKRN6
The Lexi Blake Crossover Collection features a new novel by Lexi Blake and five books by some of her favorite writers:
Lexi Blake – Close Cover
Larissa Ione – Her Guardian Angel
J. Kenner – Justify Me
Corinne Michaels – Say You Won’t Let Go
Carly Phillips – His to Protect
Susan Stoker – Rescuing Sadie
Read the Entire Collection
1001 Dark Nights: http://www.1001darknights.com/books/crossover-collection/
I’m still thinking of Aly’s ridiculous bet later that evening as I feel the leather mold to my ass when I bend to scratch Pumpkin behind the ears. A ginger-colored mutt of a cat, I’d found her hiding behind a dumpster when I’d gone to look for packing boxes before moving into my current Studio City rental. She’s now the most pampered indoor cat in Southern California, and at the moment, she’s annoyed with me for not picking her up to cuddle.
“I’m sorry, baby.” She’s a kneader, and I don’t want to risk her claws in the pristine leather—or on my bare shoulder, for that matter. “Come on. I’ll open a can of tuna.”
I see her ears twitch—I know she can understand me—but she’s in a pissy enough mood that she doesn’t follow me to the kitchen. Not, that is, until I start to run the can opener. Then the lure of tuna overcomes her annoyance and she trots into the kitchen, does a figure-eight between my legs, then parks herself by her Miss Kitty placemat that I keep by the sliding glass door that leads into the backyard.
I hear her purr as I put the plate down and know that all is forgiven.
Too bad all problems can’t be solved as easily.
Since I’m in the kitchen anyway, I open the fridge and pull out an already open bottle of Chardonnay. I tell myself I only want a drink because it’s late summer and the house is warm and I’m decked out in meteorologically inappropriate leather.
Which is ridiculous.
I want a drink because I’m going to a BDSM club.
Or, more accurately, because I’m going to a BDSM club with Riley.
I fill the glass, toss back a long swallow, and for about the millionth time wonder what the hell I was thinking.
That’s not a question I have time to consider, however, because the doorbell rings and my stomach pretty much drops to the floor.
That boy’s cock is going to bust right out of his jeans.
Aly’s words once again ring like klaxons in my head, and as I hurry to the front door, I can’t erase the image of faded blue denim riding low on Riley’s hips, the material hugging his thighs, and his equipment so hard that the button fly is about to burst. Oh, dear Lord in heaven.
By the time I reach the door my mouth is dry and I’ve decided to murder my best friend.
As soon as my hand reaches the doorknob, I hesitate, remembering not only the situation, but the town I live in. “Who is it?”
I don’t have a peephole, something I’ve been bugging my landlord about since I moved in. And while there used to be windows on either side of the door, the glass was replaced with frosted glass bricks several owners ago, allowing light in but no prying eyes. Unfortunately, the privacy means no looking out, either.
“It’s me. Riley.”
I flip the deadbolt, unfasten the chain, and tug open the door.
Then I freeze. I absolutely, freaking freeze.
He’s standing in front of me in tight leather pants that hug every curve, enticingly revealing just how well-endowed the man truly is. I drag my gaze up, and the last bit of moisture in my mouth dries up like the Sahara. He’s wearing a matching black vest, but is shirtless underneath.
Honestly, I’m not sure how he’s finding the time to help me, because he is so incredibly ripped that he must live at a gym. Not only does he have the most perfect six-pack I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing, but there are two enticing cuts of muscle at his hips angling down like twin arrows beneath his pants, as if pointing the way to heaven.
Beads of sweat form at the back of my neck, and I’m thinking that my decision to wear only a tiny thong under my own leather was a mistake. Because, Oh. My. God.
I force my gaze the rest of the way up until my eyes reach his, and I see amusement dancing in the specks of gold.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says, the deep tones of his voice doing a number on my insides. “Are you ready?”
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.