Heart's Desire

by Ellie Masters

  “Is that a yes?” he asked once she let him up for air.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she gave a vigorous nod.

  The men of Angel Fire gave a shout, and somewhere behind her, corks popped. The rich aroma of champagne filled the air.

  Forest’s gravelly voice cut through the air. “Well, fucking congrats. About damn time, lover boy.”

  She had a sneaking suspicion Forest had planned this because Angel Fire didn’t look like the kind of men who sipped champagne. While Ryker buried her in kisses, champagne flowed. They parted long enough to join in on a toast, and then everyone was on her, hugging her, congratulating her, and wishing them both the best.

  Skye came up last and pulled her into a hug, squeezing tight. “I’ve never had a sister, but I consider you family. Congratulations, Tia.”

  They separated, and Tia squeezed Skye’s hands. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks, but she didn’t care.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for everything.”

  Forest came over next. He grabbed her arm and tugged Ryker along as well, angling them toward the door. “I’ve got a limo and a penthouse suite waiting.”

  Ryker grabbed her hand in his, and they followed Forest through the crowd, exiting backstage to a waiting limousine.

  Forest opened the back door and ushered them inside. “You have three days to catch up, and then we’re all headed back to the States. Use your time wisely!” He shut the door and thumped on the roof to tell the driver they were inside.

  Ryker pulled the back of her hand to his lips. “I love you,” he said.

  She crawled into his lap and stared down at him. “I love you, too.” Then, she undid the top button of his pants, lowered the zipper, and proceeded to show him exactly how much.

  Their past belonged in the rugged desert mountains of Afghanistan. Their future had yet to be written. The present was filled only with the aching of lovers too long separated. With the union of their flesh, they cemented their ties and forged a promise of forever.

  She’d found her way home.

  * * *

  END

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  SNEAK PEAK of Heart’s Collide, Book III

  an Angel Fire Rock Romance

  Chapter 1

  Bent

  “Time to get up, Mr. Growly Bear.”

  An overly energetic voice sang the annoying nickname with far too much enthusiasm. Bent cringed and prayed he’d remembered to turn the lock on his door. His perpetually positive physical therapist had returned like a bad STD.

  He kicked her out. She came back.

  He fired her. She showed up the next day.

  He locked her out and she was back for another round.

  “Go away!” His deep bass rumble did nothing to dissuade the energetic Piper Raines. The wench was like crack on a stick, one perky, nonstop ball of energy.

  He hated perky, unless they were tits.

  “Not happening!” The lock to his door clicked and the knob turned.

  When the fuck did she get a key?

  “Forest!” No one else but Forest had a key to his room.

  “Forest isn’t here, Mr. Growly.” Her lilting sing-song voice grated on his nerves. Like an ice pick to the eye, her perpetual positivity made him want to punch something.

  “Did Forest give you a key?”

  “How else was I going to get in?”

  “You don’t get to get in. I fired your ass.”

  “And Forest hired me right back. It’s for your own good.”

  She opened the door and held a bag easily half her size in her arms. The petite redhead hip-checked the door, closing it behind her with a thud. She scanned the room and then frowned. Her pert nose turned up as the corners of her lips curved down.

  “Phew! When’s the last time you took a shower?”

  About three days ago when she’d chased him into the bathroom and forced him to climb inside the shower. The little wench had even threatened not to leave until she was satisfied he was at least attempting to accomplish the ADL.

  A-D-L.

  Now those were three foul letters. He hated them. Activities of Daily Living are what they stood for, and he failed at most of his ADL tasks. Piper took that as encouragement to subject him to even more torture.

  Sharp and grating, her voice hit the high notes with her crystalline pipes. Ash’s wife, Skye, called Piper’s voice angelic. He had another word for it. Her unusual voice stabbed at his skull and exacerbated the pain of his hangover.

  He could use a drink right about now.

  Drugs were no-go territory for the band. After Ash’s rehab several years back, the band had sworn a pact to never touch drugs, but alcohol remained firmly on the menu. Ash was the only one who didn’t drink, but the rest of the band had no problems tossing back one or two, or more. He’d tossed more than a few back last night.

  “You saying I stink?”

  “No.” She dropped her bag and placed both hands on her hips. “I’m saying this whole place reeks. You’re just the worst offender.”

  “How can you smell me from way over there?”

  “Because you reek! Please tell me you’ve showered since Friday?”

  He wouldn’t do that, because he wasn’t a man who lied, especially to beautiful women, even ones as obnoxious as Piper. And he hadn’t showered because—he ran a hand through the dirt and grime of his hand—because it was too damn hard. ADL his ass.

  He glanced at his hand: a puny, little freak hand.

  That’s what his hand looked like and it was attached to an even worse horror. A pale, skinny appendage had somehow joined itself to his body. The offensive thing had replaced the thick muscles of his forearms and biceps and destroyed all the definition in his arm.

