by K. Bromberg
“I’m being stupid,” she says shaking her head as if that is going to help clear the tears from her eyes. She must sense that I’m freaked the fuck out because she pushes against my hands holding her head still, and presses her lips to mine. “I love you.” Her voice is soft as her lips move against mine, and something about her tone makes my heart beat a bit faster. “Like head over heels, butterflies in my stomach, kind of love you…That’s all.”
Her words burrow deep down into the places that rarely get paid attention to these days: the black abyss where the demons from my childhood live. The ones that used to rule my life until Rylee came along using her fucking perfection and her selfless love to help brighten that darkness and chase away the doubt that occasionally rears its ugly head.
I absorb her comment and lean back to make sure that this woman who means the whole goddamn world to me really is okay, because if she isn’t, I’d do whatever it takes to make sure she is. When she bites her bottom lip, smiles and nods that she’s fine, I smooth my thumb over the indent that her teeth just left, before trying to lighten the suddenly serious moment. “You scared me for a minute. I thought you were upset about the prospect of sixty-nining, and that would mean I’d be in a whole world of hurt with this death do us part thing since I kind of like when I get to do that with you.”
“You perform that number exceptionally well, so no, that number stays in play,” she says with a cute wink before her teeth bite into her bottom lip as she eyes the third and final cookie in my hand before flicking her gaze back up to my meet mine.
Something is most definitely off with her. “Here,” I say as I hold out the last fortune cookie, hoping to make whatever wrong I’ve done, right.
“No. You open it.” She shoves it back toward me, smile back in place. “It’s the tie-breaker.”
When I try to make her take the cookie, she just pushes it into my hands and scoots back. “Sex before food, sex before food,” I chant with a smirk on my face, and we both chuckle. But my laugh dies off when I read the fortune, and try to make sense of it. “OVbunEN” is all it says.
What the fuck? I read it again before I look up to meet Ry’s eyes. The sight of her sitting there – tears pooling, that smile so goddamn big on those perfect lips – knocks the breath out of me. And, suddenly, it all clicks into place.
It’s like everything is moving in slow motion – thoughts, breath, vision – everything except for my heart because it? It’s pounding like a fucking freight train as I glance back down to the jumbled words on the paper, before looking back up to her.
There’s no fucking way.
Can’t be.
“Really?” I ask and don’t even recognize the awed disbelief in my voice, as I ask about the one thing I thought would never happen again.
The first tear slips over and slides down her cheek as we stare at each other, words unspoken, hearts colliding, and disbelief turning into the best fucking reality when she nods and says, “Really.”
My heart swells. My thoughts line up faster than I can process them. Emotion overwhelms me.
OVbunEN.
Bun in the oven.
“You’re pregnant?” I can’t even believe the words I’m saying as I pull her toward me, and onto my lap.
She can’t get the words out to tell me yes so she just nods her head as tears fall, and her arms cling to me. And fuck her hands digging into my back feel incredible, because I don’t think I’ve ever felt closer to her. Not even when I’m in her.
I have one hand on her neck and the other on her lower back. Air’s not even welcome in the space between us as we hold onto each other on this patio where so many firsts have happened for us. It all makes perfect sense.
My face is buried in the curve of her neck. And if I thought my heart and soul had been lost to her before, I was so fucking wrong it’s not even funny. Right now, this moment, I’ve never felt more connected to her. My fucking Rylee.
My mind flickers back over the months of agonizing fertility treatments when emotions ran high, and hope always gave way to heartbreaking disappointment. When we finally acknowledged last year that having a baby the normal way was never going to happen for us, Rylee lost herself for a bit. Fuck yes, it put a strain on our marriage but it was more devastating for me to watch the woman I love more than my own fucking soul slip away day by day, bit by bit, and not be able to do a goddamn thing about it.
That helpless feeling I had during that time can take a hike.
I war over the decision to squeeze her tighter or pull back so that I can look into her eyes, and see for sure that this is all real. The need to see her face right now wins out. The desire to memorize her expression is just as important. So when I do release her, and move my trembling hands to her face, I don’t think she’s ever been more beautiful than in this moment: eyes alive, lips in a glowing smile, and a tiny part of us growing inside her.
“We’re gonna have a baby,” she whispers. And although I already know it, hearing her say it causes my breath to catch and my heart to summersault. “June ninth.”
Six. Nine.
Fuckin’ A.
