Books to Read

#NewRelease Down & Dirty: Axel – Jeanne St. James’s Dirty Angels MC, Book 5 
Quick & Easy Book 2, A Quick Billionaires Novella AVAILABLE NOW
Tempting Her by Jeanne St. James in Love Me Hard Boxed Set

#NewRelease Down & Dirty: Axel – Jeanne St. James’s Dirty Angels MC, Book 5 

When you’re a cop, life can be complicated
when the woman you love is MC born and raised…

Down & Dirty: Axel, Dirty Angels MC, Book 5
By USAT Bestselling Author Jeanne St. James

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Though the club blood runs thick in Axel’s veins, he’s despised by them for being a cop. They also hate him because his family turned their back years ago not only on the club but his brother, the president of the Dirty Angels MC. However, he’s loved Bella forever, watched her marry the wrong man, one who broke her in almost every imaginable way, and yet she’s still the strongest person he knows. Despite their rivaling families, he won’t let anything stand in the way of making her his this time.

Bella hasn’t known anything other than alpha bikers her whole life. Her marriage to one turned into a tragedy, one that changed the rest of her life. She was never the same after that one fateful night that Axel came to save her. Though he remains on the outskirts of her life, he’s always there: watching, waiting, worrying about her. Especially when a rival MC continues to wreak havoc on all of their lives.

Like Romeo and Juliet, his family may never accept her, and hers him, but they’re both determined to tear down the wall that divides them.

Note: This book can be read as a standalone. It includes lots of steamy scenes, biker slang, cursing, some violence and, of course, an HEA. If you like alpha males who like to take charge, this book is for you.


The jingle from the bells over the bakery’s door sounded, making both Bella and Sophie glance up.

Right on time. The man was nothing if not predictable.

Axel navigated his tall body through the door of the shop, his duty belt hanging off his lean hips and his uniform neatly pressed, making the man look like a well-wrapped birthday present. He slid off his dark sunglasses and tucked them into his breast pocket.

Sophie stopped what she was doing, which was boxing up a cake, and reached into the display case to grab a cream cheese stuffed red velvet cupcake. She held it out to him until he approached the counter and nabbed it.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his eyes not leaving Bella’s.

Almost every day he stopped in for a cupcake, either before or after his shift, depending on what time he worked, and sometimes he’d even come in on his days off.

Those were Bella’s favorite visits, because he’d come in wearing soft, worn jeans that hugged his long legs and now that the weather had turned cold, usually a long-sleeved Henley that fit snuggly across his lean, but muscular torso.

Today he wore a heavy patrol jacket, so all she could do was admire his legs. And his ass. When he wasn’t looking, of course.

Despite eating a cupcake on an almost daily basis, the man seemed to stay in shape.

“Bella,” he greeted softly, his gaze traveling over her hair—which was pulled up and away from her face into a bun—down her throat, then paused on her chest, which was covered by a white apron that had Sophie’s Sweet Treats embroidered on it.

Her nipples peaked immediately under his heated gaze.

Sophie cleared her throat and finally drew his attention. “How’s the kid?” he asked her.

His sister-in-law’s hand automatically dropped to the slight rise of her belly as she smiled warmly at him. “Great, your niece is growing like a weed.”

“Shit,” Bella muttered. “Don’t let Z hear you say it’s a girl.”

Sophie laughed. “That’s why I do it. Drives him crazy.” She tilted her head, her green eyes sliding from Bella to Axel. “I, uh, have to grab something in the back.” Then she was gone before Bella could stop her.

Bella busied herself by picking up where Sophie left off, boxing the cake that would be picked up later for a birthday party.

“Bella,” Axel murmured, getting closer to where she stood, the glass display case the only thing separating them. “Did you make this?”

Her gaze rose to him before she could stop it. He’d peeled the paper cupcake liner away and was now tonguing the cream cheese icing she’d piped over the top.

All the breath left her as the tip of his tongue swirled through the white frosting. Jesus.

He did it to her every time. She should be used to it by now.

