With passion
this intense, the question remains:
Who’s gonna
come out on top?
Danger Zone, the first in the
all-new, action-packed, slow burn contemporary MM romance series, The Elite
Series, from USA Today bestselling
authors Ella Frank and Brooke Blaine, is out now!
They
train to serve their country.
They
strive to be the best.
But
only a select few can be...
The Elite
*
* *
MATEO MORGAN
CALL SIGN: SOLO
Reckless,
arrogant, and bold, Solo is as known in the U.S. Navy for his bad-boy
reputation as he is for his skills as a fighter pilot. It’s a surprise to his
peers, then, when he’s chosen to train and compete at the most prestigious
naval aviation academy in the world.
MISSION RULES:
1.Kick
everyone’s ass.
2.Do
whatever it takes to win.
3.Do
your best to distract the competition.
4.Especially
when that competition is a gorgeous blue-eyed perfectionist who makes your
blood run hot.
*
* *
GRANT HUGHES
CALL SIGN:
PANTHER
Disciplined,
smart, and confident, Panther can’t afford not to play by the rules. As the son
of a top Navy commander, all eyes are on him, and being anything less than
number one is unacceptable.
MISSION RULES:
1.Keep
it safe in the air.
2.Prove
you’re more than Commander Hughes’s son.
3.No
distractions. Stay focused.
4.Don’t
fall for your competition—especially not the rebellious heartbreaker with lips
made for sinning.
In
the heat of the hot California sun, tempers flare and desires ignite as Solo
and Panther try to resist their attraction while fighting to be number one.
With
passion this intense, the question remains:
Who’s
gonna come out on top?
Danger Zone is
book one of The Elite series and is not a standalone. Book two, Need for Speed,
will release 3.27.20, followed by the final book, Classified, on 4.27.20.
Download your
copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!
Pre-order Need for Speed, The Elite
Series Book Two
Releasing on March 27th
Excerpt:
1.
Grant Hughes
IT WAS ONE of those hot
summer nights, the ones best spent lying on the beach, a cold beer in hand,
staring up at the jets flying overhead, the roar of their engines shaking the
sky. That was where I should’ve been. It was the smart decision, the obvious
choice between being responsible and where I was headed now.
Fuck it. The next ten weeks would have me on my best behavior, and if
I needed a night off to get through it, then I’d take it.
A bead of sweat trailed down
my neck from beneath the suffocating heat of my helmet as I waited for the
traffic light to change. The last of the sun was setting behind me, leaving the
sky overhead a bruise of purples and blues, and as the light flipped to green,
I gunned the engine and took off toward the dark.
Minutes later, I smoothly
guided my Ducati 848 into the parking lot of the unnamed bar—God, that was
sketchy as hell—and then cut the engine. There was no hesitation as I climbed
off the back of my bike, removed my helmet, and clipped it to the back of the
seat. Then I shrugged out of my leather jacket, feeling relief as a gust of
warm wind cooled my bare skin and the sweat on my brow. As the music playing
inside filtered out through the front door opening and closing, a low purr of
anticipation filled my gut. It’d been too long, and I was starving.
As I walked inside, my eyes
adjusted to the dimly lit room. It looked like any bar you’d find anywhere in
the U.S.: cracked vinyl booths along the perimeter, an old jukebox near the
fully stocked bar with TVs playing a whole lot of no one’s watching. For a
Sunday, it wasn’t too packed, but that didn’t much matter considering I was
here for a sure thing. Another quick sweep of the room told me he hadn’t
arrived yet, so I made my way to the bar, conscious of the gazes my way, sizing
me up.
“I’ll have a Heineken,” I
told the bartender, resting my elbow on the bar top and dropping my jacket onto
the counter. Sitting down would invite visitors, and my night was set.
When the bartender popped the
top and pushed the bottle my way, I took a long swig of the ice-cold beer and
glanced up at the one television not playing a sports channel. The local news
was on, running a feature on the air show from the weekend, and as I watched
the planes showing off maneuvers, I felt a pair of eyes watching me.
I glanced at the clock behind
the bar, choosing to ignore whoever it was making my skin heat, and silently
cursed out my now late date. The last
thing I needed was to be standing here solo, looking like I wanted someone to
approach. That wasn’t me; I wasn’t the kind to troll a bar looking for a good
time. I was more into having a plan and executing it. No surprises that way. No
way for things to blow up in my face.
Keeping that thought in mind,
I continued to pay extra-close attention to the F/A-18 Hornet aircraft
executing barrel rolls across the television screen. I thought I was doing a
pretty good job of giving off a don’t
come near me vibe, but a few minutes later someone stepped up alongside me,
invading my personal space in a way that indicated he wasn’t merely interested
in the empty seat beside me.
Dammit, this was the last
thing I needed.
“Hey there, this seat
taken?”
