by Tracy Wolff
BY TRACY WOLFF
Ethan Frost Novels
Ruined
Addicted
Exposed
Flawed
Hotwired
Accelerate
Hacked
Every Breath You Take
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 lives in Texas and teaches writing at her local community college. She is married and the mother of three young sons.
tracywolffbooks.com
Facebook.com/TracyWolffAuthor
@TracyWolff
The Editor’s Corner
Looking for your next book boyfriend? I think I can help you out—check out these wonderful stories from Loveswept:
Something brand-new from Loveswept debut author Lynda Aicher, The Harder He Falls. Author Ellie Cahill releases a sexy, witty new adult story called Just a Girl. The first in the Bayard Hockey series comes from Kelly Jamieson, with Shut Out. New York Times bestselling author Missy Johnson steams it up with The Proposition. The third story in Cassie Mae’s LOL All About Love romantic comedy series holds true to its name, Crazy About Love. Readers will fall fast and hard and clamor for the next in Tina Wainscott’s Florida-set Falling Fast series with Falling Free. Sharon Cullen’s Highland Pride series continues with MacLean’s Passion, as Scotland’s most reckless smuggler meets his match in a beautiful spitfire who arouses a renewed sense of duty, camaraderie, and passion in him. New York Times bestselling author L. P. Dover sets hearts on fire in Defending Hayden, where a damaged football star teams up with the only woman who can take away the pain. More from Lavinia Kent’s Bound and Determined series comes in the form of Angel in Scarlet. And I hope you’ll agree that there are never too many men in kilts: Ladies, meet the Wild Highland Guardians, new from Violetta Rand in Her Highland Rogue.
Be in the know—friend us and like us on Facebook and Twitter.
Until next month ~Happy Romance!
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
Read on for an excerpt from
Stepping Over the Line
by Laura Marie Altom
Available from Loveswept
Chapter 1
Garrett
In my thirty-one years, I’ve been called a lot of things—bastard, ass, jerk, motherfucker, scumbag and soulless cocksucker. One title that has never been bestowed upon me is nice guy, which is why I couldn’t tear my gaze from the only woman I’ve ever truly wanted, but could never have.
Savannah. Where did I even begin?
I downed my neat scotch and tapped the bar for another.
Onstage, Jerry Baritone and the Tone-Ettes crooned Billy Joel’s “Uptown Girl.”
My father, the great Richard “Dickey” Marsden, had summoned us all to the club—Julep, Mississippi’s Fairview Country and Golf Social Society for those who weren’t in the know—to celebrate clever Savannah’s med school graduation. She’s everything I’m not. Warm and welcoming. Friendly to dogs, kids and old people. As a doctor, she’ll no doubt possess flawless bedside manner.
I didn’t just want my stepsister beside my bed, but in it—on me—riding me, fucking me hard enough to burn her from my soul.
Another scotch returned me to age sixteen.
“Son…” Dad planted his big hands on my shoulders, propelling me forward toward the girl who changed everything. “Meet your new sister, Savannah. Isn’t she a peach?”
The girl, fourteen, ducked her head. Her long hair spilled forward, a black wave shining in hot May sun, playing hide-and-seek with pale cheeks flushed from the heat. I couldn’t yet see her eyes, but her lips were large and full and pouty. She wore a slip-style floral sundress. The shoulder-strap had fallen, and I couldn’t stop staring at the creamy transition from her collarbone to her shoulder. She was tall for her age, but somehow not gangly. My attention-starved sixteen-year-old cock roared at a peek of side-boob.
“Dickey, you have such a charming way with words.” The girl’s mother, my soon-to-be-stepmother, Delilah, smiled beneath her giant pink Derby Day hat. My mother hadn’t been the hat sort—proven when she’d died in a motorcycle accident while not wearing a helmet. The fact that her death had come while she’d been on hiatus from being a wife or mom was never discussed. My sister, Jennie, older than me by two years, struggled with Mom’s passing to the point that she’d been in and out of in-house depression therapy that my father called her spa visits. That’s where she was today, and I shamefully didn’t miss her. Her black moods brought me down, and in this moment, with this girl, I only wanted to fly. “Savannah, where are your manners? Give your new brother a hug.”
The girl looked up and the shock of her green eyes made me bite my tongue. Blood, coppery and deep, flavored her first fleeting brush against me. She’d smelled clean. Of soap and sweat and the champagne allowed by the occasion.
My attraction had been visceral.
I’d popped my cherry at thirteen with my Dutch nanny, and continued munching cuntcake at the New Orleans boarding school where Dad tucked me away. No shit, I wanted Savannah, but this was different from my standard operating procedure. She was different. The fact that she was soon to be my sister? Was this a fucking joke?
—
Another scotch returned me to the present.
