Linger

LINGER

“Steamy and daring with a sexy alpha hero to swoon over and a heroine you can cheer for, readers will want to linger over
Linger
!”

—
New York Times
bestselling author Roni Loren

“Lauren Jameson's
Linger
teases and sizzles, bringing you to a steamy simmer. A thoroughly wicked and deeply satisfying read!”

—
New York Times
bestselling author Eden Bradley

BREATHE

“Tantalizingly sexy and shockingly intense. . . . Jameson does an excellent job making this story feel original and daring.”

—Romantic Times

BLUSH

“The kind of erotica I really love . . . This is a pair who want more than either will admit and more than they think they deserve. . . . The journey that Lauren Jameson takes you on in this book is fantastic. The writing is wonderful, and the story is solidly romantic and erotic.”

—Bookish Temptations

“Jameson's writing is free-flowing, which makes for an easy read.”

—Under the Covers

“Sultry and alluring, Lauren Jameson's first full-length novel,
Blush
, is a sinful thrill of a read . . . a better-written and actually classy variation of the
Fifty Shades of Grey
madness.”

—Books á la Mode

“The romance and fire between Alex and Maddy are scorching . . . both intensely emotional and insanely erotic.”

—Once Upon a Twilight

“Well written. . . . The rich-and-famous lifestyle of a sexy man is always an exciting read!”

—Fresh Fiction

SURRENDER TO TEMPTATION

“A quick, very sexy story.”

—Smexy Books

“Dramatic ups and downs. . . . Readers who enjoyed Beth Kery's
Because You Are Mine
will likely find this an even stronger serial.”

—Library Journal

“A well-written story that will open your mind to a whole new level of control and submission.”

—SinfulReads

Blush

Breathe

Surrender to Temptation

SIGNET
ECLIPSE

Published by the Penguin Group

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New York, New York 10014

USA | Canada | UK | Ireland | Australia | New Zealand | India | South Africa | China

A Penguin Random House Company

First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC

Copyright © Lauren Hawkeye, 2014

Excerpt from
Breathe
copyright © Lauren Hawkeye, 2013

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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS C
ATALOGING-IN-PUBLICA
TION DATA:

Jameson, Lauren.

Linger/Lauren Jameson.

p. cm.

ISBN 978-0-698-16567-0

1. Man-woman relationships—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3610.A464L57 2014

813'.6—dc23 2014012815

Set in Arno Pro

Designed by Sabrina Bowers

PUBLISHER
'S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

For Kerry Donovan, who will always be the cutest little pushy editor in the world.

T
his is quite probably my favorite out of all the stories I've ever written. But if my editor had accepted what I first sent her for a proposal for
Linger
, it never would have been written. So I have a huge thank-you to her for pushing me further. And an equally huge thanks to Deidre Knight, who held my hand while I struggled to get it right. I hope you enjoy your namesake in this book. Snort. For the fabulous Suzanne Rock, who had the brilliance to say “Maybe having the hero tied to the fence post in the first scene is . . . a little too weird.” Well played, Sue. Well played. Thank you to the magical art department at New American Library for a cover that I am in love with. To Eden Bradley, Roni Loren, Erika Wilde, Cathryn Fox and Suzanne Rock for endorsing it. For Erica Haglund, aka the BookCellarX, for offering her thoughts and knowledge of all things bunny. And as always, to my husband, Rob, and my mom, Penny, for entertaining Mr. I Am Three so that I could spit this book out.

C
oming here always felt like home.

Scarlett Malone sucked in a deep breath, savoring the humidity that lingered even after the sun had set in Vegas. It was not yet fully dark; when she arched her neck and looked up, she found a blueberry-tinged twilight surrounding the old Victorian mansion that was her second home.

She was going to miss this, she realized, a lot more than she'd thought she would. The fantasies and desires that were explored here at In Vino Veritas, a wine bar and kink club, had started merely as sexual curiosity for her and instead had wound up fulfilling a deeply seated need.

There were no kink clubs in rural Montana, where she was soon headed, at least not that she'd been able to find. And even if there had been, nothing could ever be the same as Veritas.

Better make the most of your last night, then, Scar.
Grinning to herself, Scarlett ran a hand over her sleek brown hair, which she'd pulled back in a tight knot for the occasion. She was sad to be leaving Vegas—her home—for an entire year, sure. But nothing could keep her down for long when a night of kinky playtime stretched out before her.

She would find someone good tonight; she could feel it in her gut. She hadn't been playing for long enough to have defined exactly what “good” constituted, but not being able to put it into words didn't mean she wouldn't recognize it.

Shifting her weight from one spike heel to the other—she loved how the leather boots looked but not necessarily how they felt, even on feet that had once spent hours in pointe shoes—Scarlett joined the line of people waiting in front of the massive wooden door that led to the secrets inside Veritas.

Julien Knight, the club's manager, waved and winked. Even as he checked the credentials of the woman dressed in a vinyl catsuit who was doing her best to catch his eye, he made an exaggerated show of looking Scarlett up and down, then whistling.

“Looking good tonight, Mistress Scarlett!” he called as he gestured her forward. His perusal of her body—and blatant appreciation—gave Scarlett a flurry of pleasant tingles in her belly. Tall and lean, with dreadlocks pulled back loosely from his face and a swarthy complexion, he was exactly the kind of man Scarlett was usually drawn to.

Except she knew she could never make it work with him. Julien liked to be in control. So did she.

