by Vivian Arend
The end of the alley was mere steps away, the sunshine on the sidewalk her goal, when someone stepped around the corner and she jerked to a stop.
Images of vindictive mob-crews sent by Eric vanished as Joel Coleman blocked her path. She paused, making sure she was in position to run if needed. Not that Joel had ever done anything to threaten her, but being cautious was only smart.
“What?” If the word came out sharp and defensive, so be it.
Joel examined her carefully. “You okay?”
“Just peachy,” she lied, the sarcasm in her voice tinny and bright.
“Don’t fuck around,” he growled.
The words rumbled over her, dark and rough, and for once she allowed herself to look him over. To take in the broad width of his shoulders stretching his T-shirt. Massive biceps pushing the sleeves. Narrow waist and well-worn jeans, with a lighter patch right there where her gaze shouldn’t dwell. He shifted his weight, and the impulse to stare a little longer was hard to fight when his thighs and his…
Vicki dragged her gaze up to the relative safety of his face. Only it wasn’t safe, not by a long shot. Bright blue eyes twinkled at her, a lazy love-em-and-leave-em smirk on his firm lips. His hair long enough she wished she could step in closer and thread her fingers through it to see if it was as soft as it looked.
Yeah, if it wasn’t the stupidest idea ever, she would love to get a taste of Joel Coleman. Always had wanted one, never would take herself up on the craving.
She took a deep breath and stared over his shoulder. “Sorry. I’m still riled up.”
“I figured.” Joel stepped to the side, his body swaying back into her line of vision, and the concern on his face nearly killed her. “I really did want to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m fine.” Vicki paused. The words stuck in her throat, but he had helped. “And…thanks. I mean, earlier, at the restaurant.”
“No problem.” He glanced at his watch. “You finish your shift already?”
No use in lying. He’d find out soon enough she’d been canned. “I’m going to look for a different job. One more suited to my personality. Sorry, no peach pies tomorrow.”
He nodded. “Sorry to see you go.”
Vicki needed to get home. Needed to hide, and not have to think for a few minutes. “See you around.”
She shouldered past him, ignoring his hand that brushed her arm as she walked by. She was at the edge of the alley, stepping into the sunlight, when he spoke again.
“I heard Orson’s Hardware is hiring stockers.”
Vicki paused. Glanced over her shoulder. “Thanks. That might be a better place for me. I’ll look into it.”
“Vicki, if…” His words trickled to a stop, and the strangeness in that alone was enough to pin her feet to the ground.
She turned to face him, waiting for him to finish. “What?”
Joel was looking at her. Really looking, as if seeing beyond the tough-girl façade she wore like armor. She tugged her backpack a little closer, hiding behind it.
“If you ever need, well, someone to talk to. Or a hand. Let me know, okay?”
She should have responded. Should have blurted out a noncommittal thanks, but his offer knocked all logic from her brain and left her with nothing but emotional turmoil.
They stood for a moment, nothing said, just a growing sense of disaster looming as Vicki fought the urge to give in. Because giving in would be a bad idea—she was sure of it.
It seemed like an earnest offer. Maybe. Or maybe more of the same of what she’d been handed over the years. People who appeared to be one way, while only wanting to take advantage of the trusting and the naïve.
A bad girl desperate to change her spots couldn’t allow the lure of attraction to lead her astray. She lifted her chin and turned without a backward glance, walking away from temptation in the form of one Joel Coleman.
Because the last thing this rebel needed was to get involved with another rebel.
It’ll take more than rope to tie down the man they love.
Unbroken
© 2013 Em Petrova
Country Fever, Book 3
When Christian comes out of the bar to find a bat-wielding country girl beating the hell out of his best friend Tucker’s truck, he does the only thing he can—he flirts with her. Unfortunately, he knows her pain—he’s in love with Tucker too.
Claire plans to nurse her bruised heart alone, but inevitably Tucker draws her back in—along with Christian—and the three of them tumble headlong into delirious passion. Then she and Christian wake to find that Tucker has fled his horse ranch, leaving them to care for the animals and each other.
