The Roads Leads Back by Marci Boudreaux

Today I'm excited to have Marci Boudreaux. Like myself, Marci writes under two pen names. (I'll let you keep reading to determine her other identity.) Enjoy the taste Marci brought of her latest release, The Road Leads Back.

 

Thank you so much for having me today, Christy!

As I get ready to release The Road Leads Back, I’m excited to hear so many people tell me they enjoy reading romances with characters over 40. Honestly, I actually had a hard time figuring out if this was romance or women’s fiction.

My editor leans heavily toward women’s fic. So I joined a women’s fiction group to help network in this new genre. But no, they say, this isn’t women’s fic. This is romance. Gah! What?

At this point, I don’t care what we label it. I have a story to tell and characters I love. I can’t wait to introduce you to Kara Martinson and Harry Canton.

These two wayward lovers are the opening act for my new Stonehill Romance series. The series is set in the fictional Des Moines suburb of Stonehill, and all the characters in the series (at least those planned!) are over 40, and all have pasts and problems that reflect the age group.

Blurb:

Kara Martinson and Harry Canton weren’t exactly high school sweethearts, but they did share one night neither will ever forget. Twenty-seven years later, Harry surprises Kara at an art gallery opening and discovers he left her with more than just memories when he went away to college. Desperate to connect with the family he never knew existed, Harry convinces his son to move to Stonehill—and pleads with Kara to come, too.

Kara hasn’t stepped foot in their hometown since the day she was sent away to a home for unwed mothers. Now Harry’s back in her life and as they put together the pieces of their parents’ betrayal, old heartaches start to feel anew. She wants to be near her family, but returning to Iowa means facing some things…and some people…she isn’t quite ready to.

Can Harry convince her to forgive the people who betrayed her so they can embrace the future they were robbed of so long ago? Or will the pain of the past be too much for Kara to overcome?

 

 

Excerpt:

 

Kara squeezed her way toward the crowded bar, nudging between two kids who she couldn’t quite believe were old enough to be legally drinking in public. Shouldn’t they be funneling cheap beer in a college dorm somewhere? Or sneaking shots from Daddy’s liquor cabinet?

Art gallery openings used to be much more sophisticated than this. When she was a young artist, openings were about appreciating the art and the artist, not the free booze.

Shit.

Had she really gone there? Kara shook her head at her bitter thoughts.

The bartender, a walking tattoo with spiked black hair, leaned close so she could hear him. “What’ll it be?”

She realized all she wanted was wine. And quiet. The kids around her were acting more like pre-teens jacked up on sugar than art aficionados. One made a face, squished and reddened, as he held up an empty shot glass as proof of his triumph.

She wondered when she had gotten so damned old. She never used to snub her nose at a good drink. Actually, she completely understood what her problem was, and it had nothing to do with age. She’d conformed. She’d fallen into line. She’d done what she was supposed to do. Agent? Check. Gallery opening? Check. Interviews with all the local fancy-pants magazines? Check.

But this wasn’t her. None of this was her.

Frowning, she leaned in as well, making sure he heard her over the jeering of the kids next to her. “Tequila.” Within seconds he set a glass in front of her and filled it with amber liquid. He started to walk away but she held up one hand and lifted the glass with the other. She downed the drink, slammed the glass down, and gestured for another—one shot wasn’t nearly enough to numb the misery of this evening.

The young man lifted his brows and smirked as he gav­­­e her another shot. He laughed as she motioned for him to fill the glass a third time. “I can’t do this all night, lady.”

“One more.”

“Some of the crap in here costs more than my car. No puking. Got it?”

Kara chuckled. Clearly he didn’t recognize her as the artist who had made the crap. “Honey, I was doing tequila shots before your daddy dropped his pants and made you.”

The barkeep threw his head back and laughed, then filled her glass one more time. “Nice one, babe.”

Babe? Kara snorted as she lifted the glass. It was almost to her lips when a hand squeezed her shoulder.

 “Kara?” asked a deep, smooth voice as if the man wasn’t certain who he was touching.

She turned. Her eyes bulged as she looked into an intense dark gaze she hadn’t seen since the night she’d lost her virginity.

