FOUR
red-hot stories about the bad, wicked and twisted characters of Briarcrest
Academy, featuring a dirty-talking gym owner, a football player, a sexy rock
star, and a British bad boy.
Bad Wicked Twisted: A
Briarcrest Academy Box Set is
EXCERPT
Nora
“I’d
like to sleep for a hundred years, wake up and try again.”
– Nora Blakely
“Drop
the paint and turn around slowly with your hands in the air.” The loud command
was said with a deep voice. “I’ve got a gun, asshole, so move nice and slow.”
I bent over and placed the can on the
pavement. I started to turn when— “I said put your hands in the air!” he
yelled.
I yanked my hands up and eased around
to face the owner of the voice.
He was about ten feet away from me,
standing six feet and then some. He was missing a shirt but wearing a pair of
black athletic shorts and flip-flops. Judging by his disheveled dirty blond
hair and bloodthirsty eyes, I’d have to guess this might be the owner of the Escalade.
And I’d just woken him up.
He came closer to me, and my eyes were
immediately drawn to his green-and-blue dragon tattoo. Like a giant snake, the
scaled body of the dragon wrapped around his forearm and bicep with the neck
coming down from his shoulder and the head resting on his broad chest. Red
flames poured from its mouth, between laser sharp teeth.
This guy looked medieval.
I pictured him as a rugged Viking,
wearing a horned helmet and gripping a spear instead of a gun. Maybe holding a
shield instead of his flashlight and definitely wearing some of those laced-up
leather boots. The word berserker (from
round two of the famous spelling bee) came to mind, and I rolled the syllables
around my tongue . . . ber-serk-er.
Yep, that was him alright: one pissed off Norse warrior.
I grinned at my amazing analogy
because, well, I was trashed.
“You think this is funny, son?” he
snapped.
I shook my head, suddenly aware that
this was really happening, that I’d been caught, and an angry car owner was
pointing a gun at me. And he thought I was a boy.
“That’s what I thought. Now, what the
hell are you doing out here messing with my car?” he said, biting out the words
through clenched teeth.
I said nothing.
“You’ve got twenty seconds before I
call the cops,” he said, stepping closer.
And then it happened.
Everything clicked in my head, and I
knew him. He was the one, the
gorgeous guy from the open house whose gaze had been the glue that held me
together in the parking lot. I forgot about the gun and got tangled up in my
thoughts, remembering the countless times I’d played out the memory of our eyes
clinging to each other, how I’d wanted to jump out of my car, get into his and
just drive away. I flicked my eyes back at the Escalade, dimly remembering he’d
driven a black car. I really hadn’t paid much attention to it that day because
all I’d seen had been him.
“Ten seconds,” he yelled, blasting his
light full in my face until bright spots were floating in front of my eyes.
“Get that off me,” I snapped, swaying a
little.
He lowered the light a miniscule bit.
“Drunk and disorderly plus vandalism
are two misdemeanors. Looks like you’re going to jail.”
“S’kay with me. Put me in jail,” I said
weakly. But even as I said the words, I knew I was lying. I wasn’t a minor
anymore, and I could kiss Princeton goodbye if I got arrested.
Nausea reared its ugly head and my
stomach began to roll.
“Five seconds,” he retorted.
I bent over and hurled, missing my
shirt but not my adored cowboy boots. After that, I dry heaved, and the force
made my legs buckle, making me take a header straight on the concrete, the side
of my face slamming into the wet pavement. My ball cap fell off in the
craziness, my long hair spilling out over the wet ground.
“Holy shit,” he muttered, easing the
gun down, “you’re a fucking girl.”
“Last time I looked,” I whispered,
running my tongue across my teeth to check for chips. I scooted myself away
from the mess I’d made and reached up to touch my face to see if I was
bleeding. There wasn’t any blood, but I could feel my temple swelling. I put a
hand on the car and pulled myself up. My knees were on fire, and when I looked
down, I saw the concrete had ripped through my jeans and blood was dripping
down my legs.
He cursed, pulled a phone from his
pocket and dialed a number. “Sebastian, it’s all good. No, no cops. Yeah, come
on out here. I might need some help.”
