One Wild Night
A flirty, sexy contemporary romance from bestselling authors, A.L. Jackson and Rebecca Shea . . .
"A fun, flirty, and fire-hot, feel-good romance" --Karen, Bookalicious Babes
It's here!!!!!! ONE WILD NIGHT is LIVE!
It's fun.
It's flirty.
It's sexy.
And yep, it'll still give you the feels!
I had an absolute blast writing this collaboration with one of my very best friends, Rebecca Shea, and we're so proud to bring it to you. It's a departure from what we typically write, but there is something about it that just hit the spot ;)
I hope you love Paxton and Kaylee's super fun, sexy story <3
xoxo - Amy
Blurb:
A flirty, sexy contemporary romance from bestselling authors, A.L. Jackson and Rebecca Shea . . .
Kaylee Rose Burton, kindergarten teacher, has never been a believer in fantasies.
Living in L.A. her entire life, she knows the glitz and glam of Hollywood is just an illusion.
That is until she stumbles head first into the arms of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelor.
It was just another day for Paxton Myles on the red carpet until the blue-eyed beauty literally stumbles at his feet.
A single glimpse in her innocent eyes and he knows he has to have her.
After one night of unbridled passion, Kaylee slips away to live her quite life, but the paparazzi has other ideas.
When Kaylee’s world comes crashing down, can Paxton convince her that their one wild night could turn into forever?
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EXCERPT:
Roger Ward was truly brilliant.
And by God, so was the face that entered
the screen. It was an outright crime for a man to look as good as
Paxton Myles, and now I knew first hand it wasn’t just
photoshopping and lighting.
So maybe in this film he was playing
eighteenth century English Royalty.
None of that really mattered.
Because the man was a freaking Greek
God.
The air stirred, a whoosh of quieted
activity at the empty seat that was supposed to belong to Elle.
My breath hitched. I struggled not to
inhale, struggled not to look. Struggled to pretend as if I wasn’t
hit with an overwhelming urge to turn and bury my nose in that
masculine scent I could feel prodding at my senses.
The way my chest was heaving and my
hands curled around the armrests had to have been obvious enough.
Suddenly he was there, pushing into my
personal space, his mouth at my ear. His Southern accent that had me
in a puddle earlier was now twisted to match the character on the
screen. “He’s a good-looking bloke, isn’t he?”
I had to shake my head to clear it of
the stupor. My chin tipped up toward him, my eyes narrowed in a
scowl. “Excuse me?” It came out an accusation.
He just sent me one of those
belly-flipping grins, the magnitude of it lit up in the frames
flicking across the screen. “That bloke there on the screen. You
seemed a little…impressed.”
“Um, wow. Someone’s full of
themselves, aren’t they?”
I sent the words with all the confidence
I could muster, hoping they would knock him down a notch.
His cockiness just grew. Those full lips
tweaked into a smirk. “Oh, Kaylee Rose. Don’t act like I couldn’t
tell you wanted to climb right over these chairs and fall into that
screen. And here I am, in the flesh. No need to go pretending when
you can have the real deal.”
“Shh.” It was all a frantic whisper,
my eyes wide and wild as they jumped to Roger and Lindsay, praying
they weren’t noticing who’d slithered up to my side.
God. Did the man have no shame?
His hand found the slit on my dress, his
fingertips light, so, so light I had to wonder if he was really even
touching me. Still, the energy eliciting a cascade of chills, an
illicit feeling washing me in thigh-clenching desire.
“I like your dress.” He whispered it
like a tease.
Nope.
No shame whatsoever.
He inched closer, and I lost all my
breath. My hands clutched tighter to the armrests, and I gave it my
all to keep my breaths from panting out of my lungs.
“Stop it,” I hissed.
“Stop what?” Oh yes, he could play
it off as all kinds of innocent. But I could see the mischief
glinting in the brown of his eyes.
“Stop trying to get a rise out of me.”
“Is that what I’m doing? Getting a
rise out of you? I’m fairly certain it’s the reverse.”
A.L. Jackson and Rebecca Shea are bestselling authors residing in Arizona. After being writing partners for five years, it only made sense that they'd put their minds together to bring their readers something fun, flirty, and sexy.
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Kimberly Daniels is a middle school English Teacher who took the advice of her students to pursue her writing hobby as a career. When she’s not at her laptop dreaming up new happily-ever-afters, she can be found glued to the TV or Kindle consumed with a new show or book addiction. She lives with her husband and two daughters in in the suburbs of Philadelphia, spending weekends at basketball games, softball fields, and dance recitals.
Shayla Black is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than sixty novels. For nearly twenty years, she’s written contemporary, erotic, paranormal, and historical romances via traditional, independent, foreign, and audio publishers. Her books have sold millions of copies and been published in a dozen languages.
Raised an only child, Shayla occupied herself with lots of daydreaming, much to the chagrin of her teachers. In college, she found her love for reading and realized that she could have a career publishing the stories spinning in her imagination. Though she graduated with a degree in Marketing/Advertising and embarked on a stint in corporate America to pay the bills, her heart has always been with her characters. She’s thrilled that she’s been living her dream as a full-time author for the past eight years.
Shayla currently lives in North Texas with her wonderfully supportive husband, her daughter, and two spoiled tabbies. In her “free” time, she enjoys reality TV, reading, and listening to an eclectic blend of music.
I’d been tricked. Betrayed.
After Andre and Jean ate their lunch, we headed outside to deal with her stuff. The cold wind suited my mood to perfection.
