Series: Dead Presidents MC
Author: Harley Stone
Genre: MC Romance
Release Date: March 31, 2025
How Amelia got her groove back, a reverse age gap, single mom military MC romance.
Levi (Morse) Cade is the eyes and ears for the Dead Presidents MC. He works, eats, and, some suspect, sleeps in the club's surveillance room, protecting his chosen family of veterans and their dependents. When someone targets the widow he swore to protect, Morse must step out from behind the scenes or watch her die.
Amelia Hansen is busy running a non-profit and preparing her youngest child for college when a blast from the past shows up on a motorcycle to whisk her into protective custody, away from an unknown threat. He's eight years her junior and off-limits, but watches her like she's the code he's been waiting his entire life to crack.
This sex-starved, forty-something single mom is in for the ride of her life.
Assuming the hitmen don't get to her first.
The Dead Presidents MC is a brotherhood of military veterans formed to help vets reintegrate into civilian society. They’re the good guys… mostly. Complete, standalone HEA love stories. No cheating, no cliffhangers.
Without thinking, I crossed the distance and wedged myself between her knees, reaching for the cut. A startled gasp drew my attention to her face, now inches from my chest. I realized my mistake as the seductive scent of sunshine and rainbows sucker-punched me for having the audacity to slide into her magnetic field. I tried to step back, but now that I was here… this goddamn close… her pull was way too powerful to resist.
Her gaze dragged up my body, but she looked away before reaching my eyes, and fuck if that didn’t destroy me. Her unwillingness to meet my eyes spoke volumes about her headspace. I bit back a curse. She swallowed. I took hold of her cut before she could refuse my help, sliding it over her shoulders while trying to avoid getting high off her scent. It had been one thing to help her don the gear in the club’s entry hall, where Tap and Hound were likely scrutinizing our every move from the security room like the nosey bastards they were. But this…. We were utterly alone, and removing her layers was proving to be surprisingly intimate. Her breath hitched when I unzipped her rain jacket, and I knew she’d gotten caught up in our proximity, too.
“The doctor will likely need to see your spine,” I reasoned, my voice rough like I’d gargled with gravel.
She nodded, and I tugged her jacket sleeves down one arm and then the other, knowing this much exposure was dangerous but unable to do a damn thing about it. She was a computer virus specifically designed to infect and fuck up my system. I’d gotten too close, she’d gained access, and now she methodically invaded my hard drive. She would destroy me, but there was no way to stop it or minimize the damage. I needed to interact. I had to fix her code. To undo whatever damage that motherfucking scale had inflicted.
“I know you own mirrors,” I said, setting the jacket on top of the cut behind her and eyeing the exposed body armor. “You should look into one sometime and see how fucking beautiful you are.”
She blinked. “I… I know perfectly well what I look like.”
“Then why do you care about something as insignificant as your weight?”
“I….” She swallowed. “I don’t really want to talk about that with you. Or anyone, for that matter. I appreciate your efforts to boost my confidence, or whatever this is, but no—”
“Dammit, woman, you’re driving me out of my mind.” I hadn’t meant to admit as much out loud, but it was the truth, and there was no taking it back. Watching her on a screen every day had been a necessary purgatory. Sleeping down the hall every night had turned out to be the sixth dimension of hell. “Having you on the back of my bike with your arms wrapped around me and your hands inches from my….”
I forced myself to stop talking before I dug myself in deeper. Her hand stilled on the side zipper of her body armor, and her gaze finally crashed into mine. A question—or possibly a denial—formed on her soft, supple lips. She still wasn’t convinced. Wondering how she could doubt herself, I leaned back and let my appreciation show as my gaze gobbled up every curve of her body, enjoying the hell out of the view. Her cheeks reddened, but when she didn’t push me away, I slid my fingers beneath hers. Taking control of the zipper, I slowly lowered it to her hip before tackling the opposite side. I pulled the front flap over her head and reached past her to set it on the examination table, bringing our faces way too damn close.
“W-what are you doing?”
Her breath caressed my cheek like warm satin, forcing me to close my eyes and battle the urge to reach for her. If I had a white flag, I’d wave it and beg for mercy because no thoughts of baseball could save me now. Ted’s wife was depending on me to keep her safe, and all I wanted to do was push her back onto that table and worship every inch of her body with my tongue, showing her exactly how little numbers on a goddamn scale mattered.
No, asshole, back the fuck up. She’s not for you.
International bestselling author Harley Stone specializes in imperfect characters, realistic storylines, scorching hot sex scenes, and fun, witty dialogue. She's always up for a good adventure (real or fictional), and when she's not building imaginary worlds, she's dipping her toes into reality in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and their five sons and two dogs.
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I live by the rules I set for myself, with one core belief at the forefront of everything I do…
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