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Broken (Broken #1) by Kelly Elliott

Layton Morris and his brother Mike grew up not knowing what it would be like to live in a normal home. With no running water or electricity in their home, no parents around to protect them, they quickly learned how to survive and depend only on each other.

When a tragic accident takes Mike away from Layton, and the only other person that he ever let into his heart walked away from him, leaving his heart shattered, Layton focuses all of his time and energy into the ranch he and his brother dreamed of. He makes a vow to himself to never let love in again. The last thing Layton needed or wanted was more heartache.

Whitley Reynolds grew up in a privileged home in upstate New York. When she landed the star football player in high school no one was surprised, not even Whitley. She dreamed of a life with Roger living in New York City and happily followed him there. 

The first time Roger hit her for arguing with him about a dinner party, she forgave him. The more it happened, the further Whitley withdrew from her friends and family. One fateful day things go to far. Whitley makes a promise to herself and finds the courage to do the one thing she thought she’d never be able to do.

Fleeing with her best friend Courtney, Whitley was determined to put her past behind her and start a new life in the small town of Llano, Texas, where no one would ever find out about her past.

Will they both ever learn to trust and love again, or will their pasts come back to haunt them, keeping them both alone and…

3.75-4 Stars

“The future needs your attention right now. It has something beautiful to offer you, but first…you must let go of the past in order to receive It.” ~ Robert Tew 

First off I have to say that I’m in complete cover love with this book. It’s Gary-Fucking-Taylor on the front, people! That right there is reason enough to buy this book. Imagining him as Layton throughout the whole story just put my libido in overdrive. 

“When you first met me, Whitley, I was so damaged. I had a broken heart that was still bleeding. When I look into your eyes…I feel…like my heart is healing.” 

Whitley is running from her ex. Abused and broken, she moves from New York to a small town in Texas. She’s weary of men and is definitely swearing them off. However, thing change when she meets Layton. 

Layton has lost everyone he’s ever loved. His dad left him and his older brother, Mike, after their mother passed away; they were only 16 & 18 years old respectively. They were alone and had to fend for themselves. Then Layton lost his brother, Mike, while he was on duty in the Marines. Oh! But that’s not it. The love his life, at that time anyway, Olivia, left him the day after he found out about his brother’s death. It was safe to say that Layton, too, was broken. 

When they first met, the sparks were definitely flying, but not like what you would think. They bantered like no tomorrow, but both couldn’t deny the underlying lust they had for each other. When they finally fall, they fall hard. But what happens when both their pasts are constantly hounding them…will they remain intact?

“You told me last night I healed you, but you healed me just as much. I love you, Layton. I’ll love you forever, too.” 

If you’re a fan of Kelly Elliott’s Wanted Series, then you will absolutely enjoy this new series. If you haven’t read any of her books, then this would be a good time to start. However, you need to know a couple things before diving into this book:

One: This is very much an insta-love relationship. As much as they fought each other in the beginning, it didn’t last long - they hook up and declare their love pretty freaking fast. So if you don’t like those, then you will have a huge problem with this. 
Two: Once again, Ms. Elliott leaves us hanging. No worries, there is a HEA for Layton & Whitley, but the cliffhanger relates to what I assume will be the next book in the series featuring Reed & Courtney. Speaking of this….OH MY GOD!! Ms. Elliott, you never disappointment me, you ALWAYS make me want the next book…like NOW. Ugh. I guess I’ll have to wait (again) to get my HEA for Reed & Courtney. I can’t wait!

Release Day Blitz: Hard As It Gets by Laura Kaye ~ Q&A, Book Trailer


HARD AS IT GETS is one steamy read! How did you first get into writing?

Thanks so much! And thanks for having me here! I’ve been a writer all my life. I’m a historian by training, so writing non-fiction was a part of my job for the fifteen years I worked as a college professor. But I started writing fiction in 2008 in kind of an unusual way. I hit my head on July 4, 2008. I didn’t think much of it that day, but soon after I realized I’d really hurt myself, and it turned out I had a minor traumatic brain injury. As I recovered, I was filled with an amazing urge to be creative, so I started taking guitar lessons (still not very good at that!) and wrote my first novel in 12 weeks (fortunately, I’m better at that LOL!). The experience of writing that first book was truly transformative. It was what I was supposed to be doing, so I revised that book until it sold and kept writing new ones. And I haven’t looked back since!

Why did you choose to write romance?

I had been an avid reader of paranormal romance for years at that point, so I wrote what I loved. But I also picked romance—unconsciously, I think—because to me it’s an incredibly hopeful genre. Romance stories are inherently stories about people who can’t find love or think they don’t deserve it who overcome the odds and find it in the end. In the years leading up to starting writing, I experienced a number of very hard personal losses, so writing in this genre was one way I worked through those issues.