A door slammed, and a younger version
of the man, probably around my age, came around the corner, his long legs
striding briskly. He stopped in front of the graffiti I’d drawn and whistled
loudly. “Oh baby, those pretty hearts and flowers are rocking your ride, Leo.”
He chuckled and then stopped when his eyes took me in. “Whoa, she’s bleeding.
Did you beat her up?”
The guy called Leo rubbed his scruffy
jaw. “I don’t hit girls. She fell.”
“She’s hurt,” the young guy stated,
frowning. He stared at me with a puzzled expression and then grinned and slapped
his leg. “Hot damn. It’s her,” he
said in a loud whisper. “You know? Nora? From registration?”
“Yeah. I see that,” Leo said, his eyes
searching my face.
“I see no official introductions are
necessary. Everyone knows me now as the girl with the potty mouth,” I said,
leaning completely against the car, smearing the yellow paint everywhere.
The younger one came to my side. “You
okay?”
I focused on him and decided I liked
him. He had an open face that made me think he laughed a lot, so when I felt
myself swaying again, I reached out to him.
“Watch it,” he said gently and grabbed
my shoulders to steady me.
Leo walked over and loomed beside me, a
disapproving look on his face as he watched us. I shifted closer to the one
he’d called Sebastian, but stumbled and lost my balance, falling down again on
my knees. Shit. This night had gone downhill fast.
Sebastian kneeled down next to me and
looked over at Leo. “Hey, how ’bout I carry her inside so she can get cleaned
up?”
Leo let out an exasperated breath.
“Ridiculous,” he muttered. “She ruins my car, and you want to invite her
inside? You’d feel different if it had been your Beamer, Sebastian.”
Sebastian gave my shoulder a reassuring
squeeze. “She’s my classmate, bro, and I think she’d just drunk.”
Leo let out a grunt. “Whatever. Fine,
I’ll get her, and you get the backpack. And don’t forget the spray paint.” He walked
over and glared down at me. “If I call the police later, we’ll need the
evidence.”
Then, without any effort at all, he
swept me up, his hard arms slipping under my knees and around my back as he
scooped me off the ground.
And just like that, the night caught up
with me, and I nestled into his bare chest, feeling like I had come home. He
smelled so good, like—
“Butterscotch,” I mumbled, turning my
nose into him.
“What?” he grumbled, carrying me inside
the glass doors.
I didn’t answer because I was too busy
laying my cheek against his hot skin and staring into the crystalline eyes of
his dragon.
He took me down a long hall with
several doors on each side and past a large workout room with treadmills,
ellipticals, and free weights. “Hold on,” he said and adjusted his grip on my
legs and started up a wide staircase that opened to a spacious loft area. He
carried me past a den area and a kitchen and into a large white-tiled bathroom.
I suppose I was too wet for any other room. And I wasn’t exactly a welcome
guest.
He sat me on the toilet seat, made sure
I was steady, and eased away from me. Maybe he wanted me to sit, but I didn’t.
I jumped up, went over to the sink and turned the water on. He stood there, his
broad shoulders tense, watching me as I splashed cool water on my face and
rinsed out my mouth. I grabbed a hand towel and dried off, wishing I wasn’t
intoxicated.
“Tell me why you vandalized my car,” he
stated, crossing his muscled arms and spreading his legs, his stance making it
obvious he was pissed. The tension heightened in the small room as we stared at
each other, and I tore my eyes from his to sit back down on the toilet seat,
not knowing how to answer him. I would only sound crazy.
He tapped his fingers against his legs.
“What’s your parent’s phone number? And don’t think of lying because I can
always look it up online. I know who you are.”
“There’s no point in calling them. They
aren’t home. They never are,” I said, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and
cleaning off my boots. My throat tightened painfully at the thought of my
parents, and I soothed myself by counting the tiles on the floor.
