by Angel Payne
Now I’m the one butted up against the Rover—well, at least the edge of the tailgate—which gives me stability as tears cloud my eyes…and pure love floods my being. “Reece.” I’d run to him if I could, but he really does make me weak in the knees with his determined stride, wind-billowed hair, and entrancing, electric stare. I focus on simply continuing to breathe as he gets closer.
And closer…
And then close enough to allow stuff like kissing me senseless again…
But he doesn’t.
At two feet out, he stops again.
And lowers himself to one knee.
“Reece?”
He leans over just enough to lift the tips of my fingers beneath his own. Then to raise his face so I can see every gorgeous angle, every loving nuance, every perfect effort that goes into his next words. “I’m not a hero without a heart, Emma—and you’re my heart.”
From an inner pocket of his sports jacket, he pulls out a blue velvet box. He pops the lid—and spikes my blood pressure. Holy God. The ring inside is…outrageous. No, really. That’s the only word I can conjure as I gawk at the stone the size of my own eyeball, its dark-blue facets surrounded by tiny diamonds, nestled against indigo velvet.
“Holy…Reece…”
“It’s tanzanite,” he tells me. “It’s supposed to have properties of connection and communication. Most importantly, it opens hearts to the possibilities of the universe—which is exactly what you’ve done for me, Velvet.” When I don’t say anything for a lot of long seconds—when I can’t say anything—he utters, “Don’t freak out, okay? If this is too fast, then just accept it as a symbol of everything you are to me, and everything I want you to be, of all the more you are to me.” His lips twist a little. His jaw clenches. “But for God’s sake, Emma, accept it.” He jerks for a second, as if the strangest thought in the world has just jolted him. “Unless…you don’t want to accept it?”
Through my tears, I laugh and jerk his hand hard. “Would you just shut up and put that damn bowling ball on my finger?”
Once he’s returned a laugh and fulfilled my order, I’m able to see that the rock isn’t going to really put someone’s eye out if my hand slips. I do notice that the sight of it on my finger has turned my man—my fiancé—into an even more devastating sight of masculine pride and burgeoning love. And how I do love him. With everything I am and everything I will be, connected to him by a power beyond even the flimsy four-letter word I use to identify it with…bound to him by a magical electricity that intensifies and grows as he finally tugs me in close and kisses me like the human transformer he is.
Marrying a power cell won’t come without its challenges. There’ll be craziness, heartaches, and yes, probably more danger. Hell, the last week has proved that one clearer than anything. But unplugging isn’t an option. Not loving Reece Richards will never be an option again. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.
As the sun dips completely into the ocean and the stars transform from tiny sparks to full blazes of light, Reece folds me close, nuzzling his lips into my hair.
“Hey…woman of mine?”
“Yes, man of mine?”
“What do you say we go home?”
I burrow tighter against him, sighing as my ear fits over the center of his chest. The heart to which I am forever connected.
“Baby, we’re already there.”
Continue the Bolt Saga with Part 7
Pulse
Available August 28, 2018
Keep reading for an excerpt!
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Excerpt from Pulse: Part 7 in the Bolt Saga
Chapter One
EMMA
Riddle me this…
Is it possible to drown in agony and soar in ecstasy at the same time?
And could I get any cornier about swooning over my secret fiancé?
“Don’t answer that,” I mumble to my libido—because the struggle gets even more real, surpassing all clichés and hashtags—as I watch my man, standing on a ridge close to the driveway of our freshly built canyon home, helping a construction crew drill a tunnel into the side of a mountain. The other guys are clad in jeans, T-shirts, and hardhats. Reece Andrew Richards is wearing nothing but his shit-kicker boots, tight leather pants, and a whole lot of sweat. The crew members are using a couple of jackhammers and lots of other loud equipment. My shit-hot fiancé is using only the bright-blue lightning erupting from his fingertips. And every jolt reveals new definition in the tantalizing muscles of his tall, rippled body…
Blatantly reminding me of the excess energy he’ll need to burn off after the excavation…
Ecstasy.
But then agony. I tear my gaze away from Reece as I remember the two extra members in his audience today.
So I plaster on an awkward smile for my future mother-in-law. And his.
Kill. Me. Now.
Before I get the chance to consider doing the deed myself, the man takes a break from his labors to glance over, flashing a grin of his own. Correction. The grin. The Reece Andrew Richards special, a twist of carnality and arrogance so potent, the tabloid media has all but built shrines in its honor. I admit to falling prey to its spell myself on more than a few occasions—though not this one. Right now, all I can do is narrow a glower back that’s filled with one message alone. The next time he invites both our mothers to lunch, while he looks like that, he’d better be prepared to deal with the consequences. Exactly what consequences? I haven’t gotten that far yet, but if there’s anything I’ve learned from loving this man, it’s to have a huge imagination…
“Well, honey. You weren’t kidding when you said to have a big imagination.”