We finally crossed the finish line we never thought we’d reach.
Copyright © K. Bromberg, 2016
AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER
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Meet Beaux and Tanner
from the upcoming novel,
HARD BEAT,
coming November 3, 2015
From the New York Times bestselling author of Sweet Ache comes a blistering new novel filled with danger, secrecy, and a desire that can’t be sated…
Foreign war correspondent Tanner Thomas is addicted to living on the edge. Needing the adrenaline rush of his job to help him cope with a personal loss, he throws himself back into the game to get the next big story. But when he meets his new photojournalist, Beaux Croslyn, he can’t help but feel like he’s losing his focus—and maybe risking more…
With secrets she won’t address, Beaux is far from your ordinary woman. Determined to keep her distance, she’s willing to pull Tanner in closer and hide behind the sparks flying between them. But as Beaux’s past begins to put their relationship—and their lives—at risk, Tanner’s determination to find the truth puts them both in jeopardy.
He's ready to chase her to the ends of the earth to find out if what they had was real, or if the danger surrounding them was just an exquisite heat fated to burn out….
An EXCLUSIVE excerpt of HARD BEAT:
I JUST NEED to get back in the game. Meet my photographer tomorrow and get back in the swing of things, use the hunger I feel deep down to propel me through the flashes of sadness that still come. Then I’ll be better. Besides, it’s not like I have any other option.
Plug and chug.
The memories continue to come, the good, bad, and horrific, and who knows how long it’s been when I lift the bottle to find it empty. Suck it up, Thomas. This will be the only fucking rooftop pity party you’re allowed to have. You wanted back; now you’re here.
“Fuck,” I say into the emptiness around me as I rise on unsteady feet and let my buzz filter through my limbs. Once the mattress is covered up by the tarp to protect it from the dust that blankets everything like an irrevocable stain, I make my way back downstairs.
I smell her before I see her. That subtle scent of hers, which seems so out of place in the air heavy with spices, fills the stairwell when I hit the eighth floor. She’s coming up as I’m coming down. Our eyes meet and hold across the dimly lit concrete landing.
Anger fires within me. She’s stupid for being here alone. Does she know how much fucking danger there is in this country? The disrespect that’s shown to women simply because of their gender? Add to that, she’s American. I think of how many times Stella and I went round and round on this topic before she just gave in and allowed me to be at her side most of the time.
And I don’t want to care about this loose cannon of a woman, but my feet are glued to the floor as an indesc
ribable current shoots through the empty space between us. I try to deny it, want to deflect it somehow, but we stand there, gazes held, and remain silent.
“Did you want something?” I ask, eyebrows raised, impatient.
“Hmm,” she murmurs. “No. I thought I did . . . but now? Not hardly.”
She starts to brush past me. Something about that haughty tone of hers with a subtle accent I can’t place pushes buttons I don’t want pushed, and I reach out and grab her upper arm. The force of my hold pulls her body into mine so that our chests touch, and the sharp inhale of her breath is unmistakable since it presses her breasts further against me.
Our eyes lock, breaths mingling over each other’s lips, and that straight shot of lust spears to my lower gut and takes hold. We stand in a silent battle of wills. The same woman I was irritated at for wanting me earlier, I’m now pissed at for wanting to walk away.
Talk about a confirmation that my head is a cluster fuck of emotions. Jesus Christ. Let her walk the hell away, Tanner. Bygones.
But my fingers don’t relax. They hold tight just like the invisible grip she seems to have over me.
The air thickens, and the sexual chemistry that I felt earlier at the bar—the zing I tried to avoid by leaving the festivities—sparks and lights up the space around us like an exposed live wire. The sad fact is I know I’m about to get burned but don’t let go.
“Just for the record, Loose Cannon, I would have bought you a drink.” I grit the words out, angry at myself for even saying them.
She eyes me with caution, trying to figure out what the hell I mean by Loose Cannon. “It’s BJ, and I prefer to stay off the record,” she says with that little fuck-you lift of her chin as she asserts her obstinacy despite her quickened pulse beneath my fingertips.
And fuck . . . I have to bite back the laugh on my lips because isn’t that a fitting name for a woman with lips like hers. Images flash through my mind of what she’d look like staring up at me while her mouth is wrapped around my dick.