The music had been loud, the beer lukewarm, and everybody who was anybody—and several nobody’s like Kara and Harry—in their senior class of Stonehill High was at the graduation party. The only person she had cared about, though, didn’t care about her. Or so she’d thought. Until she’d somehow ended up on Shannon Blake’s disgustingly pink- and ruffle-covered bed with Harry Canton, book club president and algebra superstar, clumsily removing her clothes, leaving slobbery kisses in their wake.

Kara swallowed hard as the flash of a memory faded, and the man standing before her, looking as shocked as she felt, came back into view.

She downed the liquor, slammed the glass against the bar, and sighed before she announced, “I’ve been looking for you for twenty-seven years.”

He sank onto the vacant stool next to her and lifted his hands as if he were at a loss for words. Something that appeared to be guilt filled his eyes and made his full lips sag into a frown. She’d be damned if temptation didn’t hit her as hard as it had when she was a hormonal teen.

“I wanted to tell you I was leaving,” he said, “but I didn’t know how.”

“You should have tried something like, ‘Kara, I’m leaving.’”

“You’re right. But I was a kid. I didn’t have a lot of common sense. All I could think about was how I finally had my freedom.”

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at him. “You had your freedom? You selfish prick.”

His eyes widened. “Well, that might be a little harsh. I was just a kid, Kara. Yes, I should have told you I had no intention of staying with you, but I was a little overwhelmed by what had happened. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

Harry’s shoulders slumped, as if he had given up justifying sneaking out on her in the middle of the night. “Look, I saw a flier for your gallery opening, and I wanted to say hello. I thought maybe… I don’t know what I was thinking.” He sounded hurt, dejected even. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He stood. She put her hand to his chest and shoved him back onto the barstool. The move instantly reminded of her their one night together. All of seventeen and totally inexperienced, she’d fancied herself a seductress and pushed him on the bed before straddling his hips like she had a clue what she was doing.

Touching his chest now, warmth radiated through her entire body.

She glared, pulling her hand away and squeezing her fingers into a fist. “Are you living in Seattle?”

He shook his head. “I had a conference in town. There were fliers at the hotel. As soon as I saw your picture, I knew I had to come.” His smile returned and excitement oozed from his face. “I can’t believe you have a gallery opening. This is amazing, Kare.”

She wasn’t nearly as thrilled by her accomplishment as he seemed to be. She felt like she was selling her soul instead of her art. She’d always preferred to go the indie route, but that crap agent had cornered her at a particularly vulnerable moment and convinced her she needed him…just like he convinced her she needed to be in a gallery. Although, now she was glad she’d conceded on the open bar.

The tequila swirled through her, making her muscles tingle, preventing her from fully engaging the near-three decades of anger she’d been harboring. She had spent an awfully long time wanting to give Harry Canton a piece of her mind.

Even so, hearing him say she’d done something amazing warmed her in a way very little ever had. If he had come looking for another one-night stand, she hated to admit that she would consider reliving that night again—only this time with more sexual experience and less expectation of him sticking around.

He might be almost three decades older, but his face was still handsome and his brown eyes were just as inviting as they had been when he was a high school prodigy and she was a wallflower.

She smirked at a realization: he was in a suit, probably having just left a corporate meeting, while she was wearing a red sari-inspired dress at her gallery opening.

He was still the straight arrow. She was still the eccentric artist.

“Did you hear what I said, Harry? About looking for you for the last twenty-seven years.”

His shoulders sagged. “I never meant to sleep with you that night. I mean”—he quickly lifted his hands—“I was leaving and should have told you before taking you upstairs. I shouldn’t have just left like that, but I didn’t think you wanted to see me again anyway. If it’s any consolation,” he said giving her a smile that softened the rough edges of her anger, “I’d been working up the courage to kiss you since junior year when you squeezed a tube of red paint in Mitch Friedman’s hair after he made jokes about Frida Kahlo’s eyebrows in art class.”

She frowned at him. That hadn’t been her finest hour. Then again, neither was waking up thinking she was starting a new life as a high school graduate and the girlfriend of the cutest boy she’d ever met, only to find the other side of the homecoming queen’s bed empty. “There’s nothing wrong with a woman embracing her natural beauty.”

His smile faded quickly. “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding sincere. “I shouldn’t have left you like I did. I hope you believe that I regret it. Not being with you,” he amended, “but leaving without explaining.”

