Tag Archive | Amber Bardan

Release Blitz: Twice as Hard by Amber Bardan

 

 

 

 

 

They caught me. Naked, shivering and dripping after a spontaneous swim in the forest. Two rugged men whose hard gazes captivated and scared me all at once.

They warned me. Told me I was on private property and I needed to obey the law…or I would be punished.

The idea of them both punishing me, pleasuring me, kept tormenting me. I couldn’t want them. I shouldn’t. But I did.

I didn’t mean to trespass again. I thought I could retreat without notice. But they’re coming for me.

To show me the pleasure in pain. To show me just how right forbidden can feel. And to love me twice as hard as I ever fantasized.

 

A man emerges, face pressed against the barrel of a shotgun.
I fall back on my elbows. A scream tears from my lungs. The sound radiates, gaining traction in its echo around us.
The gun lowers, revealing a face of molten fury. “What are you doing here?”
I swallow, gasping, “I’m sorry.”
“You shouldn’t be here. This is private land.”
“I’m sorry.” I scramble backward across the ground on my palms. Blood roars in my ears.
“I thought you were a deer. I could’ve shot you.” His gun falls the rest of the way down, pointing to the ground, but he’s no less menacing as he approaches. No less a hunter.
Me no less a deer.
“I could’ve killed you.”
I struggle for words. “I was at the waterfall. My husband told me to come this way.”
“Your husband?” He steps closer again. His dirty blond hair is cut short but ungroomed. Sandy bristles cover his jaw and continue down his neck. He isn’t as huge as the other man, but he’s plenty big enough.
“You’re not wearing a ring.” He looks at my hands, pressed to the dirt, then to my chest—still damp and shirt clinging. My nipples still ridiculously hard. “You’re not wearing much.”
My pulse hammers in my ears.
He crouches, then reaches for me and takes my hand. My fingers shake. I tell myself only because I’m still shaken up over the gunshot. He’s done nothing wrong. I’m the one who’s half-wet trespassing on private hunting ground. He helps me up, but doesn’t let my hand go. Intuition sweeps me into electrified sense of vulnerability. Not because of my state of dress, or rather undress, but because of the power of his hand around mine.
“Where would this husband of yours be?” The question could be innocent if his cool blue eyes didn’t narrow on me that way. If his voice wasn’t a silken lure, wrapping around me like an anaconda.
If his features didn’t pinch with the callous assessment of a hunter lining up a shot.
And maybe I could give my answer—nowhere that can help me now—if heat didn’t bubble in my blood.
“He’s waiting for me in our cabin. It’s just down the hill off the main road.” My tongue darts across my dry lips. “He’s expecting me back any minute.”
He’ll come looking. I let that statement, that outright lie, suggest.
His gaze flicks to my mouth. “We should let you go, then.”
We?
I feel, rather than hear, the movement behind me. I look back. The other man, the darker man, the one I’d let see me naked, emerges from the trees.
Oh, shit. My lungs freeze with foreboding, and blood rushes to my limbs, muscles twitching to flee.
“This time…” He keeps my hand held tight, belying his promise to let me go. “But know this, you’re on our land. Everything on this side of the mountain down to the canyon is ours.”
Steps approach, and for one heart-stopping moment I think they’ll catch me between them. Everything on this side of the mountain down to the canyon is theirs. There’s no doubt in my mind that, right now, that includes me.
“We hunt here.” He releases my hand. I don’t stumble back. The other man is too close. “Wander here again and who knows what will happen to you.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, and step sideways. “I won’t.”
He smiles so wolfishly. The silly fear I first had when I set out this morning, of what wild animals might lurk in the forest, vanishes.
It isn’t wild animals I have to fear.
It’s wild men.
“See that you don’t, Mrs.…?”
I take three more steps. He wants my name? Really? I glance between them. The darker one remains as stony and silent as he’d been before. His gaze now less desperate but more intense.
“Gabby.” I’m not quite brave enough to refuse to identify myself, but there’s not much you can do with a first name, especially one that’s shortened.
“I’m Clarke,” the gunman says, then gestures to the other. “That’s my brother Luke.”
My mouth opens. What am I supposed to say, nice to meet you? They threatened me then told me their names. Why?
“Goodbye,” I say, then spin and run as though my motherfucking life depends on it.
Sure feels like it does.

