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Ten
years after Roscoe Winston dropped out of her life, all Simone Payton
wants is to exploit him. She’d also like some answers from her
former best friend about why he ghosted her, but if she never gets
those answers, that’s a-okay. Simone let go of the past a long time
ago. Seriously, she has. She totally, totally has. She is
definitely
not still thinking about Roscoe.
Nope. She’s more than happy to forget he exists.

But
first, she needs just one teeny-tiny favor . . .

Dr.
Strange Beard is a full-length romantic comedy novel,
can
be read as a stand-alone, and
is the fifth book in the USA TODAY bestselling Winston Brothers
series.

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“Why are you here?”
Simone twisted toward me, resting the side of her head against the back window of the truck’s cab. “Are
you asking me why am I in Green Valley? Or are you asking me why I’m here, now, in Hawk’s Field?
Because we already covered the latter and, honestly, I don’t want to discuss the former.”
I lifted an eyebrow at her slippery response. “No. We did not cover the latter.”
It seemed to me like she didn’t wish to discuss anything of substance except how much she hated the idea
of falling in love.
“Yes, we did cover it.” Her eyes were on my raised eyebrow and her lips pressed together, like she was
combating a grin.
“No. We didn’t. I asked, ‘What are you doing out here, Simone?’ And you said—” I paused here to lift
my voice and imitate hers, Yankee accent and all, “‘Oh, well, you know. Shelly and Beau mentioned that
you like to camp one night a week.’”
“Roscoe.” She laughed, hitting me lightly on the shoulder with the back of her hand. “I do not sound like
that.”
I caught her wrist so she couldn’t hit me again, she was a double hitter. “So then I asked, ‘You were
looking for me?’ And you said, ‘Yes.’ And then you asked a hundred questions in order to change the
subject—”
“I was not trying to change the subject,” she hollered.
The uneasiness and charged atmosphere from moments prior had dissipated, and I breathed in a full
breath, rolling my eyes with a great deal of exaggeration. “As I was saying, in order to change the subject
and distract me from the fact that you never answered my original question.”
“I’m sorry”—she put on a mask of confusion, the effect mostly ruined by the cute and mischievous smile
she was attempting to iron from her features— “what was the original question?”
I wasn’t going to ask again, but I didn’t need to. As she’d alluded earlier, there were other ways to get
answers out of her, tried and true methods.
My eyes dropped to her neck. A tick of meaningful silence passed, during which I questioned myself and
the wisdom of what I was doing—teasing her, threatening to tickle her, which would necessitate putting
my hands on her, disregarding the levelheaded precautions I’d put in place to maintain the essential
barrier between us in order to avoid making new memories I couldn’t control—but I actively decided to
ignore wisdom and good sense.
Just for a minute.
Just for a moment.
Just to be with her again, like this.
Simone gasped, breaking the silence and yanking her hand away.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
I grinned, my eyes still on her neck, where she was most ticklish.
She covered each side of her throat with her hands, a preemptive defense strategy, but she was giggling.
Lifting my eyebrows, I tilted my head to the side and braced my hands on either side of me, preparing to
launch myself if necessary. “Answer the question.”
Now she was laughing again, watching me, as though waiting to see if I did dare.I pushed myself up and she squealed, her hands bracing against my chest. I easily captured her wrists with
one hand, wrapped my other arm around her torso, and brought her back down on the bed. Straddling her
thighs and sitting on her knees, I lifted her arms over her head while she focused her defensive efforts on
tucking her chin to her chest.
Between gasping laughter, she said, “I should have worn a turtleneck.”
“Poor planning, princess.” I laughed, trying to get my fingers under her chin, and had to work to keep my
seat because she was now bucking her hips and trying to bend her knees, proving herself to be stronger
than I’d assumed.
No matter. Pulling her arms to the right, I maneuvered her on her side and found the sweet skin at the
back of her neck.
Simone bucked again, but this time it was a reflexive response, because I’d found her spot. She shrieked
as I tickled her.
“Oh my God, I can’t breathe.”
I stopped. “Answer the question.”
She panted and gasped, shaking her head, and giving me a big, teasing grin. “Never!”
Squinting in suspicion, I studied her twisted form. She wasn’t struggling, her wrists in my hands were
slack, her body was both relaxed and clearly bracing for another attack, like she anticipated it, like she
wanted it, like she was having a good time and wanted it to last.
Despite the chill, I was getting hot under the collar. My eyes moved over her prone form, traveling from
her beaming smile to her neck, the swell of her breasts, the indent of her waist, the generous curve of her
backside. The urge to do something—to her, with her, inside her—seized my lungs and nerves and
muscles, a blazing flare of carnal want shot down my spine.
Yeah, I’d definitely lost control of this new memory.
Breathing out at the dizzying instinct, I moved completely off her body. I released her wrists—releasing
her—as I averted my eyes and backed away to gather my wits. She sat up, reaching for me. I twisted
away. The bed of the truck was too crowded, so I turned to jump down. Before I could, she caught me by
the arm.
“Hey.” Her grip was tight and she tugged. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head, tossing my thumb over my shoulder. “Just remembered something.”
“Roscoe—”
Pulling my arm from her fingers, I hopped over the edge of the truck and walked toward the tent. I
reached the first post, I walked beyond it, my direction aimless.
I suspected it wasn’t like this for most folks, but this sporadically cruel and often inconvenient time travel
to my past was all I knew. Therefore, I dealt with it the only way I knew how.
I retreated.