She laughed softly. He’d had that same nervous habit in high school. He’d say what was on his mind and then instantly try to recover, afraid his words had come out wrong. Usually they had. For as awkward as she’d been, at least she’d always been able to say what she meant and to stand behind it. Of course, that ability got her in trouble more often than not.

She’d told herself a million times that Harry didn’t owe her an explanation. They hadn’t been in any kind of relationship. She’d drooled over him from afar, but other than an occasional smile in the hallway, he’d barely acknowledged her existence in high school. Even if he hadn’t gone off to start his Ivy League college career the day after graduation, he likely never would have looked at her again. Well, at least not until she could no longer hide the truth of their one-night stand from the world.

 “I expected so much more from you, Harry,” she said sadly, the sting of what he’d done back then numbed slightly by the tequila.

His shoulders sagged a bit. “I know.”

“Why didn’t you ever write me back?” Her voice sounded hurt and pathetic. She was surprised that after so many years of being angry, there was still pain hiding beneath her fury. “I must have sent you a hundred letters.”

He creased his brow. “Letters? I didn’t get any letters.”

Kara searched his eyes. He looked genuinely confused.

“I sent them to…” Her words faded. Suddenly the tequila-induced haze wasn’t so welcome. “Your mother said if I wrote to you, she’d make sure you got my letters.”

“My mother? I never got any letters.”

“But you sent money.”

Harry shook his head slightly. “What the hell are you talking about? Why would I send you money?”

She stared at him as realization set in. He hadn’t responded to her letters because he hadn’t received her letters. And if he hadn’t received the letters, he hadn’t sent her money. And if he hadn’t sent her money, he hadn’t known that she needed it. Sighing, she let some of her decades-old anger slip. Her head spun, either from the alcohol or the blurry dots she was trying to mentally connect. Leaning onto the bar, she exhaled slowly. “She never told you, did she?”

“Told me what?”

Kara couldn’t speak. Her words wouldn’t form.

An arm wrapped around Kara’s shoulder, startling her and making her gasp quietly. She turned and blinked several times at the man who had just slid next to her.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but I need to get home.” Leaning in, he kissed her head. “Congratulations on the opening, Mom. It was great.”

“Um…” She swallowed, desperate to find her voice. “Thank you, sweetheart.” She flicked her gaze at the man sitting next to her. The longer Harry looked at her son, the wider Harry’s eyes became.

Phil cast a disapproving glance at Harry then focused on his mother again. “Don’t forget that Jess is expecting you to make pancakes in the morning. You promised.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” Kara returned her attention to Harry. His jaw was slack and his cheeks had grown pale.

Phil nodded at Harry as if he were satisfied that he’d made the point that his mother didn’t need to be staying out all night and walked away. Harry watched him leave while Kara waved down the bartender and pointed at her glass. The tattooed kid hesitated, likely debating the ethics of giving her another shot. She pointed again, cocking a brow for emphasis, and he finally filled her glass.

“Kara…” Harry’s voice was breathless, like he’d been kicked in the gut. “Was…was that my…son?”

No. His mother definitely hadn’t given him the letters Kara had written. She lifted her shot, toasting him. “Congratulations, Harry. It’s a boy.”

 

 

Contest:

Sorry, but I do have to put in one little rule here. International shipping is crazy expensive. If the winner is not in the Continental US, you will receive an e-copy of The Road Leads Back and your choice of one of my backlist.

 

 

About Marci:

Marci Boudreaux lives with her husband, two children and their numerous pets. Romance is her preferred reading and writing genre because nothing feels better than falling in love with someone new and her husband doesn't like when she does that in real life.

As well as writing erotica under her pen name Emilia Mancini, Marci is a content editor for Lyrical Press, an imprint of Kensington Publishing. She earned her MS in Publishing from University of Houston-Victoria in 2014 and worked with Des Moines publishing company Big Green Umbrella Media, Inc. as a freelance writer until she recently opted to focus on working in books.

 

 

Buy links:

The Road Leads Back

http://www.amazon.com/Road-Leads-Back-Stonehill-Romance-ebook/dp/B00UAYL4HE/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1427302429&sr=8-1&keywords=marci+boudreaux

 

 

GUEST AUTHOR: Diane Saxon has a new release!

I'm so pleased Diane Saxon, one of my co-authors in the Paranormally Yours boxed set, could drop by for a visit. She's bringing a tasty excerpt for her latest release, Short Circuit Time. Very nice, Diane! Can't wait to read it.

