{Exclusive Excerpts} Bad Boys Next Door Box Set By Selena Kitt, Charlotte Stein & Gwendolyn Cease (@SelenaKitt @Charlotte_Stein) #BadBoysNextDoor

Bad Boys Next Door Box Set – Available March 16th, 2015

There’s just something about a bad boy… It could be that neighbor you’ve had the hots for forever. Or maybe the guy in the cabin or office next door. It might even be a guy you meet on vacation or one you’ve known since you were a kid.

Twelve prolific authors, including New York Times Bestseller and USA Today Bestseller, Selena Kitt, and USA Today Bestseller, Jenny Trout writing as Abigail Barnette, present a sizzling collection of erotic romance sure to bring you to your knees and make you believe in love again – or, at least, lust at first sight!

Set also includes: Gwendolyn Cease, Bronwyn Green, Tilly Greene, Elise Hepner, Jessica Jarman, Sommer Marsden, Kris Norris, Paige Prince, Charlotte Stein, and Alison Tyler.

Working For The Weigands by Selena Kitt

Lloyd “Boone” Goodhart has been working for the Weigands since he was in high school, mowing their ornamental lawn, shoveling their long, winding driveway and skimming their enormous in-ground pool for extra cash, much of which he gives to his mom, a single-mother who has worked in the Wal-Mart bakery for twenty years. Boone, more apathetic cynic than true slacker, is also attending community college, bagging groceries at a local supermarket, and rebuilding his dead-beat dad’s old Harley.

His second summer after high school graduation starts out just as mundane and routine as the first, but Boone’s world turns upside down when Mrs. Weigand tells him her husband has left her, and her daughter has returned from boarding school in Europe, where Danielle “Ellie” Weigand has spent the past five years.

Before he knows which way is up, Mrs. Weigand starts requesting extra services of Boone—in more ways than one—while her daughter, Ellie, teases him mercilessly, just like she did in junior high. He soon finds himself immersed in a desperate, passionate affair, with not just one woman, but two.

Ellie Weigand had always been spoiled, but until she came home from Europe, I had no idea just how spoiled. I was fixing a pipe under the Weigand’s sink when she waltzed into the kitchen wearing pristinely white short-shorts and a button-down denim shirt she had knotted up under her breasts. She had her long, auburn hair pulled up and back in some sort of messy knot, long strands of it framing her face as she stood on one foot in front of the fridge, peering in with that same pursed-lip scowl she’d worn the other day when she was standing on the balcony.
“Oh my god, there is nothing to eat in this house,” she muttered, poking around inside the fridge. I just continued loosening the elbow joint, not saying a word. I could see her profile from my vantage point, the swell of her breasts, her shirt unbuttoned low, the exposed expanse of her abdomen, those long, damned legs, even the pale pink instep of her foot—the entire package—and it made my package start to swell in my jeans.
I shifted to the side, hoping it wouldn’t be noticeable, but I couldn’t help remembering what she looked like naked, how full and absolutely perfect her breasts were with those pink nipples, like bits of candy just waiting to be sucked. And of course, remembering her naked wasn’t helping the situation below my belt any.
“Mother!” Ellie called over her shoulder, and I found myself focused on her neck, how long and elegant it was, how I could see red fuzz on the back of it when she turned her head, and that got me to thinking about the red fuzz I’d seen elsewhere on her body—and what in the hell was wrong with me?
I returned to the job at hand, looking away from her and paying attention to the pipe. I had the elbow joint off completely and had discovered the cause for the stopped up sink—it looked like no one had bothered to use the garbage disposal at all, because the damned thing was full of food. I emptied it into the bucket I had propped under the pipe. I had to replace the elbow joint but I needed a new washer and now I was stuck under the sink, twisted around with my knee up, moving the bucket so far I felt water dripping on my head from the sink pipe, hoping Ellie Weigand wouldn’t notice the tent pole in my pants.
“Mother, are you going shopping? There is nothing to eat in this house!”
Mrs. Weigand called from somewhere else, her voice faint, “So go to McDonalds!”
Ellie snorted, slamming the stainless steel refrigerator doors closed, and headed in my direction. I held perfectly still as she stepped lightly over me in her bare feet, pretty much ignoring my existence, like she always had. I heard cupboard doors opening and closing. I was half in and half out of the cupboard under the sink, still kind of twisted with my leg pulled up to hide the rather embarrassing bulge in my crotch, which was growing by the minute because I could see the soft down on her thighs, the lightest of peach fuzz, and the way her shorts hugged her crotch and I noticed a faint pink scar on her knee that, for some reason, seemed more intimate and exciting to me than seeing her fully naked.
I was so lost in the sight of her long, slim legs straddling me that when she turned on the kitchen faucet and sprayed me in the face with water, I thought at first maybe someone was just trying to wake me up from a dream. Then I sputtered and yelled and tried to cover the spray with my hand, but it hit me full force, soaking everything.
I felt for the bucket, but could barely see anything with all the water streaming down onto my head.
“Turn it off!” I sputtered. “Turn it off! Jesus Christ, turn it—”
The water slowed to a trickle and I shook my head, wiping water out of my eyes to find Ellie bent down, hands on her knees, staring at me like I was some curiosity she wanted to get a closer look at.
“What’s going on in here?” I heard Mrs. Weigand’s voice growing closer. “Boonie, did you fix it?”
Then they were both there, hands on knees—Mrs. Weigand’s were bare too, because she was still in her nightgown—looking at me with wide, shocked eyes and open mouths.
“Boonie.” Ellie snickered. “Do they still call you that?”
“Not since second grade,” I muttered, reaching for the kitchen towel Mrs. Weigand offered, wiping my face.
“What happened?” Mrs. Weigand asked, offering me a hand up, but I ignored it. My erection had waned—nothing like a cold shower to kill a hard-on—but it was returning as I sat on the kitchen floor, looking up at the two women hovering over me, one of them like a concerned mother hen, the other looking amused and not at all sorry for the chaos she’d caused.
Mrs. Weigand’s nightgown was of the more modest variety today. She’d been expecting me. I was supposed to be skimming the pool right now, but she’d opened the back door and waved me in before I could get started, whispering like someone might overhear us, “Do you know anything about plumbing?”
“A little…”
And now here I was looking at her in her pink nightie, not see through at all, with black lace at the bodice and around the bottom, which was a respectable length, to her knees. Still, her nipples poked out, showing through the satin material, and the woman had legs that went on forever, just like her daughter. It was what I didn’t see that turned me on so much. And in Ellie’s case, what I had already seen and knew was hidden under those short-shorts and tied-up denim shirt.
“I turned on the water.” Ellie shrugged. “How was I supposed to know?”
I blinked at her. “Uh, from my feet sticking out under the sink?”
“That’s not all that’s sticking out.” Ellie smirked, looked pointedly at the bulge in my jeans. I felt my face reddening, quickly clambering up off the floor and wiping my wet head with the already soaked towel.
“Boone, you’re a mess.” Mrs. Weigand shook her head sympathetically, but I saw her glance down at the obvious arousal her daughter had already pointed out. 

