by Larkin Rose
NASCAR photographer Lacy McGowen never thought she’d capture the moment of death. Unable to watch another race after a fatal crash, she flees Pittsburgh to shoot weddings and capture the images of LA’s young, fashionable, and oh-so-spoiled. She’s desperate to get back to the racetrack but has no idea how to overcome the images that haunt her.
Up-and-coming NASCAR driver Kip Sellars has a death wish. At least that’s what Lacy thinks when her best friend convinces her that cleaning up the young rookie’s image will be a breeze. Kip’s rude, arrogant, and unprofessional, not to mention scruffy, which shouldn’t be nearly as sexy as it is.
What Lacey doesn’t know is that Kip’s penchant for trouble masks a secret she can never tell and a deal with the devil she never should have made. When love waits at the finish line, dangerous curves are a risk worth taking.
What Reviewers Say About Larkin Rose’s Work
Kiss the Rain
“In this story Larkin Rose has created two awesome leading women who in their own way tower over everyone. I was truly dazed at the beginning and continued to be astounded throughout the novel. …I can, without a doubt, recommend this book for the extraordinary strength and stunning depth that each noteworthy woman presented to me over and over again. Transcendent! [The conclusion] sent me soaring and believing in miracles. This book is like ambrosia and a nearly perfect kiss among Eve, Jodi, and the rain. Incredibly satisfying!”—Rainbow Book Reviews
“Even if you’re not a fan of erotica, Larkin Rose is an expert at knowing how to keep you turning the pages. Kiss the Rain is the story of what happens when Jodi and Eve meet during London’s Fashion Week. It also tells how lives can change in seven days. The sex is extremely hot, and the tension is high. This is an enjoyable read which is perfect for a beautiful spring day.”—Just About Write
I Dare You
“Rose’s well-crafted debut novel is erotica with benefits—plausible plotting, a fast pace, and well-defined secondary characters, including an engaging gay drag queen whose sturdy shoulder is always there when Kelsey needs grounded queer advice.”—Q Syndicate
No Leavin’ Love
“This story feels like an allegory and from that viewpoint it soars, dips, spins wildly around its central theme, and certainly touched my own heart’s periodic desire and longing to go home. These are two powerfully impressive women, who pretty much met their match between them. I certainly recommend you stay the course, enjoy the wedding, and then discover when or how the loose ends get resolved. Marvelously pleasurable!”—Rainbow Book Reviews
Visions
“Past intertwines with present in Rose’s (Kiss the Rain) charming new erotic romance. Fortunately, the seduction unfolds with enough spice and sweetness to keep readers satisfied.”—Publishers Weekly
“I howled, applauded, panted, and dabbed away the tears from pure pleasure while reading this book. This is a wonderful multi-layered love story, peppered with nearly devastating confusion, and practically undermined by misunderstood class collision. I think it would be divine to see this as a play or movie, but the remarkably pure sexual heat would definitely limit the distribution venue. What a shame. At least there is the written word and that has masterfully unraveled the intimacy and details allowing me to savor the humor, the women, and the monumental obstacles seeking to crumble the wishes and desires for the star-crossed characters. I unquestionably recommend this!”—Rainbow Book Reviews
Vapor
“This story possibly takes the ultimate award in having two people completely misconstrue each other. Plus, they never talk about it. Of course, with the super sizzling action between the sheets, on the staircase, in the washroom, who really has time to discuss anything? Brilliant, engaging, funny, tearful, and loaded with love, I was beguiled from the very beginning. Hats off to Larkin Rose, another Bold Strokes Books author, for masterminding this marvelous book.”—Rainbow Book Reviews
Dangerous Curves
Brought to you by
eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com
eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.
Dangerous Curves
© 2019 By Larkin Rose. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-354-3
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: April 2019
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Cindy Cresap
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design By Jeanine Henning
By the Author
I Dare You
No Leavin’ Love
The Pleasure Planner
Vapor
Kiss the Rain
Breaking the Rules
Dangerous Curves
Dedication
To the readers. Every word on every page is for your enjoyment. I hope the “behind closed doors” scenes put a smile on your face. Or better yet, on someone else’s. You’re welcome!
And to Rose. Always.
Chapter One
Lacy McGowen backed up to the headboard and tightened her grip around the black iron bars. She licked her lips in eager anticipation while her date, a groomswoman from the wedding hours earlier, her name long forgotten, if she ever knew it at all, kicked off her shoes and eased onto the foot of the bed.
She’d found the woman standing alone at the cash bar toward the end of the reception, mixed drink in her grasp, holding Lacy in her gaze as she walked through the crowd to capture those forever moments in her lens. Locked in that gaze was exactly where Lacy had desperately needed to be. She’d been dealing with an hysterical bride most of the day, making it almost impossible to take the pictures required for such a lavish wedding.