But that didn't mean she couldn't look.

As Scarlett made her way to the front of the crowd, a woman laughed in the middle of the story she was telling, stepped back, and accidentally jostled Scarlett. Losing the precarious balance that she had on her spike heels—so much for those years of ballet training—Scarlett stumbled and braced herself to slam into the unyielding stone of the walkway.

As she threw her hands out . . . they connected with a firm wall of muscle.

“Are you all right?” The voice was warm, with a hint of a Western drawl. Strong arms squeezed her waist gently, making her shiver. Scarlett closed her eyes for a second, enjoying the sensation, before trying to step back, to straighten her skirt.

But those hands didn't let go. A spark lit inside Scarlett as she slowly looked up at the man who had saved her from a tumble that would have likely scraped her knees, her hands, her legs, effectively putting a damper on her evening.

His face was largely shadowed by the wide brim of a cowboy hat, but the piercing stare of his blue eyes caught her attention. She also quickly took in his tall form and wide chest, stretching the confines of a black T-shirt.

“I said, are you all right, miss?” The man's voice told her he expected her to answer, which started Scarlett's blood fizzing.

Arching an eyebrow, she looked up. When those blue eyes again caught her stare and held, she felt her heart skip a beat with excitement.

“I'm fine, thank you.” A smile started to curve her lips—oh, there was no way in hell that this man was a submissive, but still, she couldn't deny the interest that was sparking throughout her body. Reaching out, she placed a hand flirtatiously on his biceps.

Beneath her fingers, the hard muscle tensed. The man tilted his head to the side, looking at her as though she were an exotic bird. Those flutters of initial attraction made Scarlett feel as though she'd swallowed a flute of champagne too fast.

She parted her lips—to say what, she wasn't entirely sure. Then the man nodded, released her, stepped back.

His touch remained like a ghostly imprint on her skin.

And then he was gone, waved through the doors to Veritas, leaving Scarlett to catch her breath and wonder what, exactly, had just happened.

That simple helping touch from one man—from a strang- er—had excited her more than some of the most complex scenes she'd done.

She wanted more. And she wasn't the kind of woman who liked to take no for an answer.

D
r. Logan Brody barely looked around as he strode down the long front hall of Veritas. His pulse had accelerated—he could feel the steady beat pounding beneath the skin at the base of his jaw—and he knew exactly why.

That gorgeous little brunette out front—she'd gotten to him. He'd meant only to stop her from falling, a courtesy from one decent human being to another, though he wasn't sure he always counted as decent, at least not anymore. But something about her warm flesh beneath his fingers, about the way her spine had stiffened when he'd pushed her to answer his question, had snared him.

She was that perfect combination of softness and steel. When she'd laid a hand on his biceps, he had felt interest stirring. Had wanted to flirt in return, to see where their encounter would go.

That she was a Mistress, he had no doubt. Even if she hadn't been dressed like one, that calm confidence that every Dominant he'd ever known possessed had been like a halo around her.

The forceful presence, combined with her killer curves, the gorgeous face, the scent of vanilla that emanated from her skin when she moved . . . had left him wanting.

Yet something about her told him that she wouldn't be an easy Mistress, and he wasn't looking for anyone to dig past his shell. Still, he'd considered throwing all caution to the wind for one night—and then he had remembered where he was. His surroundings—the city, the traffic, the
people
—had slammed against him like a freight train.

It had thrown him off balance, had let the panic that he worked so hard to keep at bay gain control.

So he'd left, like a jackass. At least he'd remembered to nod a farewell.

Forget about her.
Pushing through the door to the men's
change room, Logan found an empty locker and opened it with more force than was strictly necessary. The sound of metal on metal clanged loudly even in the busy room.

As he slid off his jacket, his hat, his T-shirt, he tried to pull those mental shutters back down in place.

He came to Veritas for only one night, maybe two, every year—whenever the need got too bad to take care of himself. One of the owners of this particular establishment was an old friend, which made it a safer place in his mind.

If he had to get away, he could always go sit in Luca's office or his apartment. He wouldn't feel completely calm again until he was back on his ranch, the wide-open skies arching above him, but knowing he had a bit of a safety net helped, allowed him to get what he needed.

Unbidden, the brunette's face flashed through his mind again. Man, he was tempted by her. But she had trouble written all over her—he'd been in the BDSM scene for more than ten years, and that woman didn't look like the type you played with once and never saw again.

A gentleman would leave her alone—if she was even still available by the time he got into the massive playroom of Veritas. A Mistress who looked like she did, commanded attention like that, she wouldn't be short of potential partners.

“Pull it together, Brody.” Giving himself a mental shake, Logan's hands strayed to the waistband of his jeans, then stopped. A Mistress might make him pay for it later, but he didn't think he'd strip down completely. Not yet.

Sliding his hand into his right pocket, Logan withdrew two strips of buttery yellow leather adorned with silver hooks. As soon as he snapped the cuffs in place on his wrists, he felt his anxiety ramp down, like it was sinking just beneath the surface of the serene lake on his property.

This was why he came here—because he needed to let
someone take control, just for a little bit. He'd never be able to give over the reins forever . . . but for a little while . . .

He needed it. Craved that exchange of power.

And still, as he made his way into the playroom, as the angry, sexy sound of heavy metal and the slap of flesh against flesh began to reverberate through his veins, he found himself looking around the room, the various stations, the different pieces of equipment, seeking something out.

Looking for
her
.