My mother proves, yet again, her uncanny karmic timing—and her ability to take in a view as amazing as this and find it lacking. The acres of land around us, rolling hills carpeted with spring wildflowers, stretch all the way to the tiny ribbon of PCH below. Just past the highway is the sparkling band of the Pacific, gleaming a rich sapphire that blends with the clear Southern California sky. From up here, in the hills just north of Malibu, it’s impossible to fathom that the bustle of downtown LA is only an hour away. The rustle of wind across the bluff is a balmy symphony, its perfect harmony rising from the coastal birds in the shrubs. The air is clean and crisp, smelling of rosemary and eucalyptus and tinged with a hint of sea spray…
And lunch.
Thank God for lunch.
“Who’s hungry?” I sidestep Mother’s snip with one of the best excuses on earth. I already can’t wait for the meal ahead. Anya, my favorite salad creator from the little country mart down in Malibu Village, finally succumbed to the ungodly amount of money Reece offered her to come up a couple of times a week to prep dishes for the construction crews when I can’t. From time to time—actually, on more occasions than I want to admit—she keeps me fueled and going as well. Though we’re finally putting finishing touches on the main residence of the complex, Reece and I won’t be able to completely call it home until the rest is built out, meaning our time is still split between downtown and up here.
So yeah, Anya has been a gift from the gods—and never more so than now, as I escort Mother and Trixie Richards into the house through the Mediterranean-influenced front door with baby bougainvillea bushes planted at either side. We cross the polished Italianate tiles of the front foyer to stop at the top of the wide, curved staircase leading down to the main living room area.
Since Reece had the vision to build the house down, embedding it into the side of the mountain, the grandeur of the place unfolds before us in terraced layers, with iron and wood furniture complimenting the arched doorways, stone walls, and native flowers in huge urns painted in swirls of burgundy and blue. The wall tapestries copy that color theme, though are woven in modern swirled designs.
Today, the room’s massive glass doors are swiveled to let in the balmy afternoon breeze, lightly teasing at the g
lass table Anya has set with white linen and trendy-shaped china. In the center of the table is a vase of freshly picked wildflowers and an ice bucket supporting a bottle of Dom Pérignon.
“Oh, my goodness.” Trixie’s comment is nearly a gasp. “It’s…”
“A little better than the outside,” Mother concedes, adding a delicate sniff.
Trixie flashes a subtle side-eye at her. “I was going to say palatial,” she comments while wrapping a gentle hand into mine. “But not a stuffy palace.” She adds hastily, “It’s regal but relaxed. And very beautiful.”
“Of course.” Mother approaches from my other side, hooking her elbow through mine in a strange show of possessiveness. While the moment has me bumbling for a second, I welcome the awkwardness. Mother has never been the fuss-and-kiss type, but maybe today’s the day we both break out of a few comfort zones. “And the house is stunning too.” She dots that with a quick squeeze to my elbow, succeeding in robbing me of words for several seconds as I’m too busy gulping back emotion.
Trixie, thinking we’re only sharing another sweet mother-daughter moment instead of our only mother-daughter moment, remarks, “Lunch smells divine. What are we having?”
“Smells like Anya’s specialty,” I reply as the three of us descend the stairs. “So something gooey, Italian, and perfect.”
Anya, appearing from the kitchen that takes up a few thousand feet of the house’s next level, responds to my theory with her graceful laugh. The woman, with her long fiery curls, cute broomstick skirt, and pink pointy-toed boots, literally looks like she just walked off some fantasy movie set, but this is Anya in everyday mode. “Emma is right. You ladies will enjoy a kale Caesar salad with fresh avocados and chickpeas; then, whole wheat lasagna with zucchini, spinach, and goat cheese, dashed with truffle oil. I also whipped up some oven-roasted green beans and sprinkled them with aged goat cheese and fresh parmesan.”
Mother’s eyes light up. “Magnificent.”
Nearly at the same time, Trixie mutters, “Was that even in English?”
A giggle bursts off my lips. As in, a real laugh. Wait. Is this me, enjoying lunch between the only two women on the planet capable of making me capitalize the word Stress?
That’s not true either. One more name belongs on that list.
Faline.
But today isn’t for dwelling on the bitch who still haunts my nightmares. It’s for building on the dream of forever with the man who helped me survive her. Who literally swooped in and saved me from her.
