Touch of Amber: Hot Rods, Book 7

by Jayne Rylon

  “I guess we’ll have to find out someday.” She smiled, hoping it might storm so they could enjoy the rainbows together.

  And in the morning, he was right where he’d promised. Closer, really, since he woke her with another helping of phenomenal sex.

  That would never get old.

  Epilogue

  Tom London sat on a stool at the bar in the Hot Rods’ kitchen. His boot heels hooked onto the bottom rung. With his knees splayed, he leaned on his forearms, which were braced on his thighs. Willie was beside him and he couldn’t help but reach over to hold her hand. It felt right, since their combined families spread out around them, completely integrated. Nola and Kaige cuddled together on the couch with Ambrose sleeping peacefully in her daddy’s arms. Quinn was on the floor playing video games with Roman and Alanso, while Buster lay nearby, resting his head on the boy’s thigh.

  Amber and Kaelyn were brainstorming details for some upcoming event on their plate while Gavyn stared dreamily at the woman he was madly in love with. Eli, Sally, Bryce, Holden, Sabra—who held Fuzzi—and Carver were videochatting with the Powertools crew.

  From where he sat, Tom could see the image of his nephew, Joe, who lounged with his wife Morgan in his lap and his own kid playing nearby. Abby and Nathan, always together, made him chuckle. Tom hoped Ambrose would have some more brothers, sisters or cousins of her own to have fun with soon.

  All of them had had their ups and downs, but they were here, surviving…no, thriving despite the bad times they’d overcome.

  Good food and better company made the fairly average Sunday feel like the biggest of celebrations to Tom.

  It would only be better if Willie was officially his instead of dodging him again in whatever crazy game she’d been playing with his heart.

  “We’ve done a pretty damn fine job, I’d say.” She smiled over him as he surveyed their domain and the family they’d raised.

  “Not too shabby,” he agreed. “Now that they’re taken care of, I think it’s time to focus on other projects.”

  “What?” She looked away, though she knew damn well what he meant.

  “It’s been a long time coming,” Tom said as he nodded at her. “Now that all of them are on the right road, I think I should pay some attention to myself. You too, for that matter.”

  “Tommy, I don’t think—”

  He refused to let her run anymore. “Look, I understand that the past wasn’t kind to either of us in the love department. But if our kids are brave enough to take those chances, then I can be too.”

  Willie shook her head vehemently. “They’re betting in a game with stakes they don’t understand. We did too when we were young and foolish. I’ve already been broken, and I don’t have any reserves to play with these days.”

  “Maybe I’m getting dumber as I get older, but I’m ready to be stupid again.” He leaned forward then. “Get ready, Willie, I’m coming for you. I’ve been told that I can be kind of a stubborn ass when there’s something I want.”

  “Now that I don’t doubt.” She drew her fingers from his and crossed her arms over her ample breasts. Unfortunately for her, being pissed off only made her look more fierce and that was one of the things he loved most about her.

  Tom laughed so loud, everyone turned to stare at his riotous outburst.

  Let them look.

  They might all be a bit surprised soon, when they saw what he had in store for one delectable and fiery Ms. Wilhelmina Brown.

  He might be past his prime, but he wasn’t dead yet.

  About the Author

  Jayne Rylon is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author. She received the 2011 Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Indie Erotic Romance. Her stories used to begin as daydreams in seemingly endless business meetings, but now she is a full-time author, who employs the skills she learned in her straitlaced corporate existence in the business of writing. She lives in Ohio with two cats and her husband, who both inspires her fantasies and supports her career. When she can escape her purple office, she loves to travel the world, avoid speeding tickets in her beloved Sky and, of course, read.

  Jayne loves to hear from fans. You can reach her by email at contact@jaynerylon.com or chat with her while she’s procrastinating on Facebook—www.facebook.com/jayne.rylon—or Twitter—@jaynerylon.

  For the latest news about what Jayne’s writing, where you can find her at events or to win one of her prize packs given to random subscribers in each edition of her newsletter, sign up for the Naughty News: www.jaynerylon.com/newsletter.

