November 17, 2014
Miranda
Brookhaven returned to Bitterthorn, Texas to fix the past. Years ago,
her father used her teenage romance with Coe Rodas to steal the
prototype for a groundbreaking new automotive invention. Now her
father's dead, and thanks to the convoluted will he left behind, she's
stuck in town until she rights the wrong that lost her the man she
loved.
Coe learned early on that life never goes according to
plan. His dreams of hitting it big vanished when Miranda all but invited
her father to take the only thing of value he ever had. But now the
once-pampered princess is holed up in a condemned trailer on the edge of
town...and everything he thought he knew about her—and about what
happened between them back then—seems completely wrong.
Miranda's
determined to give back to Coe all that he lost. If she can do that,
maybe she can move on from the past. But Coe seems to be more interested
in their rekindled passion than claiming what she thinks he deserves.
She's got sixty days to convince him to cough up evidence that he's the
original inventor—after that, the only way to transfer the patent rights
over to him would be to make him part of the family, and she's not sure
her heart can take another hit.
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Excerpt
“Shit like dirt and
grime don’t belong on you. Silk, diamonds…me.
That’s what belongs on you.” His big feet were on either side of hers, and she
drank in the heat pouring off his chest at her back as he went about sliding
his soapy fingers through hers. It felt good, that slick slide of flesh against
flesh. Too good. The heat sinking into every pore of her skin brought her back
to when they’d been in this situation once before, and it made her bite her
lip. She remembered the trembling, the excitement, and the crippling
uncertainty of what she should do next.
Time really made all
the difference in the world. Seven years later, she now knew exactly what to
do.
Her soapy hands
slipped over his, squeezing, caressing. Cleaning his skin as he cleaned hers,
yes, but it was obvious her interests weren’t just in getting clean. But maybe
that was because while she did that, she also nudged her ass back against him,
hitching up just a bit so she could hit the money spot…
He sucked in a sharp
breath.
Jackpot.
“Miranda.” His voice
was low and rumbling. It purred down the length of her spine to pool deep in
her belly, where the sweet tension of need began to curl in on itself. That
masculine rumble shortened her breath and tensed her thigh muscles, because she
knew what it meant. He wanted her, and soon he’d go for what he wanted just as
hard and hot as she wanted him to. “Careful, babe.”
“I had you shut the
doors. That’s careful enough.” She looked over her shoulder at him, just as she
had when she was eighteen and almost dying from attraction. It was no less
intense now, and she could only marvel at the hold he had on her. “I hope you
have protection on you, because I won’t be satisfied with just a kiss this time
around.”
“But you will be
satisfied.” With the glitter of
arousal building into a wildfire blaze in his eyes, he turned off the water.
Then he braced her hands on the far lip on the sink before reaching for the
front of her pants. “This garage guarantees satisfaction for all the work I do
here.”
“Good policy.” The
last of her retort fizzled on a hiss as his fingers dived past the barrier of
her panties and into her cleft. Her head dropped forward while she pushed
against his hand, and the sinuous roll of her hips rubbed the hardness behind
her. Her pleasure fed his, and soon their disturbed breathing was echoing
through the garage.
Damn, but the man
knew what he was doing.
“I love how wet you
get for me.” His voice was deliciously rough, exciting her all the more. Then
the sound of a zipper and crinkling of packaging being ripped open reached her
ears, and she almost hyperventilated. “I’m going to make you come so hard your
legs won’t be able to hold you for the rest of the day.”
Oh,
dear God…
A
competitive figure skater from the age of eight, Stacy Gail began
writing stories in between events to pass the time. By the age of fourteen, she
told her parents she was either going to be a figure skating coach who was also
a published romance writer, or a romance writer who was also a skating pro. Now
with a day job of playing on the ice with her students, and writing everything
from steampunk to cyberpunk, contemporary to paranormal at night, both dreams
have come true.
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