The Derby Girl
By Tamara Morgan
Book two of Getting Physical
Roller derby girl Gretchen “Honey Badger” Badgerton lives in the moment, no apologies. Like every woman in Pleasant Park with a pulse, she finds Dr. Jared Fine irresistible, but she’s taken by surprise when her unattainable new neighbor asks her out.
On paper, Jared is the perfect man: gorgeous, wealthy and charitable. But his golden image is just that, and opening an upstate practice is a welcome chance to start a new life. When Gretchen stops to help him with a flat tire, he’s intrigued by her feisty attitude—and her sexy body art. There’s something refreshing about being with a take-charge woman who doesn’t expect him to be anything but himself.
Though Gretchen is hesitant to shatter Jared’s “bad girl” illusion of her, she has to face facts: she’s fallen for the good doctor. She’s used to putting everyone else’s needs before hers, but as their relationship heats up, can she handle having someone take care of her for a change?
Don’t forget to check out book one of Getting Physical, The Rebound Girl, available now!
87,000 words
Dear Reader,
I feel as though every month I start my letter the same, gushing over our month of releases and telling you how amazing and fantastic they are. This month, I’m going to change things up and start by telling you that they’re all quite awful. Okay, not really. Poor authors, I wonder how many of them reading this just had a mini heart attack? Of course you should be excited about this lineup of releases, because it’s another wonderful and diverse month.
In the new-and-unique category, this month we have our first ever decide-your-own-erotic-adventure. Christine d’Abo’s Choose Your Shot is an interactive erotic adventure that not only lets the reader choose who the heroine ends up with, but what kinky fun the characters get up to along the way.
We’re thrilled to welcome Karina Cooper to Carina Press. She’s moving her steampunk series, The St. Croix Chronicles, to Carina Press—starting with a prequel novella, The Mysterious Case of Mr. Strangeway, in which a young Cherry St. Croix takes on her first bounty, only to find her efforts challenged by a collector whose motives run deeper than a hefty purse. Look for book three in The St. Croix Chronicles, Corroded, releasing in September 2013.
We have a strong lineup of contemporary romances this month. Fiona Lowe returns with her next Wedding Fever book, Picture Perfect Wedding. Tamara Morgan brings us The Derby Girl, in which a roller-derby girl lives up to her “bad girl” image to woo an unattainable plastic surgeon, only to discover that he’s the one man trained to see past the surface. In the humorous contemporary romance category, Stacy Gail’s Ugly Ducklings Finish First will be a hit with fans of high-school reunion romances, and with those who like their romance on the more lighthearted side.
I’m also thrilled to welcome three debut authors to Carina Press this month, all with contemporary romances. In Kelsey Browning’s Personal Assets, book one of the Texas Nights series, a recovering good girl needs the right man to help her find her inner bad girl—which is easier said than done in a small Texas town. Next, when the bank refuses Emma the loan she needs to save her family home, she must turn to her neighbor Mitch McKenna, a sexy real-estate investor whose reputation she’s spent the past six months pulverizing into sand, in Unexpectedly You by Lily Santana. And last, but certainly not least, Knowing the Score by Kat Latham features a smokin’ hot rugby player with a scandalous past who gives up his vow of celibacy to help a virgin overcome her fear of intimacy. Three debut authors offer up three terrific contemporary romance novels—make sure to give them each a try!
This month we also have three fantastic male/male romances. Kim Knox kicks off a fun-filled science-fiction historical trilogy. As described by the author, Agamemnon Frost and the House of Death is Sherlock Holmes meets The Scarlet Pimpernel. With aliens. Check out further Agamemnon Frost stories in September and October 2013.
John Tristan joins Carina Press with his male/male fantasy romance, The Adorned. A beautiful young man indentures himself to a tattooist and becomes a living canvas for the artist and his inhuman patrons. And for those who like their male/male romance in the contemporary genre, Libby Drew’s Bending the Iron is sure to hit the mark as she builds a brand for emotional, wonderful male/male romance.
Following book one of her Magick Trilogy, Magick by Moonrise, Laura Navarre takes us back into her historical paranormal world. When the Angel of Death falls in love with life, will a secret Tudor princess pay the ultimate price? Tudor England and the celestial realm collide in Midsummer Magick.
Last, Love Letters Volume 4: Travel to Temptation continues the collection of A to Z erotic short-story romances penned by Ginny Glass, Christina Thacher, Emily Cale and Maggie Wells. Volumes 1 through 3 are now available. Look for volumes 5 and 6, Exposed and Cowboy’s Command, on sale in September and October 2013.
As always, we have a significant backlist of books that I hope you’ll browse and take a look at, in genres from horror to mystery to fantasy to female/female and across the ranges of romance. There’s an adventure waiting for every reader!