This meaningless, never going to see you again sex, was the only bonus in her otherwise headache inducing and sanity testing job of being a wedding photographer. She hated it. Hated bridezillas and their redundant demands. Hated the orderly fashion and statuette poses.
But it was the lesser of two evils. The greater evil being her passion, a passion she couldn’t think about without memories rising to snag her breath. Without leaving her nauseated and trapped in her own fear. Those testy brides and squealing bridesmaids were far from the roar of a race car engine, from the stench of racing fuel, and the adrenaline of capturing the win in her lens, but it was where she now felt safe. The only place she felt safe. Those impossible to deal with people were her hiding place.
Her date crept closer. As if those sexy dark eyes hadn’t been luring enough, the accent that poured out over the woman’s invitation to join her for a drink absolutely sealed the deal. It had been so enticing, so soothing while they made small talk, while Lacy finally felt some relief from a long day of dealing with the unruly bride who whined her way to the altar. From her last-minute change of hairstyle, to her pouting over adding two pounds to her already ridiculous one hundred and nine pounds, which sent the mother and bridesmaids into coddle mode, cooing what a beautiful bride she was, to stop calling herself fat.
Lacy had silently agonized her way through it all, envisioning stomping her own feet like an unwound mother in the middle of a meltdown. But her hands wer
e tied if she wanted to keep her job, the company she’d started after she left NASCAR, if she wanted to stay in Los Angeles instead of going back home to that Podunk town of West Virginia where she was born, where her parents still called home when they weren’t road-tripping across the map in their RV, where she would likely land a job wrestling toddlers into group settings and making silly cross-eyed faces at unrelenting infants.
Her date climbed higher, her eyes serious and focused. Yes, she had told Lacy her name. Rachel? Monica? She’d also shared where she’d been born. Australia? New Zealand? If only Lacy could remember. Not that it truly mattered. Not that it ever did.
The woman slithered forward, and strands of short brown hair fell around her forehead.
“Stop,” Lacy commanded.
The woman gave her a smile and inched her hand up the comforter to prove she would only half listen to Lacy’s orders, that she was a bad girl and would reverse the roles if push came to shove.
Lacy’s insides tightened with the knowledge. She liked the bad girls. Wanted the bad girls. They played by their own rules. They were usually incredible in bed. Sex. It was just sex. Simple sex.
“Take off my boots.” Lacy stretched one leg toward her. “And tell me your name. Again.”
The woman’s gaze moved up her leg, between her thighs, across her breasts, before landing squarely on Lacy’s face. “The part of your body I need to taste doesn’t require the absence of your boots. My name is Zoe. Again.”
Okay, so Zoe and New Zealand sounded kind of similar. At least she was close.
Zoe moved closer.
Lacy pressed the toe of her boot into her chest. “Easy, tiger.”
“Is that a request? To be easy?” Zoe pushed Lacy’s leg out of the way and crawled higher. “If I remember correctly from our little conversation, you don’t expect things to be easy.”
Ahh. So Zoe had been paying attention during their three-shot meet and greet when Lacy had actually complained about her hectic job. Damn. She’d done that. Complained. She hated that. That she’d whined or bitched or loosened her tongue. It was such a buzzkill being on the receiving end of such boring nonsense. Nothing was a bigger turnoff than listening to someone bitching while trying to muster up a nightly fuck.
She made a mental note to apologize very soon. With her tongue.
Despite the fact that she’d allowed liquid courage to almost change the outcome of her night, Zoe was here now, obviously undeterred, and ready to please.
Zoe grabbed Lacy’s hips and jerked her down the bed. “What would you like me to do to you?” She placed her hands on either side of Lacy’s head and lowered her mouth to Lacy’s lips. “Your wish is my command.”
Lacy expelled a sexual sigh as she settled beneath the tight body.
“Make me come.” That was her only wish. To just be taken away for a few minutes of blissful spasms.
A sexy grin swept across Zoe’s lips. She balanced herself on one hand while she moved the other between Lacy’s legs. She palmed her crotch and squeezed.
Lacy moaned.
“Making you come would be a simple task.” She squeezed once again and then bucked against her own hand. “Simple isn’t the core of such an exquisite being, is it, Lacy?”
The way the accent lured her, Lacy was tempted to say no, that there was nothing simple about her, nor did she want there to be. Right now, she just wanted to agree with everything Zoe was saying.
Fact was, she’d love to endure the simple things in life. As hard as it was to admit, she’d even take a little simple with her sex. Normally, sex was fast, hot, and a slingshot to the point. It had to be. She had little time for games or the normal get to know you routine. Order a drink, capture the willing gaze of a handsome butch, followed shortly with a “Your place or mine?” That was her normal.
But every once in a while, long lasting sex wouldn’t be so bad. It’d be welcomed, in fact. What was it like to wake up beside someone? What was it like to roll over and look into someone’s eyes who actually loved her? What was morning sex like? Sleepy good mornings and roaming lips, while the sun kissed the world awake. That’s what she wanted. Deep down, it’s all she’d ever wanted.