  Look for these titles by Jayne Rylon

  Now Available:

  Nice and Naughty

  Where There’s Smoke

  Men in Blue

  Night is Darkest

  Razor’s Edge

  Mistress’s Master

  Spread Your Wings

  Wounded Hearts

  Powertools

  Kate’s Crew

  Morgan’s Surprise

  Kayla’s Gift

  Devon’s Pair

  Nailed to the Wall

  Hammer It Home

  Play Doctor

  Dream Machine

  Healing Touch

  Compass Brothers

  (Written with Mari Carr)

  Northern Exposure

  Southern Comfort

  Eastern Ambitions

  Western Ties

  Compass Girls

  (Written with Mari Carr)

  Winter’s Thaw

  Hope Springs

  Summer Fling

  Falling Softly

  Hot Rods

  King Cobra

  Mustang Sally

  Super Nova

  Rebel on the Run

  Swinger Style

  Barracuda’s Heart

  Print Anthologies

  Three’s Company

  Love’s Compass

  Powertools

  Two to Tango

  Love under Construction

  Hot Rods

  Coming Soon:

  Play Doctor

  Developing Desire

  Men in Blue

  Wounded Hearts

  Bound for You

  Four to Score

  Four-Ever Theirs

  Some hearts can be repaired. Others should just be totaled.

  Barracuda’s Heart

  © 2014 Jayne Rylon

  Hot Rods, Book 6

  Carver always thought he could sense when Roman was on the verge of falling into his inner darkness. But this time, Carver misses those cues—and leads the police on a high-speed race to the ER, praying his Barracuda won’t die on the way.

  When Roman awakens from the haze of painkillers and alcohol, he already knows the question poised on Carver’s lips. Was it an accident—or did he deliberately dance on the edge of death? How can he tell Meep that lust and laughter are no longer enough to help him cope with the rapid changes among the Hot Rods?

  Part of him is happy for them. The other part is pissed. Because what he’s always wanted is Carver all to himself. Much as he loves his brother mechanics, sharing isn’t his strong suit.

  Roman needs time—and distance—to get his head on straight. The only question is, when Roman comes home from rehab, will Carver still love the man he has become—or will their roads have diverged too far to cross each other again?

  Warning: Contains full-throttle emotion, pedal-to-the-metal sex, and an answer to the age-old question—can there ever be too many mechanics under the hood?

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Barracuda’s Heart:

  “Don’t look at me like that, Meep.” Cuda swallowed hard but shook his head when Carver tried to pass him a plastic cup, complete with a bendy straw. “Just ask already.”

 
; No mistaking his intent. Or the burning desire to know, which had been eating holes in Carver’s guts for days.

  He took a deep, shaky breath then said in a rush, “Did you do it on purpose? Did you try to kill yourself, Cuda? Or are you just that stupid, were you that screwed up, that you didn’t realize how far you’d gone?”

  Roman closed his eyes, whether against the harsh words or the agony in the semi-accusation, Carver wasn’t sure. But he couldn’t take it back now. Wouldn’t.

  “Honestly, Meep, I don’t know.” He shrugged then shrank against the pillows, looking more broken and younger than Carver could ever recall. “I swear, I can’t really remember what the hell I was thinking, exactly, but it’s kind of like… If there was ever a time that I didn’t care if I lived or died, it was then. Drinking, and the drugs, they were the only things I could use to make myself stop hurting so much. So I did it. And once I was numb, I was afraid to feel again, so I did it some more.”

  Tears plopped onto Carver’s jeans, but he didn’t so much as scrub them from his cheeks. If he moved, even a twitch, it would be too much and he would shatter. How could he not have known? How hadn’t he fixed this for the man he loved so dearly?

  “We’re not talking about your arm, are we?” he managed to wheeze.

