My inner walls pulled at his talented fingers, my legs quivered around him, and by the time he relented and roughly swiped his thumb over my clit, there was no holding back the flood of release he had unleashed. I leaned forward and sealed my mouth over his, told him I loved him, and tried not to slide down the door as he used his free hand to tenderly stroke and caress the tip of one breast. He always did that, got me off, tore me up, and then turned sweet and gentle until he was ready to push me past all my limits again. I didn’t even protest when he ripped the panties out of his way, even though that meant I was going home bare-assed under his hoodie.
“My fantasy. You in a hoodie and nothing else. You really are something special, Dovie. I don’t know what the point would be without you.” I didn’t know if he was talking about the place or the point of us, but I guess either fit.
I kissed along his collarbone. Worked happy hands between us so I could get his belt open and free the part of him that I needed. He was so hot and hard in my hands, so ready, always so ready for me. I stroked the length up and down, watched his eyes go even darker, and saw the pulse in his neck start to get erratic.
“You are something special too, Shane. Don’t ever forget I know that.”
He groaned when I squeezed the head and tilted my pelvis up so that just the tip of him hit my entrance. We both stilled just a little at the contact, but as always, it was perfect. He half sank in, half let me pull him in, and the next thing I knew, we were sliding, moving, thrusting, and grinding all kinds of hot and heavy against the door to his office. It wasn’t graceful or pretty. In fact, I think I lost a chunk of hair in the hinge of the door. But it was raw, it was spontaneous, and he always made it feel special.
He groaned my name into the bend of my neck when he came, dug his fingers into my hips, and I clamped down on him and tossed my head from side to side as the second wave of pleasure overtook me. When it was over we sort of folded in on each other, and I ended up straddling him on the floor while he collapsed on his back still buried inside of me. He sighed and ran his hands over the still-trembling skin of my thighs. I put both hands on his chest and leaned down so our faces were almost touching, my hair a fiery curtain around us.
“I love you, Shane Baxter.”
“I love you, Dovie Pryce.”
He didn’t say it often, so when he did, it always mattered a little more.
“And I love it when you call me Shane right before I get you off . . . every single time.”
That made me laugh, which made me lean down and kiss him some more, which led to him getting hard again, which led to some more uncomfortable garage sex, this time on the floor of the office.
There were two parts to all of us, things that made us who we were, showed where we came from. I liked to think my parts were equally divided between good and bad, where Bax’s were bad mixed with a little more bad. But somewhere inside him Shane lurked, and Shane had just enough good to make me think we had forever. Or at least as long as a place like the Point was going to give us, and at the end of the day, I was happy with that, as long as it had me and him together.
Better When He’s Bold . . . Race’s story coming soon . . .
The Welcome to the Point series won’t have a playlist attached because the sound track is the noise of the streets. I want you to hear voices in the night. I want the sounds of vermin in dirty alleys to make your skin crawl. I want you to hear tires squealing on the asphalt and flesh hitting flesh in dirty and sexy ways. The Point is as much a character in this series as the people who live there and who are fighting to survive in it. I want the heartbeat of this broken city to be its own music.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
OH READER, IF I could come to each and every single one of your houses and tell you thank you, give you a big ol’ smooch and squeeze you with all my love, I would. You saved me. You gave me something to strive for, to believe in, and healed my broken heart. The love I have for you is endless and runs very deep. Thank you for sticking with me after Rule and his horrible editing the first time out of the gate. Thank you for letting me try new things and giving me the opportunity to stretch my little writer wings and go crazy. I promise with every word I put on the page I’m not only doing it because I love it, because it’s always something I wanted to do, because it’s a part of me and drives me . . . I do it for you too. I want to give you a great story to say thank you. I want to enthrall you and make you fall in love every single time. I want you to always know that I’ll always do my absolute very best to not only stay true to myself but also to stay true to you. Thank you, reader . . . thank you a million times over.
As always, please feel free to contact me by any of the millions of ways that exist out there in the world. I do love to talk to readers.
Thank you to everyone who made me feel like a one-trick pony or a one-hit wonder. That was good for me and made me learn a lesson and open my eyes. I’ve never been the type of person who allows herself to be pigeonholed or forced into someone else’s box. Rules are made to be broken. I’ve never been scared or worried about doing things my own way, but learning this writing game has had some bumps and I needed a reminder about that. I took some really negative emotions I was working with based on feeling misunderstood in my storytelling and created an amazing place. A place that is dark and twists and turns in so many directions it makes me dizzy, even though I know where it’s going. So thank you for shaking me up and reminding me that the only person I can be creatively accountable to is myself.
Thank you to Amanda Bergeron (world’s greatest and most patient editor . . . ever) and Jessie Edwards, plus the rest of the team at HarperCollins. I never thought I played well with others, but this team and these wonderful ladies really do make this a dream job. I love working with them and I’m honored every day that I get to say I’m published with HarperCollins. It’s a crazy thing. There is no way to describe the way my heart beats faster and my head gets a little fuzzy when I walk into a store and see an actual book on a shelf. If it wasn’t for Amanda, that wouldn’t be possible, so she’ll forever hold a place in the history of my life . . . a superawesome special place.