 

 


After spending years imagining fictional adventures, Amber finally found a way to turn daydreaming into a productive habit. She now spends her time in a coffee-fuelled adrenaline haze, writing romance with a thriller edge.

She lives with her husband and children in semi-rural Australia, where if she peers outside at the right moment she might just see a kangaroo bounce by.

Amber is an award winning writer, Amazon Bestselling Author, and member of Romance Writers of Australia, Melbourne Romance Writers Guild, and Writers Victoria.

 

Author Links

 

 

Chapter Reveal: Twice as Hard by Amber Bardan

 

 

Coming March 20th

 

 

 

They caught me. Naked, shivering and dripping after a spontaneous swim in the forest. Two rugged men whose hard gazes captivated and scared me all at once.

They warned me. Told me I was on private property and I needed to obey the law…or I would be punished.

The idea of them both punishing me, pleasuring me, kept tormenting me. I couldn’t want them. I shouldn’t. But I did.

I didn’t mean to trespass again. I thought I could retreat without notice. But they’re coming for me.

To show me the pleasure in pain. To show me just how right forbidden can feel. And to love me twice as hard as I ever fantasized.

 

 

I run up the track. My thighs scream—but I can’t stop yet. Pain blazes from my blistered heels. The ground levels out. My sneakers slide on dirt.
Fuck.
The world disappears, dropping out only yards from where I’m stopped.
I go to my knees, gasping. The urge to vomit rises hard in my throat, yet the sight ahead pierces me almost as sharply as the burning in my lungs. The view from the peak of Hunter Mountain is everything I’ve been led to believe. I press my palms to the earth. Oh god, the air is good.
So damned good.
Fragrant and so clean I’ve only experienced its pale imitation from a bottle. Forest scent. Almost makes this worth it. Almost. I fill my lungs, and my racing heart slows a fraction. I drop onto my heels. Green rolling hills and the kind of quiet I’ve only imagined stretch out before me.
I shut my eyes. In my thirty-one years I’ve never experienced a moment of quiet like this. Where the loudest thing competing for my attention is the sound of me—my breath.
My galloping pulse.
There’s always been a background noise so ever present I never noticed it until this absence. Traffic. Street. People. The whine of electronics a constant hum.
Pity there’s not a moment of peace to be found.
Not now. Not like this. Not on my own.
Why’d he send me here?
Flapping jerks me out of my thoughts. I look up. Broad, dark wings beat overhead.
Holy crap. Is that an actual eagle? The huge bird soars over the ledge to hover above the ravine.
Hunting.
On Hunter Mountain. I drag my backpack off my shoulders, and open it up, fingers slipping into the inside pocket where the letter waits.
I roll onto my backside, and then peel back the seal from one side of the envelope to the other, glue stretching like cheese for a moment before snapping. My thumb pauses in the fold of the paper. I unfold the note a fraction at a time.

Congratulations, Baby, you made it.
Aren’t you glad you did?
Enjoy the view for half an hour. Set your timer, you impatient little thing. Then take the path to left, there’s something there I want you to see.