  “No.” Roman shrugged, as if he’d forgotten about the broken appendage. “My head is effed up. I can’t think straight anymore. And this,” he clunked his cast against the tray beside his bed, “didn’t help the situation. Coming back here—to the hospital—reliving all those times I’d been admitted when I was a damn kid…”

  Carver reached out. He couldn’t keep himself from wrapping his hand around Roman’s good wrist, even if the gesture was more for his own sake than the comfort it didn’t seem to bring to the other guy, who cleared his throat then soldiered on.

  “And okay, it’s stuff with the gang too. They’re so freaking happy. It feels rude when I’m not. Like I’m a sour note in a kick-ass song. But before, they used to get me. You did too. Now it’s all sunshine and roses. Rainbows shooting out unicorns’ asses. I never felt like I had to apologize for having a bad day before.” Roman barreled on now that he’d started, “Plus there’s the sharing—”

  “You don’t enjoy our group stuff?” Carver thought back to the pure lust he’d seen etched on Roman’s face when they’d screwed each other, and others, in front of the rest of their friends. It was hard to reconcile that with the day, not so long ago, when Roman had stormed out of their shared apartment over the Hot Rods garage rather than watch his roomie get it on with other members of their group. Right before he’d broken his arm attempting something he shouldn’t have done solo in the garage.

  Could Cuda hate his own need for them?

  “I don’t know!” Roman shouted as he pounded the heel of his good hand against his forehead. “Part of me does. There’s no faking the hard-on I’ve screwed you with, is there?”

  “I didn’t think so.” Carver shrugged, refusing to shrink away from Cuda’s show of temper. He only wished it were directed at him instead of inward. “But obviously I got something wrong. Why don’t you fill me in?”

  “Because I don’t have the answers myself.” Roman looked down and away.

  It was a reaction Meep had seen countless times from the Hot Rods. Shame. All of them had lived hard lives. Some of them had more scars than others. Hell, he had a lot to come to terms with himself. He flinched as he considered the things he’d had to do to survive.

  The men he’d had to do for money to eat.

  None of the Hot Rods were strangers to demons.

  “Hey.” Carver sat on the edge of the bed, leaning in, wanting nothing more than to hug Roman. He didn’t, though. “No one’s expecting you to solve this on your own. We can work through it together. Figure out what’s right for you. For us, if that’s what you want.”

  Please let me be what you want.

  “We could. The doctors told me I can go home.” Roman gulped. Then he withdrew a crumpled sheet of glossy paper from beneath his thigh. “Or I could try this.”

  “What is it?” Carver reached for the pamphlet.

  “Some kind of rehab and counseling program.” His one-armed shrug couldn’t hide the significance of his admission. The fact that Cuda didn’t say bull somewhere in his description seemed like a major one-eighty from his usual derision when someone suggested he talk to a therapist. Disdain had been his knee-jerk response for the past dozen years.

  Another shock.

  Carver’s heart raced. If his man was willing to work for his happiness, they might actually have a shot. He acted cool. If he overplayed things now, Roman might balk. It had to be his idea. And it had to seem like no big deal or the other guy would freak.

  “That could be smart. We obviously took a wrong turn somewhere in handling this ourselves. Maybe it would be better if you had some perspective.”

  “It’s like six freaking weeks, though. That’s a long time to be away from the shop.” The lame excuse didn’t hold a lot of water.

  “You already broke your damn arm, Cuda. You’re sidelined anyway. It’s not like you’re going to be a lot of use to anybody like that.” Inside, Carver wanted to knee himself in the nuts for lying. Roman would be dearly missed. These past three days had nearly killed them all, like part of their own bodies had been cut off. But if this temporary sacrifice was what it took, this is what they’d do.

  “True.” Barracuda looked miserable.

  Meep’s heart shattered. Or maybe that had happened the other day. Still, the shards ground to dust beneath his own bootheel. It felt like he’d kicked the guy when he was down. Even if it was for his own good.