He didn’t speak and several seconds
passed, and I tensed up more, fearing that like Mother, he excelled in using
silence. But no one was better than Mother, who’d once refused to speak to me
for an entire month when I’d come in second at a debate competition. During the
first week of that horribly quiet time, I’d followed her around, begging her to
talk to me. She’d ignore me and say to my dad, “Silence is golden.” As the weeks had progressed, I’d learned her
silence was her speech, her way of
saying I was worthless.
“Please don’t call my parents,” I
added, hiding my shaking hands behind my back.
He tightened his mouth. “Fine, who can
I call to come get you?”
“Don’t hold it against Portia from the
bakery across the street, but she’s my aunt. I’m staying with her.” I dug my
phone out of my wet jeans, scrolled down to her number, and handed it to him.
Our fingers brushed when he took my
phone, and I jerked, shocked at the unexpected sizzle of heat sweeping over my
body. He pocketed my phone and then opened the medicine cabinet, gazing into it
for a long time without moving, like he was considering what to do next. I
watched him warily, wondering what he had planned for me. Finally, he sighed
and pulled out hydrogen peroxide and a handful of gauze.
“Sebastian has a change of clothes you
can borrow, and you’ll need an ice pack for your face. It’s going to leave a
bruise,” he told me as he bent down to touch my temple with his long fingers.
He cleaned my face with cold water and then dabbed it with the hydrogen
peroxide, his touch surprisingly gentle even though I could sense his anger
just under the surface.
In the bright lights of the bathroom, I
let my gaze run over him freely, taking him in, not missing how beautiful he
was. He had an unyielding face, with a jaw line that looked like it could
chisel granite, matching his well-built, defined body. Yet even with all the
hotness in front of me, the one thing that made my heart fly was his icy
pale-blue eyes. This close up I could see how the light, almost transparent
color contrasted with his tan face, making his eyes glow like the precious
opals I’d studied about in science. And right now they were focused entirely on
me as he scrutinized my bruise.
“Is this your gym?” I asked, trying not
to wince as he patted my temple.
“Yes,” he said, tossing the used gauze
into the trash, his arm muscles rippling. He stood up and raked a hand through
his wavy blond hair, holding it there as he studied me with those piercing
eyes. I returned his look, my breath kicking up a notch at how sexy his naked
chest was, how his dragon tattoo seemed to slither and slide over his chest as
he moved. My eyes moved down to his taut abs and the way his shorts barely hung
to his lean waist, hinting at what was underneath.
Of course, while I’m buzzing, I
remembered my bad list and grew curious about having sex with him. Would he be gentle or demanding?
Would he like me on top or would he get behind me? Would I enjoy it?
But it didn’t matter if I got off as
long as he made me forget.
Forgetting was the important part.
It had been months since I’d had sex
with someone. Not since that wild weekend in New York with Drew. Even though
our relationship had ended badly, I still remembered the sex and how good it
had felt to be held by someone. Like I wasn’t alone, like someone cared about me.
I needed a night like that again, to
lose myself in sex. I wanted this Viking.
I gave him a fake smile. “Leo’s a great
name. Guess you know it means lion.
It also means bold one. Are you
bold?” I said in a low tone, reaching out to stroke his arm.
He jerked away from me, like I’d
scalded him, but it didn’t deter me. True, I was a little younger than him, but
what guy would turn down a no-strings-attached night? Drew hadn’t.
I stood up and toed my boots off. “How
old are you?” I asked.
“Too old for you,” he quickly retorted.
“I’m not a virgin, you know. I’ve been
with other guys, some good at fucking, some not.” I let my eyes run over him
slowly. “You’re older which means more experienced. I bet you’d blow them right
out of the water,” I said, putting it all out there and letting bad Nora take
over completely.
“I don’t care how many douchebags
you’ve fucked,” he said with a hard face, his eyes gleaming with distaste.
I felt some of my false bravado slip
away, but not enough to stop. He was what I needed tonight. I began unbuttoning
my shirt, and his eyes followed my progress. “You tell me your age and I’ll
tell you mine,” I said in the best teasing voice I could muster.
I undid the last button and shrugged
out of my shirt, relieved I’d worn the black lace bra. “You like?”
He yanked a towel from the shelf near
the door and tossed it in my face. “Cover up, Nora. I don’t do spoiled, rich
girls.”
