Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 119852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
At least, that’s what I’ve always been told.
I’m Kayla Harrington—ice queen, corporate shark, and the woman smart men know better than to cross. I plan for every contingency. I don’t get played. Control isn’t just a keyboard button—it’s how I run my life.
Then one electric night in the shadowy back corner of a bar changes everything. Two devilishly handsome men. One unexpected connection. And suddenly, my perfectly ordered world is missing a critical chaos.
But that night was supposed to be a one-time thing. A glitch in my system.
Until they show up at my office. Unannounced. Unwelcome. And dangerously tempting.
Riggs, the gruff defenseman with a chip on his shoulder. Maddox, the party-king winger with a golden heart. They claim I’m their “prize.”
Not for blackmail.
Not for leverage.
But for love.
Love? As if.
Except… they’re relentless. Hilarious. Disarming in ways I never saw coming.
And under all that bravado? They’re tender in a way that threatens to break through every wall I’ve ever built.
For the first time, I’m not sure I want to win this game alone.
Because maybe love isn’t about control.
Maybe it’s about surrender.
And maybe, just maybe, it takes two Devils to melt an ice queen.
Never Dance With The Devils is a full-length romance with an HEA. It can be read as a standalone
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
KAYLA
“You lost, little girl?” the man asks. The smirk on his face grows exponentially as he gives me a slow up and down wolfish look, using his mini flashlight to highlight my more desirable assets. And I’m not talking about my Rolex.
I am neither little at five-seven in my bare feet, nor am I a girl. Even when I was a child, I was never a mere ‘girl’. I was born into the type of privilege that comes with a legacy all its own, one I used to my best ability, meaning I was a bitch long before it was acceptable to saddle me with such an insulting label.
But the truth is, I am a bit lost, because despite my best intentions, today has not gone to plan.
It’s been shit from the start of my day at five in the morning when my coffee pot released thick, clumpy sludge instead of my much-needed brew, to the meeting that went haywire when the CEO who I thought was a sure-thing signature on our merger contract decided to let me down gently, informing me that he’s decided to ride his company into the ground instead of making bank by selling to me. Well, to Blue Lake Assets, but that’s basically the same thing since it’s my family’s capital investment firm. And now to my current situation, which is standing on the sidewalk in front of what is most definitely a club, given the throbbing bass of dance music pouring out through the closed door behind the well-dressed bouncer, and not the bar I asked the hotel concierge to recommend.
I consider my options. I could go back to the hotel’s bar. But that idea is dismissed before it even fully forms. The bartender there is a bit too chatty, bordering on flirty, and I want to sip my consolation drink in peace. I glance up and down the sidewalk, seeing if there might be someplace else more in line with the vibe I’m looking for, but it seems to be storefronts, all of which are long-closed for the evening. I give the bouncer a glacial look. “That depends. Do you have scotch?”
A chuckle rumbles deep in his chest as his smirk morphs into a full smile. “Yeah, we got scotch.”
“Then I’m not lost.”
For the moment, that’s true. A double pour of scotch to soothe away the day’s failures is all I want, and it’s on the other side of that door.
In the larger sense, though, I do feel adrift.
I’ve built a reputation at work for being the closer on difficult assignments. Yet, today’s shitshow ended without either a closing, or at a minimum, the favorable negotiation I’m known for. Am I nursing my wounds? Yes. But only in private, at a bar where I can sulk over a drink and analyze what went wrong to prevent it from ever happening again as I move on to the next project, the next acquisition, and the next big thing. That’s business, something I’m well-versed and experienced in despite being on the cusp of thirty. I grew up sitting in the corner of my dad’s office while he negotiated contracts, planned mergers, and plotted hostile takeovers. It’s all I’ve ever known, and all I’ve ever wanted to do—live up to, and maybe even outshine, his achievements.
“Have a good time,” he says, opening the door. He doesn’t even ask for my ID, which is safely housed in my wristlet bag. Not sure whether I should feel insulted by that or not.
Inside, the music is louder, but thankfully not eardrum-blowing. It’s more of a deep thrum of bass weaving through the darkened space. There’s a dance floor filled with writhing bodies and a stage where the DJ can oversee the effect his work is having on the crowd. I bypass that entirely and make my way to the bar on the far side of the room, where it’s a little quieter.
“What can I getcha?” the bartender asks, his ear tilted toward me as he wipes the shiny surface.
“What’s your top-shelf scotch?”
That gets his full attention and he gives me a once-over too. “Got some twelve-year-old Johnnie Walker, if that’s your thing, or an eighteen-year-old blended Dewar’s. Pricey, though. Just warnin’ ya.”
I nod. “Double of Johnnie, please.”
“You want a seat at the bar?” he asks even though every stool is taken. “Or a spot in VIP?” He lifts his chin, pointing toward an upstairs area.
If I’m honest, I’m not surprised by the special treatment. Everything about me is cultivated and curated to immediately communicate with a glance that I’m a ‘power princess’, from my blonde hair, to my designer office attire including tasteful jewelry at my ears and on my fingers, to my posture, to my aura of importance, though all of that relates to the power portion of my image. The princess part? That’s on me to live up to as the only daughter in a family of five boys, all born to business royalty. Because of that, I’m always treated well, no matter where I go or whether they know my family name, though I’m not averse to throwing it out as a targeted missile when it's warranted.