Meet
the Deacons of Bourbon Street, bad boy bikers who are hell on wheels—and heaven
between the sheets. Megan Crane revs up an irresistible new series co-written
with Rachael Johns, Jackie Ashenden, and Maisey Yates.
Sean
“Ajax” Harding’s oaths are inked into his skin. Once second-in-command of the
Deacons of Bourbon Street motorcycle club, he left New Orleans to protect the
brotherhood, and only the death of his beloved mentor, Priest Lombard, could
lure him back. Walking into the old hangout gives him a familiar
thrill—especially when he gets an eyeful of the bar’s delectable new owner. A
wild ride with her is just the welcome Ajax needs. Then he realizes that she’s
Priest’s daughter, all grown up and totally off limits.
Sophie Lombard loved her father, not his lifestyle. She’s done with bikers . . . until Ajax roars into town—arrogant, tough, and sexy as ever. And although he treats her like the Catholic schoolgirl he once knew, Sophie’s daydreams tend to revolve around sin. With the very real possibility of heartbreak looming, Sophie knows better than to get too close to an outlaw. But every touch from Ajax is steamier than the Louisiana bayou—and heat like this may just be worth getting burned.
When I think of an MC romance, the first thoughts that come
to my mind are that it will be a little dark, gritty and have the I don’t give
a fuck attitude that we have all come to except from our bikers. Now don’t get me wrong, I love a sweet MC
romance but I think the true MC romance readers have missed the naughtier,
grittier bikers that have us blushing (well not me I don’t blush) with their
dirty mouths and wet between our legs at the same time. Make
You Burn is exactly that. It is
gritty, it’s hot, it has a biker who is the epitome of an asshole and the
daughter of a biker who may want to deny she is a true biker bitch but that is
exactly who she is.
Ajax, don’t call him Sean unless you want your face
rearranged, is the VP of the Deacons of Bourbon Street. He returns back after being exiled ten years
prior when the man who was more like a father to him than his own ever was,
dies. Priest also happens to be the
father of Sophie, the biker bitch who hates bikers. From the second he lays his eyes on her again
he knows he wants her but in typical biker fashion doesn’t want to admit that a
bitch has his attention more than business at hand. Ajax will make you mad while at the same time
make your panties wet.
Sophie is tough, she knows the biker life. Her father was the President of the Deacons
Of Bourbon Street and raised her to know the life and her place in it. Thing is, that’s not the life she wants and
she sure as hell won’t let Ajax bully her around, no matter what even if the
sexual chemistry between them is explosive.
I give her credit, she doesn’t just take Ajax’s shit, she gives it right
back to him.
This is the first book in this series and it looks like the
next book has a different author, but if this is how Megan Crane will be
writing in the future you can count on me to read it.
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“My
daddy told me I could dress up like a drag queen and wander the streets of the
French Quarter over his dead body,” Sophie Lombard said as she tugged off the
glittery mask— and there was no doubt about it, goddamn it, it was her. “So it
was now or never, really.”
Ajax
knew that face, though he took the stripper cosmetics and the hooker lashes as
another insult, when the face he remembered had been scrubbed clean and sweet
and pure. And when she peeled the acrobatic headdress from her head and sent it
skidding a few feet down the dull sheen of the bar, her long, dark, wavy hair
tumbled down past her shoulders, a thick and shining rope of it he wanted to
wrap around his hands while he took her—
Jesus Christ.
He
stared at her, willing this to be some kind of homecoming-inspired
hallucination, but no. He was sober at the moment, he hadn’t touched the funky
stuff in years, and this was Sophie Lombard all grown up. She was a lush little
package, all taut curves and a belly ring, just like a couple of his preferred
wet dreams. She had the most perfect set of plump, round tits he’d ever seen,
even with the stupid tassels jutting from them, and they definitely should not
have been on display for the entire fucking city like that. Or ever. What the
hell was the matter with her? More to the point, he absolutely could not fuck
her in the Priory toilets, no matter what bad decisions his cock was agitating
for even now.
A
man did not fuck the daughter of his beloved father figure when said father
figure’s body was barely cold. Even if the daughter in question was dressed for
a long night on the pole and had basically just advertised that she was for
sale to the better part of New Orleans.
Not
in the toilets, anyway.
When
she only slipped onto a bar stool, making no attempt to cover herself or change
what passed for her clothes, Ajax decided he’d had enough. It was high time he
took control of this shit.
Before
he lost what was left of his.
“Hey,
Sophie,” he said. He didn’t have to raise his voice to command the attention of
the entire bar. He saw her stiffen like she recognized his voice and he
couldn’t deny that he liked that. He was never meant to go unnoticed, not here.
Not in the only place he’d ever belonged. “Is that what you’re wearing to the
funeral?”
She
turned toward him slowly. So slowly he had a lifetime or two to remember her as
a little girl. Sophie of the big, wide eyes and sparkly little laugh. Sophie in
thick dark braids and skinned knees. Sophie, who Priest would have died to
protect, which meant any of the brothers would have done the same. Sophie, who
had never been meant for a sticky dive bar and a pair of pasties, no matter how
hot she looked in both.
Sophie,
who glared at him down the length of the bar with a notable lack of the respect
Ajax was used to receiving, especially from soft, breakable females who usually
purred and got silly when they took a good look at him.
“Oh,
hey there, Sean,”
she replied after a long moment, her green eyes cool and haughty, like she was
a goddamned queen instead of a half naked girl with a death wish, throwing
around names she knew
better than to use. “Long time no see.”
“Call
me that again,” he suggested, in what he considered a friendly manner given the insult she’d just thrown at him,
though he wasn’t entirely surprised when Tulane backed away from him in a
wide-eyed rush, “and I might be the last thing you ever see.”
“Let
me guess,” she replied, “you spent all this time in charm school?” Was it his
imagination that she sat taller on her stool, then arched her back just enough
to make those tits stick out a little further? Like she was trying to fuck with him? “Between you and
me, you might think about asking for your money back. I don’t think it took.”
He
forgot who she was for a moment, forgot the respect she was owed because of her
father. He grinned at her instead, the way he would any other bitch who got in
his face like that, flinging down challenges from across a public bar like he
was some dickless frat boy. Ajax had always had a pretty face. No one tended to
notice it much after the first time he grinned at them like that, though.
“No
need to resort to all this flirting, baby,” he told her softly. “If you want to
hop on and ride my dick, just ask.”
Sophie
smiled at him, and it was not a nice smile. It was all the proof he needed that
she wasn’t that sweet little girl he remembered, and he was a sick fuck,
because it fascinated him to see she had her father’s fangs when she felt like
showing them. He wanted them sunk in his neck. He wanted her to draw blood.
He
wanted her, bad.
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Megan Crane is a New Jersey native who had great
plans to star on Broadway, preferably in Evita, just like Patti LuPone. Sadly,
her inability to wow audiences with her singing voice required a back-up plan.
Accordingly, she graduated from Vassar College and got her MA and PhD in
literature from the University of York in England. She wrote her doctoral
dissertation on AIDS literature, mostly so she could wallow in her obsession
with the remarkable multimedia artist David Wojnarowicz and her idol, the
bitter and hilarious David Feinberg. After many years in the rain and subject
to the whim of seasons, she followed the sun to Los Angeles, where she lives
with too many pets and an artist named Jeff. She is still plotting her Broadway
debut.
