by Tracy Wolff
My meltdown tonight being a perfect example of that.
“The only way you’re going to destroy me is if you cut yourself off from me. I freaked out tonight because I was already upset, Ethan. Already worried about you because you’d stopped calling and answering my texts. I was afraid you’d been hurt or gotten sick. Then when you treated me like that…it was like you were throwing me away. Like I didn’t matter to you any more than I mattered to those guys from high school.
“I’m not saying you have to stay with me forever. None of us knows what’s going to happen next week or next month or next year. But if you decide to leave again—”
“I won’t.”
I shake my head, refusing to let him get away with such shortsightedness. “If you decide things aren’t working out, all I ask is that you break things off in a reasonable way. I don’t need much, but a little compassion would be nice. Something that proves to me that I’m something more than some girl you picked up to fuck for a weekend.” My voice breaks and I turn away, taking a few deep breaths as I try to get myself under control.
“Don’t even say that, Chloe.” Ethan is up and in my face again, where he’s been pretty much from the moment I met him. “You’re not some girl. You’re the only girl. The only one who’s ever mattered to me. The only one who ever will.”
“You don’t know that.” I unconsciously echo his earlier words. But the truth is neither of us knows what’s going to happen. Not tomorrow and certainly not six months or a year from now.
“I do. I do know exactly that.” He takes my hand, presses it to his lips. “I just got confused and let all the shit in my head get out of control. It won’t ever happen again.”
I want to believe him. Of course I do. But I don’t know if I can. There’s more than what he’s telling me. I can sense it, feel it, and I don’t want to be blindsided by it again. Don’t want him to push me away the next time it comes up and he can’t deal.
But at the same time, it’s not like I have room to talk. There are some pretty big things I haven’t told him about my past, either. And while someday I hope I can, I know this isn’t the right time. For either of us. Not when the wounds from tonight are still so fresh, so raw. Not when we’re both still so vulnerable and shaky.
I’m still shocked at how easy it was for me to completely fall apart. I thought I was better. I wanted to be better. Now I don’t know if I can trust myself, let alone Ethan. And I hate that I feel that way.
But we’ve only known each other a couple of weeks, only been together less than that. There’s no rule, no timeline, about when we have to parade all our scars to each other. Maybe it’s enough that we’re trying. That we’re getting there, slowly.
“I’m scared,” I tell him.
“I know, baby. I know.”
“Please. Don’t hurt me like this again.”
His eyes are raw with a pain I don’t understand and can’t connect to. “I never want to hurt you again. In any way.” They aren’t the words I asked for, aren’t the words I want to hear. But combined with the tender, desperate look in his eyes, they’re enough.
He reaches for me then, pulls me up and into his arms, and I go. Of course I go. Because he’s Ethan and he’s mine, the same way that I’m his. Absolutely. Unconditionally. Irrevocably.
It’s not perfect. Not yet. And maybe it never will be. But as he leans down and takes my mouth with his own, it’s more than enough. For me. For him. For us.
Epilogue
“Wake up, sleepyhead.” Ethan rolls over on top of me and kisses my cheeks and lips and forehead.
I smile sleepily, stretch a little. “You’re the one who talked me into playing hooky today. I don’t have to wake up.”
“No. I called Maryanne and told her I needed you for a very important project in the CEO’s office today,” he corrects me as he slips inside me.
I arch against him, moaning softly at how good he feels. “Is that what you call this? An important project?”
“The most important.”
Our lovemaking this morning is as tender as last night’s was wild, as lazy as last night’s was frantic. And I love every second of it. Then again, I love everything Ethan does to me. I always have. I always will.
And while a part of me feels guilty for ditching work today, I know that Ethan and I need this time. After everything that happened yesterday, I’m not ready to be separated from him. I can tell by the look in his eyes and the possessive way he touches me that he feels the same way.
He moves slowly, gliding in and out of me in an easy rhythm that nonetheless stokes the fire that is always burning between us. Sweat breaks out on our bodies, tension builds, and it isn’t long before we’re falling over the edge of the world together. Just like it’s meant to be.
Ethan cuddles me for long minutes, his body curved protectively around mine as he plays with my out-of-control curls and presses soft kisses to my shoulder and back. At first I’m a little nervous about this position—my back to his front—but after everything that happened last night in just this position, it seems crazy to worry about it now.
So I do my best to let the fear and the panic go. Oh, I know I’ll never be normal, know that there will always be a part of me that Brandon has a hold on no matter how much I wish it weren’t so. But for now, for today, I want to concentrate on Ethan and everything that’s going right in my life—in our lives—for once.
Eventually his stomach growls, though, and he rolls out of bed with a laugh. “Shower, then breakfast?” he asks, reaching a hand down to help me up.
But I’m feeling lazy and sated and I don’t want to move. Not quite yet. The smell of him and me is on the sheets and I want to linger here for a few more minutes and just immerse myself in what we are together.
“You go first,” I tell him. “I’m not ready to get up.”
He smiles indulgently. “All right, then. I’ll shower, then make you breakfast in bed. How does that sound?”
“Are you going to be in the bed with me?”
