She wants it. He’s got it. And the chase is on…
Chasin’ Eight
© 2011 Lorelei James
Rough Riders, Book 11
Bull rider Chase McKay has finally landed in a pile too big to charm his way out of. Caught with his pants down, he finds himself bucked right off the PBR tour until he can get his act together.
Hollywood actress Ava Cooper became the tabloids’ favorite target when her longtime boyfriend was outed as gay. Now she wants a place to lay low and a chance to prove to herself that she can satisfy a red-blooded man between the sheets. The sexy, rugged cowboy she finds holed up in her Wyoming hideaway seems like the answer to her every fantasy.
But Chase has sworn off women. Forever. Or at least a month. Whichever comes first.
When they take to the road to get Chase more hands-on bull riding experience, they have every intention of keeping their hands off each other. But the two headstrong stars quickly end up riding a hot and heady rodeo circuit all their own—until the press gets wind of their affair. When the dust clears and the lights of the paparazzi fade, are they ready to give up chasing the dream for a chance of finding forever?
Warning: Strap in, another hot McKay is about to bust out of the gate and this bull rider knows a thing or two about riding hard…
Enjoy the following excerpt for Chasin’ Eight:
When Ava saw the half-naked cowboy sprawled on the couch, snoring softly, she knew last night hadn’t been a dream.
She rested her shoulder against the partition separating the hallway from the living room and looked her fill.
The man, quite simply, was stunning. And living in California, surrounded by the best-looking men in the world, she knew stunning. Sculpted cheekbones that emphasized the leanness of his cheeks. A broad, masculine jaw. Full, ripe lips. His nose was slightly crooked, but it worked centered among the rest of his perfect features. His dark eyebrows were drawn together in a frown, even as he slept. His hair, a striking shade of coal black, held a hint of curl.
Her gaze meandered south, over the flare of his thick neck, to his bare chest, packed with muscles. More dark hair highlighted his defined pectorals, trailing down to bisect his ripped abs. The damn blanket hid his lower half from his hip to his knee, but one bare calf and foot poked out.
Probably creepy to gawk at him when he was unaware, but he’d seen her naked body last night, so tit for tat.
He’d thrown his left arm above his head, which drew her eye to his—holy crap—mammoth biceps and meaty forearm. Her gaze dropped to his crotch. Chances were high he had a little dick. Beautiful men like him always had one physical flaw, and since she couldn’t see any others…
Wait.
Her eyes narrowed and swept down the length of his body. His feet didn’t reach the end of the couch. Which made him short. At least three inches shorter than her. Not that it made a damn bit of difference in her mind. They’d still be eye to eye when they were having sex missionary style. And it wouldn’t matter at all when she was on top.
Stop gawking before he catches you, perv. You’re acting like you haven’t seen a half-naked man in years, not months.
She started a pot of coffee, lamenting the fact there weren’t any Starbucks within two hundred miles, and turned on her laptop, shooting a glance at the still-sleeping cowboy. Last night he’d claimed to be some kind of…rodeo riding guy.
Hello, Google search.
Ava was shocked by all the links that popped up when she typed in Chase McKay. This guy was a big deal in the Professional Bull Riders world. He had a website. He had a fan page on Facebook. She scrolled down. Hey. Chase McKay had more “Likes” than she did. But she noticed no new posts since the announcement he planned to take time off to heal a recurring injury.
He didn’t look injured.
She continued to cyber stalk him, fascinated by a world she knew nothing about. She found pictures of Chase McKay with mayors and governors. Other bull riders. Country singers. Stock contractors. PBR officials and sponsors. Close-up stills of his best rides and his worst wrecks.
But most of the pictures were of the hot cowboy with women. Lots of women—young, old, fat, skinny. Rodeo queens and other rhinestone-wearing women who weren’t queens but sure looked the part. The other odd thing? Not a single woman was taller than him.