“You know I did,” she answered, pressing her thighs together and dropping her gaze back to the sheet cake in front of her. She fiddled with the box, trying to get her mind off what he was doing with his mouth on her cupcake.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Three months ago was the first time they’d ever kissed. Though they’d been close to doing it in the past, they’d never followed through. And that one time in her house, with her pushed against the door, his hard-on pressed to her stomach, she’d been kissed like she’d never been before.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to forget it.

She tried.

But she couldn’t.

She peeked up at him from beneath her lashes. Staring directly at her, the corners of his lips curled wickedly as he now dipped his tongue into the center of the cupcake, slowly savoring the sweet filling.

She groaned.

“What?” he asked, a little bit of frosting stuck to his bottom lip.

If he didn’t take his cupcake and go, she was going to leap over the display case and take him down to the ground to lick it right off of him.

She shook her head to clear it. “Nothing.”

“I thought you said something.”


“You sure?”

“Axel…” she breathed.


She curled her fingers into her palms, digging her nails into her flesh to stop her wicked thoughts. “You have schmutz on your mouth.”

He smiled and ran his thumb over his lower lip then sucked it into his mouth to thoroughly lick it clean.


About the Author:

JEANNE ST. JAMES is a USA Today bestselling erotic romance author who loves an alpha male (or two). She was only thirteen when she started writing. Her first paid published piece was an erotic story in Playgirl magazine. Her first erotic romance novel, Banged Up, was published in 2009. She is happily owned by farting French bulldogs. She writes M/F, M/M, and M/M/F ménages. Want to read a sample of her work? Download a sampler book here:

To keep up with her busy release schedule check her website at or sign up for her newsletter:

Author Links:

Quick & Easy Book 2, A Quick Billionaires Novella AVAILABLE NOW

Quick & Easy Book 2, A Quick Billionaires Novella



Quick & Easy
Book 2, A Quick Billionaires Novella

Getting over your ex isn’t as easy as getting back under them.

Heather Alvarez thought she was over Gavin McAllister. After all, he dumped her—on the phone—ten years ago, then vanished from her life and broke her heartBut now he’s back, and all Heather wants is revenge.

Or at the very least, the breakup sex he still owes her.

Ten years ago, Gavin McAllister made a choice and lost the one woman he’s ever loved. Now he’s determined to win her back, even if it means telling the truth. He’d do just about anything for another chance with Heather.

But a one-night stand, no strings, no future? He doesn’t think so.

This time he wants forever.

Chapter 1


Wasn’t it supposed to rain at a funeral?

It seemed every movie that had a funeral scene took place in the rain. All the guests wore black and clutched big black umbrellas while the rain masked the tears that slipped endlessly down their cheeks; the gray clouds in the sky mimicked the dark mood in everyone’s hearts.

But it wasn’t raining today. Not even a cloud in the damn sky. What the hell?

Heather Alvarez smoothed down the skirt of her charcoal gray lace dress (she just couldn’t do black, even today) and stepped out of her Volkswagen Jetta. The warm April sun hit her cheeks at the same time a gust of wind ruffled the hair on the back of her neck.

She loved spring.

Her dad had loved spring, too.

“There you are,” said her mother, Rosemary, coming out of their family’s Puerto Rican restaurant, Hola, Amigos. “I was beginning to worry.”

Heather offered her mother a small smile as she swung her purse over her shoulder. “Sorry, Mama. There was an emergency at work. You know how busy tax season can get.” Heather bent down and planted a kiss on her mother’s cheek before following her through the full parking lot to the front doors. “Have you needed my help? Or did Lena and Aunt Florence show up?”

Rosemary’s hand fell to her daughter’s back, bringing the scent of cumin and garlic and very subtle lavender. Her mother always smelled like cumin and garlic from the restaurant and lavender from her favorite shampoo.

She rubbed Heather’s back affectionately, maternally. “We’ve had loads of help. Don’t worry, sweetheart. Besides, you were here setting up all last night. What time did you finally get to bed?”

Heather dismissed the question with a shrug.