Curveball By Charlotte Stein - 

When Judy Myers is offered a relaxing vacation to get away from her latest heartbreak, she can’t say no. A cruise on her brother’s yacht sounds like heaven...until she realizes her brother’s best friend has been invited along for the ride.

Steven Stark is big, he’s loud, and he’s obviously not interested in the plump, plain little sister he used to tease unmercifully. In fact, he’s still quite happy to tease her – until she turns the tables on him. Now, Steven can’t seem to keep his thoughts, or his hands, to himself. And worse, Judy’s not sure she can resist the attraction she’s kept buried for so many years.

Being trapped on a boat isn’t the best place to be, when you’re suddenly thrown a hunky curveball.

“Want me to help you snorkel?” he asks—which is lovely of him, even if I now have to explain that the problem isn’t exactly snorkeling. 
“It’s not that I can’t do the breathing stuff. It’s the diving I have trouble with. I don’t seem to want to go down.”
“Oh that’s so disappointing,” he says, and at first, I don’t get it. It’s only after he’s laughed and swiftly changed the subject that my face burns and my body turns to goo—he meant the other implication of going down. He made a euphemistic sex joke in my presence, even though he has to know how little I’m built to cope with that.
I think I go stiff in his arms, about a second before he rushes on, “I mean, uh, yeah. That’s not a problem,” he says, then in a way that suggests he can’t stop himself, “I’ll help you go down.”
Of course, he hesitates for a while before he goes with it. He obviously felt me get all nervous, and thought I needed a grace period. But in the end I’m kind of glad he decides to keep this euphemism stuff up. It means, at the very least, that he thinks I can take it. And maybe, eventually, it will start to be more fun, and light-hearted—as if we’re becoming friends again.
Only now we’re adult friends, who tell risqué, adult jokes.
Jokes that make me tingle, in places I shouldn’t be tingling.
“Here, climb on my back.”
Did he just say climb on my back? I really wish he’d stop with the stuff I can hardly believe he’s letting out. It’s as if he’s talking another language. I can’t possibly obey him, because I don’t understand Stevenish. I just have to rely on him guiding me into whatever he wants, though that’s hard enough on its own.
He sort of…slides me around his body, as though I’m a hula-hoop. A really clingy hula-hoop. And once he’s finished rubbing me all over himself—because that’s essentially what this maneuver amounts to—he takes hold of both my hands, and makes me link them around his neck.
And yes, I realize that none of this should be sexy. My nether parts shouldn’t be tingling again, because he’s now holding me to his back like a slippery, fleshy rucksack. Yet somehow, it’s happening anyway. I’m very aware of various parts of myself that keep rubbing against various parts of him—like my nipples over his shoulder blades. And there’s something about his hips being between my thighs, even though we’re the wrong way around for that sort of thought.
I mean, it’s not like I’m going to pound him.
Or that the idea of pounding him gets me even more excited. 
“Okay, link your legs around me.”
He can’t be serious with this stuff.
“Why do I need my legs linked around you?”
“Because I get off on feeling your vagina pressing into my lower back…come on, Jude. So I can dive without you falling off.”
“You’re going to dive with me on your back?” I actually let out a little incredulous laugh, in spite of my current stupefied state of arousal. “I don’t think that’s going to work out.”
“You don’t?”
“Definitely not.”
“You holding on?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“Take a deep breath.”
“What? Steven—”
“Deep breath!”
Of course I do it, but even as I’m gulping down air, I don’t really expect him to succeed. I’m pretty sure I’ll get my face splashed and maybe thrash around in the water with him for a second, before he realizes it’s impossible—though I’m not exactly averse to this scenario. He can thrash me any time, and especially after actually mentioning my unmentionables. 
I mean, he did say vagina, didn’t he? And if he did, then how come it sounded so exciting? Vagina is pretty much the least exciting word in the world. It’s something your doctor says to you shortly before he invades it with what looks like a weapon from our robotic future. 
It’s not sexy.
I’ve just gone insane. And I go more insane when he strikes into the water like a seal, towing me with him. He just does it as though it’s nothing, while I marvel over everything like a moron. I can feel his muscles working against my body, and see his arms making these great, muscular arcs through the water. I’m not even paying attention to the things I’m supposed to—such as fish, and other aquatic wonders—because watching him is almost hypnotic. To be honest, I’m not sure if I’d notice a fish if it floated by.
The lesser-spotted Steve Stark has my undivided attention. 

