Heart's Collide
Ellie Masters
JEM Publishing
Click here to visit Ellie’s Website (www.elliemasters.com) where you can view excerpts, teasers, and links to her other books.
Copyright © 2018 Ellie Masters
HEARTS COLLIDE
All rights reserved.
This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this ebook ONLY. No part of this ebook may be reproduced, scanned, transmitted, or distributed in any printed, mechanical, or electronic form without prior written permission from Ellie Masters or JEM Publishing except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.
Editor: Erin Toland
Published in the United States of America
JEM Publishing
This is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, businesses, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN: NUMBER
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Warning
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This book is for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country where you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely and where they cannot be accessed by underage readers.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my one and only—my amazing and wonderful husband.
Without your care and support, my writing would not have made it this far. You make me whole every day. I love you “that much.” For the rest of you, that means from the beginning to the end and every point in between. Thank you, my dearest love, my heart and soul, for putting up with me, for believing in me, and for loving me.
My husband deserves a special gold star for listening to me obsess over this book and for never once complaining while I brought these characters from my mind to the page.
You pushed me when I needed to be pushed. You supported me when I felt discouraged. You believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. If it weren’t for you, this book never would have come to life.
Contents
Also by Ellie Masters
1. Perky Pixie
2. I Don’t Whine
3. Kids Listened
4. Torture
5. A Damn Pen
6. The Tide
7. Bentley
8. Gondola
9. Virtual Reality
10. Forest
11. Ruby Red
12. Nuts
13. His Fault
14. On Stage
15. Lover Boy
16. Where’s the Girl?
17. A Past
18. Found the Girl
19. Just Take
20. Insatiable Beast
21. Penny for Your Thoughts
22. A Glove
23. Adventure Games
24. Therapy
25. Breakthrough
26. Escape
27. Stormy Weather
28. Road Trip
29. Plans
30. Intervention
31. Stage Hand
32. Bass Guitar
33. My Girl
34. A Pen
SNEAK PEAK of Heart’s Divided, Book IV
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Also by Ellie Masters
About the Author
Connect with Ellie Masters
Final Thoughts
THE END
Also by Ellie Masters
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The Angel Fire Rock Romance Series
each book in this series can be read as a standalone and is about a different couple with an HEA.
Ashes to New (prequel)
Heart’s Insanity (book 1)
Heart’s Desire (book 2)
Heart’s Collide (book 3)
Hearts Divided (book 4)
Romantic Suspense
Reap What You Sow
Twist of Fate
The Starling
Redemption
HOT READS
Changing Roles Series:
Book 1: Command
Book 2: Control
Book 3: Collar
Off Duty
Nondisclosure
Down the Rabbit Hole
Becoming His Series
Book 1: The Ballet
Book 2: Learning to Breathe
Book 3: Becoming His
Sweet Contemporary Romance
Finding Peace
~AND~
Science Fiction
Ellie Masters writing as L.A. Warren
Vendel Rising: a Science Fiction Serialized Novel
(January 2019)
Perky Pixie
Bent
“Time to get up, Mr. Growly Bear.”
An overly energetic voice sang the annoying nickname with far too much enthusiasm. Bent cringed and prayed he’d remembered to turn the lock on his door. His perpetually positive physical therapist had returned like a bad STD.
He kicked her out. She came back.
He fired her. She showed up the next day.
He locked her out and she was back for another round.
“Go away!” His deep bass rumble did nothing to dissuade the energetic Piper Raines. The wench was like crack on a stick, one perky, nonstop ball of energy.
He hated perky, unless they were tits.
“Not happening!” The lock to his door clicked and the knob turned.
When the fuck did she get a key?
“Forest!” No one else but Forest had a key to his room.
“Forest isn’t here, Mr. Growly.” Her lilting sing-song voice grated on his nerves. Like an ice pick to the eye, her perpetual positivity made him want to punch something.
“Did Forest give you a key?”
“How else was I going to get in?”
“You don’t get to get in. I fired your ass.”
“And Forest hired me right back. It’s for your own good.”
She opened the door and held a bag easily half her size in her arms. The petite redhead hip-checked the door, closing it behind her with a thud. She scanned the room and then frowned. Her pert nose turned up as the corners of her lips curved down.