I scrunch the paper into a ball, and it’s only the abomination of littering in a place like this, that stops me from hurling it in the direction of the eagle.
That’s it?
I’ve come all this way, suffered through so much, for a hike?
Why’d he even bother? I’m not sure if this is him trying to hang on—or refusing to completely let go.
Neither answer is one I’m prepared to dwell on. So I gather together the remnants of my hopefulness and obey my husband, setting my timer exactly as he’s instructed. Then drink from my water bottle and eat an apple to pass time, because he’s right—I’m a very impatient thing.
The beep pings from my phone. With the nonexistent reception here, an alarm is about all the phone’s good for.
I tuck the phone away, slip the backpack on and stand. My legs give a jellied wobble, leaving me with a feeling of walking on bendy stilts. I circle the top of the mountain, then find a track on the left, the one he must’ve meant.
Do Not Enter, the sign reads.
Of course it does. I sigh and take the path, adjusting the straps of the bag and wondering what fresh torture he has in store for me.

One small mercy, walking down is a damn sight easier than running up.
I descend into the trees and the silence bleeds into a more organic quiet, where birds rustle, things move, and then…water rushes.
I pick up pace. Tired or not, I jog down the path toward the sound, then burst into a clearing.
The scent of water hits me.
I stare at the stream plunging over a hanging ledge. My eyes widen as if I could somehow take it in more. A real waterfall.
A heady mix of awe and joy floods me.
Bounced from one L.A. foster home to the next, vacations and sightseeing hadn’t been any part of my upbringing. I’d worked my ass off to get into college, then worked it even harder in my good, safe, secure bank job to pay off student loans—until him.
Until Dean came along and every plan I ever had went up in flames.
But this? Waterfall. Had I mentioned on one of our lazy Sunday mornings after he’d fucked me into exhaustion, how I’d always longed to see one?
My chest squeezes. Maybe this means he forgives me…
I take off the backpack and toss it onto the ground. Then tear off my top, kick off my shoes and peel off my socks. The late spring air has my nipples puckering, but I unhook my bra and let it fall where I stand.
He hasn’t instructed this part, but I can just see him imagining it when he wrote the note. He’d picture me unable to resist skinny dipping in the wilderness.
Had it made him hard when he’d told me to come this way?
I undo the button at my waist and peel off my jeans. My underwear goes next. Then I walk buck naked toward the water.
Of course he’d been hard.
He’d have known I’d do just this. My thighs squeeze. Heat moves through me. I’m naked out in the open without Dean and he can’t do a thing to stop me.
I climb onto a rock.
A laugh springs from my lips. The sound echoes back at me, clear and crisp and startling. It’s been too long since I’ve heard that sound.
I leap into the water.
Freezing cold slams into me. I resurface with a gasp. Oh, shit. The water’s not just cold it’s so icy it has teeth. Still, I do the thing I’ve always, always wanted to do, and swim to the waterfall. Foam and bubbles, and the current seem to force me back. A tremor of danger moves through me. It could be risky to try to swim through the waterfall.
I take a breath and dive underwater. Pressure pounds my back then dissipates. I emerge on the other side, and look up. The water curtains me from the outside world.
Sadly, no cave, but I climb onto the bit of rock ledge and watch for the brief moment before cold and self-preservation force me down.
That’s the thing about fantasy, you never dream these parts—the threat of hypothermia or how a slimy rock feels on your bare ass.
I dive back through the waterfall, and swim toward where I’ve left my things. My skin goes numb. A blanket of goose bumps coats my limbs. I collect my carelessly scattered clothes. Dirt and mossy chunks of forest floor cling to my feet and work up my ankles. My teeth chatter. I bend to retrieve my underwear and jeans.
Sound crunches behind me.
I spin, clothes clutched in my hands. A man stands in front of me, maybe six feet away. My heart seizes.
He stares, gaze raking over me as though he’s never seen a woman. From the looks of him maybe he never has. His beard is rough, dark and speckled with silver, but it’s the jaw underneath—clenched tight as he takes me in, that has my own teeth biting together. He’s built like someone who spends his days felling trees or wrestling grizzlies.
Or both.
My pulse mimics the sound of the waterfall, growing louder in my ears, until I don’t know which roar is which. That whole big body seems poised.
Set to pounce.
“I didn’t know anyone was here.” My voice emerges strangled and rusty.
He says nothing, but his gaze makes its way from where I clutch my things to my chest, then lands on mine.
His features set hungrily, tension thrumming tight through his expression in a way that makes me feel like a buffet that’s being presented at the very brink of starvation.
I can almost feel my heart beat against my forearms through the clothes I hold. Air moves in icy prickles over my naked thighs and between my legs. His attention moves there. To my uncovered cunt, which my bundle of clothes doesn’t hide.
His chest moves quickly, like he’s an animal under the heat of too much sun.
His fingers twitch at his sides. Big fingers. He has big fingers and big hands. Hands that would hold roughly. Fingers that would grab brutally.
And I can’t move. Can’t cover myself. Can’t conceal my most private area.
He takes a step—just one.
I jerk backward and stumble. My clothes tumble to the ground.
He looks at my chest. At my breasts, nipples puckered and strained. There’s a sensation rushing through me that reminds me of the brief period in my teens when I’d get high. A light-headedness that suspends me almost out of body.
He hisses, and comes for me.
A jolt of numbness plunges me back into frozen atrophy.
A blast rings out. Birds spring from trees.
A gunshot.

