by Dallas Cole
“All right, sexy.” Lennox whispers to me through my earpiece. “Just speed up past Nash and bring it home. You’ve got this.”
I throttle the engine and rocket ahead, leaving Jagger in my dust. I’m closing in on Nash, weaving to the left, trying to pull ahead, but I’m just a little too late. I finish a split-second behind Nash. I’ll take second place. Gives me something to aim for next.
We skid to a stop and line up in a semi-circle around the picnic bench at the rest stop, where Drazic, Cyrus, and Lennox wait. “Not bad,” Drazic says, as I hop out of the Camaro. “You almost looked like you knew what you were doing.”
Lennox sidles up to me—he’s moving slower, but otherwise looks in good shape. I loop one arm around his waist, mindful of his ribs, and lean into him.
“Looking good, gorgeous.” Lennox feathers a kiss against my temple. “You’re going to be fearsome on the circuit.”
“Well, that’s not up to me.” I risk a shy glance at Uncle D. I know he’s trying hard to be accommodating to Lennox and me both, but I doubt he’s going to mess up our crew’s roster just to give me a shot.
Uncle D crosses his arms with a weighty exhale. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, djevojka.” He grins. “With the McManuses all dead or in jail, I’d say we’ve gained a few spare slots on the next circuit. Keep it up, and I’ll put you in. Especially when you’ve got someone like Lennox calling the shots on your comms.”
I squeal and toss my arms around my uncle’s neck. “Oh, thank you so much! I’ll make you proud. I promise.”
“Oh, I know it.” He gestures toward a steaming plate of burgers, which Jagger is already devouring. “If you want some more burgers, by the way, you’d better move fast.”
Cyrus snatches one from the plate, then holds it aloft in toast to me. “To our newest road warrior, Elena. And Lennox, once he’s up to the task.”
“Hear, hear!”
Everyone raises their sodas or beers in toast. Even Nash, who gives Lennox a grudging nod. “Glad to have you back with us. Both of you.”
I slide my hand into Lennox’s. “I don’t think we’ll stick around for more burgers. We kind of have other plans.”
Lennox’s grin splits his face as I lead him back to the Camaro.
We’re holed up in the Ridgecrest Hotel while his grandma’s house is getting a much-needed overhaul. Sturdier handrails on the stairs, a ramp up to the porch, and no-slip coating and handrails in the shower and bath. Sure, we could have blown the money on a new car for Lennox, but he insisted on taking care of Grams first. I don’t mind. It’s nice to have the hotel room to ourselves while Grams stays at a friend’s house.
“That was some sexy as hell driving you pulled off today.” Lennox looms over me in the hotel room doorway as I dig around for our room key. “You’re a natural.”
“Not even. I just have a very good coach.” I unlock the room and the door swings open.
Lennox looks at me, his eyes dark, burning like embers. It stokes a fire in me, that look. That expression I’ve dreamed of almost every night since I was sixteen and he made a promise to me. I reach for his face and scrub my fingers in his hair.
“I love you, Elena.” He slides his hands beneath my T-shirt and rests them against my stomach. My thighs tighten at his touch, flush with a fresh, sharp sense of want. “I hope you realize that by now.”
“Yeah, I kind of got the idea when you crashed a car for me.” I kiss his chest, right at the tip of the V of his thermal shirt. “But you don’t have to prove anything to me. You don’t have to reach some sort of milestone. And you really don’t have to break any more ribs.”
Lennox answers me with a deep kiss. I curl my fingers farther into his hair as he backs me against the hotel room wall. He tastes like warmth and comfort, enveloping me in him. I breathe him in as he presses against me. The tightness in my belly is coiled up like a spring and I’m about ready to snap.
“I need you,” Lennox whispers as he breaks the kiss. His lips find a tender patch of skin below my earlobe and he sucks at my neck. Warmth flares inside me. I lower my hands to his belt and start to fumble with the latch.
“I’ll be gentle,” I tell him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not gonna hurt me.” He laughs, throatily, and helps me with his buckle. “Just try it. Do your worst.”