 

In the year 2086, Zaphira is alone, the last survivor of biological warfare on Earth. Before he died, her scientist father promised other survivors would come. Nobody has. So when a horribly mangled android shows up claiming to be her father’s assistant, Aiden, who has been sent through time to rescue her, she’s both frightened and astounded.

The last time she’d seen Aiden, she’d been sixteen, head-over-heels in love with him and had literally thrown herself at him, leaving her devastated by his rejection and him running for the hills. The following day, she’d been told of his death.

Eight years later he’s miraculously back, this time asking for her help. Without it, he won’t survive. But can she really put a dead man back together with tweezers?

For Aiden, everything has changed. There are no other humans, no government, and time travel has left his new android body unexpectedly weak and suffering from inexplicable genetic changes in eye and hair color, brought about by his molecular shake-up. Unbelievably, the scientist who sent him is dead, and he must rely on the scientist’s daughter to help him. A woman who he’s not so sure has his best interests at heart.

The last time he’d seen her, Zaphira had been a sixteen year old with a dangerous crush on him and he’d been rocked by the turmoil of his own feelings. Now she’s twenty four and literally holds his survival in her hands. Too bad everything he does and says seems to annoy her.

Trusting her might be his undoing. But he is left with no choice.

For Zaphira, getting used to the transformation of old Aiden to android Aiden requires a large mental leap. But when android Aiden starts to rebuild his human form to a new and improved standard, things start to get tricky.

The Aiden she loved as a little girl was her father’s nerdy assistant. The new Aiden is hot. But are her feelings as strong eight years later or are they simply a cherished memory?

 

Excerpt

Prologue

She narrowed her eyes and squinted at the skinny geek stumbling backward out of the passenger seat of her father’s car. She’d waited all day for the rumble of the engine of her daddy’s convertible. The old car had a distinct stutter and a sly rev she fantasized was because it had a mind of its own.

She smiled awkwardly, her mouth pulled tight across her braces and she pressed her fingers over her top lip to stop it from catching on the edge, rolling and making her look like a feral cat. Her face ached. They’d tightened the braces again and it hurt so much more this time. The smile dropped from her lips only to ping back up again as the geek caught his shoe on some piece of equipment in the foot well of her daddy’s car. He flipped backward, his gangly arms pin wheeling until he landed on his ass on the floor, minus his shoe.

He whipped his head up and she stepped back from the window hoping he hadn’t heard her girlish giggles. He wouldn’t be impressed. He was so much older and more mature.

Not many would believe he was twelve years her senior. Not with his thick russet hair falling in a boyish flop over his forehead, his fine gold-rimmed glasses perched right on the end of his nose.

Her heart fluttered in her chest as she chanced another peek.

His arms full of equipment, flushed to his hairline, he staggered toward the front door of her home. Adrenaline pumped hot through her veins. She took a few skips toward the hallway, ran back to the window to see her father’s car pulling away from the curbside. Her mother was out. She was the only one there to open the door. She darted back, hesitated, her pulse thrumming in the base of her throat.

A dull thud shuddered the door in its frame and she shot forward, wrenched it open before he did any further damage. His shoulder slid across the oak panel and he shot sideways through the entrance, his skinny limbs racing to keep up with the speed of his body, but to no avail. His foot skidded and down he went. The clatter of laboratory equipment skidding across the wooden floor filled her ears as did his quiet Irish curse.

“Bollocks.”

Stifling another snigger, she crouched to help, casting furtive little glances at him as he came to his knees, straightened his waistcoat and touched his fingers to his bow tie, ensuring it was still there.

“Hi Aiden.”

His deep frown almost made her stutter, but she knew he couldn’t sustain his annoyance. His small nervous cough made her smile.

“Hey.” The sound of his soft, smooth voice made her light-headed and she stopped what she was doing to gaze deep into his eyes.

He pushed his glasses further up his nose and glared at her. Unperturbed, she met his beautiful gaze with a lovesick one of her own.

“Do you need a hand down to the lab?” He dropped his gaze to her mouth. Her speech lisped embarrassingly through her clenched together teeth. She hated her braces, couldn’t wait to have them removed.

“No.”

Not wanting him to go yet, she piled another few items on top of the ones already in his arms and resisted the urge to stroke her fingers along the sleeve of his tweed jacket.

“Can I get you a coffee?”

“Zaphira…” he sighed, “Thank you, but no. I have work your father wants me to complete. I don’t want to be disturbed.”

Her chest ached. Just a little. The same as it always ached when he rejected her offers.

She bent to pick up Paco, her new puppy, snuggled her face into his thick fur and took comfort from his squirming, plump body as she hugged him close and let him lick sweet kisses across her chin.

Aiden paused at the lab door then glanced at her over his shoulder and her heart hitched again. There. It was there, the glint in his eye. The one that told her every time she was about to give up that there was a spark of interest. There was hope.

 

Buy Links for Short Circuit Time

Amazon UK   Amazon.com

Where to Find Diane Saxon

Author Website | Author Blog | Author Facebook Page | Author Twitter | Author Goodreads Profile | Author Amazon Profile Page

About the Author

Diane Saxon lives in the Shropshire countryside with her tall, dark, handsome husband, two gorgeous daughters, a Dalmatian, one-eyed kitten, ginger cat, four chickens and a new black Labrador puppy called Beau, whose name has been borrowed for her hero in For Heaven's Cakes.

 

After working for years in a demanding job, on-call and travelling great distances, Diane gave it all up when her husband said “follow that dream”.

 

Having been hidden all too long, her characters have burst forth demanding plot lines of their own and she’s found the more she lets them, the more they’re inclined to run wild.

 

Previous Books:        

 

Loving Lydia -Atlantic Divide Book 1

Bad Girl Bill – Atlantic Divide Book 2

Finding Zoe - Atlantic Divide Book 3

Flight of Her Life

Flynn’s Kiss – Disarmed & Dangerous Book 1

For Heaven’s Cakes – Paranormally Yours Anthology                                                          

SALE! Get In Too Deep - book 1 of Tybee Island Shifters - for 99 cents. Limited time only!

Etopia dropped the price of In Too Deep to 99 cents, but it's only for a limited time, so grab a copy now before it returns to $4.99.

http://www.amazon.com/Deep-Tybee-Island-Shifters-Book-ebook/dp/B00JGCFOTU/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1419778127&sr=8-1&keywords=christy+gissendaner

Blurb:


Tybee Island Shifters Book One

He’ll risk everything for the love of one human.

Agreeing to be her good friend’s bridesmaid, Emma Anderson jets off to Tybee Island for the wedding. Her dress is perfect and her shoes are adorable, but her friend’s elegant beachside home hides an ancient secret…one that threatens to expose a secret society of werewolves.

Drake Randolph has watched his sister’s friend grow into a ravishing woman, but he’s always kept his distance. As the heir to the Randolph fortune and the alpha of the Secret Society of Savannah Lycanthropes, Drake cannot afford to draw the innocent little brunette into the dangerous lycan world.

Passion between them soon blazes hotter than the Georgia summer. But when the wrong woman is kidnapped to prevent the wedding of a lycan to a mortal, Drake must risk everything to save Emma from the ones who will see the downfall of all he holds dear.


Excerpt:

“Flight one eleven to Atlanta now boarding.”

Courtesy of a first class ticket, Drake Randolph claimed his seat before the rest of the passengers. He stuffed his carry-on in the overhead compartment and settled in to wait for take-off. As the other passengers loaded the plane, he scrolled through the texts on his android phone, casually noting various messages from his business associates.

A new message popped up from his sister. He scanned the few lines and groaned. How like his flighty younger sister to change plans at the last minute. She and her fiancé, Chase, had decided to drive to Georgia. Apparently Drake had to play babysitter to Alyssa’s friend, Emma.

Emma Anderson equaled trouble. Not in a wild child sort of way. She was trouble for him like sugar was for a diabetic. Although he might crave her, it was unwise. Sweet and innocent didn’t belong in his world.

Apparently she was also late. As the minutes marched on, and business and economy class almost completely boarded, he grew worried. Emma was the maid of honor. Surely she wasn’t going to be a no show? Not that he cared about wedding protocol, but his sister would be heartbroken.

“Sir, would you like a drink?”

A stewardess hovered near his elbow. He tore his gaze away from the time displayed on his phone and shook his head. She moved on to take the other first class passengers’ orders while he debated texting Alyssa.

It had to be getting close to time for the final boarding call.

