Hot & Heavy

by Tracy Wolff

  He looks stricken. “Jesus. Sage—”

  I press gentle fingers to his lips. “Let me finish, please. I don’t know if I can get this out again. I’ve spent my adult life trying to make sure that never happens to me again. I have rules for everything, things I let myself do, things I don’t, how much money I need to save every month, how much extra I need to pay on my mortgage every month so no one can ever take my home from me.”

  “I’ll buy you the damn townhouse. And a yoga studio that you can run into the ground if that’s what you need to do. And whatever else you want—”

  He looks so fierce I can’t help laughing. “I can buy my own townhouse. And my mom and I had a talk about the yoga studio last night. It turns out, it’s not yoga I hate. In fact, I love therapeutic yoga, love helping people get strength and range of motion back after injuries. I learned that—or relearned it—when I was working with you. It was rewarding to help get your shoulder back to where it was, and I think it will continue to be rewarding for me for a long time. It’s the uncertainty that comes with all the shit my mom pulls that makes me freak out all the time, not yoga. Which is why we came to an arrangement last night that I think will work for both of us.

  “But that’s not the point of me telling you all this. The point is, I met you and you were like this brilliant shooting star burning a path right through my whole life. I loved it—and I love you—but it scared me, too. Just loving you is outside my comfort zone, Shawn. Dealing with all the crazy stunts, too. It just…it’s a lot, you know. I just need some time to wrap my head around it all and then—”

  “No, you don’t. I’m giving it up.”

  Shock slams through me. “What do you mean, you’re giving it up? You won’t be okay if you can’t jump off cliffs and out of planes—”

  “No. I won’t be okay if I lose you,” he tells me, dark eyes shining with so much love and sincerity that I can barely breathe. “Everything else is negotiable.”

  “I’d be lying if I said the idea of you stopping all these extreme sports isn’t a relief to me, because it is. But I don’t want to make you change for me. That’s not what a good relationship is all about. And the last thing I want is for you to start to resent me because I forced you into something you weren’t ready for.”

  “You’re not forcing me into anything, Sage. I’m figuring out for myself that it’s time to grow up.” He pauses for a second, takes a deep breath like he’s trying to collect his thoughts. Then says, “My mom used to do these things, you know? I mean, nothing as risky as free climbing up the side of a cliff, but she did skydive and mountain climb and a bunch of other things like that.

  “She died when I was young and for a long time I thought it was my fault that she and my sister died in that car accident. We were going to one of my games and I was rushing her because we were late and coach was going to be mad. One minute she was telling me to calm down and fiddling with the radio and the next she and my baby sister were dead because some jerk in a huge-ass SUV ran a red light and plowed straight into the side of our car.”

  “Oh my God. Oh, Shawn, I didn’t know that. I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.” I press kisses to his shoulder, his neck, his cheek—anything I can reach, really.

  He shakes his head, his big, calloused hands coming up to gently cradle my cheeks. “I didn’t tell you that because I wanted to make you sad. I’m just trying to explain why I do what I do. I’ve been thinking about it a lot the last couple of days, and the truth is, I’m an idiot who never grew up.”

  “That’s not true—”

  “But it is. Somehow, as a kid, I convinced myself that I could feel my mom when I was doing the things we used to do together. Mountain climbing, snowboarding, etc. But the longer she was gone, the harder it was to feel her. So I would do riskier and riskier things in the hopes that it would be like it was at the beginning.”

  Tears are burning my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Not now, when Shawn is being so strong and so vulnerable. Not now when he’s meeting me more than halfway in trying to make this thing work between us. No way am I going to make this harder for him by crying, no matter how much my heart hurts for the shattered little boy he was and the strong, still damaged man he has become.

  “I’m sorry I punished you for that,” I told him. “I’m sorry I didn’t understand—”

  “How could you understand when I barely understood myself?” he asks. “But now that I do, I don’t need it anymore. Or at least, I don’t think I do.”

  “You know, this isn’t an either-or situation. I mean, yeah, I’d really prefer if you didn’t free climb up a sheer rock wall, but if you want to mountain climb with ropes and carabiners and all of that, maybe I can join you. Or, free diving for seven minutes is out, but maybe not for three or four? And I’ve always wanted to skydive, as long as I’ve got a backup parachute.”

  “Really?” His eyebrows hit his hairline. “You want to skydive?”

  “No,” I tell him with a laugh. “I really, really don’t. But I will, for you. Because as long as you’re safe, or at least as safe as you can be, then I say you should go for it.”

  “We’ll see,” he says. “Right now, I have more important things to think about than jumping out of a plane.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I ask, arching lightly against him. “What exactly do you want to think about?”

  “Not that,” he says, stilling my hips with a hand. “Well, I mean, yes, always that…But we did that first and now I want—”

  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two boxes and puts them on the coffee table in front of us. My heart goes nuts.

  “What…what are those?”

