I wanted to share the first chapter and the playlist with you. I'm trying to pick excerpts, but it's so hard when I love something on almost every single page. LOL #WriterProblems So, without further ado...available September 30th...
CHAPTER ONE- TOMMI
The little thingy on the end of
the jack slips off the lug nut and I smash my finger against the hot
pavement. Again. I resist the urge to stick my throbbing
middle finger into my mouth and I swallow the curse that’s swelling in my
throat. Don’t cuss! Don’t cuss! I’m
like a well-trained dog these days. I act just right, dress just right, talk
just right. I’m all about appearances. I have to be. Lance demands it. And I need Lance, so I play ball.
I wipe the back of my hand
across my damp forehead and try again. Just one more nut, just one more. I sigh in relief when I put all one
hundred and twenty eight pounds of my body weight on the car jack and the
stubborn lug gives. I unscrew it and pull
off the flat tire, rolling it over to lean up against the back fender of my car. Dusting off my hands, I check my nails to
make sure none are broken –God forbid I show up for drinks with a gnarly
manicure– as I walk to the trunk to remove my full-sized spare.
After I manhandle it out of its
little cubby beneath a false panel in the back of my car, I let it drop onto
the asphalt, thinking I’ll roll it into position. And that would’ve worked just fine if my
spare weren’t flat, too.
“Noooo!” I cry aloud.
Oh for the love of god! Are you
kidding me?
I start to get frantic as I
glance at my watch again. At this rate,
I’ll never have time to change and then make it to the hotel on time. But if I show up dressed like this, I’ll
never hear the end of it. I know better
than to wear things like these shorts and this tank top, but sometimes I just
can’t resist feeling just a tiny bit like me. The me
that I used to be. The me that I still am, under everything
else.
“Why didn’t you accept help
when it was offered, Tommi?” I mutter, eyes closed, face turned up toward the
sky.
Being a blonde female stranded
on the side of the road isn’t always a bad thing. Thankfully, it usually draws a lot of men who
are more than willing to be the hero and save the poor damsel in distress. This
time was no different, only I politely turned each of them away. I mean, most of them were creepy and I am stranded out here alone. Not the smartest thing. So now, here I am. Stuck. Hero-less, helpless, and frustrated.
“It’s not too late, ya know,”
an incredibly pleasant, amused voice says from behind me.
Startled, I yelp and whirl
around. There’s a darkly handsome man
standing behind me. He’s so close and so
tall that I take a step back, tripping over my flat spare tire and nearly
landing myself, butt first, in my own trunk.
All my classy grooming goes right out the proverbial window as I flail
to regain my balance. “Holy assmunch
shitface!” I squeal in surprise.
Two big, strong hands reach for
my bare upper arms to pull me upright and save me from a humiliating blunder. The electricity in his touch combined with
his husky laugh causes chills to break out down my arms. Attraction vibrates
along my nerve ends like tremors of an earthquake. “Part beautiful woman, part sailor. My kinda girl.”
Oh God, I think, embarrassed.
But I quickly forget why when I get a good look at my rescuer.
I’m face to face with the most
stunning guy I think I’ve ever seen–soft brown eyes that glisten in the dying
sun like two chocolate diamonds, long black lashes that frame them like
feathers, and a smile that threatens to melt me where I stand. Holy lord.
And I have to look way up to see him, which is saying a lot because at
five-nine, I’m a tall girl.
“Pardon the expression. Y-you scared me,” I stammer, curling my
fingers around muscular forearms before I can think better of it. They flex beneath my fingertips as he holds
me steady. We stand touching each other
for several heated seconds. I know I should back up, protest, feign outrage, do
something, but I can’t. As unwise as it is, I don’t want to do
anything because I don’t want him to let me go.
“Don’t apologize. I love a
woman who talks dirty.”
“That wasn’t dirty,” I defend weakly.
One sable brow arches
inquisitively and I realize how bad that sounded. “So there’s more? Dirtier?”
Despite the oppressive heat, I
feel a blush warm my cheeks. A blush!
I can’t even remember the last time I blushed. I’ve seen and done things in my life that
have desensitized me to the point that I would’ve sworn nothing could embarrass
me. And yet here I am, blushing for a
perfect (perfectly hot) stranger.
I take a shaky breath and
smile, easing away from him as the danger of my situation finally dawns on me.
This guy could mean to do me harm and I’m practically drooling all over his
chest. His wide, hard, muscular chest.
I squeeze my eyes shut. God! Stop it, stop it, stop it!
“Are you okay?” Perfectly Hot Stranger
asks, all playfulness gone from his voice.
Avoid eye contact.
When I crack my lids, I purposely
look down at my dirty tank top, straightening it as I step out from between his
impressive body and my open trunk. “I’m
fine. I just…ummm…it’s pretty hot and, uh, I’m changing my tire. I’m just…hot.