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Silver
Bear Shop and Factory manager Sasha Silverman is cozying up to the
fall season by hosting Silver Hollow’s Cranbeary Tea Party, theopening event of the village’s Oktobear Fest—a too-cute
celebration themed around teddy bears. She barely has a moment to
agonize over the return of her former high school rival, Holly
Parker, whose new toy and bookstore in town could spell big trouble
for the Silver Bear Shop and her cousin’s small bookstore . . .

As
manager of the family teddy bear shop and factory,thirty-one-year-old Sasha Silverman leads a charmed life. Well,
except for the part about being a single divorcée with a ticking
biological clock in small-town Silver Hollow. And that’s just kid’s
stuff compared to Will Taylor, the sales rep who’s set on making
drastic changes to the business her parents built from scratch—with
or without Sasha’s approval . . .

The village clock struck the half hour while we walked down Theodore Lane. I heard a car’s
rumbling muffler ahead of us, probably on Kermit, and hurried past Holly’s corner shop.
Once across the street, Rosie led the way to the Sunshine Café; the fog parted, showing
Uncle Ross’s vintage pale blue Oldsmobile parked at the curb. He always drove the car in
the village Memorial Day and Labor Day parades, chock-full of teddy bears, but never
offered anyone a ride if he could help it.
My uncle cussed a blue streak if any speck of dirt marred the leather seats, and he routinely
checked the polished fenders for any scratches or nicks.
I caught sight of his grizzled beard and cap through the window. Mayor Bloom sat with him
at the counter. Dad and Gil Thompson usually joined them for coffee and the café’s popular
French toast, but they hadn’t yet returned from up north.
Past the half-hidden brick library, I cut through a stretch of blacktop to Church Street. It
wasn’t easy navigating in the denser fog. Rosie nosed her way through the narrow alley
between Abby Pozniak’s antique shop and Blake’s Pharmacy until we emerged into the
mist-covered graveled parking lot.
Shadowy forms that loomed in our path turned out to be parked cars, a Dumpster, and a
mailbox. I stepped cautiously over the stones.
“Ouch!” I’d hit my shoulder on a lamppost that appeared beside me. I peered at each parked
car in the uneven lot. At last I found mine and unlocked the door. Rosie’s whining suddenly
turned into loud barks. That meant trouble.
“What is it, girl?” She wouldn’t budge, so I followed the leash hand over hand.
I found Rosie guarding an inert form on the ground, right beside a blue MINI Cooper. Was it
Holly Parker? My heart jumped into my throat. The jacket’s hood covered her head. I stood
gaping, frozen in place. My brain couldn’t register for several minutes. Letters sparkled in
the dim light on the hoodie’s pale pink fabric. THINK, that was clear enough to read, but PINK
was darkened by a mottled brown stain.
So was the knife hilt embedded in her back.

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Warning,
contains explicit sex acts, language, and violence. Adults only!

An
outlaw biker who likes to work alone. 

Fierce.
Dangerous.

A
killer when he needs to be.

He
calls no place home, and no woman owns his heart.

Until
her.

Luna.

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Ruthless (Book 1) –
I grabbed Ginger by the hand and pulled her out of the room, down the hall and to the
bathroom. Her resistance was futile, her fear unimportant. I knew what I had to do, and if she
were smart, she’d realize it, too. If she wanted to live. I opened the bathroom door and yanked
her inside, thanking fuck that I found it empty. It was filthy, but better than nothing, and it had a
shower that everyone used when they felt the need to be clean, which wasn’t often.
Ginger spun around when I shut the door, the look of a trapped animal in her pretty blues. I
ignored her growing terror, steeling myself for what I had to do. Even behind closed doors I had
to make it real, had to be convincing that I was an unfeeling bastard. I saw her swallow, could
see her tits rising and falling rapidly as the fear of the unknown overwhelmed her. She was
expecting the worst, preparing herself to do whatever she had to do to survive.
“Take off your clothes.” I kept my tone harsh, indifferent to her growing panic.