She pulls me from my lewd but damn fine thoughts when she tries to jerk her arm from my hold. My spine stiffens some because hell if I’m up for resistance right now. I’m emotionally drained, exhausted, and as much as I don’t want to feel that grenade of desire sitting low in my belly, I still want to pull its pin so I can lose myself for a bit in the soft curves and sweet taste of a gorgeous woman no matter how fucking insolent she is.
I clench my jaw. A fleeting show of resistance before I give in to my need and the sexual tension. She gasps when I release her arm only to bring it up to her neck at the same time I crash my lips to hers.
And fuck yes I’m a dick for not letting her push me away, for letting my own need for this woman who will most likely move on by the week’s end control my actions, for taking without asking, but goddamn her small display of independence turns me on something fierce.
I brand my mouth to hers, press my tongue between her lips as she parts them. Her hands push me away, but the movement of her tongue tells me she wants more. She’s a clear contradiction in all meanings of the word. Soft and supple body, but I can feel the toned muscle beneath. Between kisses she tries to pull back, but a soft moan in the back of her throat when my free hand cups her ass tells me how much she wants this.
Her hands fist in my shirt at the same time my hand takes hold of the loose bun at the nape of her neck to tilt her head back and look into her eyes. But her mouth stays right where I want it because I’m nowhere near done with her yet.
“I don’t like you,” she claims through gritted teeth. Our hands run possessively over each other, but derision laced with defiance glimmers in her eyes.
“I beg to differ.” I laugh at the ludicrousness of her statement, considering the predicament we’re in. She tries to step back, but when she doesn’t release my shirt, I know she still wants more.
And fuck, I’m definitely all in. I need this outlet more than I ever realized until I was in the thick of it. I’ve kept to myself at home, fought with my sister when she attempted to fix me up with one of her friends, punished myself, and now with the heat of a woman’s body pressed up against me and the taste of her kiss seared in my goddamn brain, there is no way in hell I’m walking away now.
“I don’t like you,” she reiterates.
“Too bad,” I tell her as I go in for the next kiss. One that’s full of angry desperation and irresistible need with teeth nipping and tongues meeting and that ache deep in my balls taking hold of me. My hips pin her against the cold cinder-block wall behind her.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders as she tears her mouth from mine, our chests heaving. And then just when her protests stop and her tongue starts to dance with mine again, I pull back.
“You’re arrogant and—”
“You don’t have to like me to fuck me,” I say, cutting her off. “You just have to want me.”
She protests, and I cut her words off with my mouth on hers at the same time my hands grab her wrists. Even as I gain the advantage, I feel like she’s pulling out the ground from beneath my feet. “Fuck you!” She manages to get the words out between fervent kisses.
I chuckle against her lips before pulling back and looking straight into her desire-laden eyes. “That’s the plan.”
Posted by arrangement with New American Library, an imprint of Penguin Random House. Copyright © K. Bromberg, 2015.
Available for pre-order now
Click here to pre-order
The word ‘thank you’ seems like such inadequate way to express my gratitude to everyone who has helped me on this incredible journey. At the same time, those two words say it all. To my family who has put up with this newfound craziness, to the other authors who have answered my endless questions, to the industry professionals who have helped me by teaching me, to the bloggers who have helped promote me, and to my readers who have given me endless support and newfound friendships, THANK YOU. This adventure would not mean nearly as much without you all being a part of it.
I race you,
Kristy
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author K. Bromberg writes contemporary novels that contain a mixture of sweet, emotional, a whole lot of sexy and a little bit of real. She likes to write strong heroines and damaged heroes who we love to hate and hate to love.
She’s a mixture of most of her female characters: sassy, intelligent, stubborn, reserved, outgoing, driven, emotional, strong, and wears her heart on her sleeve. All of which she displays daily with her husband and three children where they live in Southern California.
On a whim, K. Bromberg decided to try her hand at this writing thing. Since then she has written The Driven Series (Driven, Fueled, Crashed, Raced), the standalone Driven Novels (Slow Burn, Sweet Ache, Hard Beat (releasing 11/3/15), and a short story titled UnRaveled. She is currently working on new projects and a few surprises for her readers.
She loves to hear from her readers so make sure you check her out on social media.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Praise for the Novels
Copyright
Other Books
Foreward
Dedication
Driven
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter One - Raced
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Three + - Raced
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven - Raced
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen - Raced
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-One - Raced
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Fueled
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Three.Five - Raced
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Five- Chapter 6 - Raced
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two and a Half - Raced
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Eight - Raced
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty