He moved her leg to get at the bowl of chips. “I don’t know. How can you read The Shining and then think Kubrick did it justice?”
“You’re going to hell for that blasphemy, Asa.”
She crawled from their very large hotel bed in their very swanky borrowed digs overlooking the beauty that was Vancouver’s huge skyline. “I need more water. Want some?”
“I want more champagne.”
She brought the bucket and glasses over and got back into bed. “Kubrick’s version is fantastic. It’s his take on King’s material. An homage. Like I was just saying. Don’t expect it to be what it can’t be. You’ll be happier.”
“King wasn’t happy.”
“If you wrote the book, you get to be pissed it’s not what you expected.”
“You have a very detailed set of rules about life, Penelope Jean. I don’t know how you remember them all.”
“Basically, it’s be nice to people, don’t show your butt in public, and don’t complain your sack of gold is too heavy. Everything in the rules is based on that.”
He laughed, putting the chips aside again and getting her under him. “You should start your own calendar series. PJ’s Rules for Life. I’d buy it.”
He slid into her pussy easily, like he was meant to be there. Which he believed he was. And because they’d already had sex multiple times, so she was slick and hot.
A year ago he’d had no idea she existed; now he was sure he couldn’t live without her. Funny how the world worked.
His PJ was unexpected. Loud. Funny. A pain in his ass. Uppity. Resourceful. Sexy. So much stronger than she gave herself credit for.
“There is nothing more beautiful than you,” he said, kissing her as he began a slow thrust. He’d seen the youth and the beauty and had overlooked the person inside at first. It scared him sometimes, the idea that he could have missed her and made different choices and he’d be alone, or with some random person he didn’t want to breathe in.
But she got in his face and made him see. Made him understand. Changed him to his very bones. He could race and fight and get grease under his nails and she didn’t care. If he was happy, she was happy. Which seemed so deceptively simple, when really it was that she worked really hard to love him.
She wrapped her legs around him, arching up into each press he made into her body.
“Except being seen as beautiful by you.”
“Damn, we’re sickening.”
She laughed. “So Duke says all the time. I think we’re awesome.”
“Okay then. We’ll go with that.”
He made her come again before he joined her and they napped, still wrapped around each other.
Two days and they’d go back to Seattle. They’d break ground on the new building that would house the Twisted Steel showroom and expand the shop space into the old showroom area. They’d signed the papers to buy the land the week before.
They’d go back and he’d open his eyes to see her next to him every morning. Come home to her every night. In just a year, everything had changed. She’d blown into his life and held on, and he’d been surprised and then oh-so-fucking-grateful for her.
Falling Under
Carmella Rossi has been secretly lusting after her hot, tattooed neighbor Duke Bradshaw for the last three years. His rumbly voice combined with the throaty purr of his custom bike never fail to send thrills down her spine. But when he comes to her with an amazing offer, will she be willing to put herself at risk for a guy who has heartbreaker written all over him?
Please see the next page for a preview of
Falling Under.
Carmella Rossi held the door open for Georgie, who hopped down with a happy look. Carmella understood; she wanted to dance around for joy too now that they weren’t at her mother’s house.
Medication delivered for the next three days – it wouldn’t do to let her mom have any more than that; she’d just use it all and then not have enough and eventually end up in an ER somewhere trying to get pain scrips to get her through.
Carmella had learned the hard way that it was easier to simply dole out a few days’ worth, which kept her mom from overdosing or getting herself arrested trying to hustle pills.
“Some people’s mothers make pies,” Carmella told the dog as they headed up the steps to the front porch.
Her key was in the lock when she and Georgie both paused at the throaty growl of a motorcycle approaching.
Duke Bradshaw. The hottest neighbor in the history of hot neighbors.
Considering the morning she’d just had with her mother, it was a nice treat to see all that long, hot, inked man get off a motorcycle and amble to his front door.
“Totally the best thing about this entire neighborhood,” Carmella told the dog.
Georgie got in front of Carmella and sat. Ever protective and also sort of hot for Bradshaw, just like her human was.
Carmella looked to the front door. “We should go in. Come on. It’s weird to wait out here like he’s coming home for dinner at our house or something.” Not like it wasn’t weird to have a full conversation with a dog.
Georgie gave a doggie snort but shook, her tags jingling merrily as she followed Carmella up to the front door.
And that’s when Duke Bradshaw pulled not into his driveway, but into Carmella’s. That caught her attention as she unlocked the door to let Georgie inside. But the man brought Georgie bones from time to time, so the dog had no intention of leaving Carmella alone to greet the big, bad, tattooed biker who lived next door.
“Jeez, dog, he’s on his motorcycle. He’s not carrying bones in his pocket.” Not that she was unaware that he quite frequently appeared to have something pretty hefty behind that zipper of his.
His bike was beyond gorgeous and the sight of it never failed to make her heart beat faster. Flat, matte black. No chrome at all. It was a custom rebuild of a 1963 BMW. It was understated and classic while still being really sexy and super masculine. It also sounded like sex – low and throaty, the bass of it settled into her belly in much the same way his voice did.
He keyed the bike off and pulled it back on the stand before sliding one long leg over. He wore a half helmet bearing the logo of his shop, the T and the S swirling together, looking sharp and badass.
His attention seemed to settle on her like a physical thing, freezing her to the spot.
And then he smiled and every erogenous zone – including a few she hadn’t known existed until that moment – did the wave.
“Just the person I was looking for.” Duke hung his helmet on a handlebar and headed up the steps toward her, still wearing black wraparound sunglasses and his jacket.
She wondered – not for the first time – if he ever wore the sunglasses while he had sex. Would you be able to see your own reflection as he fucked you?
Proud at the calm in her voice, Carmella smiled like she hadn’t just been imagining riding his cock while he wore sunglasses so she could watch herself. “Me? Did Georgie get into something?” She gave a look toward the dog, whose normally erect ears were even perkier at the approach of the guy with the bones.
Duke bent to give Georgie a scratch behind the ears. “Nah. She’s a sweetheart. It’s her owner I’d like to talk about.”
There was honey and lazy afternoons in his voice that day. Charming. He tucked his sunglasses into his shirt pocket and pale green eyes took her in. Laugh lines only made him more attractive.
He had a tiny smattering of salt-and-pepper at his temples, but it worked with the gold and caramel tones of hair that was long enough to touch his collar with just a little curl. Closely trimmed at the sides, long and thick at the top. He had some sort of nouveau rockabilly thing happening.