And tired. And…”
I back around the corner of my
car, thinking that my purse and my phone are but a few steps away should I need
them.
I watch as Perfectly Hot Stranger
kicks my spare with the toe of his boot.
“I hope this is the one you just took off.”
Oh crap! How could I forget my
conundrum? I’ve got two flats!
I’m as deflated as my inner
tubes as I watch him walk around to the other tire, noting its floppy side. “I’m Sig by the way,” he offers
casually. He crosses his arms over his
chest as he stands back to survey my predicament. “And it looks to me like you might need a
tow.”
A tow. Yes! I race to the driver’s side and lean in for
my cell phone, all too aware of my cut-off denim shorts and the way they’re
riding up my legs as I stretch. I hurry
back out, brandishing my iPhone like a weapon.
“Yes! I need a tow. I’ll call
now,” I say, trying to ignore the heat of his warm eyes as they unabashedly
make their way up from my legs.
I start to search for a towing
company, but instead, I just stare at the blank screen, knowing that my dilemma
is much worse than this man assumes. If
I get my car towed, I’ll need a ride into town, which means I’ll have to waste
more time waiting for a cab to arrive.
Then I’ll still have to stop to buy clothes so I can make it to drinks
on time, which will put me even later, but at least I’ll be dressed
appropriately. But either way, it’s
lose-lose. I’ll be late and car-less.
And Lance will be furious.
Long, tanned fingers cover mine
and force my hands to drop a little lower.
He bends until his face is in my line of sight. “Do you need some help? Because I stopped to help you. Nothing more.”
His eyes are earnest, but
there’s a twinkle to them, like he knows what I’m thinking, like he knows I got
suspicious. For some reason, I feel
ridiculous all of a sudden. Something
tells me that he’s being honest, that he’s only here to help, not to hurt
me. And, as I look up into his striking
face, I do the unthinkable.
I agree.
“I do need some help,
actually.”
“Yeah, I kinda figured. What can I do? Give you a ride? Wait with you while the tow truck gets here?”
A short pause. A long, wicked grin. “Give you a strong, incredibly attractive
shoulder to cry on?”
I can’t help smiling. “And here I thought chivalrous egomaniacs
were all dead.”
“This one’s alive and kickin’,
sweetheart,” he declares with a wink. Between
that and the southern, manly way he calls me sweetheart, I fight the urge to
shiver. “Now, where do you need to go?”
I glance back at the shiny,
black truck parked behind my car. I must’ve been in more distress than I
thought not to hear that thing pull up.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?
I have somewhere to be, but I need to make a super quick stop first. Would that be okay?”
“As long as it’s ‘super
quick’,” he teases.
“So quick it’ll make your head
spin.”
“My head’s already spinning,”
he says with a grin that makes my stomach flip over. “But I’m in no rush. Take all the time you need.” He’s appreciative gaze and casual demeanor
say that he’s more than happy to spend time with me. It makes me feel like blushing again. What the heck is this guy doing to me?
I open the car door and slide
behind the wheel, making sure all the windows are rolled up before I grab my
purse and lock up. When I get back out, Perfectly
Hot Stranger (otherwise known as Sig) has already put my spare back into the
trunk and is reattaching my flat tire, I guess for towing purposes.
I watch his arms and shoulders through
the thin material of his shirt as he deftly maneuvers the jack. He really is just a big guy! His back is extremely
wide, but it tapers in a dramatic V to a trim waist and narrow hips. As I examine the way his long, bent legs
curve into his butt, I notice that his shirt has ridden up just enough that I
can see smooth skin at the base of his spine. I can’t see buttcrack. But I
can’t see underwear either, which makes me wonder if he wears any.
God, that’s hot!
I jerk my eyes away, as though
he might be able to feel me looking at him and thinking such things. It wouldn’t do for me to flirt with another
man. If wind of it ever got back to
Lance…
This time, I do shiver, but not
in a pleasant way.
Sig rises to his feet and turns
his panty-melting grin toward me. “That
oughta do it.” He brushes off his
hands. “All locked up?”
I nod, trying not to be
affected by his charisma, but geez! It’s so hard!
“In that case, your chariot
awaits,” he says, sweeping his arm out in front of me. “Or in this case, a truck because it’s the
only thing big enough for a guy like me.”
“How tall are you?” I ask as he opens the passenger door for me.
“Six-six.”
“Wow! Six-six?” I repeat, impressed.
“Yep. Six feet, six inches of awesome.”
“And modesty.”
“Yeah, that, too,” he half-grins,
closing my door.
I watch my rescuer make his way
around the front of the truck to the driver’s side, a dreamy sigh fluttering in
my chest. As much as I don’t want to be,
I’m charmed. Right down to the
butterflies in my stomach and the weak feeling in my knees. I’m just thankful
that, after today, I won’t ever have to see Perfectly Hot Stranger again. Because I’m pretty sure that would be a
disaster.
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