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress
Dedication
For Elyssa Patrick, whose indefatigable enthusiasm
and support keep me going.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright
Chapter One
Gretchen’s right eye was so swollen she almost missed seeing it.
Bright red, so small it looked as though it could barely fit a whole human being, probably purchased to make up for a penis of microscopic proportions, the vintage Ferrari that had pulled over to the side of the road was no more than a blip in her peripheral vision. A flash of color. A warning sign.
Naturally, she lifted her foot off the gas and eased her own car—also red, but vintage only in the sense that it ought to have been earmarked for the junk heap—onto the shoulder. Slight though this blip might be, it was a blip she recognized.
Her car rattled to a wheezy stop, and she didn’t bother checking her image in the rearview mirror before getting out. Gretchen knew very well what she looked like right now. An encroaching purple bruise was in the process of forming on the shiny, swollen flesh around her eye. Blood crusted inside one of her nostrils, and her bottom lip was so fat she had what could accurately be termed bee-stung lips for the first time in her life.
It had been an awesome night.
“Need a hand?” she called out, picking her way along the edge of the highway, which was dark and deserted and the perfect setting for any one of a number of horror movies. Gretchen happened to adore horror movies, which was why she always came prepared. Her purse was a treasure trove of pepper spray and strategically placed rolls of quarters, none of which had ever seen any action.
That was what happened when you only stopped on the side of the road for cars you knew. Common sense made it unnecessary to battle the things that went bump in the night.
“Hello?” she called again. She could see the driver crouched near one of the rear tires. “Anything I can do to help?”
At this time of night, there was little traffic between Philadelphia and her hometown, the cozy borough of Pleasant Park. During rush hour, the routes were a constant stream of sensible commuter cars making the sixty-mile trek, but few people straggled home from their urban pursuits near ten o’clock on a weeknight, so it was unlikely anyone else would stop to lend a hand. And she knew for a fact that cell phone reception in this area sucked. Her car broke down here at least twice a month.
The man looked up from his pancaked tire, a frown etched onto his face. Despite him driving a ridiculous car, his face was one Gretchen knew well. Dreamed of often. Occasionally fantasized about licking.
But only occasionally. And always under the most sanitary of conditions.
Technically, she’d never exchanged more than a few words with him, though he stopped by the café where she worked part-time several days a week. He always ordered black tea kombucha and a whole wheat bagel to go, and although his conversation was generally restricted to a few grunts and fewer smiles, he had a good working relationship with the tip jar.
To be perfectly fair, Gretchen was half in love with every customer who had a good working relationship with the tip jar.
His face was heavy with lines, but in that attractive way of well-weathered men who had stories to tell for each one, and was topped with a dashing crop of dark hair touched at the edges with gray. It was hard not to admire a man with hair like that, especially in Pleasant Park, where a Dr. Fine sighting was almost as big of a deal as that time they’d passed an ordinance to paint all the fire hydrants a cerulean blue.
She wouldn’t exactly call herself Dr. Fine’s stalker—unlike several of the other women in town who exhibited no qualms about sharing their own face-licking fantasies—but she’d have been lying if she didn’t admit to having the tiniest crush on this man.
And once—only once, she swore—she might have sat in the window of the café for a full half hour, face pressed to the glass as he wooed a stray dog out from an alley with bites of his bagel. Thirty minutes of painstaking trust-building, and the grungy, rheumy-eyed mutt had eventually hopped onto the front seat of that Ferrari and sped away with him, its tongue flapping joyfully in the wind.
No woman could resist developing goo-goo eyes over a national hero who grumbled at human beings but went all soft over a dog. She wouldn’t even know how to begin trying.
“I’m fine,” he said, his voice curt.
“I’m aware of that.” She tried for a smile, but her bruised face protested with a vehemence that was only now beginning to make itself known. It always took a few hours for the adrenaline to wear away and the throbbing sensation to creep in. “But I have a jack and cookies and a car that’s a magnet for breaking down at the most inopportune times. I’ve changed more tires on this stretch than I care to admit.”
Dr. Fine stood, brushing his hands on his well-filled jeans and examining her for the first time. Gretchen could tell the exact moment her appearance sank in from the way his frown lines deepened all of two seconds later.
“What the hell happened to you?”
Gretchen was betrayed into a laugh, which cracked at her lip. “Gravity,” she managed, holding the back of her hand to her mouth to stop the bleeding. Oozing cuts didn’t have quite the same effect as lipstick, much as she might wish otherwise. How much better would her dating life be if men were attracted to bloodshed and poor life decisions?
She could tell Dr. Fine wanted to ask more questions, but he stood in a daze as she marched up to his tire to take a look. The daze could have been due to one of two things: the fact that she looked like she recently took a roller skate to the face, which she had, or that she hadn’t had time to change out of her practice gear. She was a hot mess of runny makeup, exhaustion and helmet hair, all bundled up in oversized sweatpants. Not her finest hour, by any means, but she had a world-renowned plastic surgeon to rescue here.
