A motor-mouth southern belle tries playing detective only to collide with a dangerously sexy biker.
Ellie Robinson takes it upon herself to secretly vacay to Sunny Valley, Alabama, on her best friend's behalf. There, Ellie uncovers a shocking truth...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Are you a masochist? Do you want me to hit you again?" I ask, breathless and a little terrified.
A wide smile pulls up and overtakes his face right before he laughs, and dear Lord is it a beautiful sound. And those dimples! Somebody smack me so I don't do something stupid.
His gaze is heated when his attention locks back onto me, green eyes darker, richer, surrounded by long thick lashes, so lethally striking that I forget. I forget that he's basically a stranger. My eyes lower, unable to resist traveling to his lips, firm, sultry, and inviting.
My tongue licks my bottom lip, he immediately pulls me into him. "Want something from me, Toots?"
I don't kiss guys I don't know, but today I want to. So very badly.
Live on the edge a little.
Why not?
I did shimmy my butt out of a motel window not even a day ago.
"Yes," I answer. "For you to get your hands off me."
Come on, Ellie! Live just one time!
He dips his head, clean-shaven cheek gliding over my skin, peppery cherry cologne practically making me purr like it's my catnip. "You want my hands all over you."
My breath hitches but I try acting tough and in control. "You wish."
"I do."
The shower turns off and I breathe out in relief but then Bones puts his hand on my waist. "Come with me."
I hesitate and a wicked smile adorns his face. "You can keep your claws out, I don't mind getting scratched."
A fire roars in me and I stupidly take his hands, my long fingers slender, tiny in his grip. He brings me out of the house and into the brisk fall air that relaxes me. Bones watches me tentatively and the rising sun's colors play with his hair and make his bronze skin shine.
Calm down. He's just a guy. A perfectly sculpted piece of male specimen that makes my heart pound like crazy and looks at me like he wants to devour me.
"I've always heard the devil has blue eyes."
"Yeah?" he asks, arms leaning on the railing, muscles coiling in his forearms, and I'd like nothing more than to glide my touch along his skin, his hair tickling the tips of my fingers.
I copy his stance, leaning on the railing next to him, our shoulders touching, mine so much tinier than his big broad one. "I think he has green."
He chuckles one dimple appearing, coaxing me as my eyes watch him a little too closely. The sun's rays dance along his rugged features, outlining all the tiny imperfections, like how one brow is slightly higher than the other, or how there's a tiny scar right above his lip.