I caught the towel and held it against
me, ignoring that remark. Those types of insults never affected me.
Not when you hear them every day.
“If you won’t tell me your age, I’ll
just have to figure it out on my own. And I’m guessing you’re at least
twenty-five, maybe twenty-six?” I said.
He shook his head and clenched his
fists, not answering me.
I took a deep breath, dropped the towel
to the floor and unclasped my bra, letting my size C breasts fall out. Even
though I’d been a pudgy most of my life, I’d blossomed into a girl with
generous curves. He seemed to like what he saw because he didn’t look away. I
glanced down at my erect nipples and lightly touched one with my fingertip,
surprised by the desire I felt. I brought my eyes back to his face, imagining
his tongue on me.
A muscle jerked in his tight jaw.
I dropped my hand and steeled myself to
keep on toward the goal. “Of course, it’s getting harder to tell someone’s age
now because people take better care of themselves, like you with your tight
abs. But, if you study someone long enough, you’ll find out their secrets.”
“I don’t have any,” he ground out,
tearing his eyes from my body.
“We all do.”
He rubbed his hand across his mouth as
his eyes swept over my breasts again. “You don’t know jack about me.”
I studied him, my brain picking through
what I’d observed tonight. “Well, you own your own business, so you’re a
responsible person. And, I bet you a new pair of boots you’re the guardian of
the young man out there, who has to be your brother because he looks just like
you. I think your parents are out of the picture.”
I unsnapped my jeans, shimmied them
pass my skinned knees, and tossed them in the trash. “You’ve also shown
self-control tonight that’s impressive. Someone less in control might have shot me on sight. In a nutshell,” I
said, taking off my black panties, “you’re well-off, take care of a younger
brother, and keep your emotions on a tight leash. Am I right?”
He glared at me, his entire body frozen
up, like a tiger poised to pounce. Like he was going to jump on me and devour
me. I wondered if he’d eat me the way I wanted.
I couldn’t stop talking. “I’m good at
observing people: body language, mannerisms, how they talk, style of clothing,
everything. It’s a puzzle I like to put together. It’s better than Facebook
stalking,” I said with a forced shrug, trying to be casual when inside I was freaking
the hell out. What was I doing?
Why was I trying to seduce this guy?
He didn’t want me.
No one did.
His eyes burned like blue flames. “What
kind of girl strips for a guy she just met?”
A
girl with no self-respect, I thought.
I shrugged. “I need a shower, which
involves me taking my clothes off.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “You could
have waited until I left.”
I flicked my eyes at his crotch.
“You’re hard for me. You’re bigger than a tree trunk in those shorts,” I said.
“And you haven’t walked out of this bathroom. I think you’re a little
fascinated with me. I think you like watching me take my—”
“Fuck!” he barked out and spun around
to go.
“Wait, wait,” I called out, reaching
out to make him stop, needing him. Please
stay, I wanted to say.
He turned back with his fists held
tight by his side and spat out his words. “You’re a naked girl, and I’m a grown-ass man. I’m walking out of this room while I
still can.”
But he made no move to leave, and it
gave me a tiny bit of hope.
“I . . . I just
wanted to know how old you are.”
“Twenty-five. I’m twenty-five,” he
muttered, “and you’re jailbait and not my type.”
“What type is that?” I asked.
“Girls who aren’t in high school. In
other words—not you.”
And as we stood there, facing each
other, I waited for him to make his move, to snatch me up and take me to his
bed like I wanted.
But he didn’t, because I wasn’t good
enough or pretty enough or smart enough.
I was never enough.
I cleared my throat and powered on.
“Eighteen isn’t jailbait.”
We stared at each other and the longer
our eyes held, the more I knew my boundaries were gone. It seemed like there
was nothing I wouldn’t say to him. Even though my insides were quaking with
nerves, I went over to him until our bare chests were only inches apart. I was
five feet ten inches, and he was at least six inches taller, making him the
tallest guy I’d ever stood next to. Not only that, but his body was built like
an NFL football player, with lethal yet lickable muscles. I liked being near
him. I felt safe, like no one would ever hurt me again.