Cursing beneath his breath, Drake powered down his phone. She wasn’t his responsibility. If Emma couldn’t make a flight in time, the fault lay with her. There were ten days until the actual ceremony, and he had business to take care of the next morning. If she didn’t show by the weekend, he could return to New Orleans later and drag her by the ear then. Or some other lovely appendage.

Maybe she’d decided to ride with Alyssa and Chase instead. Bitter disappointment welled inside him. Although he’d vowed never to touch her, he enjoyed looking at her. He’d watched her from afar for years, first as an overprotective brother, and then as a man. All of Alyssa’s other friends had come up short, not worthy of her. But not Emma. Never her. She was like a beaming ray of sunshine after the rain.

A commotion arose near the entrance to first class. Drake glanced over his shoulder in time to witness the object of his misplaced desire haul an oversized bag onto the plane.

“Miss, you’re going to have to check that,” a harried stewardess exclaimed. Groans and sighs of other passengers met her announcement.

Drake stood and motioned to get the attention of the stewardess. He flashed his best conciliatory smile. “There’s room in my overhead compartment.”

The stewardess melted beneath his words. “Yes. Yes, of course, Mr. Randolph.”

He didn’t question how she knew his name. He’d been a frequent flier on the airline more times than he cared to admit. A recent primetime special on his business had gained him legions of fans, mostly female, and made him more recognizable than he’d wanted to be.

Emma hurried forward. The wispy bangs of her pixie cut were delightfully disheveled by the time she reached their aisle.

“Thank you,” she mouthed.

He took her oversized bag and stuffed it into the compartment. “You’re late.” He didn’t mean to be brusque, yet the words came out terse and rude.

Pink darkened the porcelain perfection of her rounded cheeks. “I know. I’m sorry.”

He hadn’t meant to upset her. “It’s fine. Do you prefer the window or the aisle?”

“Aisle, please.” She took the seat next to him after he reclaimed his spot.

Her perfume reminded him of honeysuckles on the vine and the lazy, sultry summers of his youth. He sniffed, the scent sending a shot of lust straight to his loins.

How could one human affect him so? He’d prided himself on always remaining in control. He hadn’t gotten where he was in life by letting his heart rule his decisions. Yet around Emma, he forgot all his best laid plans.

Pale pink lips, glistening with slick gloss, and wide blue eyes haunted his dreams. An angel, beautiful and innocent. To complete the image of wholesomeness, a white lace dress covered her tiny frame, a wide purple sash tied in a bow about her slim waist.

Damn.

He shifted to put more room between them. Thank goodness they weren’t squeezed together in the close quarters of economy class.

She leaned over to him. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” He snapped open a newspaper and pretended to be engrossed in the headlines.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as she took a deep breath. “Never mind. It’s not important.”

 

 

 

And don't forget book 2, In Deeper, where Micah and Celeste's love-hate relationship tilts more toward love.

 

COVER REVEAL: In Deeper - Tybee Island Shifters 2

I'm excited to share the brand new cover for In Deeper, book 2 in the Tybee Islands Shifters series. In Deeper will be available Friday, 12/26/14. The story of the Randolphs continue and this time it's Micah - bad boy twin - and Celeste, the beta and workaholic who used to date Drake Randolph. Sparks fly in this one!

Blurb:
 

Celeste Proctor has always had the best of everything…expensive homes, fashionable clothing, and the coveted position of beta to the most powerful of all lycans, Drake Randolph. But after the alpha chooses a bride, she’s left with the unenviable situation of choosing another wolf to pin her sights on. She needs a mate – the stronger, the better – to help maintain her carefully cultivated image. One of Drake’s brothers will have to do, but which one?

Micah Randolph has always been cast in the shadow of his oldest brother. With his country music career heating up, Micah is looking forward to a whirlwind tour and finally having success on his own, separate from his position within the powerful Randolph family. But when the beautiful yet untouchable Celeste Proctor shows up, determined to mate with him or his twin brother, he has a choice to make. Will his pride allow him to take what he’s always wanted? Or will he risk it all to make her admit she wants him for more than just his strong lycan blood?

 

Excerpt:

 

 

   Applause echoed through the packed arena, reverberating off the concrete flooring and resonating to the domed ceiling. Micah Randolph slung his guitar behind his back and waved at the fans who’d come to see the kickoff of his and Max’s summer tour. The concert had sold out due to their new single topping the country charts. The energy of the crowd and intense stage lighting made the temperature soar.

Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and Micah lifted the hem of his T-shirt to swipe at his face. Another round of thunderous applause started. He smoothed his shirt back over his abs and shot a grin to the girls in the front row.

Max, the other half of the band’s duo, unplugged his guitar from the amp and strode over to smack his palm in the center of his stomach. “Tired of being a sex object yet?” his slightly younger brother asked with a smirk.

“You tell me,” Micah shot back. His brother experienced no lack in the female attention department either, despite his attempts to stay out of the spotlight.

“It’s you they come to see,” Max remarked. He waved to the crowd, and the cheers increased. “Not me.”

Micah arched an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Shut it.” Max gave him a quick nod. “Good show.”

As one, they turned to take a bow. They exited the stage to the pounding of drums and an electric light show to rival any of the big-name country artists. The production was nothing like the small gigs they’d done in Nashville, playing their hearts out for the small crowds at Deanie’s. Backstage, the crew gathered around the brothers and handed each an ice-cold beer. Micah took a deep draw from his bottle before raising it in a mock toast. “To my brother for writing kick-ass songs.”

Max, ever the unassuming one, shoved his elbow into Micah’s gut and grunted. “I’ll see you back at the hotel. Drake and Emma are waiting for us.”

Micah’s good mood evaporated. He’d forgotten his oldest brother and new wife were coming to Atlanta for the first show. Although he loved his family, he’d been in the mood to celebrate. Something Drake, stern alpha that he was, didn’t appreciate. Since his marriage to Emma, Drake had become softer but not soft enough to allow his younger twin brothers to party it up all night at a club.

Micah drained the bottle and tossed it into a nearby trash can. Another crew member pressed a second bottle into his hand. He unscrewed the cap and drank half of it on the way to his dressing room. Thank God no press functions were planned for the night. He and Max had been on the media circuit for weeks, gearing up for their first headlining tour. With the success of their latest single, they’d garnered the music industry’s attention, and all the major networks sought an interview.

He shifted the bottle of beer to his left hand and turned the knob to his dressing room. The scent of flowers assaulted him. Roses permeated the entire room, not something he’d expected to find in the space he’d left just ninety minutes ago. He recognized the scent in an instant.

It betrayed the familiar female standing before the dressing table even before he locked eyes with her.

Celeste.

Gorgeous as ever. A tall, willowy blonde with perfect teeth and perfect hair. Unattainable. The one woman he’d always wanted but could never have. Despite Drake finding a mate, Celeste was still off-limits to Micah.

“Celeste.” He placed the bottle on a table near the door and carefully shut the door behind him. “What are you doing here?”

Celeste shoved aside the items littering the top of the vanity and placed her delectable ass on the counter. She swayed long legs, encased in tight leather, back and forth. “Hello, Micah.”

He ignored the greeting and strode forward. The closer he came to her, the angrier he got. How dare she come here? He’d said everything he’d had to say to her at Drake’s wedding. “I repeat. What are you doing here? Did Drake invite you?”

She cocked her head to one side. One long, loose curl fell over her shoulder to coil around a full breast pushing against the lacy corset she wore. “Drake doesn’t know I’m here.”

Despite his anger, the attraction was undeniable. Celeste, with her fucking million-dollar smile and tight-ass body, drove him insane. He sneered at her, struggling to keep lust from clouding his judgment. He’d given into it once. Damned if he’d do it again.

“You’ve always been such a good little beta. Are you sure you want to risk Drake’s anger by coming here and fucking around with me?”

His cruel words hit their mark. Her lips turned down at the corners seconds before her eyes glowed with the flame of her anger. “It’s been a month, Micah. I thought we agreed it was a mistake.”

“It was a mistake.” He lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “We were drunk. You were drunk. The perfect shifter who always follows the rules. What would my brother say about you drinking yourself into oblivion after his wedding and ending up in my bed?”

She lifted her chin, and a hint of the wolf appeared in her honey-gold eyes. “I don’t have to explain my actions to him.”

“Damned right you don’t.” He strode forward and grasped her haughty chin in his hand. “But you owe me an explanation. Why did you fuck me that night?”

Her gaze slipped away from his. “We were drunk. You said it yourself.”

“Bullshit.” He waited for her to drag her attention back to his face. “The truth, Celeste.”