“This tire looks shredded—you must have hit a rock or something. I don’t suppose you have a spare in that miniature trunk of yours?”
Jared watched the strange, tiny, beat-up woman walk around to the back of his car and yank at the trunk, expectation settling in her hands-on-hips stance when it didn’t budge.
“It’s locked,” he said, knowing as the words escaped his lips that he had yet to say anything that didn’t make him sound perfectly barbaric. “There’s a spare, but I can do it myself. You said you have a jack?”
“I also said I have cookies,” she replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Who makes the drive in this void of cell phone activity without the essentials?”
She sauntered to a car that looked one loose screw away from falling to pieces, and began rummaging in the back. Among the paraphernalia she tossed aside were a bowling ball, a shovel and a duffel bag that looked as though it could easily contain a dismembered body or two.
I hope the bastard who did that to her is in there.
After lingering a few seconds on that thought, Jared shook himself off and went to help her. He wasn’t normally so taken aback by a battered face—he’d seen more than his fair share of reconstructive surgeries—but this woman didn’t seem the least bit victimized by her current state. If anything, she was energized by it, a walking contradiction. Small in stature but efficiently competent. Bruised but laughing.
About to change a tire for a perfectly able-bodied man.
“I’ve got it.” His voice came out more authoritative than he intended. It did that most of the time, unless he was very careful to control the words he said and the way he said them. He would have liked to blame his tyrannical manner on years of being accustomed to giving out orders, but the truth was that he was a natural dictator. Give him a small country to run and a few thousand men with guns, and he was pretty sure he’d end up conquering the world.
“I appreciate your stopping, but I don’t need a woma—I don’t need you to do that for me,” he hastily amended.
Though, come to think of it, he didn’t appreciate her stopping. This tiny creature—she couldn’t be more than one or two inches over five feet, her build slight underneath the pooled sweats she wore—really shouldn’t be pulling over in the middle of the night. Especially when she looked like she’d just gone up against the worst kind of man in the world.
“Why don’t you wait in your car and I’ll finish this? I can toss the jack in when I’m done. It seems as though you could use the rest.”
She leaned on her car and studied him. Normally, that frank kind of appraisal made him stand a little taller, try to increase his stature—if only in theory. At five foot eight, he never commanded what could be called a towering presence. Tonight, he only slumped further, doing his best to appear small and harmless. It was the least he could do.
“I’m Jared, by the way,” he added. Kindly, he hoped.
“Hello, Jared,” she returned, slinging his name as if she’d been using it for years. “I’m Gretchen. And despite the fact that I am, as you almost let slip, a female, I’m perfectly capable of changing tires. Or, if that’s too difficult for you to wrap your head around, of standing on my own two feet while a big, strong man does the tire-changing hi
mself.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Yes, it is.” She pushed a strand of scraggly inky-black hair out of her face and tucked it into a messy ball of hair that sat on top of her head. “But don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”
He frowned. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“Exactly.”
Confusion forced him to pause. Was this woman goading him on purpose? In the dark, alone and on the side of the road? He tried one more time. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait in your car?”
“Why? Am I making you nervous?”
“A little,” he admitted. That earned him a trill of laughter.
“Go ahead and get on with your manly business. Let me know if you need any help. Or if you change your mind about the cookies.” She made no motion to get safely in her car, instead turning her gaze skyward, taking in the stars without so much as a single precaution against him or the night.
There wasn’t much to say or do after that but change the tire—not so much as a matter of pride as it was of not appearing like a threat. Years of willful self-sufficiency had roughened his edges, sharpening him against situations he couldn’t control. Add an oddly belligerent woman with a black eye into the mix, and it was damn near impossible for him to act like a normal human being.
He moved quickly and carefully, determined to prove he wasn’t quite as ham-fisted as the situation was making him out to be. It was the car’s fault, really. An acceptable—if somewhat impulsive—purchase as a young man in his twenties bent on impressing the world, the sports car now made him feel like a dirty old man in the throes of a midlife crisis. All he needed was a private yacht and a young girlfriend, and he’d be every cliché he despised.
He stole a quick glance at Gretchen as he twisted off the lug nuts. It was too dark to see much, but she was definitely young enough to fit the bill. Pretty, too. Despite the swelling all along the right side of her face, she had great cheekbones and bilateral symmetry.
What is wrong with me? He returned his attention to the tire. First thing he planned to do when he got back to town was put this worthless car on the market and find something more sensible to drive. After years of maneuvering rugged, off-terrain military-grade Jeeps, he felt like a leprechaun zipping through the streets in the damn thing anyway.
The Derby Girl Page 1