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“Ash Lockler?” she said, looking up at him. She looked away from his intense gaze for a moment.
Clearing her throat, she met his eyes again. Ash nodded and neatly folded his big frame into the booth,
opposite her. He maintained his poker face as he rested his forearms on the table, hands folded. He held
her gaze for a moment before he spoke quietly. “I trust you will provide what I expect.” He surveyed her
pretty face framed by all that long, wildly curly, dark hair. She would do nicely.
Her lips parted to speak, but she hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly. He found her actions
amusing, assuming this was her first time in dealing with someone like him. The underworld of vampires
and other nocturnal beings was definitely not for this little, gentle mouse. She was beautiful but too timid
and nervous for his taste. He caught her staring before she lowered her gaze and reached for her small
knit bag.
“Yes. I have it right here. Five thousand cash. You can count it. That should settle my brother’s debt to
you.”
Ash’s eyes narrowed in irritation. Declan McDade. The little weasel. Unfortunately for his family, he had
grown up to be exactly like his father, Martin. They both shared an unhealthy fascination with underworld
dealings. His next words were measured. “I’m afraid that five thousand doesn’t even come close to what
your brother owes me. His debt is a lot closer to one hundred thousand.”
Her lips went slack, and she promptly snapped her mouth shut. Ash went on. “Your money, in short, is
no good. A different sort of payment was arranged between myself and Declan.”
“What do you want, then? My house?” Delilah’s voice was strangely hoarse, and she took a hasty sip of
water.
“No, your house is safe. I want your body on a long- term basis. Anywhere from six months to one year
would work,” Ash replied simply.

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After
an accident stole his surfing career, Ashton Evans has a chance to
reinvent his life by photographing the leaders of the World Surfing
League. The problem? Summer Roberts is his first client. Now the
woman he can’t forget is spending long, hot Indonesian days in
front of his lens. In a bikini. And worse, she’s steaming up his
nights.

 

But
no matter how tempting Summer is, Ashton must keep his hands to
himself. For the sake of her career, Summer is pretending she’s
still in a relationship with someone else. Being seen with Ashton
could blow her chance at making it onto the World Surfing League
leader board for good. But with their attraction as unstoppable as
one of the giant ocean waves that rule their lives, will they be
tumbled under by it? Or will Ashton finally get his second shot with
Summer?

Get
ready for a wet, hot ride.

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Maya
Taylor is all sass and style when it comes to closing a PR deal, but
when it comes to men, she has about as much witty banter as a
drowning grommet. So when fashion mogul, Dominic Wolfe, enters her
life, he seems to be bringing the perfect deal.

She’ll
teach him all there is to know about the highly competitive side of
surf sponsorship. And in return, Dominic will turn the beautiful
surf-klutz into a man-magnet. Dream deal, right?

Only
the lessons start getting hotter than the beach mid-summer and
Dominic realizes he wants more. Much more. But the deal was their
relationship wouldn’t cross the line between business and pleasure…

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You can get in touch
through facebook or twitter or through her website and blog
www.micheledewinton.com

Excerpt from Another Shot with Summer
The photographer had suggested using the very end of Grumari Beach
for their shoot, and now Summer could see why. Part of an
environmental reserve about fifteen miles from the main sand bar and
shops, it had a deserted island feel, although nowhere in Brazil could
strictly be called deserted. She headed over to where a man moved
around a stack of camera equipment, his back to her.
“I thought about doing something more urban. You know, with the
backdrop of Rio to spice up the image, but it seemed wrong. If the
client really wants sun-kissed, this is about as sun-kissed as it gets.”
Summer froze. That voice. And then the photographer stood from
where he’d been partially hidden behind his gear. The full impact of
Maya’s text sunk in.
“You!” Summer’s heart swelled to twice its usual size, and she felt
the blood beating all the way up to her ears. Ashton. The man whose
picture she’d kept under her pillow as a teenager, and the man who
had haunted her loneliest moments as a young woman. The bastard.
“Oh. She said she’d squared it away with you. She pulled a fast one
on both of us, huh?”
“Don’t worry. The cab can’t have got far. I’ll just call him back.”
Ashton caught her arm as she swiveled to leave, and she tried to
pull free as if he’d stung her. Her reaction to his touch was the same as
when she’d been a teenager. Hot, firm, sending her senses into sharp
overdrive, his fingers made her skin burn. These were feels she was
not ready to feel again.
He dropped his hand, and there was an awkward moment where
they looked at each other, frozen, and Summer realized he felt it, too.
His face was shocked, his eyes wide. The moment grew longer, her
breath catching in her throat as she waited, unsure of what to do next.
Then his pupils returned to normal, and his face softened. “We’re
here now, and the light is about to turn. Maya’s told the client I’m on
the job, so I need to get the shots. I’ll just be the photographer.
Everything else…” He waved his hand between them. “It’s history.
Ancient history.”
She felt his gaze on her a moment longer than was strictly
necessary. She brushed at her face, as if trying to get the sensation of
him off her skin. Then her awe turned to anger. “I guess it is all about
you, after all. Wouldn’t want you missing out on keeping your newclient happy.”
“That’s not what I meant. Shit.” He rubbed his chin. “This is not
how I wanted to see you again after so long.” He looked about as if
trying to find a distraction and came up empty. “I’m a different guy
behind the camera. I promise.”
She kicked the sand and wished the extra freckles the sun had added to
her face today would fade instantly. Nothing like freckles to make a
girl feel like a girl, instead of a woman. You are not a girl. Be the
bigger person.
There was an awkward pause. She straightened. “Fine,” she said. That
was all she was going to give him. Short, calm, professional.

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