He arches one of his brows in that way he has that makes me crazy. “That can be arranged.”
“Then I say it sounds very good.”
He bends down and gives me a quick kiss that becomes a not-so-quick kiss. But then my stomach wrecks it by grumbling, too. Ethan pulls away instantly. “I’ll take a quick shower and then feed you. While I’m in there, decide what you want me to make.”
But he’s only been in the shower a few minutes before my plans for a lazy morning in bed get derailed. The doorbell rings, and while at first I ignore it—this isn’t my house—whoever is outside is determined to get some response. And once it registers that whoever it is obviously has the code to Ethan’s gate, I reach for his robe and wrap it around me. Maybe his cleaning lady forgot her key or something.
But when I finally get to the front door and open it, terror slams through me, weakens my knees to the point that I have to reach out and grab on to the door frame to keep myself upright.
“Hey, Chlo. Long time no see.”
My world shatters. Because it’s not Magdalena on the porch waiting to be let in. Instead it’s my worst nightmare, Brandon Jacobs, who’s staring back at me…out of a face that’s a million times more battered and bruised than Ethan’s is.
He steps forward and instinct takes over. I slam the door in his face, lock it, then turn and press my back against it like I need another barrier to keep him out.
As I do, I look up—straight into Ethan’s dark and tormented eyes. And I know that whatever secrets he’s keeping are going to tear me apart.
Don’t miss the conclusion in book two
Addicted
coming soon from Loveswept
Acknowledgments
I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am that Ruined is finally making its way into the world. I love everything about this book and know that there is no way I’d be nearly this excited without the wonderful and amazing people at Random House Loveswept, who have helped
me so much on every step of the journey.
Sue Grimshaw, I am thrilled beyond words to have this chance to work with you. You are an incredible editor and an even more incredible person and I am so grateful for all you’ve done for me. Thanks so much for your enthusiasm, suggestions, and help as I struggled to tell Ethan’s and Chloe’s story. I couldn’t have done it without you.
Gina Wachtel, choosing to write for you is the smartest and luckiest decision I’ve ever made. Thank you so, so much for your excitement, your interest, and your brilliant, brilliant ideas. I can never thank you enough for what you’ve done for me.
To Allison, Matt, Lynn, Penelope, Kim, April, and everyone else at Random House for their incredible support. Thank you for helping make this book the best it could be.
Emily Sylvan Kim—I’m running out of things to say, but never things to thank you for. You’re the best agent in the whole wide world and I love you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Shellee Roberts and Emily McKay—I don’t think I’ll ever be able to write another book that doesn’t credit you two in the acknowledgments. You are the best friends, writing partners, and brainstormers a girl could ever ask for. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
My mom, whose support and love have made this year, and every year, so much easier than it could have been.
And finally, my guys, who I love more than I can ever say. We’ve had a rough and rocky year and I just want to say thank you for hanging in there and being the coolest, most wonderful sons in the whole world. You amaze me every day.
Tracy Wolff lives in Texas and teaches writing at her local community college. She is married and the mother of three young sons.
www.tracywolff.com/press-kit/
The Editor’s Corner
Happy New Year!
Another year may have slipped on by, but don’t let these romances slip by you! Ring in the New Year with romance starting with an electrifying journey of emotional and sexual discovery that pushes two damaged souls to their breaking point—and beyond—in, Ruined, by Tracy Wolff, the first installment of The Ethan Frost novels. Award-winning author Bronwen Evans debuts The Disgraced Lords series with Loveswept, book one, A Kiss of Lies—tortured and abandoned, can two people recover and ignite each other’s deepest passions? Romantic Suspense fans will enjoy In the Dark, where passion raises the stakes in Sally Eggert’s electrifying novel of deception and desire. Mary Ann Rivers launches her contemporary series with Live, a riveting romance sure to please readers of Ruthie Knox, Kristan Higgins, and Jill Shalvis.
Fans of Stacey Kennedy’s Club Sin series will be thrilled to know another wicked and wild tale of submission, seduction, and love will be available later in the month—Bared, Cora and Aidan’s story.
A little something for everyone–usher in your New Year with Loveswept.
And, you don’t want to miss these classics:
OMG is all I can say about Connie Brockway’s McClairen Isle trilogy—enjoy these men in kilts, beginning with The Passionate One, and continuing with The Reckless One and The Ravishing One. Then, Ruth Owen programs a code for seduction in Meltdown, plus New York Times bestselling author Iris Johansen weaves the unforgettable story of a man and a woman who come together under the spell of danger—and explosive desire, in The Spellbinder. Sandra Chastain’s Civil War romance, Scandal in Silver, will touch your heart, along with, Linda Cajio’s Irresistible Stranger and At First Sight. Meet single mom Kitty Reardon in Fran Baker’s heartwarming story, King of the Mountain. And for those of you who missed the Grayson boys in Elisabeth Barrett’s Star Harbor series don’t fret, the series is being rereleased this month in an eBundle—Deep Autumn Heat, Blaze of Winter, Slow Summer Burn, and Long Simmering Spring.
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
Read on for an excerpt from Tracy Wolff’s
Full Exposure
Kevin Riley was the stuff fantasies were made of.