My eyes caressed the dragon on his
chest, and I wanted to trace it with my tongue. I thought about how warm his
skin would be, how it would feel to have his strong arms wrap around me as I
kissed his sensuous lips. When his breathing accelerated along with mine, I
knew I wasn’t completely alone in my feelings. I searched his eyes, surprised
at the new sensations coursing through me.
I pressed myself against him
completely, and he hissed at the contact. “Don’t you want to touch me?” I
whispered, rubbing my breasts against his chest to get some friction.
He gripped my arms and shoved me away
from him. “You’re playing with fire. You think you want this?” He laughed
darkly. “Buttercup, you can’t handle me.”
And with those words, he pivoted around
and stomped out of the room, slamming the door hard behind him.
Blurb
Each book in the
Briarcrest Academy series is written as a stand-alone love story following a
new couple.
1: VERY
BAD THINGS (Nora and Leo)
2: VERY
WICKED BEGINNINGS (Dovey and Cuba--prequel novella)
3: VERY
WICKED THINGS (Dovey and Cuba)
4. VERY TWISTED THINGS (Violet and Sebastian)
VERY BAD THINGS (Amazon Top 5 Book and #1 in New Adult
and College Age Romance)
Leaving behind her
mansion and Jimmy Choos, Nora Blakely becomes a girl hell-bent on pushing the
limits with alcohol, drugs, and meaningless sex.
Then she meets her
soulmate, but he doesn’t want her.
Sexy gym owner Leo
Tate has one rule: never fall in love…until Nora shows up with her list of bad
things. He resists the pull of their sizzling connection, hung up on their age
difference.
Welcome to Briarcrest
Academy, where the best things in life are VERY BAD THINGS.
VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS (Prequel Novella: Amazon Top 100 Book
and #1 in Urban Fiction)
When wicked ballerina
Dovey Beckham meets football star Cuba Hudson, she didn’t plan on having her
heart shattered into a million pieces. He’s the bad boy with a dark past and
when he falls for Dovey, he knows she can’t be part of his future.
Welcome to VERY
WICKED BEGINNGINGS.
VERY WICKED THINGS (Amazon Top 100 Book and #1 in Urban
Fiction)
Dovey Beckham is a
ballerina from the wrong side of the tracks with a scholarship to prestigious
Briarcrest Academy. She gives her body but never her heart. Cuba "Hollywood" Hudson is a wealthy football
player with fast cars and even faster girlfriends.
Until
the day he meets her, and she offers
him something he's never tasted: true
love.
Their passion is
electric, their connection deep, but once in a lifetime kind of love doesn't
come easy, especially when dirty money, past sins, and old flames come calling.
Welcome
to Briarcrest Academy…where the best things in life are Very Wicked Things.
VERY TWISTED THINGS
(Amazon Top 100 and #1 Urban Fiction)
Violet
St. Johns is a talented violinist hiding out in a Hollywood mansion, struggling
to forget the devastation of her parent’s sudden death.
Vital
Rejects front man Sebastian Tate never imagined his music video would go viral,
skyrocketing him to instant fame. Okay, maybe he did. He’s a cocky dude, and he
knew his name would be in lights someday.
When he
sees the elusive girl in the mansion next door playing her violin nude, they begin an erotic game of
spying.
When
they finally come face-to-face, sparks fly and clothes comes off. But giving
his heart to a girl isn’t Sebastian’s plan; falling for a guy who craves
attention isn’t Violet’s.
Welcome
to Briarcrest Academy….Hollywood style….where the best things in life are VERY
TWISTED THINGS.
Praise
for the Briarcrest Series:
"Cuba
is hot, delicious, and intoxicating...the perfect book boyfriend. Be prepared
for an addictive read." ~Tijan, NYT
Bestselling Author
Meet Ilsa
Madden-Mills!
New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa
Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes
you just want to slap.
She's addicted to all things fantasy,
including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations
include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder
(seriously hot), astronomy (she's a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.
She has a degree in English and a
Master's in Education.
When she's not pecking away on her
computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight
in sushi.
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