 


After spending years imagining fictional adventures, Amber finally found a way to turn daydreaming into a productive habit. She now spends her time in a coffee-fuelled adrenaline haze, writing romance with a thriller edge.

She lives with her husband and children in semi-rural Australia, where if she peers outside at the right moment she might just see a kangaroo bounce by.

Amber is an award winning writer, Amazon Bestselling Author, and member of Romance Writers of Australia, Melbourne Romance Writers Guild, and Writers Victoria.

 

Author Links

 

 

✰✰ PRE ORDER BLITZ✰✰ Didn’t I Warn You (Bad For You) by Amber Bardan

didnt I warn you

Preorder Blitz

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Book Title: Didn’t I Warn You (Bad For You)
Author: Amber Bardan
Genre: Erotic Thriller
Release Date: April 18, 2016
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

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book blurb

Not everything dangerous is bad.

From the moment Angelina laid eyes on him, she fell into a fantasy. Mysterious, foreign, gorgeous, Haithem offered her what she needed most—a chance to feel again.

But Haithem is much more than he appears to be. He lives in a world of danger where everything comes at a price.

For Angelina, that price is her future.

He’s ensured the life she’s left behind is in tatters. Made her family believe she’s dead. Still, he talks about protecting her, about keeping her safe, but she can’t distinguish his truth from his lies. She can’t separate her pleasure from his betrayal.

Haithem warned her. He told her he’d make her heart race, her body come alive, and her most primal needs rush to the surface. His for the taking.

He didn’t say she’d come to love the devil who’s destroying her, even as he keeps her prisoner.

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1Q59hlo

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1Tdfv4U

Amazon CA: http://amzn.to/1osQgPe

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Kobo: http://bit.ly/1O3r6LL

iTunes: http://bit.ly/1QWsW5W

 

@amberabardan @bookenthupromo #preorder

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praise

“Didn’t I Warn You is a darkly seductive Beauty & the Beast romance that will give you goosebumps…There’s something so irresistible about the chemistry, the give-and-take, between Haithem and Angelina that just sizzles off the pages.

This isn’t a romance for the light-hearted. It’s gritty and wild and passionate in only a way that love can be. Didn’t I Warn You will have readers falling hard and fast.”

—Smart Bitches, Trash Books

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meet the authorAmber Profile PicAfter spending years imagining fictional adventures, Amber finally found a way to turn daydreaming into a productive habit. She now spends her time in a coffee-fuelled adrenaline haze, writing romance with a thriller edge.

She lives with her husband and children in semi-rural Australia, where if she peers outside at the right moment she might just see a kangaroo bounce by.

Amber is an award winning writer, Amazon Bestselling Author, and member of Romance Writers of Australia, Melbourne Romance Writers Guild, and Writers Victoria.

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