Rosemary let out a rattled sigh and glanced up at her daughter. Her pale blue eyes were glassy and her strong jaw tight. “This is what he wanted. He didn’t want anybody crying over him. He wanted a party. So, we’re going to give him a party.”

Heather swallowed past the hard lump in her throat and looped her arm around her mother’s slender shoulders, tugging her in tight. “I know, Mama. We’re going to throw him the best celebration of life imaginable. Blow the roof off the place.”

Rosemary chuckled and pulled open the door to the restaurant. Voices, loud and cheerful, greeted them. She met her daughter’s eyes one more time before tossing on a giant smile. “Show time.”

“Heather!” half a dozen or more people cheered as she stepped inside the bright and spacious restaurant. Tables had been pushed to the side and chairs lined up in rows. A podium stood front and center below the sign for half-price daiquiris on Mondays, and a small table with the picture of Eduardo Luis Gomez Alvarez sat next to it. Food, piled high, dressed the tables, while beer, local and imported, nestled tightly into ice buckets. Yes, her dad certainly knew how to throw a party, even in the afterlife.

Just like her mother was, Heather slowly made the rounds of all the guests, accepting condolences and sympathy, hugs and hand pats. Everyone had a story to tell about her father, all good, most funny. And Heather listened. She nodded. She cried. She laughed. By the time the minister announced the start of the sermon, Heather was exhausted, all cried out and ready to go home.

But she couldn’t.

Her mother needed her. It was just the two of them now, and she needed to take care of her mom, be there for her. Hold her.

She took her seat in the front row, her mother on her left, her mother’s best friend, Lena, on her right. Her mother’s sister, Heather’s Aunt Florence, sat on the other side of Rosemary, their hands clasped tight. Slowly, the noise in the restaurant subsided as people took their seats, the din of conversation and the scraping of chair legs on tile receding with the clearing of the minister’s throat.

Heather spun around to take in all the people who had come to say “goodbye” to her father, to celebrate him and what he meant to the community. She absorbed their love, allowed it to bolster her own. Her father had meant everything to her, and in the blink of an eye—a heart attack at the dinner table when they were out for her birthday three weeks ago—he was gone.

It was a packed house. Standing room only and well over the legal limit of patrons for the restaurant. But they’d closed it for the day, put up signs and purchased special permits. If Eduardo Alvarez did anything, he did it aboveboard and he did it right. She was just about to turn back to the front when a big body sneaking in at the back caught her eye. The entire atmosphere in the restaurant shifted, and oxygen left Heather’s lungs as she watched him slowly edge his way behind people, sticking to the shadows and the back of the room. He was tall. Perhaps taller than she remembered and bigger, too. His shoulders and chest were broader, and the way his dress pants hugged his thighs told her he still liked to work out and probably ride his mountain bike.

All the moisture left her mouth as she continued to follow him with her eyes. His head was down, and when he accidentally bumped someone, he was quick to apologize and move on. Eventually, he found a safe space next to the bar, quietly ordered a drink, then stood back, leaning the wide expanse of his back against a wooden column. He tipped his drink up, revealing a very expensive-looking watch at his wrist. His suit was tailored to perfection and high quality, too. Heather didn’t know much about fashion or designers, but she knew that thing wasn’t from JCPenney. His impossibly deep blue eyes closed, and his throat undulated on a swallow as he brought the belly-warming amber liquid into his mouth.

Heather swallowed, too. Fuck, he was still as drop-dead gorgeous as she remembered, as she dreamed. He still hadn’t noticed her, so she took an extra moment to check him out. His swath of dark hair was shorter now, tamer, though it still had that unruly wave to it at the front. He never had been able to control the curl. But she’d loved it. Loved twirling her fingers around and around the silky soft strands as he laid his head in her lap and they watched movies. His gaze shifted, and suddenly his eyes lasered in on her.

A gasp escaped her before she could stop it, and immediately Heather spun back around in her seat. Her mother squeezed her hand, then patted the top with her other hand. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Heather swallowed again. “Yeah, Mama. I’m fine.” Even though she was anything but. The back of her neck prickled and heated from his stare. She knew he was staring. Just knew it. His gaze had always been fierce. Had always stripped her bare and made her submit to his will.

I can’t turn around. Willpower, girlie, willpower. Ah, fuck it.

She craned her neck around to catch another glimpse, and sure enough, he was zeroed in on her like a dog with a bone. The corner of his sexy mouth crooked up into a sad half-smile. His head shifted in an almost indiscernible nod.

The minister cleared his throat again, forcing Heather to spin back around. Her chest tightened and her gut knotted. The minister opened up his book and began. But Heather didn’t hear a damn word. She was too focused on the voices in her head, on the memories that involved the impeccably dressed man at the back of the room. Gavin McAllister, the love of her life, and the boy who broke her heart.


About the Author

A West Coast baby born and raised, Whitley is married to her high school sweetheart and together they have a spirited toddler and a fluffy dog. She spends her days making food that gets thrown on the floor, vacuuming Cheerios out from under the couch and making sure that the dog food doesn’t end up in the air conditioner. But when nap time comes, and it’s not quite wine o’clock, Whitley sits down, avoids the pile of laundry on the couch, and writes.

A lover of all things decadent; wine, cheese, chocolate and spicy erotic romance, Whitley brings the humorous side of sex, the ridiculous side of relationships and the suspense of everyday life into her stories. With mommy wars, body issues, threesomes, bondage and role playing, these books have everything we need to satisfy the curious kink in all of us.

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Tempting Her by Jeanne St. James in Love Me Hard Boxed Set

If, like me, you’ve read all the previously released Obsessed novellas, you’ve been waiting for the next. It’s here. Or will be in one week. Pre-order now for just 99 cents and get Tempting Him along with the additional novellas in the Love Me Hard romance collection. If you haven’t yet read any of this series, let me suggestion The Obsessed Novella Series Boxed Set: Books 1-4. Read those in the week before the Love Me Hard boxed set releases and be primed for Tempting Him.

Tempting Him (An Obsessed Novella)

By Jeanne St. James

On Sale for a limited time for 99¢ in the Love Me Hard Boxed Set

A set of 15 hot & spicy romances that will tickle your fancy!

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It’s not just a love story, it’s an obsession…


Every time my neighbor jogs past my house, I do my best to tempt him. Washing my car, watering my lawn, doing yoga in the grass with all my assets in the air. I’m not sure if he notices me, but I sure can’t miss him.

Then one day he falls… into my arms and into my bed. Surprisingly, we’re better matched than I would’ve expected. But when he reveals who he is, my world comes crashing down around me because if he finds out my secret we’re finished before we’ve even begun.


Three days a week, I put myself through hell by jogging through my neighborhood. I suffer through it simply to catch a glimpse of a woman I don’t know. Every time I pass her house she’s outside tempting me. Until one day I fall… over my feet, over my heart, over this woman and into her arms.

I know nothing about her, but I want to discover everything. Even her deepest, darkest secrets. However, little does she know, I have one, too. One that may sever the tie that binds us.


Chapter One


I watch as sweat drips one bead at a time onto my over-priced yoga mat. The sun is so freaking hot and here I am, like an idiot out in my yard, bent over in the downward facing dog pose for the past million years. Okay, not years… maybe more like a million seconds. But my body has decided it hates me (nothing new) and is cramping while my head spins. Even better, my over-priced yoga pants have clawed their way up my crack (as well as one other place). And still…

No neighbor.

What the hell?

Despite my eyeballs’ attempt at bulging out of their sockets, I peek at my sports watch. He should’ve been by here two-point-five minutes ago.


The man is usually like clockwork, jogging by my house on Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons every week. For the most part, anyway. Though, thunderstorms seem to discourage him from his cardio. (Not sure why.)

On those days, I would be willing to recommend another type of cardio to get his heart pumping. And maybe get his hips pumping, too.

Anyway… look at me! Doing yoga on my front lawn, on the uneven grass, waiting like a desperate woman. (I’m not, really, I promise! It just looks that way.)

But, damn, the man is fine and when he jogs past shirtless, he’s shiny with sweat, which makes me want to drag him inside and give him a sponge bath with my tongue.