“Phew! When’s the last time you took a shower?”
About three days ago when she’d chased him into the bathroom and forced him to climb inside the shower. The little wench had even threatened not to leave until she was satisfied he was at least attempting to accomplish the ADL.
A-D-L.
Now those were three foul letters. He hated them. Activities of Daily Living are what they stood for, and he failed at most of his ADL tasks. Piper took that as encouragement to subject him to even more torture.
Sharp and grating, her voice hit the high notes with her crystalline pipes. Ash’s wife, Skye, called Piper’s voice angelic. He had another word for it. Her unusual voice stabbed at his skull and exace
rbated the pain of his hangover.
He could use a drink right about now.
Drugs were no-go territory for the band. After Ash’s rehab several years back, the band had sworn a pact to never touch drugs, but alcohol remained firmly on the menu. Ash was the only one who didn’t drink, but the rest of the band had no problems tossing back one or two, or more. He’d tossed more than a few back last night.
“You saying I stink?”
“No.” She dropped her bag and placed both hands on her hips. “I’m saying this whole place reeks. You’re just the worst offender.”
“How can you smell me from way over there?”
“Because you reek! Please tell me you’ve showered since Friday?”
He wouldn’t do that, because he wasn’t a man who lied, especially to beautiful women, even ones as obnoxious as Piper. And he hadn’t showered because—he ran a hand through the dirt and grime of his hair—because it was too damn hard. ADL his ass.
He glanced at his hand: a puny, little freak hand.
That’s what his hand looked like and it was attached to an even worse horror. A pale, skinny appendage had somehow joined itself to his body. The offensive thing had replaced the thick muscles of his forearms and biceps and destroyed all the definition in his arm.
The arm was a foreign looking thing. He refused to accept it as his, and it worked for shit. He couldn’t grasp a bar of soap, brush his teeth, tie his shoes, or hold a damn fork. Thus, no showering since Friday.
Pitiful. Weak. And ruined.
That arm epitomized everything wrong with his life and made a mockery of all that he’d worked for. Like the ruin of his career. All it had taken was an ill-fated USO tour to Bagram, a bus, and a roadside bomb to shatter his arm and turn his world inside out.
“Your silence speaks volumes, Mr. Growly.”
“Stop calling me that,” he said with a growl.
“Riiiiight!” Her laughter tinkled like bells. “Because there’s nothing big, scary, and growly about you.”
“I’m not scary.”
Not anymore.
Being weak didn’t sit well with him. Not when he’d always been one of the strongest, tallest, and fiercest men. With the exception of Forest, who was nothing if not a reincarnation of a Norse god, Bent towered over other men.
Ryker Lyons, Angel Fire’s stand-in bass player-recently separated from the Air Force-met him at eye level. But even Ryker’s intensive physical conditioning couldn’t match Bent’s bulk. The rest of his bandmates looked up to Bent, and while ripped, they had lithe frames when compared to the badass of the band. The man who took two, three, or more women to bed with him every night. And that wasn’t an exaggeration. Bent’s brawn elicited respect. His presence commanded attention. And he’d been blessed with above average good looks. Not to mention, he was a fucking rock star. Sex on a stick is what women called him.
He was a man people noticed.
Bent’s muscles bunched upon muscles. Women drooled when presented with his staggering physique. They eagerly ran their hands up and down his powerful arms and fluttered their fingers across his broad shoulders. Invariably, they worked a steady path down the rippling terrace of his abs to discover what lie beneath the Adonis V of his hips. It was there where they worshiped him, sucking at the glory that was his impressive cock.
Or, at least they had.
Before the accident.
Before his arm had literally been bent in two.
Snap! Snap!
Bent blinked at tiny fingers snapping in front of his face. Piper had to practically stand on tiptoe to get his attention, and she stood too damn close. Smelled too damn good, like roses and pixie dust, she was an intoxicating combination.
He took a step back.
“You were spacing out again,” she chided. “It’s rude to ignore someone when they’re speaking to you.”
