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Thanks to our editor at Penguin, Kristine, and the hard work she’s put into guiding us, answering all of our silly questions, and showing an interest in our writing in the first place. We look forward to continuing to work with you in the future. I can’t think of a kinder, more patient editor to have been given.
Of course our book wouldn’t be what it is without our beta readers. Lina Sacher, who’s become one of our most trusted set of eyes when we complete a book—or think we’ve completed it, only to find out it needs more work! Janine, our good friend, fan, and long-time lover of smutty books, who showers praise upon us so our heads grow so big we can barely fit through doorways. Good thing we have Cari Silverwood, close friend and fellow author, who’s not afraid to stick a pin in our egos in the name of improvement. Thanks to you guys, we revised and revised until our eyes bled to make this book as perfect as it can get.
We’d like to thank our families, who put up with our daydreaming, rushing to the computer in the middle of dinner to jot down an idea, and the all-nighters to finish edits on time. Your unconditional support helps us get through the hard times. Plus, it’s fun to have people to celebrate the good times with.
And most of all, our readers. We do this for you.
Keep reading for a sneak peek at the next book in the Masters Unleashed series from Sparrow Beckett
PLAYING HARD TO MASTER
Available from InterMix October 2015
Morning shift sucked, and not in the good way. Covering Morgan’s maternity leave at the salon was proving more difficult than Everly had anticipated. It wasn’t just the double shifts that made her feet ache and loathe heels for life. The worst part was having to drag her sorry ass out of bed early to open the hair salon.
As a hairdresser, she was expected to look her best—full makeup, hair styled, cute shoes, etc. Getting dolled up at eight AM sucked major monkey balls. Maybe eight in the morning wasn’t early for most people in the working world, but she really, really wasn’t a morning person.
The bells above the door jingled at ten o’clock sharp, signaling her first client was here. Who made a hair appointment at ten in the morning, other than senior citizens? From the back of the salon, she spotted the guy. He was no senior citizen.
His frame filled the doorway, making him look like he was there to conquer the salon and enslave its women. Under his fitted shirt, muscles bulged. From this distance, she couldn’t make out his facial features but his body was enough to either scare her or send her libido into overdrive. Sometimes the line between the two blurred.
The appointment book showed his name and phone number. Ambrose Langly. Interesting name. Not common around here. It sounded foreign and exotic. Almost too dignified for the thuggish guy making his way to the desk.
Ugh. If he was another one of the university snobs, she’d pass him off to Willow after this appointment. But even from a distance, he didn’t look like he belonged in a university. Maybe a WWF wrestling ring. Or prison.
Shaking off a shiver of fear, she put on her best cheerful expression, reminding herself that appointments meant money. Then she walked out to meet him. Mama needs a new pair of fuck-me boots.
“Ambrose?”
His forehead creased when he caught sight of her. “Yes.”
“Hi! I’m Everly.” She stuck out her hand, noticing the purple polish was chipping. It matched the streaks in her hair. She made a mental note to touch it up later.
Ambrose took her hand and politely shook it, but frowned. “Nice to meet you.” He peered around the salon briefly then sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”
Okay then. Maybe he wasn’t a morning person either. “Sure. Come on back.” She waved him to her station and he followed. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m a groomsman in a wedding,” he mumbled behind her. “The bride will kill me if I don’t look presentable.” He almost sounded sulky.
She chuckled, then gestured to her chair. He sunk into it, dwarfing the standard hairdressing chair.
Standing behind him, she hit the foot pedal and brought the chair down so she could actually reach his head. “What is it about weddings that make people so crazy?”
“I have no idea. The groom, who’s my best friend, has even started his own Pinterest account. It’s like I don’t even know him anymore.”
She swung the cape around his neck. “I’m guessing you don’t want your favorite sports team logo shaved into the back then?”
He laughed. “No. Not my style anyway. Just trim it up. Nice and neat.”
The man had a beautiful head. What would it look like if he grew his hair out long? Even at the short length, she could tell it was a light shade of blond, which matched his light complexion. Combined with his size, she wondered if he had Viking heritage. She chuckled inwardly, picturing him sweaty, holding a sword, an army behind him ready to obey his commands. Vikings would make good Doms. And this guy looked like he could give a mean Dom-eye.
Good Lord. Since when did clients make her imagination run so wild? The combination of not getting laid in a while, ovulating, and her biological clock ticking shot her sex drive through the roof. Maybe she’d hit the dungeon tonight and see if she could find a play partner. It’d been a while—there might be fresh meat she hadn’t scared off yet.
After plugging in her clippers, she made her way back behind him. “So do you have to wear a tux and everything?” By the casual look of his jeans and T-shirt, and the roman numerals tattooed on his thickly muscled forearms, he didn’t seem like the type who liked to dress up.
“Yup.”
“I’ll bet you clean up nice.”
