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His Forever Serial Books 1-3
by
Lena Bourne
Feb 20th- Feb 27th
His Whims(His Forever, Book 1)(A Billionaire Alpha Romance Serial)
Introducing HIS WHIMS - book one of a hot and steamy new billionaire alpha romance serial HIS FOREVER by Lena Bourne!
Twenty-six-year-old journalist Nicole has struggled to get her dream job at one of the world's leading newspapers, and she's determined to keep it. But when the attractive, newly made billionaire banker Mark Cross suddenly reappears in her life, all that is threatened. He wants to claim her, body and soul, and Nicole has never wanted to submit more, yet to do so endangers everything she's achieved. Mark isn't someone who takes no for an answer. He's worked hard to become one of the most successful and richest players in town. Now he wants Nicole. Because he has loved her from afar for many years. And he won't rest until she is his. Forever. *A steamy and suspenseful alpha billionaire romance, perfect for fans of books by J.S. Scott, Cassie Cross, and Hannah Ford.* Suitable for readers 18 years of age and older. Special introductory price: 99 cents! Read for FREE with a Kindle Unlimited subscription.
To read the PREQUEL to this story, download Christmas Surprise by Lena Bourne for FREE.
Excerpt: HIS WHIMS (His Forever, Book One)
Nicole
Iâve been back in the city for a week, and memories of Christmas break are beginning to fade, or more like merge with all the other holiday memories. Even Mark barging back into my life out of nowhere is starting to seem like something that happened a while ago. Or only in my dreams.
No, thatâs a lie.
Heâs still my first thought when I wake up and the last before I fall asleep. Because the sex we had was mind-blowing. Iâve never had better. And the feelings his kisses woke inside me wonât go away no matter how much I try to ignore them. Itâs like heâs always there, in the back of my mind. Watching me. Sometimes I even find myself talking to him. Itâs unnerving.
Especially, since he hasnât been returning my calls.
He lit out of town while I was getting changed at my parents place on Christmas Day.
Left me a note nailed to the wooden door of his fatherâs cottage, with his phone number and a vague excuse of having urgent business to take care of.
A phone number that might not even be his, since I called a million times and mustâve left about half as many voicemails.
Desperate. Thatâs how I was coming across, but itâs stopping right now. This very morning.
My apartment is cold, and the sky outside looks dreary, grey and overcast, like itâs evening instead of morning. It snowed during the night, and will likely again any minute.
I love the beginning of winter; I donât much care for the rest of it though.
My phone rings while Iâm shivering in the kitchen, waiting for my coffee to brew. Itâs my editor, and since itâs barely past six AM, I wonder if he even left the office last night.
âNicole, are you ready?â he asks as I pick up.
I nod my assent and roll my eyes, before I realize he canât see me, and reply with, âYes.â
âI donât have to tell you how important this interview is. Donât be late. We might not get a second chance,â he says, not even pausing for breath. âAre you prepared?â
âI am, Sam, donât worry.â Itâs the truth too. I was up until three AM prepping for it. Because in a couple of hours, Iâll be having brunch with Milton Harrison, the head of Harrison and Associates Bank. He hasnât granted an interview in over twenty years.
âJust donât be late. And wear something nice.â
He hangs up before I can reply, which is probably for the best. Sam has been stressing over this interview for the last three weeks, questioning my readiness the whole time, and itâs seriously starting to get on my nerves.
I spend the next hour or so picking out an outfit thatâs womanly yet professional at the same time. Milton Harrison is old school. He likes his women classy and feminine. No one quite gets why he even agreed to let me interview him. Least of all me. Iâm a young professional woman, with a reputation as a real go-getter, and I donât think I can actually pull off feminine. I completely forgot how to be that in the last few years while I toiled and struggled to get this position at the Wall Street Journal as one of the staff writers. Itâs still very much a manâs world down on Wall Street, and Iâve adapted well. And apart from my curvy shape, I was never very feminine to begin with.
Itâs times like these I wish I still had a roommate, so I could get some feedback on outfits. The rest of the time I prefer living alone.
In the end, I opt for a black pencil skirt, a silk blouse and a blazer. Iâll have to wear stilettos to make the outfit work, and Iâm dreading the snow. But this outfit is the most feminine slash professional thing I own. I really should do some shopping one of these days.
After a quick shower, Iâm ready.
I arrive at the chic restaurant where the interview will take place almost a half an hour early. Punctualityâs never been my thing, Iâm always early.
The waiter seats me, and I order a coffee while I wait. It arrives in a beautiful, ornate pot, with a matching gold-rimmed cup and saucer, and Iâm afraid Iâll break both if I touch anything.
The room is about half full of men in expensive business suits. I recognize some, but not well enough to say hello. I bring out my tablet and notes, then sit back and watch.
The restaurant is gorgeous, and the chair Iâm sitting in is possibly the most comfortable one Iâve ever sat on. Itâs plush, done up in cream velvet with small flowers worked into the fabric. The table Iâm sitting at has a marble top and golden legs that look like lionâs paws. In fact, the whole space looks like some ballroom in a European castle.
Most of the bankers and businessmen are there for meetings, though a few are having brunch with girlfriends. These women all look like models, though if weâre being honest, theyâre most likely escorts. I look out of place in my business attire, and a mass of loose, dark brown hair and probably weigh more than any two of them combined.
Iâm still idly taking in my surroundings, when the whole room seems to do a three-sixty. Mark is sitting with a group at one of the window tables. The other men are talking, but Markâs bright blue eyes are fixed on me, boring into me like he can see right into my soul. All the butterflies in my stomach are back in a flash and I forget Iâm supposed to be mad at him. I just want him to come over here so we can finish what we started on Christmas Eve.
But no.
Iâm mad at him. He abandoned me for the second time when he left this time, and it wonât happen again.
A man clears his throat beside me. âGood Morning. Are you Nicole West?â
I break eye contact with Mark, acting like I didnât even recognize him, and stare up at Milton Harrison, extending my hand.
âI am. Thank you for meeting me here today.â
We shake hands and he sits down. I can still feel Markâs gaze on me like heat coming off a fireplace, but I ignore him completely as I focus on the task at hand.
Only thatâs very hard now that Markâs watching me. A fog is rising in my mind, and all Iâm really thinking of is Markâs chiseled abs, his bulging biceps, his tattooed chest and arms, as I knelt in front of him andâ¦
Focus, Nicole.
I fire off the first of my questions. Once the conversation gets going, I manage to chase Mark from the forefront of my mind. But heâs still there in the back. Watching. Listening.
I live for these interviews. Theyâre my chance to make a difference in the world, and I soon have Milton struggling to find the right answers. With the way heâs diplomatically avoiding my more pointed questions, I might not get much out of him.
âYou are one tough girl, arenât you?â he finally snaps once I start seriously grilling him.
I smile flirtatiously, though inside Iâm seething. Girl? Iâll show him girl. But I shouldnât make him mad, else I might never get another interview with anyone.
âIâm sorry, Mr. Harrison. Sometimes I get a little carried away. You know how it is. I just want to do my best.â
He chuckles at my obvious discomfort, which is only slightly faked. Iâm getting afraid heâll cut this interview short.
âSure, sure, I understand. You wish to make a name for yourself,â he says, something more fatherly crossing his face. âBut I will not comment on the Martinez affair.â
Hell, there goes the whole article. Harrisonâs involvement with one of the biggest Mexican drug cartels is the main reason I sought this interview.
âConsider it a chance to tell your side of the story,â I suggest, surprised I have to. I thought this was exactly why he was meeting me at all. âThe story will get out one way or another.â
He pales at my thinly veiled threat, his whole face tightening. âThere is no involvement. We cut all ties as soon as we learned where the money was coming from.â
Thatâs a lie. Martinez and his dirty money were behind many of the projects backed by Harrison until someone leaked the information. My sources say it still is, even though Harrison and his bank are now claiming theyâve cut all ties.
âSo the Imperial project is not going ahead then?â I ask.
The look Harrison gives me now is pure venom. In a moment heâll tell me to go to hell with my questions and walk out.
âGood Morning, Milton,â a very familiar voice says to my left. âLong time.â
âAh, Mark,â Harrison says, clearing his throat. âAre you finally established in the city?â
They shake hands, though Markâs gaze lingers on me. Or, more accurately, on my cleavage.
Theyâre speaking, but Iâm ignoring him so completely the words donât even register. I can almost feel the air crackling from his annoyance at this. But he ignored all my calls, so I have nothing to say to him anymore.
âAnd how are you, Nicole?â he asks, and it takes my mind a few seconds to decipher the words.
