Unconscious Hearts
(Hearts of Vegas Book 1)
By Harper Sloan
Release Day – June 12
Ari Daniels didn’t count on her whole world tumbling down
around her in a mess of shredded promises, broken love, and unbelievable
heartbreak. Alone and stricken with grief, she shouldered the blame and
eventually closed her heart off, refusing to open it for another. After all, anytime she tried, guilt and
regret were waiting in the wings to remind her how painful it was.
A bet and one steamy night with a stranger force Ari to
confront all she’s been hiding behind.
She tries to move on, but he refuses to stand down, wanting what she is
terrified to give—herself. This man may
very well destroy her in the end, especially when it’s clear he has his own
demons.
What happens when two broken souls come together, finally
allowing themselves to believe in the beauty of love … only to have to fight
harder than ever to keep it.
Sales Links:
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BN: https://bit.ly/2wgUmmF
iBooks: https://apple.co/2JTUA4O
Kobo: https://bit.ly/2IfnfV2
Preorder now before the price goes up to regular pricing (4.99) after release!
Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/2HMi8fv
Amazon AU: https://amzn.to/2FFLPZU
Amazon CA: https://amzn.to/2JQRKO7
BN: https://bit.ly/2wgUmmF
iBooks: https://apple.co/2JTUA4O
Kobo: https://bit.ly/2IfnfV2
Preorder now before the price goes up to regular pricing (4.99) after release!
EXCERPT
His eyes get hard for a beat before his features smooth back
out. “Yeah, beyond sure. No one to pass this shit down
to, and even if there was, I wouldn’t be givin’ someone ideas of materialistic
bullshit if I did. More to life than all this shit.”
“Okay, well, in that case …” I cough, not wanting to fight with
him about our views when it comes to expensive wants versus
needs. Last time I tried to argue the benefits of learning to care
for and value something you work hard to buy, I had a black eye for almost two
weeks. “In that case, I’m prepared to offer you a lump sum as
a buyout for the whole collection, but I also want to mention, again, that
consignment would be a more lucrative approach. Our buyout is just a
standard percent of resale value, but consignment would allow us to mark up
each to give you a larger profit.”
“Told you, babe, want it gone. I don’t give a shit
about making it more lucrative. Look around you, hardly hurting.”
“Still, it’s my obligation to make sure you’re informed.”
“Consider me informed.”
“Okay … so I can offer a tentative amount of three
million. I would need more time to inspect each item in depth for
any defects that could affect the value and also to research a few pieces I
feel may be limited editions so that could also affect the
value. Meaning that amount could go up or down, but I wouldn’t
expect it to be less than two point five or more than four point
seven-ish. I wouldn’t need but maybe five days tops, and I can come
during the day if that works better for your schedule.”
“You get this gone in two days, and I’ll take one mil.”
My whole body jerks back as if I had been slapped, staring at
him like he was absolutely insane.
“That’s absolutely insane,” I tell him, voicing my thoughts.
“No, that’s me not giving a shit and wanting it gone so I can
get out of this place and sell it and all this shit some hand with care placed
around each room. Woulda left this shit in and sold it with the
house, but for some reason I’ll never understand, you’re here, and I still just
want it gone. You don’t need five days when I’m taking a two mil
hit, babe. That would waste your time and mine, and I’m not a huge
fan of wasting my time. Way I see it, you win, and I get a cold mil
for some shit I didn’t buy nor care about. So you get this shit
outta here, and all I need is that.”
“Thorn, I can’t in good conscience accept that.”
“Then dirty that conscience up and laugh your tight little ass
all the way to the bank. Don’t give a shit as long as it’s gone, and
I don’t have to do anything to make it that way.”
“This is insanity.”
“Insanity would be tossing it all at the Goodwill
drop-off. I’m making money. You’re making
money. Only thing sweeter than making money is doing it while I’m
getting my cock wet, and babe, that only happens when my stock rises at the
same time my cock does.” He steps closer, and I back into the
island, my chest burning as I hold my breath. “Course, never had
four mil worth of shit to sell to a woman who makes my cock rise without even
trying.”