I free him from his jeans and slip my hands beneath his boxer briefs. His shaft is already firm in my hands, tightening the spring inside me even further. Oh, god, I want him so badly. No time for teasing. We’ve gone too many years apart to care. Lennox eases my jeans down from my hips and shoves my panties aside.
“Every night in prison, I dreamed of you.” He presses his fingers against my folds and teases them apart. I suck in my breath as cold air hits my bared flesh. “I dreamed of making you scream my name. Of pleasing you.”
“And every night, I dreamed of you calling me yours.”
“That’s because you are mine,” Lennox growls.
Lennox pulls his hand free, then wraps both palms around the backs of my thighs. Hoists me up into the air. Winces, slightly, as I wrap my legs around his waist, but then he’s backing me against the wall and probing me with his cock.
“You’re all. Fucking. Mine.”
And then he plunges into me, pinning me in place. I cry out as he sinks into me and I give myself over to delight.
Lennox teases one of my breasts out from my tank top as he thrusts into me and wraps his lip around my nipple. I shudder at the sensation of his warm mouth on cool skin and his deep, powerful thrusts. We work together as a system, my thighs tightening around him, his cock pulsing into me, until the world goes blurry and white around me.
I dig my nails into his shoulder blades. “Oh, fuck,” I warn him. “Lennox. Fuck.”
“Do your worst, Elena.”
He slams me against the wall. Our neighbors at the hotel probably hate us. I couldn’t fucking care less. My climax is like a thunderclap, rolling through my body, and judging by the intense, hungry expression on Lennox’s face, his is much the same.
After a few moments, he eases out of me, and carries me to the bed, cradling me in his arms. We sink into the fluffy comforter side by side and I curl up against his chest, already breathing deeply.
“Your love was worth fighting for,” Lennox whispers as he brushes a stray hair from my face. “It was worth becoming a better man for.”
“You’ve always been the best man I know.” I smile and kiss his forehead.
“And now I’m yours. For the rest of time.”
“Good. Because you can’t get rid of me again,” I warn him.
Lennox laughs and pulls me close. “Don’t you know by now? I’d burn rubber for just one kiss from you.”
I prop myself up on one elbow and look him in the eye. Then scan the rest of him—the hard lines of his thighs, his muscled abdomen, his scarred but gorgeous face. “Oh, don’t worry, baby.” I roll on top of him. “I’ll give you a whole lot more than that.”
THE END
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Lean muscled, tattooed, and full of rockstar swagger, Jagger Richards is the kind of guy a girl would want to bend her over the hood of his car and take all he wants.
Except Sophie Gallagher. Sophie's on the run from her past, and she's going to do everything she can to stay away from bad boys like Jagger. Even if he does drive her wild.
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I wake up to a hand coiled around my waist.
At first I nearly jump out of my skin, but then I remember—Jagger. He’s here, in Ridgecrest, and we’d—oh, fuck. I slept with him again last night. Several times, in fact. Stupid, stupid. Not that it was a bad time—far from it—but this is exactly the sort of
shit I don’t need to add to my already heaping shit plate—
“Hey, gorgeous.” Jagger nuzzles his nose against my throat from behind me, scratchy with the faintest hint of stubble, and pulls me closer. I melt into his embrace. He makes it all too easy. In an instant, I’m cradled against the now-familiar curve of his abdomen, and it feels like home. His hand runs in a slow circle against my bare stomach, and his sturdy bicep muscles tense against my ribs.
I go with it, against my better judgment and the best kind of soreness in my thighs. “Hey, handsome.” No sense in lying. He’s smoking hot, a filthy talker, and even better, he actually has the skills to back it up. He can put his money where his mouth was, that’s for sure. His . . . mouth . . . the one that’s slowly sucking at my neck, while his fingers slide down my stomach and tease between my legs . . .
“Last night was fun,” Jagger murmurs in my ear. “But I’m interested in some breakfast.”