  “One’s a pair of earrings. Tanner seems to think earrings are the best way to grovel, so I took his advice.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s not wrong,” I whisper as my voice all but deserts me. “What’s in the other one?”

  “What do you want to be in the other one?” Shawn asks, and suddenly he’s whispering, too.

  “Shawn—”

  “You don’t have to open it. If it’s too soon, I’ll put it back in my pocket and we can forget—”

  “What’s in the box, Shawn?” I’ve gone from whispering to screeching in three seconds flat.

  He reaches for the smaller of the two boxes and hands it to me, still closed. “I love you, Sage. You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning and the last thing I think about when I go to sleep. I think about you when I’m climbing mountains and when I’m free diving. I think about you when I’m working out and when I’m reviewing game tape. I think about you when I’m cooking and I dream about you when I’m sleeping. I know it’s too soon, I know we haven’t known each other very long. But I’ve spent most of my life looking for you and now that I’ve found you, I don’t want to wait anymore. I love you so much and I want nothing more than to be able to spend the rest of my life thinking about you every moment of it.”

  “Oh my God.” Tears are pouring down my face now, and my hands are shaking so badly I can barely hold the ring box. “Oh my God.”

  “Will you marry me, Sage?”

  “Oh my God.”

  “That’s not a yes.” His voice cracks just a little on the last word.

  “Yes!” I tell him, throwing myself against him and wrapping every part of me that I can around every part of him. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!” I repeat over and over again as I pepper his face with kisses.

  Marrying him isn’t safe, and most people would say it isn’t even sane since we’ve only known each other a short time. But he’s right. I’ve waited my whole life for the adventure that is Shawn Wilson, and there’s no way I’m going to let him go a second time, or ever again.

  Somehow, he pulls me even closer before pressing his lips to mine in a kiss that is tender and sexy and reverent all rolled into one.

&nbs
p; When he finally pulls away seconds—maybe minutes?—later, he grins down at me. “You didn’t even look at the ring.”

  “The ring doesn’t matter. All I want is you.”

  “I know.” He holds up the box. “But it’s a really good ring. The second I saw it, I knew I had to buy it for you.”

  His words send shivers through me all over again. And this time when he hands me the box, I open it. And gasp because somehow this beautiful, beautiful man has managed to find a ring that speaks to my very soul. It’s plain, so plain, and yet the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.

  It’s a bezel design, with a large—very large—flat diamond set flush within a platinum setting that wraps all the way around the diamond. The ring itself is also plain, just a simple round edged band of platinum. It’s delicate, yet strong, contemporary, yet timeless, and I love it almost as much as I love the man giving it to me.

  Shawn shifts nervously beneath me. “If you don’t like it, we can take it back and get something—”

  “Don’t even say it!” I tell him as I all but rip the ring from its box. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen and once you put it on my finger, it is never coming off. I hope you’re prepared for that.”

  “Prepared for it?” He grins down at me. “I’m pretty much demanding it.”

  “Good. It’s nice to know we’re on the same page for once.”

  “That we are. But you probably shouldn’t get used to it. I’m sure I’ll be back to driving you crazy by tomorrow.”

  “No doubt.” I hold my hand out so he can slip the ring onto my finger, and for once, I’m rock steady. Because nothing in my life has felt this right. And as Shawn slides the ring home, I know nothing else ever will.

  For Jennifer Elkins, because so many of my stories have pieces of our friendship in them! I love you lots!!!!

  Acknowledgments

  First of all, I have to thank Sue Grimshaw and Gina Wachtel, who have been so, so, so good to me. Thank you so much for everything you do for me—you are the most awesome house a girl would ever wish for and I am so lucky to be writing for you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

  Thank you to everyone at Random House, including Penelope Haynes, Matt Schwartz, Madeleine Kenney, and Lynn Andreozzi who put together the most beautiful books for me and then help those books soar. Thank you all. I am truly blessed to work with such a fantastic team.

  Thank you to Emily Sylvan Kim, my agent and dear, dear friend. You keep me sane and I don’t know what I would do without your help and support!

  Thank you to Emily McKay, Shellee Roberts, Chris Cox, Paula d’Etcheverry, and Sherry Thomas for the brainstorming and the pep talks (and for kicking my butt when I need it). I might be able to write without you guys, but I certainly wouldn’t want to.

  Thank you, Mom, for all your help wrangling my house and my children—and for always being there to listen. I love you!

  And finally, thank you to my boys for understanding my crazy schedule and loving me anyway. I love you so much and couldn’t do this without you.