âHave we met?â I shoot back, my own anger crackling now. Heâs seriously gonna pretend heâs not been dodging my calls? Well, weâll see about that.
His cocky grin is replaced by a look of dumb confusion. Serves him right.
âIf youâll excuse me,â I say and stand up. âI have to go freshen up.â
My legs are jelly over what just happened, so I donât know how I get to the bathroom without falling. For the whole way, I can feel Markâs gaze on me, piercing me like a thousand daggers.
But Iâm done pining over him. Or wishing we could ever share something more than a troubled past.
~
The bathroom is huge, bigger than my whole apartment, and itâs stifling hot inside. Though maybe I only feel like that because I just saw Mark, the man Iâve been lusting over for the last three weeks. And I ignored him. Pretended I didnât know him. What was I thinking?
Iâm about to splash some cold water over my face, but remember my elaborate makeup just in time.
When I straighten up from bending over the sink, Markâs standing right behind me, his eyes piercing me through the mirror.
âDidnât recognize me back there, huh?â he growls more than says, and itâs enough to make my panties wet. Or maybe thatâs because heâs leaning against me, his hard cock pressed into my back. Even though Iâm wearing stilettos, he towers over me.
Iâm blushing a hot pink, my mind trying to come up with a snappy comeback, but failing. Of course I recognize him. I never want to not recognize him again.
He hugs me from behind and slides his hand down behind my blouse. My nipples instantly harden. I yelp as he pinches my right one painfully. âMaybe this reminds you?â
His other hand slides over my ass, squeezing hard.
âNo, Mark,â I manage. âSomeone will see.â
But my voice is sultry, and my whole body is vibrating in anticipation. I want him so bad I might explode. But this is so improper. So dirty. Yet so exciting.
He slides my skirt up over my hips, as he kisses my neck, biting down just right, eliciting another sigh.
âI thought you were mine,â he whispers, as he slides down my tights.
Itâs such a gentle movement, abruptly cut short as he rips off my panties, the elastic digging into my flesh painfully before it finally snaps. I yelp again, trying to turn and stop what heâs doing. But he has me pinned against the sink, holding me tight.
âNot here,â I manage, and itâs something between a plea and an invitation.
âWhy not?â he asks. I hear his zipper open.
âSomeone will come in,â I whisper, though Iâm not sure I care any longer.
He spreads my legs further apart with his knee. âLet them. Then everyone will know youâre mine.â
***
His Needs(His Forever, Book Two)(A Billionaire Alpha Romance Serial)
Now Available! HIS NEEDS â the sequel to HIS WHIMS and the second book in the hot and steamy new billionaire alpha romance serial HIS FOREVER by Lena Bourne!
Twenty-six-year-old journalist Nicole has struggled to get her dream job at one of the worldâs leading newspapers, and sheâs determined to keep it. But when the attractive, newly made billionaire banker Mark Cross suddenly reappears in her life, all that is threatened. He wants to claim her, body and soul, and Nicole has never wanted to submit more, yet to do so endangers everything sheâs achieved. Mark isnât someone who takes no for an answer. Heâs worked hard to become one of the most successful and richest players in town. Now he wants Nicole. Because he has loved her from afar for many years. And he wonât rest until she is his. Forever. *A steamy and suspenseful alpha billionaire romance, perfect for fans of books by J.S. Scott, Cassie Cross, and Hannah Ford.* Suitable for readers 18 years of age and older. His Fears(His Forever, Book Three)(A Billionaire Alpha Serial Romance)
Twenty-six-year-old journalist Nicole has struggled to get her dream job at one of the worldâs leading newspapers, and sheâs determined to keep it. But when the attractive, newly made billionaire banker Mark Cross suddenly reappears in her life, all that is threatened. He wants to claim her, body and soul, and Nicole has never wanted to submit more, yet to do so endangers everything sheâs achieved.
Mark isnât someone who takes no for an answer. Heâs worked hard to become one of the most successful and richest players in town. Now he wants Nicole. Because he has loved her from afar for many years. And he wonât rest until she is his. Forever. *A steamy and suspenseful alpha billionaire romance, perfect for fans of books by J.S. Scott, Cassie Cross, and Hannah Ford.* Suitable for readers 18 years of age and older.
Lena Bourne writes stories about independent and smart women who mean everything to the strong men they love. If youâre looking for deep emotions, hot bedroom scenes, and some suspense thrown in, look no further than her books.
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