His fingers slipped between my legs and press toward my center, and I suck in my breath. Fuck. I’m already soaking wet, my hips grinding against his touch. I don’t want to get turned on. I don’t want to deal with him right now—I have so much shit to do today, it isn’t even funny. But his touch, his mouth, and even that growing hardness I feel wedged right at my spine—He makes it so fucking hard to say no.
Jagger rolls me onto my back and crouches over me, his warm brown eyes gleaming with something very, very mischievous. “In fact . . .” He plants one kiss on my stomach, just below my belly button. “I think I’ll start . . .” He lowers his kiss, making something deep in my belly tighten. “Right here.”
For one second, I let myself imagine how it might feel to have his mouth on me. His fingers are like magic, I’ve already learned, and his tongue is nothing short of miraculous. A fire stokes low inside of me at the thought. I should really say no. Kick him out of bed right now and get on with my day. Get on with my life. I came to Ridgecrest to get away from complications, and getting mixed up with this fucking punk racer is nothing but a complication.
But then his warm breath glides over my skin and, oh, fuck, I’m so wet and ready and gone.
I heave a sigh. “Fine.”
“Wow. Don’t act so thrilled about it.” He raises one of my legs and hooks my thigh over his shoulder for better access. His tongue darts out quick, tentative, sending a shivering moan straight through me. “Mm, on second thought, I’d say you’re more excited than you let on.”
I run my fingers over his short, buzzed hair. No point lying about it now. I arch my back as a frisson of pleasure runs through me. I want to feel that tongue again. “Please,” I whisper. “More.”
Jagger’s tongue finds the contours of my lips, leaving a burning trail in his wake. I’m burning up from the inside, overwhelmed with how fucking good he feels. With one hand, I tighten my grip on his head, and the other clutches at the rumpled sheets around us. That fire in me is burning hotter and hotter, threatening to scald me. As he sucks at my clit, I feel just about ready to explode—
And then all at once, I shatter. Pleasure explodes through me. My whole body is tingling and alive with climax. My toes curl and my knees buckle of their own will as the pleasure ripples out. I tip my head back, lost until I can pull myself back together, and pant for air to speak.
“Now that’s what I like to hear,” Jagger says. “Mm. And taste.” He licks his lips, watching me with a devious grin, and pulls himself to his feet.
He towers over me, all six feet of him naked and on glorious display. His lean muscles, his tattoos, his thick cock, already stirring. I drink it all in, right down to his wry smile as he holds his hand out to me.
That’s when I know I’m addicted. To his wit, his attitude, and the easy, cheerful gusto with which he leaps into bed with me like it’s a goddamned gift. It could be so easy to make this a thing. To keep fucking that tight, luscious body and kissing that smug, devilish face…
Acknowledgments
Starting this writing thang has been such a crazy and awesome journey. I can't thank those that have helped me along the way enough - I'm sure I'll miss someone, but bear with me. Jenn Watson & the team at Social Butterfly PR: you ladies are geniuses. That is all.
To the bloggers who have shared my cover and reviewed Lennox: your support means so much to me, I can't fully express it into words. Thanks for welcoming me with open arms and jumping into this speeding car ;)
My author friends who have supported me from the beginning, your tips and words of advice have been monumental. Lola Darling, Roxy Sloane & Lizzie Hart Stevens - keep being dirty. I love it!
Of course, thanks goes to my husband who puts up with my face shoved into a computer for hours so that I can pursue my dream. You are my everything.
And to the readers: you guys make my heart practically burst. Your excitement for my book is ferocious and addicting - I hope to make you proud! THANK YOU for reading!
Nine Letters
Luke Crawley is a broken man. He’s lost everything that mattered in the world, and now he’s just trying to dull the pain with a blur of booze and women. Until the letters arrive. Nine envelopes, nine last messages to guide him back. But how do you hold on to the memories of the past, and still have faith for a better day?
Discover NINE LETTERS, the stunning, emotional debut from Blake Austin. A stand-alone romance novel. Available soon.