  BY TRACY WOLFF

  His Royal Hotness

  Royal Treatment

  Royal Pain

  Lightning Novels

  Down & Dirty

  Hot & Heavy

  Rough & Ready (coming soon)

  Ethan Frost Novels

  Ruined

  Addicted

  Exposed

  Flawed

  Hotwired

  Accelerate

  Other Books

  Full Exposure

  Tie Me Down

  Play Me (serialization)

  Lovegame

  Extreme Risk Series

  Shredded

  Shattered

  Slashed

  PHOTO: © KEVIN GOURLEY

  New York Times and USA Today bestselling author TRACY WOLFF wrote her first short story—something with a rainbow and a prince—in second grade, around the same time she forayed into the wonderful world of girls lit with her first Judy Blume novel. By ten she’d read everything in the young adult and classics sections of her local bookstore, so in desperation her mom started her on romance novels. And from the first page of the first book, Tracy knew she’d found her life-long love. A one-time English professor with over fifty novels to her name, she now devotes most of her time to writing romance and dreaming up heroes. She lives in Austin, Texas, with her family.

  tracywolffbooks.com

  Facebook.com/​TracyWolffAuthor

  Twitter: @TracyWolff

  Read on for an excerpt from

  Bishop

  by Sawyer Bennett

  Coming soon from Loveswept

  Chapter 1

  Bishop

  I see her and it’s all over for me.

  At least for tonight, anyway.

  “I’ll be back,” I mutter to Dax as I push away from the bar, snagging my beer as a last second thought.

  Shouldering my way through the crowd filled with twenty-something yuppies here to take advantage of the last few minutes of happy hour, I keep my eyes locked on her. How could I not when those full, wet lips wrap around a straw sticking out of her fruity looking cocktail prompting wild images of those same lips wrapping around my cock.

  Before I can reach her, another man—who I’m sure is having the same lewd thoughts as I am—steps up to her and blocks my view. An involuntary growl rolls up out of my chest and I grip my beer bottle harder than necessary. More images swamp my brain and I can see myself cracking the bottle over the fucker’s head. I figure at that point, I’ll just drag her off to my lair like a caveman.

  “No thank you,” I hear her say as I pass behind her.

  “You’re going to turn down a free drink?” the man asks incredulously.

  “I can buy my own drinks,” she purrs at him before taking another long pull from her straw. Her cheeks hollow slightly and my dick twitches.

  Stepping to her other side, I set my beer on the bar and lean an elbow right beside it. Her neck twists and her gaze locks with mine. Fuck me but those eyes are incredible…a golden, amber color that I’d noticed earlier from across the bar. Even in the softer light provided mostly by neon beer signs, they almost glowed. I noticed that along with her gloriously long chocolate colored hair as it flowed down her bare back revealed by the sexy halter top she’s wearing. Long ass legs and curves everywhere. Tits, hips, ass…all fucking spectacular.

  The original plan had been to buy her a drink too, but that’s clearly not the way to this woman’s heart.

  “What can I offer you besides a drink that would get you to talk to me?” I ask her.

  The man on the other side of her snorts but apparently my honest question has some merit. She tilts her head, studying me for a moment before she replies, “Read any good books lately?”

  Well, fuck. I’m not much of a reader.

  I shake my head with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Not my thing.”

  “I just finished a re-read of the Count of Monte Crisco,” the other guy says moving in closer to her. I see the humor flash in her eyes before she twists her neck the other way to give him her attention.

  I see an opening and make my move. Staring over the back of her head at him, I correct his slip of words, “It’s the Count of Monte Cristo.”

  The gorgeous woman who I am bound and determined to take home tonight turns right back my way. My eyes drop and I grin at her. “I read it in high school. I have a good memory so we could talk about that if you want.”

  “I meant Monte Cristo,” the man blurts out almost frantically, but she doesn’t look back his way.

  Instead, she holds out a perfectly manicured hand to me. “I’m Brooke.”

  “Bishop,” I return as I shake her hand. I have an inherent sense that she would not be charme
d if I kissed it.

  To give the other dude credit, he knows this is defeat and melts away into the crowd.

  Motioning to the stool beside her, I ask, “Mind if I join you?”

  “Be my guest,” she says sweetly, swiveling slightly to face me. She uncrosses her legs and re-crosses them, not even bothering to pull down her scandalously high-riding skirt. It’s black with shiny silver threaded through and the silvery top she’s wearing displays a set of fantastic tits. I noticed them when I first noticed her, but since coming to stand beside her, I’ve kept my eyes meticulously locked on her face. She knows they look phenomenal and she knows I’ve already looked.

  “Are you here by yourself?” I ask her, because while not totally unusual, most women come out dressed like that in packs for a night of fun out on the town.

  “I was actually meeting a co-worker here tonight but she texted me just a few moments ago that something came up and she couldn’t make it.”

  That works for me.

  “Gotcha,” I say as I pick up my beer and hold it up to her. “Then hopefully I can keep you well entertained in her absence. So what did you think about the Count of Monte Cristo?”

  Brooke laughs and picks up her drink, tapping it to my bottle. “Actually, I’m not big into the classics. I’m more of a fashion magazine kind of girl.”

  The fashion thing I get right away. I’ve dated enough women and paid for enough designer bags and shoes to know that Brooke is very much into high quality retail. However, her refusal to let a man buy her a drink tells me she’s also independent so may not be into a man buying her those things.