Zoe snagged open Lacy’s jeans and tugged them down her thighs. She locked the denim around her boots and looked up with a satisfied expression. A brief smile crossed her lips before she ducked under the tunnel of denim, lifted Lacy’s legs around her neck, and fastened her mouth around her clit.
Lacy instinctively bucked against her face with the suction. She fisted one hand in the comforter. The other in Zoe’s hair.
Zoe licked and sucked, lapping, mumbling, teasing, until Lacy arched off the bed and came in a blind fury of wet sex.
She pumped against Zoe and hissed out her release until her body went still.
Zoe eased out from between her legs. “Told you those boots wouldn’t be in my way. But they might be now.” She pulled off one boot, then the other, and finally tugged Lacy’s jeans off her body.
Lacy wanted to resist. Normally, that orgasm would have sealed the end of their night together. But the expression on Zoe’s face promised so much more. What could a few more minutes hurt?
Lacy was game for an encore. She deserved it. Wanted it.
Zoe hovered above her. She was truly a sexy creature. Not to mention that accent more than likely turned smart women stupid. She was a great catch. A great catch to someone looking to snag someone.
Lacy wasn’t that person. She was only looking to snag the next gig. The next photo shoot. The next bridezilla. And then what? Continue running from those images. That’s what.
How much longer was she going to run from her demon? That ugly, vivid demon.
The question dredged a memory free, and Lacy focused hard on Zoe, willing the images to leave her in peace tonight.
“On your knees, tiger,” Zoe said, ripping Lacy out of those dreadful thoughts. “But first, let’s uncover the rest of this perfection.”
Lacy sat up and allowed Zoe to remove her shirt then her bra.
Zoe’s gaze dripped over her hardened nipples, down the flat of her stomach, then snapped back to her face. “Such a shame.”
Before she could question Zoe’s statement, she rolled Lacy onto her knees. She folded Lacy’s hands around the iron bars and kissed the nape of her neck. “Hold on tight, my lovely.” She trailed a finger down Lacy’s spine, over the cheek of her ass, into her wet folds, teasing, circling. “Enjoy the ride.”
She kicked Lacy’s legs farther apart and teased her opening again.
“Do it,” Lacy mumbled, past the need for more relief.
She didn’t have all night. In fact, Zoe should already be headed toward the door, if not beyond it. Lacy’s greed, that accent, those promise-filled eyes, were the only reasons Zoe was still here now. It was time for their night to come to a halt.
She didn’t do sleepovers. Didn’t wake up spooned with a lover.
Relationships were outside her realm of specialties.
Lenses, zooms, backdrops, and those damn impatient brides. Those were her perfection. Actually, now those were her perfections. But not then. Not years ago. But now, unfortunately, it was.
There it was again. Creeping back in. The memories. Those awful images.
“Now!” Lacy demanded, desperate to chase the snapshots back into hiding.
Zoe teased her clit, and Lacy arched back with a moan, pleading with her posture. Begging for satisfaction with the sound alone.
“My my,” Zoe said and then pushed inside.
Lacy hissed and drove backward, fucking herself over those pleasing fingers.
Zoe drove deeper, faster, pushing Lacy toward that magical place where she could be controlled, where she let her guard down and gave herself entirely. Where chaos didn’t exist. Where demanding clients couldn’t reach. Where scenes of death were forbidden.
She heard the distinct sound of a zipper growling right before Zoe pulled one of her hands from the bar. She pushed i
t between her legs. “Help me. You are torture.”
Lacy slipped her fingers through slick folds, stalled long enough to tease her pebbled clit, and then pushed inside her.
Zoe’s hips hitched forward, and she drove her fingers deeper.
From somewhere in the room, a cell phone chirped and then rang out the personalized tone, “Billy the Badass Anderson calling. Billy the Badass Anderson calling.”
Lacy ignored the sound and drove faster over those fingers, pushing inside Zoe at the same time.
“Is that Billy Anderson? The race car driver, Billy Anderson?” Zoe asked.
“Don’t stop!” Lacy growled, drawn into the sexy sound of her accent, mentally cursing Billy for screwing with her sex time, hating that the whole damn world knew her best friend was a real badass.
She loved Billy, God knew, but his timing still sucked after all these years. From his hardcore fights with his dad about his need for speed on the back roads in high school, to his heartbreaks with his girlfriends in college, that man was still calling her at all hours of the night to be his shoulder to cry on, his venting post.
Now he was a married man, dad to the most precious little girl alive, racing career under his belt, and yet her phone was still the one he dialed at least once a day.
Of course, she knew why he was calling tonight. He was anal about keeping Lacy on track, wanted to make sure she’d packed her bags, that she would make it to the airport on time for her month-long vacation with him and his adorable family, like she did every year during NASCAR down time. He knew her so well. God love him.