Jerry and his girls sang Van Halen’s “Hot for Teacher,” and instead of being repulsed, Savannah went with it, laughing and twirling and shaking her tight ass. As siblings, we’d shared countless celebrations. Holidays and weddings. Graduations and birthdays and Dad’s work promotions. She’d partied through them all while I typically sulked and wondered if I was a bad person for not missing my birth mother as much as Jennie. What can I say? I’m not a fun guy. As a general rule, people don’t like me, and I could give two shits.
When Jennie’d met and married Luke in college, and he and I had subsequently gone on to be friends and business partners, I thought it marked a fresh start for all of us—especially once they’d had three kids, but her depression had clung to her like emotional black tar and six months earlier, she’d taken her own life. Luke understandably took it hard. He’d packed up their children, resigned from the company and moved closer to his parents in Maine. We hadn’t seen them since. My father and I never spoke of Jennie’s passing or the three grandchildren—my nieces and nephew—who were for all practical purposes strangers.
Savannah and her mother had been especially kind to my sister, which only made me love them both all the more. Most of all, I craved their normalcy and light.
Sure, the booze and being back home and thinking of Jennie had turned me extra morose, but for real, nothing in life brought me pleasure but causing others legal pain. I had more money than I could spend in two lifetimes. I had great cars and houses and an endless supply of eager woman. Literally, the only thing I didn’t have—could never have, but had always wanted—was Savannah. And that fact killed me. It had fueled every horrible act I’ve ever committed and as she strode toward me in a red cocktail number, long legs bared to her American thighs, frustration and pain clenched inside. I wanted to pitch my glass against the nearest wall. Punch something. Kick a barstool into the club’s glowing aqua pool.
Instead, I pulled my shit together, bracing myself against her spell.
“Hey, smiley…” She leaned in for a hug-and-cheek-kiss combo, wreathing me in her custom perfume’s lush blend of vanilla, jasmine and the ocean. I knew, because I had a fresh batch made for her on my every trip to Paris. She wore her long hair up, and I fought the urge to tug it down. “Just for me, couldn’t you at least crack a hint of a smile?”
I tried and failed, but she hugged me again and I couldn’t help it, being with her was so amazing
that a half-assed grin emerged like shy sun peeking out from behind clouds.
“There it is. God, it’s good to see you. It’s been too long.”
“Yeah.” An eternity, yet still not long enough.
“How have you been? Mom said your friends Liam and Ella finally had their baby?”
I nodded.
“Is she as adorable in person as she is in tabloids?” The media adored Ella, and she loved them back—for a price. She used all photo proceeds of the little princess to fund her battered women charity.
Shrugging, I said, “I guess she’s okay. If you go for that sort of thing.”
“Garrett, stop. You cloak yourself in this tough-guy persona, but it’s me. I see beyond your mean lawyer act.”
“Whatever.” The growing crowd pressed her closer. Heat radiated from her thighs to my needy fingertips. “Let’s talk about your residency. When do you leave for Boston?”
“Two weeks. Mom insists on me having a new wardrobe. I don’t have the heart to tell her I’ll spend ninety-five percent of my waking hours in scrubs and the rest sleeping.” My mouth went dry. Over Christmas, we’d fallen asleep together watching Scrooged. Her faded monroe prep T-shirt had ridden high, exposing the curve of her perfect ass in reindeer-themed boy shorts.
“Take care of yourself. I’ve heard…” The rest of my sentence was covered by too many drunken conversations and Jerry’s ridiculous wail.
“What?” She smiled and cupped her ear.
“Nothing!” I shouted above the band.
She shocked me by taking my hand, grabbing a bottle of Patrón from the bar, then guiding me through the club until reaching the deserted pro shop where only muted ghosts of the party remained.
After parking on a padded bench, she screwed the top off the bottle and chugged.
She coughed, then laughed. “That’s better. Part of me doesn’t believe med school’s really over. I knew it would be bad, but…” She took a few more chugs, then passed me the bottle.
I downed enough to catch up.
“Remember when we used to spend our whole summers at the club pool?”
“Sure.” My mind’s eye saw flashes—slanted cut scenes of her mounded breasts squeezed into a red bikini. Her belly, gently rounded and beaded with sweat. The bronzed backs of her thighs. The bits of forbidden skin the sun never got to kiss that I caught lucky glimpses of when she rolled over and thought no one was watching.
I drank a lot more, and handed her the bottle.
She downed more than she probably should have. “I used to watch you.”
“Yeah?”
“My friend Elaine told me you always had a towel over your lap because you were happy to see me.” She laughed before taking another few sips. “I told her she was full of shit. You’re my brother, right?”
I fucking died—especially, considering my cock was in equally bad shape now.
“But there was this one time when you were home from school and I caught you getting out of the shower. You must have just jacked off, because you were still semi-hard. I’d heard girls at school talk about sex, and sure, I’d made out plenty of times, but that was the first cock I’d seen live and in-person.” She giggled.
“Glad my cock amused you.”
