Emma Hart is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over thirty novels and has been translated into several different languages.

She is a mother, wife, lover of wine, Pink Goddess, and valiant rescuer of wild baby hedgehogs.

Emma prides herself on her realistic, snarky smut, with comebacks that would make a PMS-ing teenage girl proud.

Yes, really. She's that sarcastic.

 

Shelby shut the door with a click and peered over at me. “What are you writing? If it’s permission to use the feather duster as a sex toy, the answer is no. Unless you buy your own, but if you haven’t figured out where the laundry room is yet, I doubt you’ll find where to buy one.”

She was as funny as a car crash, this one.

“Hilarious,” I drawled. “No, I’m making amendments as I go. I added a new rule.”

“You added a new rule?” She raised one dark eyebrow and walked over, hovering over me. “All right, what is it?”

“Decent clothes must be worn. Do you know how many times I wake up early on a morning to open the gym and find you basically in your underwear in the kitchen?”

“Basically in my underwear? Who are you seeing in the kitchen? I wear shorts and a tank top at the very least.”

“Yes, but the shorts barely cover your ass, and you’re sure as hell not wearing a bra.”

She paused, eyes glittering as she said, “And why are you looking at my ass and my boobs?”

That was an excellent question.

“Because there’s nowhere else to look!” I rushed out before my stupid cock could get any ideas. “Look, waking up in the morning can be challenging for a guy.”

She stared at me.

“I don’t need to get up for a coffee with… you know.” I motioned to my groin. “And see you half-clothed.”

She flicked her hair over her shoulder and walked to the kitchen, turning her back to me. “Why does it matter? I’m your best friend. I hardly think your little friend is remotely interested in whether or not I’m wearing a bra.”

Yeah, well, he is.

“Fine. If I have to wake up and see your perky nipples prancing around the kitchen, I’m going to stroll around in my underwear so you can get a good view of my morning glory.”

She spun, lifting up a finger. Her cheeks were flushed, and she had to swallow before she could speak. “My nipples do not prance. They are not horses.”

I grinned.

“Also, I have no desire to have anything to do with your morning erection, much less get a good view of it, thank you very much.”

“Have I told you that you’re cute when you blush?”

“Have I told you that you’d be a cute dead guy?”

I laughed, leaning back on the sofa. “C’mon, Shelbs. We need to respect each other’s privacy. You don’t want to see my cock hard over your breakfast, and I don’t want to see your nipples standing to attention when I make a coffee.”

She sighed. “Why did I ever let you move in again?”

“Because I was going to be homeless and you’re the best friend ever?”

“Mm.”



 

 

I took my coffee from the counter and scanned the room for an empty table. There wasn’t one, which killed my chances of wasting more time before I went home.

With a sigh, I checked my phone for the time and headed for the door. I was going to end up at home earlier than I’d planned, and I needed to check with my mom to make sure there wasn’t anything kinky happening somewhere in the house.

I’d considered bleaching my eyes enough in the last few weeks, thank you.

I was fairly sure I was safe because my grandfather and great aunt were coming to stay to celebrate Grandpa’s eightieth birthday. It was still a miracle my exhibitionist mother shared DNA with either of them. Unlike her, they were reserved, polite, and didn’t flash their flesh in the hopes of getting out of a speeding ticket.

Really, it was no wonder I was a walking disaster.

I pulled up my messages and clicked on my mom’s name. My thumb was poised to type the burning question of whether or not it was safe to come home when I glanced up.

And saw the car screeching to a stop, mere inches from me.

I screamed and stepped back. My heel caught on the curb, sending me toppling backward, and both my coffee and phone went flying. My cup slammed against the sidewalk, splattering hot liquid everywhere right as I managed to save my phone from certain death by concrete.

My heart was beating so fast it should have exploded, and adrenaline raced through my veins. I gripped my phone against me so tightly that the edges pressed painfully into my skin.

Oh my God.

I’d just almost died.

Maybe slightly dramatic, but I probably wasn’t far wrong. I didn’t even know I’d stepped into the road. When had that happened? Had I really been in that deep into my own little world that I hadn’t even checked for traffic?

Dear God.

How was I still alive?

The back door to the sleek, black car that somehow hadn’t run me over swung open. From my vantage position on the sidewalk, the first thing I saw was a pair of shiny, black shoes attached to legs wearing perfectly-pressed, light gray dress pants.

