Inside Out Series

The Secret Life of Amy Bensen
Tall, Dark and Dangerous

TOP PICK! 4 1/2 Stars! “Darkly intense and deeply erotic, each new reveal involving Chris and Sara leaves you raw and restless, emotions running high as you wait for the next obstacle. These books are an addiction!”

— RT Book Reviews on NO IN BETWEEN
Careless Whispers
Dirty Money

White Lies Duet


Book one in the sexy and intense new White Lies duet from New York Times Bestselling Author Lisa Renee Jones!

There are those moments in life that are provocative in their very existences, that embed in our minds forever, and sometimes our very souls. They change us, mold us, maybe even save us. But some are darker, dangerous. If we allow them to, they control us. Seduce us. Quite possibly even destroy us.

The moment I walked into Sonoma’s Reid Winter Winery and Vineyard and made eye contact with Faith Winter for the first time was one of those moments. Provocative because I know at least one of her secrets, of which, I suspect she has many. Provocative because she believes I was a stranger to her when we met, but I am not. Provocative because I sought her out, with no intention of touching her. But now I have. Now I want her. Now I have to have her. But that changes nothing. It doesn’t change why I came for her.



The second and final book in the sexy and tantalizing White Lies Duet from New York Times Bestselling Author Lisa Renee Jones.

Nick “Tiger” Rogers, sought out Faith Winter with revenge as his agenda. He made her his obsession. He seduced her. He made her want him. He made her trust him. And then he trusted her. He wanted her. He loved her.

But now, the lies will be exposed, the truth revealed.

Hearts will be broken. Lives shattered.

Nick. Faith.

The truth. The passion.

The SHAMELESS obsession.




I’m kissing her, drinking her in and this time, and unlike the kiss by the refrigerator, I don’t hold back and neither does she. Our tongues connect, stroke, battle…but it is one I will win. I will demand everything she has to give me. I want her free will. I want her as exposed as I vowed to make her, and it’s not to prove she’s a killer. It’s for me. For the man in me who not only wants to own this woman, I will. And when she tries to resist, when I sense her trying to withhold even a piece of herself, my hand covers one of her breasts. My fingers stroke her nipple with delicate, sensual touches that become rougher and rougher.

She pants into my mouth, and satisfied that wall she just tried to put up has fallen, I nip her lips, lapping at the offended area before I pull back, fingers still tangled in her hair. I yank at my tie and unbutton the last two buttons still intact, but I don’t move away. Not yet. I kiss her again, hard and fast, and while the resistance is gone, the taste of challenge remains on her lips, but it will soon be submission. She just doesn’t know it yet.

My hands go to her hips and I lift her off the counter and pull her to me, molding every soft perfect female part of her to my harder body, one hand cupping her sweet little ass. My lips linger just above hers, and damn it, there is this deep ache in me for this woman that is unfamiliar, unwelcomed. The lies I’ve told her are a fist in my chest that I reject. I have to know the truth and it’s not a truth someone just tells.

I squeeze her ass and then draw back and smack it, testing her, feeling out the depth of those nerves she showed me, her comfort level with where I might take her. Making a judgment on where I think she wants me to lead her. She doesn’t jolt with the impact. She doesn’t act shocked or angry. She leans into me, her body already submitting to me even if her mind has not, her hand covering my hand where it covers her breast. Her message is clear: She wants the kind of escape I’ve just offered. She wants me to push her to go to places that consume, to leave room for nothing else but the here and now. No fears. No nerves. No emotion, of which I hope like hell does not include guilt.

Whatever particular sins she wishes to escape—and to me emotions that control us are sins—she doesn’t just want someone to fuck. She wants that invisible something that she believes I can give her. After two years of trusting no one, she’s chosen to gamble on a man who’s here to expose more than her passion. If she is guilty of murder or blackmail, or both, I’m a master in every sense of the word. If she’s innocent, I’m a bastard in every sense of the word. I kiss her again, and this time there is anger on my tongue, accusation, my own lies, and maybe hers.

And when I pull back, my anger, my own torment over my actions, her trust, her possible sins and mine, have shifted the mood between us. Intensity that wasn’t there moments before pulses between us, a living thing, a band wrapping us, pulling us closer but in a dark, volatile way. Her hands grip my arms, fingers flexing into my skin. Our breathing is ragged, heavy. I scoop her up, aware of how naked she is but for her thigh highs and her high heels, aware she is mine to own now, and mine to destroy if I so please. And she doesn’t know it. There is something powerful and arousing about this idea that I’m pretty sure makes me a sick fuck, and I’m accusing her of being no better, she just doesn’t know it. But I reject the guilt that pierces a tiny part of my black, steel heart for her and her alone. I’ll make being owned feel so good for her.

I carry her to the living room, but I don’t take her to the couch. I take her to the rug in front of the fireplace and lower her to her feet in front of me. She reaches for me, and damn, as much as I crave those hands on my skin, I resist and catch her wrists.

“You touch me when l say you can touch me from this point forward.”

Her eyes flash with defiance. “And if I don’t agree?”

“Then I don’t touch you.” I walk her to me, her elbows bending, arms resting between us. “We both know what you want from me.”

“Which is what?” she demands, a hint of vulnerability in her voice that I find sexy as hell.

“An adrenaline rush. The kind that pushes your limits but comes with a burn for more tomorrow, not with the regret your nerves fear I’ll give you. But your hard limit pushes for just that. It says, all or nothing tonight. It says, go there now or there is no chance to go there later. I won’t go there now just to live up to your hard limit.”

“I didn’t set sexual limits. I set a time limit.”

“If you didn’t have a sexual limit, you wouldn’t have gotten spooked earlier and you wouldn’t have gone untouched for two years.”

“That two years has nothing to do with us tonight.”

“It does to me. You have limits. Someone broke them.”

“I don’t have limits tonight.”

“Except one night. And that creates a limit for me. I won’t take you too far and find out it’s too far, too late, to turn back time. Consider that my new hard limit, added to my promise to make you want more than tonight. Because I do.”

“If you plan to treat me like a delicate flower, this ends now.”

“I don’t do delicate flowers, sweetheart. Cowering females don’t get me off. But you aren’t that, and you do. You get me off, Faith. But submission isn’t weak. It’s fearless. It’s pleasure. But it’s also trust.“

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