  “Besides, looks like a helluva vacation from those photos. More resort than anything else. Seriously, you should do it. Go relax. Let insurance pay for you to hang out by the infinity pool and enjoy the sunshine. We won’t be seeing that around here ’til spring.” He bit his lip to keep from prodding. Roman didn’t take well to pressure. He’d say “screw it” to avoid doing what he perceived was mandated. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? You can always bail if it sucks. But maybe it’ll turn out to be helpful. Give you some time to think. Get settled. Find yourself again.”

  “What if the me I discover isn’t the one you want?” Roman picked at the fraying edge of his cast.

  “I want you healthy, Cuda.” Carver couldn’t stop himself. He inched closer to his best friend and lover, propping his chin on Roman’s shoulder. Because he needed to feel the strength beneath his jaw. Roman angled his face to the side so that their stares never left each other. With their lips a whisper apart, he continued, “And happy. That’s all that matters to me. I’d give anything to do this for you.”

  “We both know that ain’t how it works.” Roman frowned. “If you could have fixed me, I’d have been straightened out a long time ago. Some cars should be totaled. Sometimes the damage is too much to repair.”

  “That isn’t what we believe at Hot Rods. I’ve seen you take some piece-of-crap junkers and turn them into badass rides.” Carver scooted lower. He snuggled in closer, resting his cheek on Roman’s chest, wishing he could illuminate the positive facets of Barracuda’s soul so that his roommate could no longer be blind to them.

  The pounding of Cuda’s heart proclaimed it was still there.

  For a while, they enjoyed a comfortable silence, something they’d shared often. It reminded Carver of the nights they’d fallen asleep like this in their room back at Hot Rods. Well, like this, but with fewer clothes.

  As if his hand had a dirty mind of its own, it wandered beneath the sheets and tugged up the hem of the ugly hospital gown that couldn’t begin to obscure the angles and planes of Roman’s hard body.

  “What are you doing?” Roman’s head whipped from side to side as if a crowd of nurses had invaded the room or hidden cameras would record their a
ntics and post them on YouTube.

  “Sending you off in style.” He growled when Cuda leaned away, nipping his lip to keep him from retreating too far. And reminding you why you have to come back to me.

  She’s running on empty…and he’s ready to fill her up.

  Swinger Style

  © 2014 Jayne Rylon

  Hot Rods, Book 5

  After watching his mother crumble in the face of heartbreak, Holden believes monogamy is bull. New week, new woman, that’s just how he rolls. Too bad one taste of Sabra Harp leaves him salivating for more.

  Sabra was ready for the climb from local news reporter to national anchor—before her pursuit of a story almost destroyed the Hot Rods, whose friendship she has admired from afar. Too bad they all hate her guts. That’s okay, she despises what she’s become too…enough that she’s just told her boss where to stick it.

  When Holden drives a drunken Sabra home and puts her to bed, her blatant invitation almost has him following her between the sheets. She’s willing to let him take charge in bed, friends included—and he’s willing to listen to her amazing business proposition, which could rocket the Hot Rods to stardom.

  Yet as his friends have paired off, Holden realizes that to participate in their polyamorous games without becoming a third wheel, he needs Sabra. And she needs him…oh, how she needs him.

  Warning: Contains a career-driven newswoman and yoga fiend who’d like to get twisted up with a Hot Rod, or two…or more. And a what’s-mine-is-yours Hot Rod who’s suddenly not so sure he’s willing to share.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Swinger Style:

  “Hey. Easy.” He steadied her by braceleting her waist with his work-roughened fingers and edging closer once more. The contact burned through her wrinkled clothes and she flinched, wrenching from his grip. “I thought you’d just showed up. Were you in the bathroom or something before that? How the hell much did you chug?”

  “Just one stupid drink.” She told the truth through semi-numb lips, making the protest weak and fuzzy, like her mind. Alcohol and grief magnified her shock at everything she’d lost today. And how painful it would be to return to the newsroom each night for the next fourteen broadcasts, knowing her tenure was short-lived. The brutal argument she’d had with her boss, Mr. Grills, would only amplify the discomfort. He was known for being a vindictive son of a bitch.