I dragged my gaze up from the feet, over the door of the perfectly clean car, and stared at the most beautiful man known to humankind.

Thick, dark, wavy hair covered his head, curling over his ears. Lashes the same dark shade of brown framed impossibly bright-blue eyes that regarded me with a mixture of shock and concern, and my ovaries about exploded when he rubbed a large hand over full pink lips and a stubbled, strong jaw.

“Miss—I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

Scrambling to my feet as he approached me, I tugged down the leg of my pants and grabbed my pursed. “Yes. I mean—it was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry.”

He let go of the car door, showing broad shoulders and just how well that gray suit was tailored to him, and picked up my coffee cup. “All the same, I think we can share blame. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

Just my dignity, and by this point, I was running low on it anyway.

I shifted, taking a step back. “I’m fine, really. Thank you.”

“Can I replace your coffee? Give you a ride anyway to apologize?” His expression was so earnest, his concern so genuine that I almost gave in.

Almost.

I had almost walked into the front of his car, then proceeded to embarrass myself in front of everyone on the street.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m not far from home.” I clutched my phone and purse straps a little harder. “Again, thank you, but I should be going.”

He nodded as if he understood. “Uh, miss? Did you drop something there?”

My eyes followed the direction Mr. Dreamboat was pointing. On the side of the road, tucked against the curb, was a pair of white, cotton panties with flamingos on them.

My white, cotton panties with flamingos on them.

Swallowing, I met his bright eyes and shook my head. Dear God, please don’t let me blush. “No. I’ve never seen them before.” I backed up a little more. “Thank you for not running me over.”

Mr. Dreamboat grinned, his eyes brightening with his smile. “I’d never be able to forgive myself if I’d been responsible for running over someone as beautiful as you.” He glanced toward my panties, then winked at me.

There was no doubting that I was blushing this time around.

You could fry eggs on my cheeks.

So I did the only thing any self-respecting, twenty-five-year-old woman who’d just almost been run over, tripped, and dropped her dirty panties could do.

I ran.

But only like two blocks, because I was in heels, and I had the fitness levels of a hippo.

Then I grabbed a cab.


Emma Hart is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over thirty novels and has been translated into several different languages.

​ She is a mother, wife, lover of wine, Pink Goddess, and valiant rescuer of wild baby hedgehogs.

​ Emma prides herself on her realistic, snarky smut, with comebacks that would make a PMS-ing teenage girl proud.

​ Yes, really. She's that sarcastic.

VEGAS NIGHTS: the brand new series from New York Times bestselling author, Emma Hart!

Sex. Lust. Lies.

Set beneath the dazzling lights of Las Vegas comes a brand new, red-hot series of standalone novels from the snarky, sexy mind of Emma Hart.

Coming July 18th, SIN, book one, is a super-sexy, rivals-to-lovers romance filled with a dose of heartbreak, sexual tension, and a love story you won't be able to resist.

 

Get ready for your new obsession. 

 