Talk about disappointed.
“Don’t lift that, it looks heavy,” I snapped.
Jean blinked. “It’s a pillow.”
“The world’s largest pillow ever. You can’t be too careful.” My gaze roamed over her swollen middle. “You’re . . .”
“Pregnant?” she asked with a voice dripping poison and sugar.
“Are you having trouble with the concept?”
“Absolutely not. I was just going to say huge, that’s all.”
She blew out an exasperated breath. “Thanks, Eric. That makes me feel so much better.”
“I just . . .”
“Don’t bother.” The woman turned back to her sensible, medium-sized SUV and got busy riffling through the contents. I was surprised she’d been able to squeeze into the driver’s seat.
Boxes and stuff took up almost every inch inside the vehicle. Each and every box seemed to have been neatly labeled with the contents.
The woman took her organization seriously. She looked over her shoulder. “You know, I can’t help noticing that Eric-the-smooth-moving-flirt has been suddenly replaced by Eric-the-awkward-jerk.”
“Well, you said you were single.” I folded my arms defensively across my chest.
“I am.”
And then there was an awkward silence.
“Yeah, but . . . I mean, in your condition . . .” I fumbled to a halt.
She turned, face all scrunched up. Like I was the one with the problem.
“Just hop out of the way so I can grab some boxes,” I said, voice gruff.
Still nothing from her. “It’s a second-story walk-up and you have a lot of stuff to get up there. You should be taking it easy.” Hands on hips, I tapped my black leather boot against the sidewalk, waiting her out. “Jean, I’m not trying to insult you. It’s the truth.”
She swore quietly, going back to fussing with the contents in the vehicle. I don’t think any woman has ever given me the silent treatment quite this quickly. Usually I’m good for at least a couple of hours after seeing them naked.
Man, I still couldn’t believe this was happening. God hated me or something. Pregnant women and me were enema. Anathema. Whatever. Now that I’d seen her out in the autumn light, however, she looked younger than I’d first guessed. Despite her tired eyes, her skin was smooth, soft looking. She was likely closer to her early twenties than mid.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Why do you care?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “Just curious.”
“How old are you?”
“Nearly thirty.”
She sniffed. “I’m twenty-two.”
Young, like I’d thought. She was probably too immature for me, anyway.
“Come on, Jean. Let me get some of the boxes.”
Boyd ambled out of the Dive Bar, turning his head this way and that, looking up and down the street. I raised my hand and he started over in our direction. The big cook would make short work out of moving all this stuff. Behind us, Andre and Nell came out of the tenants’ entrance to the Bird Building. The place was a big brick building about a hundred years old. Just past the door was an entryway with stairs leading up to the second floor, followed by two empty shops, their windows covered in flyers about local events. Concerts and parades and shit. They’d been vacant for a while, unfortunately. Andre’s Guitar Den came next, then Pat’s tattoo parlor Inkaho, and the Dive Bar on the corner.
“Everything’s good to go. Alex and I gave it a cleaning last week just to be sure,” said Nell, smacking a kiss on Jean’s cheek.
“You’ll meet Alex later. She’s probably busy working or something now. She’s sort of a shut-in.”
“You two didn’t have to do that,” said Jean. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
Andre leaned against the SUV. “Your furniture got delivered yesterday too, so it’s all good to go.”
“Excellent,” said Jean. “I can’t wait to sleep in a decent bed again. Road trips when you’re seven months’ pregnant kind of suck.”
“I bet.”
“Who’s minding the kitchen?” I asked.
“Lydia will text Boyd if they need something,” said Nell.
“We’re only going to be a few feet away from the place.”
I frowned.
“I own the kitchen, Eric. Not you,” she said. “You’re in charge of the bar, that’s all.”
One of Jean’s eyebrows inched up slightly. So I might have implied that I was the sole owner. Shit happened.
I crossed my arms. “Fine. No need to bite my head off.”
“My best online friend just moved to town. We’ve been texting and skyping for months. She’s been an absolute rock for me through all the nerves of being pregnant again,” said Nell. “Stop messing with my happy.”
And then there was an awkward silence. Great. If only there was some way to get out of helping without looking like a raging asshole. The possibility of anything happening between me and Jean had been buried six feet deep, never to be spoken of again.
Kylie is a New York Times and USA Today best-selling author. She was voted Australian Romance Writer of the year, 2013 & 2014, by the Australian Romance Writer’s Association and her books have been translated into eleven different languages. She is a long time fan of romance, rock music, and B-grade horror films. Based in Queensland, Australia with her two children and husband, she reads, writes and never dithers around on the internet. You can learn more about Kylie from 
About FALLEN INK
New York Times/USA Today bestselling author Melanie Moreland, lives a happy and content life in a quiet area of Ontario with her beloved husband of twenty-seven-plus years and their rescue cat Amber. Nothing means more to her than her friends and family, and she cherishes every moment spent with them.
About Lauren Blakely:
A #1 New York Times Bestselling author, and #1 Wall Street Journal Bestselling author, Lauren Blakely is known for her contemporary romance style that's hot, sweet and sexy. She lives in California with her family and has plotted entire novels while walking her dogs. With fourteen New York Times bestsellers, her titles have appeared on the New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestseller Lists more than 90 times, and she's sold more than 2.5 million books. In April she'll release COME AS YOU ARE, a sexy new standalone romance. To receive an email when Lauren releases a new book, sign up for her newsletter! 
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