Ruled written by Anne Marsh
Genres: Contemporary Romance
Series: Hard Riders MC, #1
Published by Harlequin Dare
Publication Date: February 1st 2018
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The Rebel vs. The Princess
Complete opposites who share the same burning passion!
Jaxon Brady of the Hard Riders MC has sworn to protect Evie Kent from a rival gang. His hard muscles and black leather motorcycle boots are a sharp contrast to the girlie dresses Evie wears for her successful party-planning business. Their instant attraction is magnetic, and their lust keeps them glued to each other’s side…but is it a dangerous distraction?
Copyright © 2018 Ruled by Anne Marsh
I have to be more cautious. From the rising volume of the squeals emanating from the backyard, cake consumption has concluded and the party will be wrapping up as the sugar highs hit, the early departers fleeing past my RV parked out front. Spotting the princess in an R-rated embrace with a biker would be bad for my business. You can’t be a dirty girl and host children’s birthday parties for a living. The moms will kill you. Fortunately, the moms aren’t mind readers. I’m only a party-perfect princess on the outside. Riding anywhere with Rev would be career suicide.
My bad voice promptly weighs in. But only if you get caught.
“I don’t do bikers.”
Something flashes across Rev’s face. “You don’t get hurt on my watch. I promise.”
“You’re not an ax murderer?”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the wallet attached to his belt by a silver chain. Silently, he flips it open and holds it out so I can read his driver’s license. There’s a military ID underneath it, too, the kind of card that gets you into Nellis Air Force Base.
“Your name isn’t Rev.” According to the State of Nevada’s laminated plastic, he’s one Jaxon Brady.
“Road name,” he says tersely.
I examine the license again. He’s also turning thirty-three in four weeks. I bet he won’t be booking a celebratory princess party.
“Wow.” I hand back his wallet. “Former navy?”
He nods, as if it’s no big deal. “SEAL. You’d be safe with me.”
He’s not big on talking. Or negotiating, asking, or sweet-talking. I’ve always trusted my instincts, though, and right now they’re on board with Rev Brady. Completely, totally, 100 percent in favor of getting on this man’s bike and riding off with him. Somewhere. Wherever he wants to go. He’s big and strong and tempting. He’s fought for our country and kept everyone safe.
How bad can he be?
The little voice in my head pipes right up. How bad do you want him to be?
That voice needs a gag.
“Think about it,” he says and then he turns and saunters toward his bike. I stand there, watching his ass the whole way, and wondering why I don’t mind his attitude. He’s scary as shit. He’s not Mr. White Picket Fence and he’s not promising happily ever after, but the man has a fantastic butt and I’m lonely. That’s all it is. I need to get out more, need to make a point of seeing someone.
Anyone else. There are absolutely, positively no bikers anywhere in my future.
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