by Debra Kayn
“Hey, you’ll have to change the name of your day care once you’re married.” Tony, one of Gregg’s cadets, pointed to the sign over the door.
Amber glanced at the new Bailey’s Pet Daycare sign, smiled, and shook her head. “I think I’ll keep the name in honor of Aunt Grace. Without her help, none of this would have happened.”
Gregg nodded. “Good idea, sweetheart.” He stepped over to Amber. “I get off work early tonight. I’ll be home at seven.” He glanced up at the others before leaning down to whisper in her ear.
She giggled at what he asked her to do for him. Heat rushed to her cheeks.
“Well, what do you say, sweetheart?”
Buster pushed his nose between their bodies. Amber leaned back and gazed down at the dog.
“Woof.”
She laughed. “Buster’s right. My answer is yes. It’ll always be yes.”
Sneak Peek - Aching To Exhale by Debra Kayn
Close to twenty motorcycles, parked in one perfect line, took up the sidewalk outside High and Dry Lounge. Crystal Rose hesitated for a heartbeat before continuing to walk through the parking lot. The eleven months since losing Raul Sanchez and the Lagsturns Motorcycle Club had reduced her to paranoia.
Every biker driving by left her weak. Men of Latino descent caused her to take a second look, half hoping it was Raul, and panic at the thought it could be him.
It was never him.
Crystal hurried through the double doors into work. She'd stayed too long in one place for her comfort. That had to be the reason why her legs shook and her nerves were raw and on edge. She hefted her bag over her shoulder. In two more weeks, she'd have enough money to move on.
"Crystal, you're late." Dean, her boss, hurried out from behind the bar and pushed her through the lounge toward the back dressing room.
"I'm twenty minutes early." She glanced behind her as she walked. "I took the number three bus to make sure I arrived before my first set."
"I switched your schedule with Ella. Her kid's sick and she's not going to make it in to open the show. I would've called, but you haven't left a phone number in the office." Dean planted his hand on her back and catapulted her through the swinging door to the dressing room. "You've got five minutes to get on stage and make the men happy."
"Shit," she mumbled, throwing her bag down.
She stripped out of her old baggy Jimmy Hendrix T-shirt and black yoga pants she'd bought at Goodwill when she'd arrived in Palm Springs. Staying in the rough part of town forced her to take precautions with her appearance. She dumbed down her style to make sure no one followed her to the job or back to the motel after work. Dancing for money was a filthy job, but she was good at what she did.
In a desperate need to hide against the reality of her life, she stood in front of the mirror, applied heavy black eyeliner, and sprayed her hair out so far from her head Whitesnake would hire her over Tawny Kitaen for their next video. Then she dressed in her skimpy two-piece, deep purple colored bikini she'd altered with silver sequins and black tassels.
Five minutes later, she sauntered out onto the unlit stage. She looked below the dim lounge lights at the men crowding the stage, and raised her gaze to the darkened shadows standing in the back. Everything appeared normal, if not a bit quieter than usual for a Saturday night.
Grabbing the pole, she waited for the lights operator to put the spotlight on her. Prepared for the onslaught of blindness, she swung into her routine with practiced ease. Her show was simple, really.
She pretended she was alone. The pole was Raul. He'd often stand in the middle of the room at the club and let her dance circles around him. Too tough, too smooth, too guarded to let himself have fun in front of the other bikers, but there was always something about the way he watched her when she danced for him that told her he enjoyed what she was doing.
She could almost feel the soft denim of his worn jeans in her mind. She hooked her calf around the pole. The warmth of his body, rock solid, standing there, soaking her all in. She let her head fall back as her hair swept the floor. How many times had he whispered 'mi vida' with his silver tongue, knowing it made her wet for him?
Her circular momentum stopped and she straddled the pole. She reached above her and pulled herself against the apparatus. Hand over hand, the pole warmed to the touch by the lights shining on her gave the illusion it was alive. Raul always put up with a lot from her, but the moment she finished dancing, he'd hook her neck and pull her in for a kiss.
God, the man could kiss. He made love with his tongue, caressing her soul, and she was powerless to deny him anything he wanted. She turned and leaned her back against her prop, reached above her, and slid into a squat.
The music quickened, and she grasped the pole with both hands, took two running steps, and held herself horizontal to the floor as she descended. Around and around, until her foot skimmed the floor and the lights went out. She lay there, dizzy.
She should've eaten today.
She pushed herself off the floor and straightened. Three steps toward the back of the stage, she ran into a solid wall. She braced her hands against the barrier and clutched leather. She inhaled. Sweet mint and leather with a hint of tobacco curled her toes.
Adrenaline flooded her veins, fear stole her breath, and despite her fight or flight response, her fingers sprawled against his chest, grabbing as much of him as she could before she escaped. She pushed. "Let me go."
"Not this time. Scream or fight me and every man in here will wish he hadn't come tonight." Raul slipped her hand into his, holding her solidly in place and led her off the stage.