My thighs start shaking as I peek between my spread legs, because, of course, my ass has to be facing the street. I want him to get a good look at what I’m offering.

I may even wiggle it a little when he jogs by.

That is if I don’t pass out into a heap first.

I sigh.

Then sigh again a little louder just for good measure.

Maybe it would be easier if I just took up jogging. Wear one of those sexy sports bras, put my hair up in a cute little pony tail, plaster a smile on my face and follow him around the block at a perky pace.

I’ll die first.



Why I ever started this shit, I’ll never know. No, I lie. I know. I thought, “Cade, dude, wouldn’t it be great to up your cardio game and start running?”

I answered myself with, “Yeah, man, that would be great and fun, too!” And then maybe I won’t get so winded when I play basketball with the guys. I’ll have more endurance, I’ll look and feel younger, and…

Fuck that.

Running sucks. And I don’t even think what I do can be considered as running. No, it’s more of a jog. Or a lope. Or trotting like a donkey with a lame hoof.

Inhell. Exhell.

My chest burns, my leg muscles spasm, my balls feel like they’re floating in a puddle of sweat, and the crack of my ass…

I’m not even going there. (Trust me, you don’t want to, either.)

So, why don’t I just stop the torture? (Good question!)

I’ve asked myself that for the past month.

And the answer has always been…


I sacrifice three days a week just to see a woman I don’t know.

Not sure why, but she always seems to be outside at the same time of the day. For that reason, I make sure that’s when I go running (jogging, trotting, limping) by.

Am I crazy to torture myself because I find someone attractive and I’d like to get her attention?

Eh. Maybe.

Why don’t I just knock on her door and ask her out? (Another good question.)

Maybe I want to impress her with my physique and athletic prowess.

But honestly, something has to give and it has to be soon. Because this running shit sucks balls and I’d rather stick razor blades under my fingernails.

At least my slow trot is the right speed to observe her without being creepy. Walking would be too slow and obvious. Driving too quick and useless, not to mention dangerous when she’s clearly a distraction.

And, of course, my pace always allows me enough time to enjoy the show she gives me.

On Wednesday, she was out washing her car, her top soaked, her nipples pushing through the thin fabric of her shirt, and when she bent over to scrub the hood of said car, my boner just about popped out of my shorts. You know, those little nylon running shorts. The ones with the mesh liner, clearly not made for sexual arousal.

But I digress.

The week before, she was out watering her lawn. And, once again, her top was wetter than her grass.

Here’s the thing, the entire neighborhood has built-in sprinklers.

Maybe hers are broken.

It’s possible.

I grunt as I turn the corner and try to push myself a little faster since I’m off my game today. I’m later than normal, and I want my running to look as effortless as possible. It needs to look as though I’ve got my shit together and I’m not secretly suffering.

My eyes swing to the left as I jog. She’s the fourth house up. The brick ranch home with the two-car garage.

Two houses to go yet.

One house.

My eyes widen as I see her ass in tight black yoga pants in the air. My step stutters but I can’t stop my momentum.

My mouth becomes an O, partly because I’m falling over my own two feet, the other because she’s dropped to her knees and is now arching backwards grabbing onto her heels, her generous tits straining against her top.

Last thing I see is her blinking upside down at me as her head hangs down her back.

Suddenly, I’m staring at nothing but pavement (and my loss of manhood). The little bit of oxygen I had sucked into my lungs is now gone.

Then, what seems like seconds later, bare, cute, red painted toes come into view.

I want to just die.

About Jeanne St. James:

JEANNE ST. JAMES is a USA Today bestselling erotic romance author who loves an alpha male (or two). She was only thirteen when she started writing. Her first paid published piece was an erotic story in Playgirl magazine. Her first erotic romance novel, Banged Up, was published in 2009. She is happily owned by farting French bulldogs. She writes M/F, M/M, and M/M/F ménages. Want to read a sample of her work? Download a sampler book here:

To keep up with her busy release schedule check her website at or sign up for her newsletter:

Author Links:






Amazon Author Page:



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