Ava followed a link that directed her to articles about Chase. Happy as she was to hit pay dirt, the consensus in the last year of rodeo sports experts? Chase McKay was washed up. His riding percentage—whatever that meant—was rock bottom. Rumors abounded about the trail of broken hearts he left across the country. A couple of snarky reporters dubbed him “Chase’n Tail McKay” since his personal life overshadowed his professional career.
Welcome to the club, bub.
The next series of articles, dated the last three months, hinted at Chase settling into a relationship with Sheree Bishop, daughter of Lou Bishop, billionaire owner of Bishop’s Sporting Goods, the PBR’s new sponsor. During one interview, Sheree admitted she and Chase were “serious” but Chase neither confirmed nor denied Sheree’s claim. In fact, there were no pictures of Chase and Sheree together.
Were they keeping their relationship on the down low? Or was there nothing to report?
“Looks like you’ve found some interesting reading,” Chase drawled behind her.
Ava jumped. Heat rushed to her face and she fought the urge to slam her laptop shut. “Can you blame me for being curious? Since you were sleeping in the next room and wouldn’t confirm or deny you’re a serial killer?”
“I guess not. But you coulda just asked me.”
“You were asleep.” She watched him pour himself a cup of coffee. He wore athletic shorts, no shirt, apparently perfectly comfortable half-dressed with a woman he didn’t know.
Like you have room to judge. You were naked in front of him last night.
And wowza. With a slamming body like that? The man should waltz around naked all the time.
“So?” He pursed his lips and blew across his coffee. “Did you find proof I’m not a serial killer?”
“Yes. But it sounds like you’re some kind of lady killer.”
Chase rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it.
“I’ll plead total ignorance on what it means to be a bull rider, so I did some research. All the rest of this stuff popped up.” Ava bit back a girly sigh when his beautiful blue gaze connected with hers. “Are you really off the PBR tour because of an injury?”
Chase held her gaze long enough to make her heart speed up. Just when she thought he wouldn’t answer, he said, “Nope. I’m suspended indefinitely for inappropriate behavior.”
“What’d you do?” Another one of his intense eye locks. But he didn’t seem inclined to answer this time, so she tossed out, “I’m no stranger to PR nightmares. Regardless if I was the one at fault. If you’re looking for someone to commiserate with? That’d be me.”
He smiled. And holy fuck was it a smile that unlocked the gates of heaven.
Or the devil’s door. Which quite frankly, she preferred.
“Short version? Two weeks ago I was caught in a compromising position with a couple of ladies. I ain’t gonna make excuses, it was what it was, and I’m paying the price. I suddenly found myself with time off while I wait for the PBR to call me back. My folks and brothers live here, but I didn’t want to deal with their pity, so I asked Kane if I could hang out and make plans.”
“Sounds like you’re reading a page out of the story of my life.” Ava typed her name into the search engine and spun the laptop around. “Have a look.”
Chase scooted out the chair across from her and sat. His fingers clicked on the keyboard. His eyebrows went up a couple of times. But he didn’t speak for a few minutes.
She refilled their cups and braced herself when she sensed him staring at her.
“Your ex was gay?”
“Yes. It was quite a shock to me.”
“It wouldn’t have shocked me at all. He l
ooks gay.”
Ava bristled. “You can’t tell that by looking at him.”
“Sure I can.” Chase spun the laptop around and enlarged the photo of Ava and Jake at an Emmy Awards after-party. He pointed at Jake’s feet enclosed in white patent leather clogs decorated with brightly colored polka dots. “No straight man ever wears shoes like them.”
“Shows what you know. Those are high-couture shoes.”
“Those are highly gay shoes.”
She wanted to laugh, she really did. It’d been ages since she’d met a man so willing to speak his mind. “Shoes are your gauge for determining sexual preference?”
“No, the best indicator is sex. How often did you have sex?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” she snipped.
Chase leaned closer. “It’s the only thing that’s relevant. Because if he wasn’t dragging you to bed at least twice a day, the man was either a fuckin’ moron or totally gay. Probably both.”