A downward glance gave him the perfect view of Piper’s twin perky assets. The girl’s body was tight, toned, and fucking hot, and she never wore a bra. The creamy expanse of her breasts filled out her tight tee, lifting the fabric away from her chest and giving him one hell of a view. Her tits weren’t large. A generous B cup, or maybe tiny C’s. Didn’t matter, because he didn’t want anything to do with Piper or her perky tits. Except maybe…
He shook his head and back-pedaled, placing distance between them. But Piper followed. Insistent wench.
She took his lame arm and ran her fingers over the scars. Three operations over the past four months had placed metal and screws into the bones, straightening his arm out, but damage remained. Perhaps, permanent nerve damage.
That had been what his Ortho doc had thought at the last visit. They were to give it another six months. They? He laughed. Like they were a fucking team. It was his damn arm. His fucking hand that refused to work. His fingers which twitched and could barely grasp a cup, let alone finger a guitar or a woman.
He ripped out of her grip. “Stop that.”
“It’s my job, Growly.”
“It’s my fucking arm.”
“Well, no shit Sherlock. Now that we have that established, let’s talk about why you haven’t showered.”
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
“At least we agree you have not in fact showered. Now, why is that?”
Shit.
“Cause, I spent my weekend fucking and drinking.”
Only one of those was true. She didn’t take the bait. Wench simply changed the topic with a beautiful smile and arch of her brow.
“I’ve got something I want you to try.” She said. “We’ll work on holding the soap later. If you won’t do it, I—”
“How many times do I have to say it? You’re not helping me in the shower.” Except she’d helped him shower more times than he cared to remember.
“Like I’d want to get near any of that.” She made a vague gesture at the rest of his physique.
If he didn’t regain the use of his hand by his next checkup, a visit to the neurologist was in his future. And if he didn’t regain use of his arm, the rest of his body would slowly follow. It was impossible to keep up with his demanding gym regimen when his arm didn’t work.
She flashed her cornflower blue eyes at him, fluttering her lashes over the high ridges of her cheekbones. Damn, but why did her eyes have to be the one color he couldn’t resist?
Because God hated him. That was the only answer that made sense.
“Now that’s a lie,” he said with a rumble.
“What’s a lie?”
“That you don’t want a piece of me.”
“Right, because egomaniacs are my go-to kind of guy. Don’t worry Bent, I am most definitely not interested in any of that.”
After the abysmal failure of last night, he couldn’t handle another rejection and countered.
“Don’t knock it ‘till you try it.”
Secretly he hoped she jumped at the chance. Women were all the same. Eager cunts who only wanted one thing from a rock star.
“Considering I don’t know where that thing’s been, I don’t think I’ll be knocking that…that…” Her face reddened with frustration. “That thing anytime soon.”
He laughed.
“What’s so damn funny?”
“That thing?” he parroted back. “What’s wrong Piper? Afraid to say the word dick?”
She rolled her eyes, but then her gaze slipped, and landed right on his crotch. Exactly where his dick had taken notice and was now standing proudly at attention.
Fucking Piper could be fun. Except the thought of a meaningless fuck with her twisted his stomach. Now that was new.
Where had that come from?
“I’m not going to discuss your thing,” she said. “Unlike the brainless groupies who think you’re God’s gift to womankind, I know better. And I have no interest in your…your dick. What I do have an interest in is my job and your future. That begins, and ends, with aggressive physical therapy.”
He didn’t care about th
e damn future. He cared about right now. About the heavy ache in his balls which hadn’t been released in far too long.
With the pale, withered excuse of an arm attached to his body, his dick hadn’t been getting the workout it was used to. The groupies drew back. Shock, horror, and worse—revulsion—showed in their expressions. Girls no longer crawled to his feet, or fell to their knees before him. Bash, Spike and Noodles hogged all the attention, while he suffered through unsatisfying fist-fucking, forced to jack off with the wrong damn hand. And he’d tried with the bad hand. God how he’d tried. But how was a man supposed to chase his release using a hand that didn’t work?
His gaze cut to the unused guitar sitting in the corner of his room. He’d tried to play it once, well over a month ago, right after his cast had come off. The arm had revolted him then, but he’d had no idea how broken he really was.
Bent and Broken. Now wasn’t that the worst joke?
It wasn’t funny at all. There was nothing funny about broken dreams.
Hearts Collide Page 1