“Thorn,” I whisper, placing my hand against his hard chest with
the intention of pushing him back. Only, the second his warmth burns
through his shirt and hits my skin, I can’t move an inch.
“Ari,” he mocks, his eyes bright.
“I, uh, the paperwork …” I close my eyes and focus on my breaths
and the words my mouth can’t seem to form. When my heart slows
enough that I won’t die of a heart attack right here in heaven, I look back up
at him. “You’re breaking my brain, Thorn. Please step back
so I can think clearly without my body trying to die on me.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle as he continues to gaze down at
me, but he does step back. My arm falling down to my side.
“As much as I wish I could have this room cleared out for you
tomorrow, it will take at least until late Monday. I’ll need to meet
with you beforehand to have some legal paperwork signed for the sale due to its
size. But my lawyer is an old family friend, so I can have that by
tomorrow around dinnertime, if you wouldn’t mind meeting me to take care of
that. I won’t be able to get the cashier’s check until after those
are signed, so late Monday is the best I can offer you.”
“Want this shit gone, but it’s hardly a hardship to wait a few
more days if that means I’ve got a few more opportunities to try to make you
want me as much as you want this shit around you,” he says, his deep voice
thick with desire.
“Good heavens, you don’t stop, do you?”
“Not unless you beg, babe.”
“I think it’s best we went back to keeping things professional,
Mr. Evans.”
This time, it isn’t a ghost of a smile on his
lips. Oh, no. Not this time. If I thought he
was handsome before this moment, I was a fool. Because Thorn Evans
giving you his full, unhindered smile and a gaze so thick with unspoken promise
as it washes over you and creates a fire of the desire you already felt … well,
that expression on him turns him from sinfully hot to heart-stopping and
irresistible instantly.
“It would take me five minutes to get you to beg me for
it, Ms. Daniels. Admit it.”
Offended at the thought that I’m easy, I narrow my
eyes. Finally. At least anger is an emotion I’ve
had plenty of practice dealing with. “I’m not sure what kind of
women you’re used to, but I promise you, I am not that type of
woman.”
“Maybe three,” he oddly says, ignoring me.
“Three, what?” I snap.
“Minutes, sweetness. Three minutes and you’d be
begging me for all this shit and my cock.”
My mouth flounders, and I gasp.
“Though, pretty sure I could get that in less than a minute and
get you doin’ all the work while I watch from my back.”
My arm is up, palm cracking against his cheek before I have the
ability to do anything to stop it. “I think we’re done here.”
I walk around him, ready to find my way out and let him find
someone else to take all of this off his hands even if it kills a little part
of my lux loving soul. When his hand curls around my bicep—not
painfully, but firm enough to make me stop—I look over my shoulder with a
frown. For a man who was just slapped, he looks almost gleeful.
“One minute, Ari. Give me a minute and if you aren’t
ready to beg me for it, when those sixty seconds are up, you can take this shit
and not give me a penny for it.”
Walk away, Ari. Walk. Away. No
amount of money is worth being some man’s whore.
Spinning away from his hold, I jerk my arm free and step toward
him with a roll up to my toes, getting my face as close to his as I
can. His scent overwhelms me. The subtle notes of his cologne
fog my rational thought, making me drunk with need, and I sway slightly before
correcting myself.
“Thirty seconds,” I retort, my jaw tight with
stubbornness.
I’m not sure who I shocked more—him or me. I
have my answer, though, when I see victory flash in his eyes. Oh, my
God … what have I done?
“You’re on,” he agrees, his eyes alight with the promise backed
up by his devilish grin.
I nod, incapable of anything more. I stand there in
shocked silence as he takes my phone, his thick fingers moving quickly over the
screen. I vaguely hear a chime from his pocket and before I can so
much as blink, he’s handing me my things.
“Tomorrow, I’ll text you. Paperwork first, then you
beg.”
I gulp, jerk my head in what I hope resembles a nod of
agreement, and then … I flee.
About the author:
Harper is a NEW YORK TIMES, WALL STREET JOURNAL and USA TODAY
bestselling author residing in Georgia with her husband and three daughters.
She has a borderline unhealthy obsession with books, hibachi, tattoos and Game
of Thrones. When she isn't writing you can almost always find her with a book
in hand.
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