by Libby Rice
Trevor lunged off the bench, the urge to protect fueling his flight across the gym. He chased Kev around equipment and people, all as oblivious to the woman’s plight as the woman herself.
“Kev, wait,” he gritted. Trevor would handle the saving. If Kev did the honor, things would end up all wrong. Kev had a simple way with women: He crooked his finger, and they sucked his dick.
Not today.
Instinctively, Trevor muscled his friend into the crevice between two elliptical machines. Kev flailed for purchase, barely staving off the unexpected jostling.
“Not sorry,” Trevor said as he slid past, reaching the woman’s side the moment her time ran out.
Sweet, sweet skin slid beneath his hands. Her shoulders sagged as he gripped their sloping curves. When the weight of her slumped, he plucked her off the machine and lowered her ever-so-gently to the floor through buckling knees. Once flat on her back with him crouched overhead, he took a good, long look, ignoring Kev, who buzzed in the background about “dickheads” and “disrespect” and how Trevor might have “hurt her worse.”
Never. A fall would have meant a concussion and broken teeth. Landing against his chest had meant a slow, careful trip to the ground, a relaxed journey with time for her plump breasts to give him a good, long hello.
Now her chest waved through a thin shirt with every breath. Recent months had revealed how much he liked soft, forgiving breasts that could fill huge hands. Before her defection to one of Colorado’s finest correctional facilities, his wife had defined feminine fitness—tall, statuesque, tough. In everything but brute strength, his stunning ex had held her own. His ten-mile run had become her eleven. His forty push-ups had become her forty-five.
Rhea’s stamina had won his respect. The one-upmanship—with his wife, of all people—had crippled his desire. Sinew and bone had a place on a woman. They belonged under a layer of softness he could sink into.
Some women had bodies built for clothes, for the drape and the crease. Others for sports, for speed and power. This one, in her pink leggings and loose tank, had a body built for him.
Acknowledgements
One would think an author’s second book might be easier than the first. Not so in this case. Art-Crossed Love is near and dear to me because of the way I struggled to get the story out as I’d envisioned, and because of the people who helped me along the way.
My beta readers were invaluable: Jennifer Maitlen, Larie Brannick, Lorna Bryan, Viola Estrella, Lindsey Donakowski, Kimberley Anderson, Julie Sheridan, Krista Hwang, Spice Jones, and Judy Adams. You helped in every way imaginable, from reading the book to great conversation about books to good wine. Every moment was precious!
Thea Harrison was a heavy in my corner when I needed advice about this business from a tried-and-true professional. She shared her experience and valuable insight, often at the drop of a hat, and for that I’m eternally grateful, for both her genuine friendship and her impressive mind. Courtney Milan offered endless practical advice from the standpoint of a woman who knows more about how to succeed in publishing than almost anyone I know. She answers little-guy questions with patience and heart. To her, everyone has a place at the table, and she wants nothing more than to see each new author take a seat.
To my closest non-writer friends, thank you! To Pam for your calls and notes and flowers, to Kim and Keri for having wine made with my covers as labels (!), to Dave for letting me drive your new BMW, to Spez for buying whole boxes of books and then giving them to me along with a nice filet mignon, to Lisa for your wise encouragement, to Eleanor for all the homemade meals, to Anya for poking at me to go faster and harder and better. Books, it seems, are a team effort.
Finally (and always), thank you, Tom. I can’t imagine doing this, or anything, frankly, without you there to tell jokes, write songs about breakfast burritos, and generally make this whole writing thing seem like a wise decision, even on the days it (quite objectively) is not.
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Gateway Publishing Ltd.
Copyright © 2015 Libby Rice. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. www.libbyrice.com
eBook Edition ISBN: 978-0-9903536-2-1
Paperback Edition ISBN: 978-0-9903536-3-8
Cover design by Viola Estrella
Edited by Kathie Middlemiss