Who strides in like a modern-day Errol Flynn now, rocking those incredible leather pants, a billowy black shirt he’s just thrown on, and even a black scarf of some sort tied around his head to keep his gorgeous but sweaty hair off his face.
And stealing my breath all over again.
Damn.
Reece is delicious even without his rugged boots. He likely kicked off the filthy things at the front door when he came in. His bare feet hit the tiles with undeniable strength as he approaches, and the air practically shudders from the impact of his presence. I’m not the only one who feels it. I can see how his energy impacts both Trixie and Mother—though clearly, their intimate parts aren’t as swept away as mine…
Or Anya’s.
It’s impossible to ignore how the woman is affected by my pirate stud, with the pulse in her throat quickening and the roses in her cheeks growing, but it’s not like poor Anya—or nearly any other woman who comes in this close contact with him—can help herself. It is what it is, and I deal with it in new forms every day. Short of ordering Reece to turn the new tunnel into a prison cell instead of Team Bolt’s high-tech command center—and chaining him inside for the rest of his life—there’s nothing I can do but deal with the discomfort and trust our connection. That inexplicable, incomparable bond that seems to strengthen between us every day.
That ignites anew in his silver-gray eyes as he walks straight toward me…
And kisses me…
And floors me all over again.
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Continue reading Pulse…
Also by Angel Payne
The Bolt Saga:
Bolt
Ignite
Pulse (August 28, 2018)
Fuse
Surge
Light
* * *
Honor Bound:
Saved
Cuffed
Seduced
Wild
Wet
Hot
Masked
Mastered
Conquered (Coming Soon)
Ruled (Coming Soon)
* * *
Secrets of Stone Series:
(with Victoria Blue)
No Prince Charming
No More Masquerade
No Perfect Princess
No Magic Moment
No Lucky Number
No Simple Sacrifice
No Broken Bond
No White Knight
* * *
Cimarron Series:
Into His Dark
Into His Command
Into Her Fantasies
* * *
Temptation Court:
Naughty Little Gift
Pretty Perfect Toy
Bold Beautiful Love
* * *
For a full list of Angel’s other titles,
visit her at
AngelPayne.com
Acknowledgments
A story like this doesn’t happen without the passion and dedication of an incredible team. All the members of my own Team Bolt: you are such superheroes, each and every day, and I’m so grateful to all of you for believing in this world and these characters!
The Waterhouse Press team: you never saw the “weird one” in the Misadventures bunch. You saw the untapped potential of an electric mutant and his ladylove and taught me that different really can be spectacular. I cannot express how moved I am by your love, light, guidance, patience, passion, and belief in this project. Meredith, Jon, David, Robyn, Haley, Jennifer, Yvonne, Amber, Kurt, Jesse…you are a publishing family beyond compare.
And in that family…there are the two big siblings who have been so much more than an editing team for Reece and Emma. Scott Saunders and Jeanne De Vita, you are the ones who have turned my humble little stories into the shiniest superhero magic. You are my inspirations, my champions, my teachers, my cheerleaders—but more than anything, the two mentors who have made me a better writer. I cannot thank the heavens enough for your presence in my life, and on my writing journey.
Every single incredible member of the Payne Passion crew: Thank you for all the love and encouragement you lend me on a daily basis. You are my lights!
Martha Frantz: You keep all the gears turning, and sometimes I have no idea how. You’re amazing, and such a blessing to me. Thank you!
Victoria Blue: Some days, you just keep me going, period! I am so thankful for your love and support in my world.
Gratitude and incredible thanks to Regina Wamba, the goddess who has labored so hard on the Bolt covers, as well as Anthony Kemper and Hannah Lundquist, for bringing Reece and Emma to life so beautifully.
To all the geeks and freaks and “different ones”: Thank you for living your truth, sharing your scars, declaring your bruises, and celebrating your strength. You are the electricity in my blood! Glow forth!
About Angel Payne
USA Today bestselling romance author Angel Payne loves to focus on high-heat romance starring memorable alpha men and the women who love them. She has numerous book series to her credit, including the popular Honor Bound series, the Secrets of Stone series (with Victoria Blue), the Cimarron series, the Temptation Court series, the Suited for Sin series, and the Lords of Sin historicals, as well as several standalone titles.
Angel is a native Southern Californian, leading to her love of being in the outdoors, where she often reads and writes. She still lives in Southern California with her soul-mate husband and beautiful daughter, to whom she is a proud cospla
y/culture con mom. Her passions also include whisky tasting, shoe shopping, and travel.
For more information, please follow Angel Payne at:
AngelPayne.com