She tugged on her arm to get away, but he never budged and he wasn't letting go. A scream built in her chest, but stayed locked inside of her. For how much she feared being in the hands of the Lagsturns MC again, she couldn't make herself bring trouble down on Raul's head.
Outside in the parking lot, she jerked her hand out of his grasp and faced him under the glow of the streetlight. The only man who could cause her heart to stop beating stood in front of her, his eyes blacker than death. Her chest tightened, making her ache to exhale. Raul Sanchez's appearance back into her life meant trouble wasn't far behind.
Confident, on the verge of cocky, Raul rocked back on the heels of his biker boots, slipped his fingers into the pockets of his faded black Levi's and gazed at her intently, waiting her out. She dropped her gaze to his chest. A white T-shirt with the arms cut off to fit his muscular frame—he hated the tightness across his shoulders—and the Lagsturns' cut proved she wasn't dreaming. She swallowed in distress, but the way her stomach tightened at seeing him called her a liar for being afraid.
His Latino charm and drop dead sexy good looks made her a devote believer in what could only be described as her cult-ish love for him. Her breath hitched in her chest and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
She soaked in the man who'd owned her for nine months, treated her better than he did his Harley Davidson, showed her the world from his eyes, and set her body on fire—in the best possible way.
Then he'd changed.
"Are you done?" He lifted his brow.
She straightened her back and crossed her arms, suddenly aware she only had on three triangles of purple material and sequins, and he'd caught her ogling him. "I have two more shows."
"That's not what I'm talking about and you know it." He stepped forward and lowered his voice. "I can make you come with me or you can relive old times and climb onto the back of my bike, plaster yourself against my body, and love doing it."
She shivered remembering how much she enjoyed riding with him and going by the upward curl of his lip, he knew what she was thinking. She planted both of her hands on his chest and shoved. "I'm not going anywhere with you. I need to work."
Instead of letting her leave, he dipped and grabbed her around her thighs, throwing her over his shoulders. Disoriented and upside down, she grabbed on to the back of his jeans and kicked her feet. "Damn you, put me down."
/> He slapped her ass. She screamed, hating the way the desire to escape him fled. Each step away from the lounge marked by an exhale pushed out of her body as she bounced on his shoulder.
Raul stopped and heaved her off his shoulder and into his arms, letting her slowly slide along his rock hard body until she stood on solid ground again. She held on to him as the world righted itself and she was no longer dizzy.
Her reflection shone in his dark obsidian colored eyes. She looked away out of guilt.
In the past, she'd begged, bargained, used, lied to earn her way back into Raul's good graces, and failed miserably. In her desperation to save their relationship, she'd made a fool of herself and found herself escorted onto a bus heading out of town and fearing for her life.
That fear kept her from returning to Southern Oregon, home to the Lagsturns Motorcycle Club. Back to the one man she loved.
Not that she regretted her time with him, never that. She'd go back in a heartbeat if it was safe to stay with him. It was the guilt of keeping secrets from Raul that she regretted. She wasn't good enough for a man like Raul Sanchez, and she'd never be able to tell him what forced her into hiding from the world.
Raul hooked her neck, bringing her attention back to him. "I'm going to get on my bike, and you're going to climb on behind me."
That's when the truth hit her upside the head. Whatever Raul asked her to do, she'd do her best to make sure she made him happy. Because in her heart, she could never tell him no...and that was part of their problem.
She swallowed hard, glancing down the line of riders waiting for her to follow their president's orders. God, she missed them. "Fine. Let me get my clothes and bag first."
He walked over to his bike, opened his saddlebag, and tossed her a pair of jeans and his leather coat. "There's no time. We need to roll."
She shoved her legs in his jeans and held the waist. He helped her on the back of his bike. Before she could question him, he sped off into the night. She wrapped her arms around his waist and closed her eyes. For now, she'd take what she could from him. When he calmed down and allowed her to talk, she'd ask him to let her go, for both their sakes.
Sneak Peek – Healing Trace by Debra Kayn
Joan sat on the leather loveseat across from her drug-induced patient. Trace's lips parted and puckered with every breath he exhaled. She bid her time while he slept, watching those lips. Relaxed in sleep they were plump, moist, and all too alluring.
Appearance wise, he was much different from the type of men who usually grabbed her attention, and he fascinated her more than she wanted to admit. She crossed her legs. She'd had friends talk about the magnetism of the bad boy over the typical nine-to-five man and until now, she'd never understood the pull.
Physically, Trace was gorgeous. His attitude challenged her to draw him toward her, hoping she could break the wall he put up.
Not that she was desperate for a man, or wanted the stress of adding a relationship into her life. She glanced away from her patient. Trace was all too infuriating and bad tempered when awake, so in his sleeping state it made sense that she'd find him more attractive.
She forced herself to concentrate on the magazine that lay opened on her lap. The chance at working with someone closer to her own age, rather than a geriatric patient must be throwing her for a loop. It hadn't been that long since she'd had a boyfriend, a date, sex.