The cocksure tone of the man
who’d just delivered that very unoriginal line told me he wasn’t worried in the
least that I’d turn him down. In fact, before I said anything, I could feel the
guy sliding into the seat beside me, his body heat warming the bare skin of my
arm.
I ground my back molars
together and slowly turned in the direction of my new companion, and as I
prepared to give my “thanks, but no thanks” speech, my words got caught
somewhere in the back of my throat.
Situated as we were, I found
myself looking down into a pair of eyes the color of smooth, expensive whiskey,
lined with lashes so thick it looked as though he had taken a kohl liner to
them. His hair was buzzcut short and brown, his skin bronzed like some kind of
sun god, and when I continued to stand there like some kind of statue, a
brilliant white smile crept across a pouty set of lips.
Hell, this guy was one of the
most beautiful men I’d ever seen in my life—the problem was, he knew it.
“I’m gonna take that as a
no.” Those stunning eyes boldly swept over my body, from my black t-shirt to my
jeans, and when they finally landed back on my face, he winked. “Lucky me.”
Arrogant, bold, and cocky.
The guy staring back at me was everything I steered clear of when it came to a
quick hookup. I needed reliable, trustworthy, and discreet.
Looking away, I took another
sip of my beer. “Sit wherever you like.”
“Ahh. I see.”
When he didn’t add anything
to that, I took the bait. “See what?”
Out of the corner of my eye,
that cocky half-smile still on his face, the guy shrugged. “Two theories.
You’re either into playing hard to get, or…”
Though every instinct told me
not to engage, I looked his way. When his eyes locked on mine, I realized my
mistake. “Or?”
“Or you’re the aggressor.”
“The what?”
“The guy who goes after what
he wants, not the one being pursued.”
I snorted and went back to
pretending to watch the news, but then the guy leaned in, invading my space
once again.
“So? Which is it?”
“Maybe it’s neither.”
“Or maybe you’re lying.” He
dropped his voice down low. “Want me to go back to the end of the bar?”
I couldn’t help the chuckle
that left my throat, because as unwanted as the attention was, you almost had
to give it up for the guy’s persistence. If I wasn’t waiting for someone, I may
have even found him charming.
“Another,” I said to the
bartender, holding up my empty bottle. Then I glanced over my shoulder, looking
once again for the familiar man I was here for, but when he still hadn’t
arrived, I turned my body so I casually faced the man practically begging for
my attention.
This time, I let my gaze roam
over him, taking in the tight fit of his dark jeans and the way the olive-green
t-shirt he wore was practically a second skin over his muscled build. He was
devastating in that heartbreaker-but-you’ll-love-every-second-of-it way, and
damn if my cock didn’t take notice.
“Oh please, feel free. Should
I stand up?” He went to stand, but I shot my hand out, pushing against his
chest so he stayed right where he was. His body beneath my fingertips was
nothing but hard muscle, and I licked my lips before I could stop myself. Fuck,
he was tempting.
When the bartender pushed
another beer my way, I jerked my hand back and reached for the bottle.
“You don’t say much, do you?”
“Not here to talk.”
“No?” He got to his feet this
time, kicking the stool away. “I can get on board with that.”
I sighed, half annoyed and
half turned on. I knew which side would win in the end. “Look, I appreciate the
attention, but I’ve got plans and they’re not with you.”
The guy grabbed his chest
like he’d been shot. “Ouch. Brutal.”
“Better not to waste your
time.”
“Ah-huh. So where’s your
date?”
My jaw twitched. “Late.”
“Sounds like that’s more of a
waste of time to me. I’d never make you wait.” He leaned in, his words practically
a whisper. “I’d come every time you told me to.”
About Ella
Frank
Ella Frank is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the
Temptation series, including Try, Take, and Trust and is the co-author of the
fan-favorite erotic serial, Sex Addict. Her Exquisite series has been praised
as “scorching hot!” and “enticingly sexy!”
A life-long fan of the romance genre,
Ella writes contemporary and erotic fiction.
Some of her favorite authors include
Tiffany Reisz, Kresley Cole, Riley Hart, J.R. Ward, Erika Wilde, Gena
Showalter, and Carly Philips.
Connect with
Ella
Join Ella and Brooke’s Facebook
reader group, Brooke and Ella’s Naughty Umbrella: http://bit.ly/36KdvLx
About Brooke
Blaine
Brooke Blaine is a USA Today Bestselling Author best known
for writing romantic comedy and M/M romance. Her novels lead with humor and
heart, but Brooke never shies away from throwing in something extra naughty
that will scandalize her conservative Southern family for life (bless their
hearts).
She’s a choc-o-holic, lives for
eighties bands (which means she thinks guyliner is totally underrated),
believes it’s always wine o’clock, and lives with the coolest cat on the
planet—her Maine Coon mix, Jackson Agador Spartacus.
Connect with
Brooke
Website: http://www.brookeblaine.com
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