Thank you to Stacey Donaghy of the Donaghy Literary Group: http://www.donaghyliterary.com/. She makes me laugh. She talks me off the ledge. She verbally kicks my ass when I get all wound up and ridiculous. She always tells me that my hair looks great! She believes in me and tells me I’m brilliant. She is the driving force behind me being able to put books in readers’ hands. I couldn’t ask for better representation and a better creative support system. She told me Bax was great even when I thought . . . ehhh, he’s too much. Like my editor, Stacey will forever hold a special and esteemed place in the journey of my life. I wouldn’t be where I am without her, and she deserves all the praise and admiration I can heap on any one person.
Thank you is never enough to say to my folks. They really are the best and I never, ever could ask for anything more. I’m so happy I get to experience so many amazing opportunities with them. They are the most fun and most supportive parents a gal could ask for. I just love them to the moon and back.
I try and find something to thank my bestie for every single day. She is my therapist, my confidante, my coconspirator, my sounding board, my teacher, my role model, my shopping buddy, my shoulder to cry on . . . she is my true north. She’s just my favorite of all the things and my life is better because she is in it.
Thank you to my book bestie. She’s a riot. She has a good soul. She’s sweet and takes things too personally, which makes her the absolute opposite of me. She’s just a doll and I wouldn’t be able to put any kind of book out in the world without her looking at it first. She gets it. She gets me and more often than not I wish I had listened to her when she suggested I change something and I didn’t do it. She’s really good at making sure I know what my priorities are when it comes to telling a great story and I adore her for it.
I had a wonderful lady named Carolyn Pinard help me get Bax’s story all spit sh
ined and pretty. The difference she made on my manuscript is indescribable. THERE WERE COMMAS! Yes—commas in one of my books . . . who woulda thought? Anyway, check her out if you need any editing or final spot checks before submitting to an agent or a publisher. She’s awesome to work with and she just moved to Colorado, so now she doubles as my drinking buddy as well: [email protected].
The ladies at Literati Author Services—http://literatiauthor services.com/—get a big thanks as well. I like to do things my own way, want things to work how I want them to work, and that means I need a PR and marketing team that can bend and move with me. Karen, Michelle, and Rosette are awesome at it and they are another group who just get it, just get me. They make the business side of my writing life go round so I can focus on getting the words on the page. I can’t say enough good things about them and how easy and pleasant they are to work with.
Thank you blogger nation for making the book world go round. Thank you for introducing new readers to our books. Thank you for leaving thoughtful, heartfelt reviews. Thank you for sharing covers and helping release day be amazing and huge. Thank you for loving books and supporting authors just because you love to read. Thank you for being DIY and having so much passion. Thank you for the criticisms that, when they are done right, make me strive to be better and go farther. Thank you a million and one to those of you who have been there from the very, super-early beginning. Thanks to those of you who have crossed over from blogger and reviewer to friend. Thank you for being fun, and engaging. Thank you for giving me a chance to do my thing, and even if all of you don’t love it, it’s still totally awesome and amazing that I got to do my thing in the first place.
And as always thank you to my furry family: Duce, Pistol, and Charley. I’m always excited to come back home and get slobbery kisses and be covered in love and dog fur. They make my heart happy.
Oh, and thanks to the hottie I drove past on the Harley that one day who had a tattoo on his face that totally made what Bax looked like solidify in my head . . . yum .
Jay Crownover’s dark, dangerous,
and sexy-as-hell Welcome to the
Point series continues with
Better When He’s Bold
Coming January 2015
Turn the page for a sneak peek . . .
CHAPTER 1
Brysen
THERE ARE SOME MEN who are impossible to ignore. It’s like everyone else around them is moving in slow motion, like everyone else is painted in black and white and he’s the only spot of color; the only thing moving in the room. Race Hartman was that kind of man. Even though an entire room full of loud, drunk, and excited party people separated us, even though I doubted he knew I was at the same house party as he was, all I could see was him. Tall and blond with a face and body designed to make the fairer sex stupid with lust, he was undeniably beautiful and delicious, like everything that was bad for you tended to be. I didn’t want to keep staring, but I couldn’t stop myself. He was just that dynamic—just that bold—and in my world where things were gray and lifeless, he was a sensory feast and I was happy to gorge.
I missed the days where I just went to school, partied, had a good time, and acted like I didn’t have a care in the world. Those days were long gone so I needed to stop gaping at Race like an idiot and get on with trying to enjoy the one night I had off from work and wasn’t needed at home. My little sister was at a sleepover, and my dad had agreed to stay home with my mom. It was a rare occurrence when I got to behave like a normal twenty-one-year-old, and I was squandering it by lusting after my best friend’s older brother, and probably the worst, most inappropriate guy in the entire world to have a crush on.
“Do you know him?”
My friend Adria was the one who had convinced me to come out tonight since I didn’t have to work. I remembered parties like this being more fun. I took a sip of lukewarm beer out of a red plastic cup and fought the way my eyes wanted to magnetically drift to Race.