Chapter One
Eighteen-wheelers rolled through Kansas City on the 70 outside the window, and noon light came in through the blinds. Neither the noise nor the light did much good for my hangover, and I didn't so much wake up as I gave up on sleeping. The day was weighing on me already.
Maggie was still asleep. I was in her bed again, in her dead-end apartment, again, on her dead-end street. Again. I said the previous time was going to be the last time. Bad habits were like that.
Even with her makeup smeared by sleep and sex, Maggie was hot in that way that bartenders knew how to be in order to bring in tips. I eyed the black ink of the tattoos that climbed the curve of her back, then looked away, looked down at the floor in shame. My wife had been gone for a year already. I told myself there was nothing to be ashamed of, the same as I did every time I woke up next to my co-worker with a hangover and the vague hope we'd remembered to use protection. Telling myself it was fine didn't work most days, least of all on the anniversary of Emily's death. She deserved better.
Maggie's arm was over my chest, and I lifted it just enough to slide out of bed. Standing, the headache came on worse. Physical pain was good. A headache was good. Anything that kept me from thinking was good. I could handle physical pain.
She rolled away, her long hair black against her black sheets, her skin freckled and tan. Her mouth was open just the slightest bit. It wasn't her fault we didn't get along. We scarcely liked working together, and she didn't care about much besides nightlife and computers and meaningless things like that. But there was a sort of vicious chemistry between the two of us in bed. I hated everything about the whole situation. If only I could quit coming back.
I found my jeans, shoes, shirt, flannel, and hat, all scattered on the floor, but I couldn't find my belt. My pants would stay up without it, but I didn't want to give myself a reason to come over after work again, so I didn't stop looking.
The place was a mess, even worse than my house. Stacks of takeout boxes and checkout-line magazines sat atop mismatched furniture, and after a few minutes I gave up and went to use her bathroom. My belt was on the worn linoleum floor, next to her bra. I ran the leather through the loops on my jeans, clasped the Royals buckle into place, and looked in the mirror. I could use a shave, but I was doing alright. Even with a soft job like tending bar, my arms still had definition. I adjusted my cap, then went out and crossed the room as quiet as I could, hoping to get outside before she woke.
"Luke," Maggie mumbled, her eyes barely open. "Sneaking out like you always do?"
"Just didn't want to wake you," I said. It was the truth, at least.
>
Maggie rolled her eyes. "You gonna call me?"
"Sure," I said.
"No you're not," she said. "You're just going to ignore me at work and then turn around and hit on me when you get drunk after your shift. Like you always do."
I didn't say anything.
"Like I care," she mumbled, rolling back over and pulling a pillow over her head. "Get out of here."
She fell back asleep, and I slipped out the door.
Emily died in the springtime. Nobody should die in the springtime, but least of all someone so alive. Now I dreaded the warmer days, the green of the season. The memories were too strong.
I pulled on my flannel as I walked to my truck, the brim of my cap almost working to keep the sun from doing its best to ruin my life. Still, it felt good to step up into my Chevy and turn the engine over. I let it shake to life, got my left foot off the clutch and my right foot on the gas, and took off out of that dead-end street.
You've got this, I told myself. You're tough. You've been through worse.
I pulled out onto the 70, cranked down the window, turned up the heat against the chill still hanging on despite it being midway through April. Cold wind poured into the cab, clearing my head a bit and knocking Granddad Cawley's dog tags where they hung from the rearview.
I wanted a cigarette, maybe a can of Skoal, more than I wanted to deal with the day. But I'd quit tobacco for Emily. I'd promised her I'd quit, even though she was the one who'd died of cancer and she'd never even smoked. She was dead, but my word meant something to me. My word was all I had. I wouldn't disappoint her. Not anymore than I already had.
I drove faster, instead. I ignored my phone as it went off in my pocket, I ignored the speed limit, and I let myself be grateful for my truck and the wind and the Sunday lack of traffic. Maybe I'd get out of town sometime soon. Get my boots in the dirt, get mud on my tires. Go fishing. Call my brother, maybe even my dad. Maybe.