That was kind of sweet…in a caveman sort of way. “Not everything has to do with sex.”
“Oh yeah? If that’s true, then this Jake guy wouldn’t have left you to have sex with a dude, would he?”
Ava’s mouth dropped open.
“Shit. Sorry. That came out wrong. What I meant—”
“No. Don’t.” She placed her hand on his arm. “I think you’re the first person who’s been totally honest with me.”
He relaxed. Smiled again and she bit back another sigh. “So this is what sent you running from California?”
“I got tired of the paparazzi.” Something kicked from what he’d said about his family. “I got tired of the pity. Of the trade mags making such a big deal out of it. I needed to get away and prove…”
There was that amazing grin again. “Don’t clam up on me now, Hollywood.”
Ava laughed at his impromptu nickname for her.
“And if you’re afraid I’ll judge you? Think again.”
“You were dead-on with the sex question. One of the reasons I’m here? To find a guy I can get wild with. To prove I’m hot between the sheets. To prove I can keep a man sexually satisfied.”
“Is that right?” he drawled.
Her brain slipped into seductress mode as she channeled the femme fatale she’d played on TV for two seasons. “Maybe…you’re the man who can help me with that.”
Nothing comes easy. You’ve gotta work for it.
Rocky Mountain Desire
© 2012 Vivian Arend
Six Pack Ranch, Book 3
Matt Coleman always figured at this point in his life, he’d be settled down with a family. Since his ex split for the big city, though, no way will he give anyone else the chance to drop-kick his heart. Physical pleasure? Hell, yeah, he’ll take—and give—with gusto, but nothing more.
Hope Meridan is working long hours to hold on to her new quilt shop, going it alone since her sister/business partner ran off. Sex? Right, like she’s got the time. Not that she doesn’t have the occasional dirty fantasy about Matt. Fat chance he’d dream of knocking boots with her—the younger sister of the woman who dumped him. Nope, she’ll just have to settle for the F-word.
Friends would be far easier if there wasn’t something combustible going on between them. And when casual interest starts to grow into something more, their tenuous bond strengthens in the heat of desire. But it may not survive the hurricane-force arrival of the last person either of them ever wanted to see again…
Warning: Small-town rivals, men in pursuit and family meddling—in good and bad ways. Look for a cowboy who knows how to rope, ride and rein in a hell of a lot more than eight seconds of sheer bliss.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Rocky Mountain Desire:
“What are you doing?” He paced the store, and she followed, dragging her gaze off his ass just in time as he spun around, wide smile beaming down.
“Just checking out the place. You’ve got some neat stuff in here. I mean, I already knew you had quilts, but there’s a lot of different projects.”
“Anytime you want to take up sewing…”
He leaned a hip on the cutting table, and the broad surface slid away from him. Matt stood rapidly as she grabbed for the edge and rebalanced it.
“Shit, sorry about that. I usually stand in the middle and brace it with my knee when I cut.”
He held out a hand. “I can fix that for you.”
Suspicion snuck over her. She turned and examined the bucket he’d had in his hands. The one he’d placed on the floor that she’d ignored while distracted by all the rest of him. It was filled with hammers and screwdrivers and other tools. “Matt, what are you doing here?”
He glanced around, feet shuffling in place like a naughty kid caught in the act. “Just thought I might offer you a hand. You know, brace the table, adjust shelves, anything that you need help with.”
“And you would do this because…?”
“I want to?”
Yeah, right. “Sure. You got up this morning and decided ‘I have nothing better to do today. I should volunteer my services to Hope.’ Is that it?”
Matt shrugged. “Well, I had a coffee first, but then yeah, that was pretty much what happened.”
Hope laughed. “Aren’t you a shitty liar? Don’t worry, you don’t have to feel guilty about anything getting ruined when I went off the road. I got everything back and most of it survived the adventure. It’s good, and frankly? Being saved from that ditch—you were right. It was just stuff and neither of our lives was worth risking. Please, put your guilt aside.”