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EXCERPT

Shit, what gems were hidden inside her apparently filthy mind?
I had no place to be thinking that. She was Ryan’s sister and the bane of my goddamn existence. I didn’t give a shit what was inside her head or how she came up with a filthy cocktail menu.
I was going to believe that she’d spent stupid amounts of time on the Internet coming up with those kinds of names. Seeing her in that damn short dress yesterday had already affected me enough—not to mention the fact that she’d changed since I last saw her.
I didn’t know people could change so much in only three years, but Raven Archer had. She was no longer post-grad, trying to seriously figure out what she wanted to do with her life, uncertain and serving burgers to people to make money.
She was grown-up, in more ways than just her age. She was even hotter-headed that she was back then. She seemed stronger and more stubborn, and her tongue was so sharp I probably have scars from how quickly she cut me with her words.
She was taller and fucking curvier, too.
Her lips were fuller. Her eyes were brighter. And the general air that hung about her, that hint of sass and sexiness, the very same thing that made me insult her whenever I opened my mouth almost made me want her, too.
And that was exactly why I couldn’t sit and think about what went on in her mind—filthy or otherwise.
No matter what she looked like or how fucking hot she was, she was my best friend’s sister. Nobody was more off-limits than she was. That wasn’t a new development. It had always been that way.
Thank fucking god I was only here for the summer, and only because my mother had guilted me into it.
As soon as the summer was over, I’d go for my next challenge.
I could get through a few weeks of being in the same town or two as Raven—because after today, avoidance was at the top of my life.
Otherwise, I’d go fucking insane.
Dirty was right on the seafront, only meters away from a small, sandy bay. It’d only taken me a few minutes to walk here from where I’d parked downtown, and despite the music coming from inside the bar, I could still hear the gentle crashing of the waves as they crawled up the sand. The water was right out, and I stared out at the water as I headed up the hill to the bar.
Fairy lights twinkled along the underside of the roof that jutted out over the sidewalk. It was like a goddamn princess castle from the outside, but the beachy vibe was evident. Different sized and colored shells covered the pillars that held up the balcony that jutted out over the front doors.
I pushed open the door. Cold air blasted into me, and so did the heavy bass beat of the music that blared out from the speakers just above my head. There were more fairy lights inside, but they were strung all beneath the bar, across the beams on the ceiling, and over the back wall where the spirits were on the wall. There wasn’t much else in the way of lighting, but what there was was effective enough in holding the entire space into a balance between bright and dusky.
The inside of Raven’s bar was like being outside at the moment the sun set.
I cast my gaze over the rest of the bar. The solid, wood tables and stools that lines the walls and filled the space to my left all had tiny vases of fresh flowers in. Even those were surrounded by fairy lights.
Fucking hell, did she let a class of little girls in here to decorate?
No matter what I felt about the fairy lights, it looked good. Damn good.
I stepped up to the bar and leaned forward on it. Raven was at the other end of the bar, wearing jeans and a tight tank top that tucked beneath the waistband. Strappy, silver heels on her feet glinted off the under-bar lighting, and it was all too easy for me to drop my eyes there then slowly drag my gaze up the length of her entire body.
Light bounced off the chrome cocktail shaker in her hand as she shook it. She popped off the top with one slick of her thumb, and without spilling a drop, poured the pink-red liquid into two martini-style glasses. With her other hand, she reached back to the register and jabbed at it.
Seconds later, she was handing them back their change. It all happened in a flash.
How did such she go from lost to…this…so quick?
“Raven!” A dark-haired woman sitting a few stools away from me with her friend yelled. “There’s a hot guy staring at you!”
I laughed loudly as Raven jerked around. Her gaze landed on me with what felt like a snap, and I swore she mouthed, “Motherfucker,” before she stalked to this end of the bar.
Her hands slapped on the bar in front of me. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you I was coming to check out your menu.”
“He was checking out more than the menu,” the woman’s friend giggled.
Raven held her finger up to them, and with her other hand, slapped a smooth, laminated menu in front of me. “Did you drive?”
“No, I walked all the way from Key West.” I picked up the menu. “Of course I drove.”
“Pick one,” she said, moving away. “I’m not serving you anymore than that. Make it a good choice. What can I get for you?” she asked someone else, cutting me off before I could say a word.
I raised my eyebrows.
“She runs a tight ship,” the first woman said. “Three days ago, there was a guy in here spiking drinks. She caught him and bashed him in the balls with her cocktail shaker so he couldn’t run from the security guard.”
Could my eyebrows go up any higher? “That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. I’ve seen her do worse.”
The second woman’s eyes narrowed. “You have? You know her?”
The first woman rolled her eyes. “Of course he does, Cam. When have you seen her react to a customer like that? He obviously pissed her off in a past life or something.”
“I should be so lucky.” I smirked. “More like all in this life.”
“Her brother’s friend, right?” She tilted her head to the side. “Yeah, she mentioned she hated you.”
She’d talked about me?
“She didn’t say you were hot, though,” the second woman said.
“Camille!”
Ahhh.
The best friends.
“What?” Camille said. “I’m just saying.”
“No more Slutwhisperers for you,” the other woman—the one I presumed to be Lani—said, reaching for her glass.
Camille leaned over and slurped the last of the drink through the straw.
That explained the name of the cocktail.
“What are you doing?” Raven asked, stopping in front of them. “Cam? Your glass is empty. Let me refill that for you.” She winked to the other girl as she turned around.
What was she doing?
She put her back to her friends and grabbed the tequila bottle. She tipped it over a cocktail shaker without actually pouring anything into it. My lips quirked up as she put together what was some pink juice or something and blended it with raspberries. She poured the mixture into a glass with some vigor in front of Camille.
She’d made her a placebo.
“Made your choice?” Raven turned to me, holding onto the shaker.
“No.” I spun the menu to face her. “What do you think I should have?”
Completely straight-faced, she said, “The Blue Balls.”

EMMA HART

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