“He’s Dovie’s older brother.”
“Really?”
Her disbelief was justified. Where Race looked regal, like some kind of golden god sent down to rule over us mere mortals, Dovie Pryce was a rumpled redhead covered in freckles and about as unobvious as one person could be. She was cute at best, not impressive and heart-stopping like her brother was. She was also the nicest person in the world. I was pretty sure Race didn’t have a nice bone anywhere in his impressive body.
My fingers curled around the cup tighter when his head turned and those mossy green eyes met mine.
“Really.” My voice was huskier than normal even to my own ears.
“How can that be?”
I liked Adria. We had Business Finance together and she was one of the few people who hadn’t ditched me when I was forced to move back home after everything with my mom went down. I didn’t have much fun anymore, which equaled I didn’t have many friends anymore. Trying to explain to her the complicated dynamics in the Hartman family, though, was not something I planned on spending the evening doing. Race and Dovie’s lineage wasn’t a story that was particularly good times, and that’s what I was after tonight—a good time.
I gulped because Race was making his way through the crowd of dancing and grinding college students toward where we were standing. People just instinctively moved out of his way. It was like there was a force field of badass that surrounded him that only those who liked to live dangerously dared to test. I wasn’t one of those people. At least that’s what I told myself every time I was around him.
Sure, I was dangerously attracted to him, had been ever since the first time I saw him when he dropped Dovie off at work, but he would never know. Race wasn’t a good guy and my life was hard enough without adding in the kind of complication a guy like him was bound to be.
To keep him and those traitorous feelings at bay, I was awful to him . . . I mean really, really awful. I was cold. I was disinterested. I was rude, and sometimes I was flat-out mean. I acted like he was annoying, treated him like he was a vile, nasty human being, and when that didn’t work, I ignored him and acted like he wasn’t worth my time. It was getting harder and harder to do, and the more disdain I tossed in his direction, the more charm and liquid sex appeal he leveled at me. We were involved in a tantalizing back and forth game that I was terrified I would eventually lose. Race wanted me, and he didn’t make that a secret. I didn’t know how much longer my wayward lust was going to be held at bay under the assault of those evergreen colored eyes and that gorgeous head of spun gold hair.
He flashed a million-watt smile at me and stopped so he was looming over me. Even in five-inch heels he towered over me.
“Well, hello, Brysen.”
I rolled my eyes and raised the cup to hide my involuntary gulp as his gruff voice slid over my skin.
“Race.”
Adria nudged me in the side with the sharp edge of her elbow. I cleared my throat and inclined my head in her direction.
“This is my friend, Adria.”
He stuck out a big hand and clasped her much smaller one. I practically saw her panties melt and her vagina throw out a welcome mat.
“What are you doing here?”
I should be asking him that. This was a college party, filled with drunk coeds and undergrads. I actually attended the university around the corner, but Race had long since given up the academic life for one that involved crime and lots and lots of illegal activity. He was the one who shouldn’t be here.
“Just out having some fun.” I tried to keep my tone flat and uninterested, but if he could hear the way my heart pounded, the jig would be up for certain.
He lifted a blond eyebrow at me and flashed a half grin. Gah . . . he even had a killer dimple in his left cheek. I wanted to lick it so bad. I dug the tips of my fingernails into my palms and took a deep breath.
“I’m surprised you know how to do that, Bry, have fun.”
He was right, so all I could do was narrow my eyes at him and put on the ice-q
ueen mask I perpetually wore in his presence.
“What are you doing here, Race? Shaking down poor college kids for their student loan checks?”
His other eyebrow shot up to join the first one, and when he unleashed a full smile on us, it practically knocked both Adria and me over. Something darker flashed in his green eyes and I wanted to take a step back. Race was dangerous in more ways than one, and I needed to remember that.
“Most college kids have zero sense and like a challenge. That’s a breeding ground for a guy like me. Plus football season starts next weekend and I just needed to check in on a few early clients.” His eyes slid over the top of my sleek bob to the toes of my pointed black heels. “I stayed longer for the scenery.”
Adria cleared her throat and looked back and forth between the two of us.
“Clients? At a house party? What exactly do you do?” If she only knew the kinds of illicit things Race did.
He cocked his head to the side and the blinding smile he wielded like a weapon fell off of his face. There were a lot of facets to Race Hartman, and this darker, harder side of him had only made an appearance when he decided he was going to take over the reins of a major crime syndicate after he had had a major role in bringing the kingpin down. Race wasn’t just a bad guy, a criminal, he was the bad guy. He was running numbers, loan-sharking, operating illegal gambling houses, helping his best friend chop and move stolen cars, and making sure every man, woman, and child in the Point knew he was the guy calling the shots on the streets now. He was too pretty to be that awful, but because of Dovie I knew exactly how filthy Race’s hands had become since taking over Novak’s empire. Not to mention his new business partner was a pimp, a money launderer, and pretty much the sleaziest and slimiest man running every underground operation that existed in the inner city.
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