No Strings By Gwendolyn Cease

All Kaitlin O’Neal wants to do is fix her sink. She’s intelligent and resourceful. Plus, she’s got her own tools. How hard could it be? Apparently, extremely hard, since her attempt left the sink in an unusable condition. When her next-door neighbor, Cameron Sinclair, offers to help her fix the mess and renovate the rest of the kitchen, she jumps at the chance. She’d be a fool not to, right? Cameron, though, is hotter than hot and makes her an offer she can’t refuse.

Cameron has wanted Kaitlin since she moved next door. So what if she’s older than him? She’s beautiful, sexy, and he wants to get to know her better. He offers her a no strings affair—one he hopes will keep her coming back to his bed. Between home improvements and steamy sex, Cameron realizes that their no strings fling will never be enough, but can he convince Kaitlin he’s worth the risk?

Kaitlin O’Neal clutched the wrench and stared under the sink at the offending pipe. The kitchen sink refused to drain so she was going to fix it. She’d looked up the information on the internet and it seemed fairly simple. Following instructions, she’d used the plunger, but that hadn’t done anything other than slosh water around. Kaitlin knew she’d have to pull out her toolset. Part of her was excited. She’d bought the set for herself when she’d first moved into the house but hadn’t used it very often. Most of the repairs had required people with way more knowledge than she possessed. Now that she was going to attempt to fix something herself, she wondered if she should call her best friend for help. Jessica was always good for moral support. No, she told herself, she could do this. 
Crouching down, she grabbed the bucket and stuck it under the pipe. Once she had loosened everything, the water left in the sink needed some place to go. I can do this. I can do this. She put the wrench against the coupler holding the curved pipe on. Righty tighty, lefty loosey. She gave the wrench a little tug and nothing happened. Okay, she had to put a little more muscle into it. The pipes were old, like the whole house, so everything was probably stuck. No big deal. She got a better grip on the handle and pulled. 
Kaitlin felt something give as she fell backwards. The water filling the sink gushed down into the cabinet, knocked the bucket over, and spilled all over the floor. Crawling forward she looked up and winced. She could see her upper cabinets through the new hole, from where the drain and plumbing had ripped free from the sink. Bright side, the sink wasn't stopped up any longer.
“Are you okay?” a male voice asked. “I heard you yell.”
She looked over to find her neighbor, Cameron Sinclair, watching her through the screen door in her small mudroom. Even after living next door to him for nearly a year, she still couldn’t get over how ridiculously handsome he was. And young, she told herself, he was also young. Couldn’t forget that part.
“I’m fine,” she said, finding her voice, “sink’s not. It’s dead.”
He opened the door, and, immediately, her small kitchen became even smaller. The man topped out at a good six-three with wide muscular shoulders and long legs. Add into the package shoulder length, thick wavy black hair, high cheekbones, and blue-green eyes and he was edging into underwear model territory. 
Kaitlin quickly stood and realized her shorts and tee were both wet. “I have a clog. Or I had one.”
He stepped up and looked into the sink. “Damn, you’re like Wonder Woman or something. Did you rip the bottom of the sink out?”
“Yes, I didn’t mean to.” She put the wrench on the counter. “I searched for instructions online. It looked easy. Take off the…whatever pipe and clean it out. Bingo, it’s done. That’s not what happened.”