Still grieving the death of his fiancée, pressured to sign over mining rights to a coal company, Tucker is boots-deep in emotional turmoil. Running only sharpens his longing for what he truly wants—Christian and Claire in his bed, in the barn, and under the stars.
But roping themselves firmly inside the circle of love will take everything they have—bulldogged determination, flying fists and aching hearts.
Warning: Wrangle one heartsick cowboy, and the man and woman who love him. Throw in weeks of working in close quarters, bales of pent-up lust, and feel the burn of prairie-fire-hot desire. Now just try to walk away with your heart unbranded.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Unbroken:
The bartender tucked a hand under the brim of his cowboy hat and peered across the dim space through the grimy window of The Hellion.
Christian Davis grunted. “You gonna hand over that six-pack of Budweiser before I hit middle age, Shady?”
A few sharp metallic clinking noises sounded from the parking lot. Shady’s thick white mustache twitched as he winced. Three more sharp raps and Christian turned to follow the bartender’s gaze.
“You drivin’ that big ass Ram truck, Davis?”
“Uh, yeah.” He ducked his head, trying to get out of the shadow of his Stetson and see what the hell was going on in the parking lot.
The grating sound of glass breaking filtered into Christian’s senses just as he spotted her.
“Looks as if you’ve got a jilted lover taking her frustrations out on your truck with a Louisville Slugger.”
Adrenaline surged to the tips of his boots. “That’s not my truck!” he managed as he swung out the door without a care for his beer.
The big red Ram truck Christian had borrowed from his best friend, Tucker, stood in the gravel lot, both headlights bashed out and so many divots in the hood and fender that it looked pocked.
A gush of air froze in his throat as a little gal in teeny cut-off shorts and cowgirl boots danced around the side of the truck. Swinging.
“Jeezus, lady!” Christian hollered as she landed the bat full force and smashed in the side mirror. He took off running, boots digging into gravel and heart thumping. Tucker’s gonna wipe the floor with my ass. He’d sent Christian on the beer run in his truck because it was parked in the way of Christian’s own vehicle.
Springy curls bobbed on the girl’s head as she cocked the bat for another blow. Christian caught the tip, ripping it from her hands before she swung.
She whirled on him, hands fisted, face pink with exertion. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He gaped at her. “Are you crazy, girl? Or don’t you realize that destroying a Ram will earn you three-to-five in these parts?”
With a growl, she lunged for the bat, but he flipped it behind his back, out of her reach.
“Not crazy and I don’t give a damn about jail sentences. I’m related to just about every man with a badge in Reedy. Now give me back my bat!”
He looked at her harder, noting the tears standing in her almond-shaped brown eyes and the way her lower lip trembled. What the hell was going on?
“You got a problem with this here truck?”
“No, I’ve got a problem with the owner of this truck.”
Ah. So Tucker had pissed her off and she was reaping revenge. Not surprisin
g, since Tucker’s screw-’em-and-walk-away creed had gotten him into more than one jam.
She circled to Christian’s side to make another steal for the bat. “Uh-uh,” he drawled. “Give me your name.”
Shifting her weight to one hip, she dug her knuckles into her upper thigh. “Who wants to know?”
“Christian Davis, driver of this truck.”
Her eyes widened. “But…it’s Tucker’s truck. I know by that cross he has dangling from the mirror.”
Christian raked his gaze over her, starting at the curly roots of her dark hair, down her upper chest exposed by a white tank top, past the Daisy Dukes, and then lingered on her round thighs. Lightly tanned. Smooth. Perfect for tucking around a man on a cold autumn night.
Forget the Budweiser. He wanted to curl up with her. What the hell was wrong with Tucker that he’d walk away from this glorious little darlin’?
His fiancée’s what’s wrong with him. Tucker’s fiancée had died in a car accident two years before and he couldn’t get past it. Couldn’t see the sun shining all around him because he walked in shadow.
