Romantic Suspense Novels & Stories

****** About Kit Kyndall Kit Kyndall is the pen name USA Today bestselling author Kit Tunstall uses when writing contemporary steamy and erotic romances. It’s simply a way to separate the myriad types of stories she writes so readers know what to expect with each “author.” Join her newsletter at kittunstall.com/newsletter

I am as exciting and predictable as a loaf of sliced white bread. Anyway, back to my story. The traffic started moving, and off he went, leaving behind the lingering scent of tobacco. At work, I had trouble concentrating, and spent most of the day creating racy vignettes in my head with us as the feature characters. Let's be honest; I have a very vivid imagination. The closest I've been to a hot steamy encounter is courtesy of the pages of my endless supply of paperback romance novels. I'm not the kind of girl that attracts hot, sexy men. In fact, I've been called an ice queen by more than one guy. But when I'm in the middle of one of my books, I am sensual, daring, sarcastically humorous, a

"This isn’t a romance novel, Nanny. This is my life, and I’m just trying to do my job without embarrassing myself." Nanny laughs, clearly enjoying this way too much. "Oh, Isa. You’re making it sound like it’s the worst thing in the world. Just imagine it—a forbidden workplace romance, secret glances, and the tension! Oh, how thrilling! The babysitter and the boss. You’ve already got the perfect setup." I glare at her. "Nanny, stop. He’s my boss, and he has a child. A cute child, by the way, who is clearly going through something. I’m not about to entertain any fantasies about him."

HIS TOUCH, HER FIRE🔥 --- Chapter Two The Warning Beneath the Suit The morning sun barely filtered through the thin curtains of Evelyn’s kitchen window, casting long strips of pale gold across the old wood floor. She stood barefoot on the chilled boards, coffee in hand, hair unbrushed, shirt borrowed from her late father—faded red plaid hanging off one shoulder—and tried to ignore the storm rising in her gut. Last night’s encounter with Damien Romano had not just left her rattled; it had torn something loose inside her. Something dangerous. The man had stepped onto her land like he belonged, like the dirt itself bent beneath his polished shoes, and then he’d spoken with a calm so soaked in a

As passion built, Dominic’s hips pressed harder, deeper, grounding them both. Matteo’s breath hitched, his fingers clutching Dominic’s shirt. “I’m close…” Dominic kissed him fiercely, murmuring, “Me too. Let go with me.” The final thrusts came in waves—urgent, desperate, full of everything they’d held back. Their bodies trembled, voices mingling in quiet cries, in whispered names. When the motion slowed, they collapsed together, hearts racing, skin slick with sweat. Dominic held Matteo close, lips brushing his hair.

There's something calculated about it, something that makes my blood run cold. This isn't a robbery. Nothing was taken, no valuables are missing. So what's the motive? That question keeps spinning through my head, surrounded by doubt and a growing sense of dread that I can't shake. Who would do something this vicious to Ramon? Could it be...? No! It can't be. It absolutely can't be! I don't even want to consider it, because acknowledging that possibility would mean accepting that I've brought danger into the lives of people I care about.

Leon dropped his phone to the side. “Why did Felicity bolt like that earlier? She looked like she’d seen a ghost.” Leon leaned back against the headboard, smirking faintly. “She’s different. Weird, interesting. I kissed her, and she just panicked—ran off. That was my third try, by the way. The first two times she suspected, she literally ran away too. No one’s ever done that before. Usually they stay to get the full experience.” He chuckled darkly. “You’ve heard it yourself. The walls don’t hide much.”

“A haunted winter garden.” “Exactly. Peak gothic romance.” His mouth twitched. “You have an interesting definition of romance.” > “Says the man whose idea of flirting is emotional repression.” That earned her a laugh — quiet, genuine, the kind he tried to hide behind a sigh. And for the first time since they’d become bound by heartbeat, the air between them didn’t hum with tension. It just… was. --- But something about the roses wouldn’t leave Mira alone. They pulsed faintly with light — soft blue, the same hue that had marked the curse.

"You want a puppet who'll nod and smile. However, now the puppet's strings are cut, and you're freaking out." Francis' expression turned icy. "I'm not freaking out." "Then why switch my meds?" I asked, a challenge. "You're terrified. Terrified that without those drugs, I'll realize I don't love…" His response was to kiss me, a fierce, angry kiss. I fought back, but he held me by the nape of my neck, deepening the kiss until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. He had bitten my lip. It was a kiss unlike any other in the ten years I had known him, fueled by both lust and a need to punish.

Elena sighed and pressed closer to his warm body, feeling their heartbeats begin to sync. His lips brushed softly against her neck, his warm breath trembling slightly on her skin. Elena closed her eyes, losing herself in the sensations enveloping her — safe in his arms. Luca slid his hands beneath her blouse, feeling the subtle tremble of her body adapting to every touch. His fingers traced the curve of her waist, climbing slowly to her back, revealing soft, velvety skin. Their breaths mingled as Luca lowered a deep kiss to her collarbone, followed by a lighter, almost wet kiss. Elena shivered and arched toward him, silently calling him closer.