  The arm was a foreign looking thing. He refused to accept it as his, and it worked for shit. He couldn’t grasp a bar of soap, brush his teeth, tie his shoes, or hold a damn fork. Thus, no showering since Friday.

  Pitiful. Weak. And ruined.

  That arm epitomized everything wrong with his life and made a mockery of all that he’d worked for. Like his career.

  “Your silence speaks volumes, Mr. Growly.”

  “Stop calling me that,” he said with a growl.

  “Riiiiight!” Her laughter tinkled like bells. “Because there’s nothing big, scary, and growly about you.”

  “I’m not scary.”

  Not anymore.

  Being weak didn’t sit well with him. Not when he’d always been one of the strongest, tallest, and fiercest men. With the exception of Forest, who was nothing if not a reincarnation of a Norse god, Bent towered over other men.

  Ryker Lyons, Angel Fire’s stand-in bass player-recently separated from the Air Force-met him at eye level. But even Ryker’s intensive physical conditioning couldn’t match Bent’s bulk. The rest of his bandmates looked up to Bent, and while ripped, they had lithe frames when compared to the badass of the band. The man who took two, three, or more women to bed with him every night. And that wasn’t an exaggeration. Bent’s brawn elicited respect. His presence commanded attention. And he’d been blessed with above average good looks. Not to mention, he was a fucking rock star. Sex on a stick is what women called him.

  He was a man people noticed.

  Bent’s muscles bunched upon muscles. Women drooled when presented with his staggering physique. They eagerly ran their hands up and down his powerful arms and fluttered their fingers across his
broad shoulders. Invariably, they worked a steady path down the rippling terrace of his abs to discover what lie beneath the Adonis V of his hips. It was there where they worshiped him, sucking at the glory that was his impressive cock.

  Or, at least they had.

  Before the accident.

  Before his arm had literally been bent in two.

  Snap! Snap!

  Bent blinked at tiny fingers snapping in front of his face. Piper had to practically stand on tiptoe to get his attention, and she stood too damn close. Smelled too damn good, like roses and pixie dust, she was an intoxicating combination.

  He took a step back.

  “You were spacing out again,” she chided. “It’s rude to ignore someone when they’re speaking to you.”

  A downward glance gave him the perfect view of Piper’s twin perky assets. The girl’s body was tight, toned, and fucking hot, and she never wore a bra. The creamy expanse of her breasts filled out her tight tee, lifting the fabric away from her chest and giving him one hell of a view. Her tits weren’t large. A generous B cup, or maybe tiny C’s. Didn’t matter, because he didn’t want anything to do with Piper or her perky tits. Except maybe…

  He shook his head and back-pedaled, placing distance between them. But Piper followed. Insistent wench.

  She took his lame arm and ran her fingers over the scars. Three operations over the past four months had placed metal and screws into the bones, straightening his arm out, but damage remained. Perhaps, permanent nerve damage.

  That had been what his Ortho doc had thought at the last visit. They were to give it another six months. They? He laughed. Like they were a fucking team. It was his damn arm. His fucking hand that refused to work. His fingers which twitched and could barely grasp a cup, let alone finger a guitar or a woman.

  He ripped out of her grip. “Stop that.”

  “It’s my job, Growly.”

  “It’s my fucking arm.”

  “Well, no shit Sherlock. Now that we have that established, let’s talk about why you haven’t showered.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “At least we agree you have not in fact showered. Now, why is that?”

  Shit.

  “Cause, I spent my weekend fucking and drinking.”

  Only one of those was true. She didn’t take the bait. Wench simply changed the topic with a beautiful smile and arch of her brow.

  “I’ve got something I want you to try.” She said. “We’ll work on holding the soap later. If you won’t do it, I—”

  “How many times do I have to say it? You’re not helping me in the shower.” Except she’d helped him shower more times than he cared to remember.

  “Like I’d want to get near any of that.” She made a vague gesture at the rest of his physique.

  If he didn’t regain the use of his hand by his next checkup, a visit to the neurologist was in his future. And if he didn’t regain use of his arm, the rest of his body would slowly follow. It was impossible to keep up with his demanding gym regimen when his arm didn’t work.

  She flashed her cornflower blue eyes at him, fluttering her lashes over the high ridges of her cheekbones. Damn, but why did her eyes have to be the one color he couldn’t resist?

  Because God hated him. That was the only answer that made sense.

  “Now that’s a lie,” he said with a rumble.

  “What’s a lie?”

  “That you don’t want a piece of me.”

  “Right, because egomaniacs are my go-to kind of guy. Don’t worry Bent, I am most definitely not interested in any of that.”

  After the abysmal failure of last night, he couldn’t handle another rejection and countered.

  “Don’t knock it ‘till you try it.”

  Secretly he hoped she jumped at the chance. Women were all the same. Eager cunts who only wanted one thing from a rock star.

  “Considering I don’t know where that thing’s been, I don’t think I’ll be knocking that…that…” Her face reddened with frustration. “That thing anytime soon.”