Her fantasies, to be exact.
Six foot five, heavily muscled, with the most beautifully intense blue eyes she’d ever seen, he captured her attention like no man ever had. And with his half-naked body in front of her and nature thrashing fiercely around her, it was all she could do to keep her clothes on, her mouth shut and her camera aimed somewhere besides his absolutely fabulous ass.
Not that he should mind—it was one of his best features, after all. And she was being paid, well paid, for taking pictures that showed his every side.
Of course, she wasn’t sure that fifty shots of his ass were quite what the publishers had had in mind when they’d hired her, no matter how glorious it was. Besides, her humming libido couldn’t handle much more without going into severe overdrive anyway.
Serena snorted before she could stop herself. Who was she kidding? She’d passed overdrive a while ago, was now heading straight toward spontaneous combustion at an alarming rate. The thought disturbed her and she moved restlessly, desperate to focus on something—anything—that could bring her traitorous body under control.
She glanced toward the large windows that covered an entire side of the old, redbrick studio and tried to concentrate on the storm raging through Kevin’s little slice of bayou. But the wildness of it—the utter lack of control—only made her more uncomfortable.
Rain pummeled the tin roof, flashes of lightning illuminated the darkness beyond the house and thunder shook the studio as it exploded across the sky. Mother Nature was in a frenzy and much of southern Louisiana would pay the price on this steamy summer night.
She was just one more victim.
It was three a.m. and she should have been asleep, tucked safely into bed in her Baton Rouge condo. Nature whirled around her and she should have been terrified as she witnessed the destruction caused by every gust of seventy-mile-an-hour winds. She was working and she should have been focused, completely absorbed in taking photos for the book that could blow her career wide open. But she wasn’t.
She wasn’t at home asleep, she wasn’t terrified, and she certainly wasn’t focused.
What she was, was aroused.
Powerfully, frighteningly aroused.
Wetness pooled between her thighs, her nipples peaked and she had to work—hard—to stifle the moan threatening to part lips it was becoming harder and harder to keep closed.
She’d never been this out of control before, had never been so aroused that she couldn’t focus on anything but the throbbing ache between her thighs. Serena pressed her legs together, desperate to stem the sensations bombarding her. But it was no use. Heat swept through her body. Her skin flushed a rosy pink and her heart began to race as the fine tremor of arousal shook her, making hands that were normally rock-steady tremble with reaction.
It was all his fault, she thought resentfully, studying Kevin Riley through the camera lens. Because while Kevin was the living, breathing example of every fantasy she’d ever had, his unbelievable sexiness did nothing to put her at ease. Fantasies were just that—something she could escape to when her hard-earned control stifled her, when life got boring and she needed a little spice. But fantasies were supposed to stay fantasies—who expected to encounter them in real life?
This was her work, her livelihood, her big chance, yet all she could think about was that luscious mouth and how it would feel pressed against her own. She wanted to pull him into the storm, to run her hands through his too-long black hair and feel his muscles ripple beneath her fingers as water and wind lashed at them.
The musky sexiness of his skin called to her, and even with half the room between them she couldn’t escape his unique scent—a mixture of sandalwood and the crisp, clean outdoors. Passion, life, vitality rolled off of him in waves, swamping her as her fingers fumbled another roll of film into her old Nikon. She’d used the digital camera earlier, but something about the time, the storm, and Kevin himself had cried out for a more primitive approach.
She lifted the camera again, hands shaking as she snapped the first pictures on the roll. K
evin’s jeans rode low on his hips as he bent, blowtorch in hand, to mold the lowest corner of the sculpture. Intensity and passion etched his too-pretty face—his lush lips were molded into a grim line and his eyes burned with concentration. Despite the air-conditioning, sweat rolled slowly down his bare torso before disappearing inside the waistband of his much-abused Levis. Lust roared through her, nearly bringing her to her knees even as the artist in her recognized the power in his unconscious actions.
Click, whirr. This was it. Click, whirr. The picture she had been waiting for all night. Click, whirr. The shot that would make her famous. Click, whirr. Sculpting ecstasy. Click, whirr. Bending metal to his every command. Click, whirr. A work of art. Click, whirr. Of genius. Click, whirr. Was she speaking of Kevin or his work? Click, whirr. Perhaps both.
She slid to the ground, looked up through the lens. Click, whirr. His immense power overwhelming. Click, whirr. His talent huge, larger than life. Click, whirr. A giant in his field. Click, whirr. And she wanted him. Click, whirr. This man who was more a work of art than anything he’d ever created. Click, whirr. She burned for him. Click.
Serena snapped the last picture on the roll before lowering the camera to her lap with unsteady hands. Her chest rose and fell rapidly and her breath came in short, jerky gasps. Lifting trembling fingers to her lips, she struggled for control. But she was shaky, wary, disturbed by the truth she saw through the camera’s eye.
Kevin Riley, with his too-long hair and too-feminine features, with his Greek-god body and devil-may-care attitude was the most talented artist she’d ever seen. She’d known coming into this project that he was considered a genius, but knowing was a far cry from being hit in the face by the sensual power and talent he exuded without trying.