Christian met her gaze, only to find a pained smirk twisting her pale pink lips.
“I can see you aren’t any better than Tucker,” she said.
Leaning against the door, still warm from the late afternoon sun, he clamped the bat under his arm. “That’s a broad statement from someone who doesn’t even know me.”
“Yeah, well, I see the way you’re looking at me, and it’s no different from your friend.” She dropped her gaze. “I thought he was the real thing.”
Christian scuffed a boot against the gravel and looked away. Yeah, he does that to a lot of us.
Still, he’d like to believe he wasn’t as much of a hound as Tucker. And besides, this girl couldn’t very well run around looking like that and expect a red-blooded male to be immune.
A pickup bumped into the parking lot, spraying gravel and dust around them. Christian stole another look at the girl’s face. “Your name?” When she hesitated, he said, “So I can at least give you credit for your handiwork.”
Pivoting away, she started across the lot.
“Hey!”
“It’s Claire,” she tossed over her shoulder.
He watched her wiggle off, fighting the heavy ache in his groin. “Claire, you want your bat?”
“Give it to your friend as a souvenir.” With that, she yanked open the door of a midsize car that looked as if it belonged to an elderly person. The driver peeled out of the parking lot and lay rubber on the highway.
With a half sigh, half laugh, he tossed the bat into the truck bed and climbed behind the wheel.
Shaking his head, Christian pulled out and headed straight for the Quickie Mart. Two chili cheese dogs were in order. He wasn’t about to face an irate best friend on an empty stomach. And after shoveling gravel for eight solid hours on the road crew, he was starved.
Gathering up his dogs and a giant soda, he turned the truck back toward Tucker’s ranch. As he passed the wide open fields and the blue smudge of mountains on the horizon, all he could see were Claire’s eyes, bright with anger. Swimming with tears.
“Man,” he murmured and cranked the wheel to avoid two human-sized potholes in front of the driveway leading to the ranch.
As he bumped up the lane, he horked down the second chili dog and slurped the remainder of the soda. Tucker was gonna be pissed. Not only had he returned his truck with three thousand dollars’ worth of damage, he’d left The Hellion without the six-pack.
Dammit, he couldn’t help but think Tucker deserved it.
Leaving his trash for his friend to take care of, Christian mounted the three solid wood porch steps to the front door. The ranch was picturesque against the satiny blue sky. Dark wood with real working shutters and a glass door, the old homestead of the Langley family had been restored by Tucker’s own hand. He’d spilled a lot of blood and sweat on this land, making his ranch one of the finest horse farms in the county.
Christian pushed open the door and clomped across the mudroom. In the living area, Tucker was kicked back in the recliner with the remote in hand.
Christian’s c*ck stirred at the sight of his friend in this position. How many times had they sat in this same space, watching porn and jacking off together?
For two years, they’d been enjoying this intimacy. Watching, urging on the other. But their rule was hands off, and Christian wanted nothing more than to jump that gap from friends screwing around to more.
He was work boots over hard hat in love with this guy.
Tucker met his gaze. The shoulder-length hair that Christian longed to run his hands through covered one smoldering eye. “Got the beer? I’ve got the movie.”
Christian’s c*ck reacted instantly, stretching, battering his fly. Last night they’d shared a woman, not a self-love session. Actually, Tucker hadn’t participated, just stood at the bedside with his c*ck in his fist, watching Christian love on the woman. And now that he thought of it, he realized this was most likely the reason for Claire’s fury.
The scent of pine woods and strong coffee filled Christian’s head as he drew a deep breath. He sank to the edge of the couch. “Not exactly.”
“What’s that mean? You get the beer or not?”
Christian raked his fingers through his short hair. “I paid for it but left without it.”
Confusion creased Tucker’s brow. “Not followin’, friend.”
Plow on. “I ran into someone at The Hellion.”
“Yeah?” That rough, drink-nails-for-breakfast voice ripped through Christian’s senses. The same voice drove him wild as Tucker pumped out his pleasure.
