Publication date: January 22nd 2019
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Heath was never my brother.
Nor my step brother, or any other relation our family tried to impose on us.
He was always just Heath, and at the end he was my Heath.
Ten years ago he disappeared, and within three years of his absence he’d taken over Hollywood.
The world my father built.
The world he wasn’t good enough for.
The world he’d been denied when he was told he couldn’t have me.
Now he’s back, and he only wants one thing…to take it all.
Hollywood King is Wuthering Heights crashed into the glitz and glam of Hollywood Royalty. A stand alone book with the happily ever after you always wanted for Cathy and Heathcliff.
I couldn’t take it anymore, the way she pretended I didn’t exist, as if by avoiding my gaze, peering around me, I might go away. I gripped the side of the door, my fingers digging into the formed material. “Will you look at me?”
It took almost a full minute, which crawled, until she finally tilted her head my way, still not really meeting my eyes. “Fucking look at me, Cathy.”
Her gaze shot up, and her anger clashed with mine. “Is this what you want? My attention? What does it matter? You’re going to take me home, and I’ll probably never see you again. You’ll leave like you did last time and never have to think about me again.”
Some of my anger fizzled as her look softened at the edges. “Is that what you think? I don’t want anything to do with you?”
My hand shook as I reached across the seat and grabbed her upper arm. She jerked it back, but I was stronger, dragging her across the middle seat separating us, until our thighs touched.
I lowered my voice. “Do you have any idea how much self-control it takes to stay sane around you? All I want to do it throw you across my lap and spank you until you realize you don’t need anyone but me to see to your needs.”
She jerked her arm again, but with less effort this time. When she dragged her bottom lip between her teeth, my fractured control broke. I shifted toward her and dragged her sideways over my legs as I moved.
It took seconds to work the bottom of her tight dress up her thighs and over the plump curves of her ass.
“You’re not wearing any underwear,” I said, barely recognizing the hungry edge to my own voice.
“You need a certain kind of underwear with this dress,” she explained in a whisper. The bedraggled edge of hunger in her tone matching mine spurred me on.
I laid a palm flat just where the curve of her butt met her thighs, and I traced the shape of her skin all the way to the flat of her back. The muscle dipped in so beautifully there.
“If you are going to pet me, I could get that elsewhere.”
Was she encouraging me to do this? And why in God’s name did it make me so hard? My erection pressed painfully into my belt. I was tempted to use it, let the taut leather teach her a lesson about smarting off, but not for her first time. I wanted my flesh against hers. My hand leaving red palm prints into her skin. My need and rage and yearning displayed for her later inspection.
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Monica Corwin is a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author. She is an outspoken writer attempting to make romance accessible to everyone, no matter their preferences. As a Northern Ohioian, Monica enjoys snow drifts, three seasons of weather, and a dislike of Michigan football. Monica owns more books about King Arthur than should be strictly necessary. Also typewriters…lots and lots of typewriters.