The door opened, the bell ringing sweetly through the shop. This time it was a customer, so Hope waved farewell at Matt and went to help the woman.
Only, he didn’t leave, or not for good. At one point he headed out the door and she thought the strange visit was over, but before long he was back, coat once again on the hook, light tapping noises coming from the cutting area where he popped up and down like a broken jack-in-the-box. The entire time she pulled embroidery floss from the cupboard and helped her customer gather items for a project, he was there in the background. After the third time she’d forgotten what number thread she was going for, she steadfastly ignored him.
A few more people wandered in, and Hope got busy serving and chatting with the ladies, admiring projects and pictures of completed gifts they’d already mailed off to relatives for the holiday season.
It was over an hour later before she realized she was alone with him in the shop. It was obvious, no matter what she said, he was going to do whatever he pleased.
She wasn’t sure if that pissed her off or if she liked his stubbornness.
After filling a mug with coffee, she brought it over and placed it in front of him. “If you’re planning on staying much longer, you should know I will drape a display quilt over your back.”
Matt stood, pausing to brush his palms against his thighs before picking up the coffee and taking a long swallow. He closed his eyes as he hummed in approval, and she allowed herself one brief fantasy of kissing her way across his firm jawline, tasting his lips.
She snapped her gaze back up to meet his, attempting her most innocent expression possible.
He was grinning. “Am I in your way?”
She shrugged. “Not really, but I still don’t understand what you’re up to. Go home, Matt. If you don’t have chores to do, you certainly don’t need to waste a day off in my shop.”
He moved aside a basket full of patterns for Christmas ornaments and sat on the stool he’d cleared. “Yes, I’ve got some time off today, but I don’t consider it a waste to spend it here.”
Bloody fool. “What the hell is going on? Just tell me.”
“I want to help you.”
“I didn’t ask for help.”
“But you said we were going to be friends.”
Hope opened her mouth to respond and nothing came out. Friends. The night she’d offered that word to him rushed back. Her brain flooded with too many erotic image
s. Him stripping down, his cock tenting the front of his boxers. She might have had her eyes open a tiny crack as he stripped, and her penance was that now she had a good idea exactly what size equipment he was packing.
The sight of him, the feel of his hard body underneath hers in the tub—all of it rendered her speechless to respond.
Friends?
Good Lord. She was going to die right there in the shop.
This time, he’s not giving her up without a fight.
His Only Hope
© 2011 Skylar Kade
After two grueling years caring for her terminally ill mother, Hope O’Shea is eager to start fresh. Except her first interior-decorating job is for a popular BDSM club—part of her kinky past she misses, but had to leave behind.
Worse, she somehow ends up in the arms of her ex-Dom, Gabriel Cassidy. The one man who could strip her emotions bare, so bare that rather than reveal her painful history, she ran.
Gabriel never understood why Hope left without even a goodbye. Determined to get answers, he entices her to Maison Domine for a weekend on the promise of meeting the owner for another decorating job. Except being with her again reminds him why he loved her in the first place—and why she shouldn’t trust him as her Dom.
As their attraction reignites, Hope is transported back to the sub-space bliss she felt only with Gabe. Then a nightmare from her past shows up at the club, and with no other safe place to turn, she has no choice but to trust Gabe with her shame. Leaving Gabe with a devastating choice—reveal his last secret…or lose his Hope.
Warning: This book contains a feisty interior decorator, a dominating leather worker, heart-wrenching sex and redemption.
Enjoy the following excerpt for His Only Hope:
Gabe’s lips thinned and his dark brown eyes narrowed. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, somewhere mysterious where no one from your prior life knows your location?”
That kind of snark had been her territory, not his. You have no clue where he’s been or what he’s done or who he is now. The idea stabbed her heart with little spikes of sadness.
Cowboy Casanova: Rough Riders, Book 12 Page 34