“Yeah, a hot little number by the name of Claire.” He drew her name out on his tongue, testing its flavor. Hell, it even tasted like her. Decadent with a hint of quirkiness.
And violence.
The corner of his mouth tipped up.
Tucker stared at him hard. “What the hell happened, man?”
Was that jealousy he read on Tucker’s face? “It seems Claire was mighty upset by something. So upset, in fact, that she beat the hell out of your truck.”
At that, Tucker laughed out loud. “She weighs a hundred and ten pounds dripping wet. How much damage could she have done?”
Christian scraped his fingers over his scalp. “Quite a bit with a baseball bat.”
Tucker’s eyes bugged out, and in a flash, he was on his feet and storming out the door. Christian didn’t budge from his spot, one ear cocked, waiting.
A howl of rage drifted in. A few seconds later, Tucker’s violent footfalls preceded the man.
“Holy—”
“I know,” Christian cut him off. “Question is what did you do to her?”
Tucker dropped abruptly to the sofa arm and buried his head in his hands. “I stood her up last night.”
Just as Christian had suspected. Instead of staying with one girl who he might fall for, Tucker ran out and found one to share with Christian.
“You’re runnin’ again.”
Tucker snapped his head up and he leveled his glare at Christian. Gaining his feet, Christian stared him down. Dammit, it was time to intervene. If Tucker wouldn’t come around and accept a relationship with Christian, he needed to at least set up house with a sweet little gal and have a string of horse-riding babies.
His friend clenched his hands into fists. “And you’re crossin’ a line.”
“Man, you can’t keep doing this. Running from these girls who might change your world.”
Christian’s stomach bottomed out at the memory of Claire’s words. I thought he was the real thing.
“Shut up, Davis. You don’t know what you’re talking about, and it’s none of your goddamn business.”
None of my business that you didn’t join in last night because your heart is in a relationship, even if your hard head won’t allow it?
“Yeah,” Christian said, brushing past Tucker on the way out, “it’s never my busi
ness.”
Skin deep is never deep enough.
Bare Knuckle
© 2013 Katie Porter
Vegas Top Guns, Book 5
After a near-fatal plane crash, fighter pilot Captain Eric “Kisser” Donaghue is a changed man. By day he labors to regain his confidence in the cockpit. By night he moonlights as an off-Strip boxer, fighting for prize money to pay for his younger brother’s third stint in rehab.
In the ring, no one cares he once had a face that launched a thousand one-night stands—and neither does Eric. He’s only there to win. Yet he can’t take his eyes off the new ring girl, a glitz-meets-pageant-queen vision of blonde perfection.
Down on her luck but not quite out, Vegas showgirl Trish Monroe lives for the spotlight. The scarred, steely-eyed loner who stares at her from his corner of the ring gives Trish an extra reason to strut her stuff.
Curiosity and the temptation of a no-strings good time bring them together. The discovery of their secret fetishes—she likes to show off, he likes to watch—turns mere sexual chemistry into a fiery exploration of matched passions. They’re a natural fit. Trust in love, however, is harder to earn than trust in bed, especially when this beauty and beast hide even from themselves.
Warning: This book contains a Sin City-style Beauty and the Beast love story, lots of naughty pics and vids, adrenaline-pumped base jumping, and a set of very important note cards. Oh, and as always, an incredibly hot fighter pilot.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Bare Knuckle:
Trish woke up alone, but she heard Eric rattling around the kitchen. For a moment she stared at the ceiling. Sunlight from industrial second-story windows filled the open space. She wondered how she’d managed to sleep so long with that brightness streaming in.
Oh, maybe cuz I got nailed like whoa and how?
She was sore all over. After cheese fries, Jack Daniels and rigorous exercise of multiple varieties, she was seriously dehydrated. Her head spun in a nauseating fog. She hadn’t consumed that much sodium in one sitting in years. Turning to check the official time—something more specific than “the morning after”—she found an unexpected surprise on the bedside table.