Even angry, her beauty took his breath away—her oval face one of pure perfection, with tawny skin and a glorious mass of blonde curls. The locks of her unpinned hair reached beyond her waist and caressed the rounded slope of her ass.

She took a deep breath and her chest rose. “The alcohol loosened my inhibitions. I was horny. You were there. So I had sex with you. End of story.”

Jesus. Just the memory of her body moving beneath his, her lips gasping his name, sent a jolt of lust through his hardened frame. “You’re lying.”

He stepped closer, trapping her between the table and his hips, and enclosed her body between his arms. “You come here dressed in this getup, expecting me to believe that’s the end of the story?”

He ran his eyes over her low-cut corset and tight black pants. Red fuck-me heels and matching lipstick should make her look cheap, but it was impossible for Celeste Proctor to look anything but classy.

He’d known her his entire life. She was his brother’s beta, a shifter he’d been forced to consider as his future sister-in-law. But that had been before Emma turned Drake’s life upside down and took the man Celeste had always thought she’d marry.

He growled out a warning, “The truth, Celeste. Now.”

She licked her too-bright lips. “I made a mistake.”

“Damn straight,” he shot back. Only it hadn’t been a mistake. No sane man would ever consider her a mistake. Sexy, successful, and so damned stubborn she made his teeth ache. “You couldn’t text me an apology?”

She tossed her hair over one shoulder and glared at him. Despite her beauty, she was fierce in her annoyance, a warrior who fought for what she wanted. “Poor Micah, always so willing to play the victim.”

Her taunt made him see crimson. He jerked a handful of her lace corset and thrust his face next to hers. “You played the victim card better than I ever could. Poor Celeste. Losing the man you love to a non-shifter. It stings, doesn’t it? Knowing you weren’t good enough for him?”

The expensive foundation and powder she wore were no match for the flush of shame tinting her cheeks. “Fuck you, Micah Randolph.”

He grinned, but it lacked humor. “Been there, done that.”

She lifted her hand, but he caught her wrist before she landed the stinging slap on his cheek. As a warning, he tightened his grip just enough to feel the bones in her wrist. “Careful. You might hurt yourself.”

She tugged at her arm and cursed when she was unable to break free of his grasp. “You made your point. Let me go.”

God, it hurt to look at her and know he could never be good enough, too much of a fuckup to have perfection. He let go of her wrist and shoved away from her. “Time for you to leave.”

She stayed where she was, her legs spread as if Micah still stood between her thighs. The provocative position reminded him of tangled sheets and sex so hot it burned in his soul.

“Micah.” Her tone dropped an octave and turned seductive. “I need your help.”

Damn it all. Even her voice made him think of tangled sheets and sweaty limbs. “Find someone else.”

She stood. The six-inch stiletto heels she wore put them on eye level despite him being several inches over six feet. “You don’t even know what I’m asking.”

“I don’t need to.” He pulled off his sweaty T-shirt and dug in his duffel bag for a clean one. “I’m not your man.”

Her gaze dropped to his chest. He would have to be blind to miss the spark of interest there, and he’d never missed any of Celeste’s expressions. She’d haunted his dreams since puberty. Too many nights he’d spent jacking off to the picture of her as a cheerleader in their high school yearbook. Too many afternoons seeing her flirt with his brother and knowing she’d never be his.

Celeste never backed down from a fight. She ignored his disinterest and forged ahead. “With Drake out of the picture, I’ve had to reevaluate my position within the Society.”

Micah shoved his arms through the sleeves of a faded black T-shirt and jerked it on. He pulled the hem down and waited for her to say more.

For the first time, she showed hesitation. Unable, or unwilling, to meet his eyes, she looked anywhere but at him. “I’m the last of my family. The pressure has been on me for years to marry well. I thought I’d found the perfect match with Drake, but I can’t ignore it anymore. I need to find a mate.”

The words ripped into him, flaying him with dreams of what could never be. He stuffed the old shirt into his bag and slipped the strap over one shoulder. “Congratulations to you and the lucky bastard, whoever he may be.”

She jerked her chin in his direction. Heat singed him from the flames in her expression. “Don’t be an ass. I need your help.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “If you think for one second, I’m going to play matchmaker for you, you’re…”

“I want you to be my mate.”

Her words forced him to a complete halt. “Come again?”