She's ready for the ride of her life . . .
Lauren Grahame is looking to reinvent herself. After leaving her cheating husband, Lauren moves to Carnal, Colorado, and gets a job as a waitress in a biker bar called Bubba's. It's a nothing job in a nowhere joint . . . until Tatum Jackson walks in. Lauren has never seen a man with such good looks, muscles, and attitude. But when he insults her, Lauren doesn't want anything to do with him. Too bad for Lauren he's also the bar's part owner and bartender.
When the rough-around-the-edges Tate meets the high-class Lauren, he thinks she won't fit in at Bubba's. Yet there's more to Lauren than meets the eye, and Tate soon sets his mind on claiming her as his own. Before long, the desire burning between them is heating up the cold mountain air. But when violence strikes the town, Tate must reveal a dark secret to Lauren-one that may put an end to their sweet dreams.
When the rough-around-the-edges Tate meets the high-class Lauren, he thinks she won't fit in at Bubba's. Yet there's more to Lauren than meets the eye, and Tate soon sets his mind on claiming her as his own. Before long, the desire burning between them is heating up the cold mountain air. But when violence strikes the town, Tate must reveal a dark secret to Lauren-one that may put an end to their sweet dreams.
Excerpt
Tate kept my hand in his as we walked to room three, which was way closer to Ned and Betty’s. I had to walk double-time to keep up with his long strides. He didn’t release my hand when he made it to the door. He just unlocked it, opened it, and pushed me inside.
I walked four steps in while Tate flipped the light switch.
It was an exact copy of my other room, to the letter.
I threw my purse on the bed, turned to Tate, and remarked,
“Weird, it’s like I didn’t even move. It’s the same room.”
“Enjoy the ride?” Tate asked and I blinked at him.
“Sorry?”
“Did you enjoy the ride, Lauren?” he repeated and I smiled.
“Yes, Tate, it was—”
I didn’t finish but I made another sound. It was a gasp because one second he was standing inside the closed door. The next he was standing right in front of me, one of his hands was sliding up my neck into my hair, the other arm was wrapped around my waist pulling my body into his.
“What are you—?” I got out before his fingers in my hair fisted, pulled down just a tad less than gentle, and his mouth was on mine.
And he kissed me.
No. He kissed me.
Brad was a good kisser and he was great in bed. He wasn’t my first kiss though, or my first lover. I’d had a better kisser than Brad, but not a better lover.
But Tate’s kiss . . .
There was no describing it.
It didn’t start slow. It started hard and wet and so demanding.
I had no choice but to give back what I got. And I did. Our tongues sparred, then our teeth bit at each other’s lips and our heads twisted this way and that, all of it a mindless, sexy dance that was all- consuming. There was nothing but his mouth and my mouth, what they were doing and what they were making me feel. Nothing. Not in the whole universe.
When he lifted his head a fraction of an inch I found one of my hands was up his shirt in the back and one of them was cupping the back of his head. His hand was still fisted in my hair but his other arm had moved up to curve tight just under my shoulder blades, the pads of his fingers pressed into the side of my breast.
We both were breathing deep, our breaths mingling between us. I could feel his on my sensitized lips and he had to feel mine.
Finally, he spoke. “Shit, Ace.”
“Shit what?” I whispered, staring into his eyes, so close, I could count the tawny flecks.
“This isn’t good,” he whispered back and I swallowed and felt a sour pit forming in my belly.
“It isn’t?”
“I gotta focus.” He went on whispering.
“On what?” I asked, also whispering.
“On shit that doesn’t include what that mouth and tongue of yours could do to my cock.”
My hand at his back fisted. “Tate—”
“And if your pussy is as sweet as your mouth.”
“Tate—”
“Shit,” he muttered.
“Tate—”
“I gotta find this guy,” he told me.
“I know.”
“I get back, Lauren, you’re on the back of my bike.”
I blinked at what he said, mostly because I didn’t understand it. Then I swayed because he let me go and without a word or looking back, the door to my room closed behind him.
Several moments later, when I could speak, I asked the door, “Get back from where?”
Like the hall earlier that day, the door didn’t have an answer.
About the author:
Kristen Ashley grew up in Brownsburg, Indiana, and has lived in Denver, Colorado, and the West Country of England. Thus she has been blessed to have friends and family around the globe. Her posse is loopy (to say the least) but loopy is good when you want to write. Kristen was raised in a house with a large and multigenerational family. They lived on a very small farm in a small town in the heartland, and Kristen grew up listening to the strains of Glenn Miller, The Everly Brothers, REO Speedwagon, and Whitesnake. Needless to say, growing up in a house full of music and love was a good way to grow up. And as she keeps growing up, it keeps getting better.
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