  He laughed.

  “What’s so damn funny?”

  “That thing?” he parroted back. “What’s wrong Piper? Afraid to say the word dick?”

  She rolled her eyes, but then her gaze slipped, and landed right on his crotch. Exactly where his dick had taken notice and was now standing proudly at attention.

  Fucking Piper could be fun. Except the thought of a meaningless fuck with her twisted his stomach. Now that was new.

  Where had that come from?

  “I’m not going to discuss your thing,” she said. “Unlike the brainless groupies who think you’re God’s gift to womankind, I know better. And I have no interest in your…your dick. What I do have an interest in is my job and your future. That begins, and ends, with aggressive physical therapy.”

  He didn’t care about the damn future. He cared about right now. About the heavy ache in his balls which hadn’t been released in far too long.

  With the pale, withered excuse of an arm attached to his body, his dick hadn’t been getting the workout it was used to. The groupies drew back. Shock, horror, and worse—revulsion—showed in their expressions. Girls no longer crawled to his feet, or fell to their knees before him. Bash, Spike and Noodles hogged all the attention, while he suffered through unsatisfying fist-fucking, forced to jack off with the wrong damn hand. And he’d tried with the bad hand. God how he’d tried. But how was a man supposed to chase his release using a hand that didn’t work?

  His gaze cut to the unused guitar sitting in the corner of his room. He’d tried to play it once, well over a month ago, right after his cast had come off. The arm had revolted him then, but he’d had no idea how broken he really was.

  Bent and Broken. Now wasn’t that the worst joke?

  It wasn’t funny at all. There was nothing funny about broken dreams.

  Piper spun on her heels and headed to the bathroom. A few seconds later, she had the shower turned on.

  “You have ten-seconds to start your shower.” She popped her head out the doorway, her red pixie hair stuck out in all directions and her long bangs framed the fierceness of her baby blues.

  “Or what?”

  She lifted her phone. “Or I call for back up.”

  “You said Forest was off gallivanting around the globe.”

  “He is, but Ryker is just itching for my call. I can’t wait to watch him toss you in the shower.”

  Knowing Ryker, he wouldn’t just toss Bent in, he’d crank on the cold water first, then shove, and hold Bent under the frigid stream. Ryker was used to going without the creature comforts in life.

  Bent tilted his face to the ceiling and closed his eyes. “Fuuuuuck!”

  His pixie didn’t play fair.

  * * *

  Don’t forget to…

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  Add Heart’s Collide to Goodreads

  The Starling

  Publisher: JEM Publishing, LLC

  Released April 2018

  Get my Copy!

  * * *

  Blurb: Recruited by the FBI to investigate the theft of a Van Gogh, Vivianne Faulks must work with a man who blurs the lines between the legal and illegal sale of art. As she's drawn further into the worlds of art auctions, international crime, and terror plots, the case threatens to uncover Faulks’ family secrets long buried since World War II. Not to mention, her enigmatic partner might be the very thief she's been sent to catch. When her life's put on the line, Vivianne no longer cares about recovering the stolen Van Gogh. With each twist and turn, she's simply trying to stay alive.

  Heart’s Insanity: An Angel Fire Rock Romance

  Publisher: JEM Publishing, LLC

  Released August 2016

  Get my Copy!

  * * *

  Blurb: Skye Summers endured a tragic past. She wants what the past stole, and despite lingering scars, she’s surviving and thriving. Now she cures the sick, heals the wounded, and takes care of those c
linging to life. The only person she can’t heal is herself, because Skye is too broken for love.

  * * *

  Ash Dean has it all: Fame, fortune, and the adoration of screaming fans. The constant parties, drugs, alcohol, and an endless string of one-night stands are taking their toll. He gives and his fans take, until he’s lost within the crowd. He wants someone to see him for the man he wishes to be rather than the one he’s become.

  One fate…

  Two lives…

  Three Days…

  No sex.

  That’s the proposition…

  It would be insane to accept and Skye’s a fool to agree, but she’s tired of playing it safe.

  It’s time to take a leap of faith, besides what could go wrong?

  Ashes to New: an Angel Fire Rock Romance Prequel

  Publisher: JEM Publishing, LLC

  Released October 2016

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  * * *

  Not a romance. This is a story about the fiercest kind of love; about enduring, surviving, and never giving up.

  "You're beautifully broken... my summer sky, my light in the darkness."

  **Trigger Warning**

  * * *

  Trapped within an abusive foster home, Elsbeth and Forest find there is light in the darkest places. With hope is as limitless as the summer sky, all they need is the love of one another to survive.

  Sexually abused and tortured, they cling to each another as their only constant in a roiling sea of agony. Through it all, Elsbeth holds on to a single ray of hope. At eighteen, both she and Forest will no longer be victims of the foster care system. But time is not on their side. Master John has come for a visit. Escape is no longer an option, not if they plan to survive. Faced with a future of degradation and abuse there is but one choice left...