“Oh no…” She once again hit the bottle, then slid off the bench to perch between my legs. I stopped breathing when she leaned forward, kissing my package. “I’m sorry, giant, beautiful cock. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” She laughed and laughed.
“Jesus, stop. This isn’t funny.” I tried shifting from her, but that only made her more determined.
“No, really…” She clasped her hands on my knees, burying her face in my crotch. “Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like to be together? Like we’re brother and sister, but not really. It’s such a wicked taboo, but why, you know?” She palmed me, and I damn near lost my shit.
I’d never been harder. Like fucking never.
Using my knees for leverage, she rose high enough to kiss me, and I was lost.
How long had I waited to feel her pouty-full lips crushed against mine? I slipped her my tongue and we were off. Flying high on what had apparently been years of mutual curiosity.
She stood the rest of the way, landing her honey box against my face. Momentarily stunned, the alcohol fogged my reaction time. It didn’t take long for my hands to catch onto her drunken offer.
I shoved up her dress to find she still preferred boy shorts, but in a silky-smooth variety. I tugged them down, pushing apart her legs, then nipping at her inner thighs, and then higher, until I was spreading her and tonguing her and loving the way she’d fisted her fingers in my hair, pulling harder the deeper I plunged.
“Holy fuck…” she said on the heels of a moan.
I kept going until she tensed and then shuddered.
She stepped free of her panties, and then tore at my waistband, springing me free.
“Shit—” I said. “I don’t have a condom.”
“I don’t care.” Just like she had a million times over in my fucked-up, twisted teen fantasies, she sat on me, swallowing me whole. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the moment, to her, to the promise that this must never happen again.
Once was enough, I told myself.
Now, I would know the absolute wonder of being not just beside her, but inside her. I planted my hands on her ass, squeezing for greater purchase. I had to get deeper. I had to forever freeze this moment to make it last a lifetime.
Her hair fell from its pins, curtaining us as we kissed. I was all at once immersed in her body, her scent, her spell. Pressure raged and roiled inside me until release hit in a crash of light and sensation and sound. She quivered around me and cried out. I wrapped her in my arms, refusing to let go. I’d waited so long for our union that it now seemed like a fragile, fleeting dream. If I moved, I’d wake and she’d be gone.
“Savannah?” some guy called from down the hall. “Babe, where the hell are you?”
“Shit.” In a mad dash, she climbed off me to pull up her panties and pull down her dress.
I tucked myself in, then zipped and buttoned my fly.
“My hair…Shit…” Crystal pins glinted in the moonlight pooled on the wood floor. She snatched them up, using the mirror above a display of women’s golf sweaters to twist her mane back to some semblance of its former glory. Finished, she asked, “How do I look?”
Spellbinding—only our spell had been broken. “You’re gorgeous.”
She kissed me quick. “Thanks. Are we good?”
Unable to speak past the nine-iron lodged in my throat, I nodded.
“There you are.” A douchebag, fratty sort rounded the corner.
“Chad. Hi. I’m sorry. Garrett and I were reminiscing and lost track of time.”
“Oh, hey.” Fratty held out his hand for me to shake. “You’re the long-lost brother I’m always hearing about, but never met.”
I shook the guy’s hand, but wasn’t happy about it.
“Chad and I both snagged Boston residencies, only we’ll be at different hospitals.”
“Sucks to be me.” Chad pulled her against him, kissing the crown of her head.
I fucking hated him. “So,” I forced myself to ask, “are you two an item?”
Chad said, “As much as you can be in med school, huh, babe?”
“That’s about right.” Her green gaze met mine, and spoke an encyclopedia of regret. You won’t tell, right? We’ll never speak of this again? “Well, this has been fun, but I guess I’d better get back to my own party.”
“Sure.” I wanted to at least give her a hug, but instead, shoved my hands in my pockets. The Patrón on top of my earlier scotch shredded my guts. “You two enjoy what’s left of the night. I’ll have Dad’s driver run me home.”
“Probably a good idea,” Savannah said. “That way you’ll be fresh for tomorrow. Daddy chartered a plane, and we’re all flying to Biloxi to play slots and drink Long Island Iced Teas.”
>
“Mmm…Sounds like a good time.” Her father had died when she’d been young, so she’d adopted mine. I fucking hated it when she called him Daddy. It made me feel like more of a perv than I already was. “Chad, are you joining us?”
“You bet.” He kissed my stepsister’s full, gorgeous, delicious lips. “Now that we’re out of school, I’m hoping to never be apart.”
“Great.” For Savannah, I pasted on a smile. If the douchebag made her happy, I’d support her. It wasn’t as if I had another choice. For all practical purposes, what happened between us had to be erased. It shouldn’t have happened the first time, and it would never happen again.
To ensure there were no awkward aftereffects, I got the hell out of the club and state.
By morning, thanks to my own chartered flight, I was back in California where I belonged.
Love stories you’ll never forget
By authors you’ll always remember
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