Taking care of Trace was a personal test. Nothing more.
She glanced at him again. His arms were thick, strong, and she suspected the lower half of him would be in the same kind of shape. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. He was possibly the best-looking man she'd ever seen. If she wasn't here as a professional, in a business type of situation, she'd be tongue-tied and clueless about what to say to him.
"Is it part of your job to sit and watch me sleep?"
The magazine slid off her lap, and she bent over to pick it up. Her cheeks grew warm, and she was thankful for her long, curly hair curtaining her face. She was supposed to care for the man's health, not be paid to ogle her patient.
She cleared her throat and hooked the stray strands of hair behind her ear. "You're awake."
He stretched, and the blanket slid off his cast. She hurried over and covered him, but not before peeking at the solid thigh above the cast and below his boxers.
He squirmed his way into a sitting position. "Why don't you go do...something."
"Like what? I'm your nurse for the remaining time you're laid up, and then I'm going to help you get back in shape." She sat back down. "Everything I should be doing involves caring for you and making sure you're comfortable."
Trace snorted.
"Am I expected to cook your meals too? Brody didn't say anything about that, but it'll be no problem. It'll give me something to do while you rest. I'm sure he'll fill me in on all my duties when he comes back to the house for dinner. He seemed very concerned about you getting the best care possible." She leaned forward as a thought occurred to her. "Do you have to...do you have a need I could help you with?"
"My...needs?" He stared at her.
"Yes. If you need help getting to the bathroom, or need help bathing, shaving..."
"Shit. This is unreal." Trace's head fell back on the couch and he gazed up at the ceiling. "Brody!"
Joan squeaked, and covered her chest with her hand to keep her rapidly beating heart from bursting out of her body. "He's not here."
"He will be."
"No. I don't think so. He dropped me off at the door earlier and said he'd be back at dinner time." She scooted to the edge of the cushion. "To be honest with you...this is my first in-home care job. I'm sure once I find out exactly what I'm expected to do, we'll get along fine."
Trace simply gaped at her. She gathered the small pillow from behind her, and hugged it to her stomach. The way he pierced her with his gaze unsettled her. This wasn't going as well as she'd hoped.
"Is there something I can get you?"
"No."
"Are you in pain?"
"No."
"You don't talk much, do you?" She tittered out of pure nervousness.
She let her gaze wander around the room, while keeping him in her peripheral vision. This job was going to be more difficult than she originally thought. He wasn't an easy patient, which was okay.
She was used to cranky men who didn't want to be coddled. Although, she had to admit it was easier to manipulate an eighty year old man to follow the doctor's orders. She didn't think this particular man would be easy to sweet talk into doing what she asked.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
She flinched. "I'm just looking around the room. You have a beautiful home."
Trace grunted.
"Would you like to talk? You can tell me how you broke your leg?" Determined to make their working relationship polite, she used the manners her dad taught her and forced a smile.
"No reason to fill empty space with useless chatter." The deep baritone voice could've come from the couch because in her mind, Trace made no effort to acknowledge her.
She rubbed her lips together. His rudeness wasn't going to make her lose her temper. "We're going to have to figure out how to get along eventually. Six weeks in each other's company is a long time..."
He glared at her. For the second time, she noticed the dark silver of his eyes, deep and cold, almost harsh. She shivered and pulled the pillow tighter against her abdomen.
"I'm guessing Brody set all this up." His voice matched his cool demeanor. Even with the edge in his attitude, the gravelly undertone set her heart to pattering.
"Yes." She rose and took a step closer to the couch, to him. "It's time for another pain pill. If you'll excuse me, I'll make you a bite to eat too. Often times, the medicine will make you nauseous and food will help you handle the side effects better."
Biography
Top Selling Romance Author, Debra Kayn, lives with her family at the foot of the Bitterroot Mountains in beautiful Idaho. She enjoys
riding motorcycles, playing tennis, fishing, and creating chaos for the men in the garage.
Her love of family ties and laughter makes her a natural to write heartwarming contemporary stories to the delight of her readers. Oh, let's cut to the chase. She loves to write about REAL MEN and the WOMEN who love them.
When Debra was nineteen years old, a man kissed her without introducing himself. When they finally came up for air, the first words out of his mouth were...will you have my babies? Considering Debra's weakness for a sexy, badass man, who is strong enough to survive her attitude, she said yes. A quick wedding at the House of Amour and four babies later, she's living her own unbelievable romance book.
Debra Kayn's books
Breathing His Air
Aching To Exhale
Soothing His Madness
Laying Down His Colors
Healing Trace
Archer
Weston
Chantilly's Cowboy
Val's Rancher
Margot's Lawman
Florentine's Hero
Biker Babe in Black
Ride Free
Double Agent
Love Rescued Me
Betraying the Prince
Resurrecting Charlie's Girl
Where There's Smoke
Wildly
Seductively
Conveniently
Secretly
Surprisingly
Suite Cowboy
Homemade Hijinks