What does “Hard Ink” refer to? What importance do tattoos play in your story?

Hard Ink is the name of the Rixey brothers’ tattoo shop in the Hard Ink series. Nick and Jeremy Rixey are co-owners, though Nick (the hero of book one, Hard As It Gets) prefers to be more of a silent partner, despite Jeremy’s efforts to put Nick’s artistic talents to work. In this series, tattoos are a way people remember, pay penance, or highlight what’s important to them. The act of creating permanent marks on skin has deep meaning to them. And the shop creates a gritty setting where diverse kinds of people meet and interact in the series. I really love it!

Describe Becca—what do you love most about her? And Nick?

I’d love to! Because I really loved writing these characters!

Becca Merritt is smart and strong and honest and protective. I really loved the way she was willing to stand up for those she loves, even against people and forces who might be stronger and even a little scary. There’s a scene in particular when she dresses down Nick’s Special Forces teammates after a fist fight where I was particularly cheering for her! LOL

Nick Rixey is, omg, so freaking hot, you guys! He’s brooding and tortured and honorable and when he falls he falls so hard. I especially loved Nick’s mix of hard, alpha edges with his artistic side. When Nick shows Becca what her idea for a tattoo might look like on her skin, it’s just scorching!

What significance does the military play in the book? 

Military themes are central to the whole Hard Ink series. The military isn’t just sexy window dressing nor is it just there to provide an intriguing backstory. The prior SF guys are this series are entirely defined by their military experience good and bad. It informs their identity, their sense of honor and duty, their view of the world, and of course gives them the skill set required to fight the battles they face in the series. The overall series mystery the characters are working to solve revolves around a military conspiracy in Afghanistan, so even though they’re out of the Army, the military themes are central.

If you could describe your book in a 140 character tweet, what would it be?

In #HardAsItGets, an ex-soldier joins forces w/his dead commander's daughter to regain his tarnished honor & save her brother from a gang

Is there a particular author or book that has influenced your writing?

There are a number of authors that have influenced me, but if I had to pick one it would be J.R. Ward. A lot of what I know about how to write sexy, authentic male point of view comes from reading her books. And I definitely learned the importance of a good bromance to a romance novel from her Black Dagger Brotherhood series, too. Given my ginormous fangirling, you can only imagine how flipping excited I was when this happened:

“Edgy, sexy, and full of suspense! A great read from a great new author!”
~J.R. Ward on Hard As It Gets

You guys, I bawled like a baby in the middle of a huge workshop put on by my publisher. For real. LOL

What advice would you give aspiring writers looking to get into the publishing industry?

Here’s my advice:
1) Write, write, write. You can’t revise what you haven’t written and you can’t sell what you haven’t written. And the psychological and emotional boost you’ll get from writing “The End” for the first time cannot be overestimated.

2) Revise, revise, revise. That first time you type “The End”? Yeah, you’re nowhere near done. Your book will need to be edited, by you, several times before you ever put it in front of an agent or editor. You get one shot with them, so don’t waste it by not showing them your very best and most polished work.

3) Find critique partners. And your mom, siblings, and best friend do not count (unless you’re really lucky, like me, and your best friend happens t also be a professional author). You need other aspiring writers in your genre who will give you honest but constructive feedback about how to improve your manuscript. Let them catch all the embarrassing goofs and plot holes you thought you caught before it gets to an agent or editor.

4) Want to be a professional, then act it. And by that I mean join the professional organization(s) of the genre in which you write. Through them you will find classes to help hone your craft, critique partner match-ups, networking opportunities, calls for submission, and other opportunities invaluable to breaking into publishing.

5) Don’t give up. You will hear way more no’s than yeses, particularly early in your writing career. Stick with it. Believe in yourself. Give yourself one day to wallow in the rejection and eat a bunch of chocolate and then get right back on the horse. If your first book doesn’t sell, chalk that up to learning and write a second.

What can fans of HARD AS IT GETS look forward to next?

I’m currently writing four series: two contemporary (Hard Ink, Heroes) and two paranormal (Hearts of the Anemoi, Vampire Warrior Kings). I’ll have books from all four of those releasing in 2014. My next release is Hard As You Can (Hard Ink #2) coming 2/25/14!

About Hard As It Gets:

Five dishonored soldiers.
Former Special Forces.
One last mission.
These are the men of Hard Ink.

Tall, dark, and lethal...

Trouble just walked into Nicholas Rixey's tattoo parlor. Becca Merritt is warm, sexy, wholesome--pure temptation to a very jaded Nick. He's left his military life behind to become co-owner of Hard Ink Tattoo, but Becca is his ex-commander's daughter. Loyalty won't let him turn her away. Lust has plenty to do with it too.

With her brother presumed kidnapped, Becca needs Nick. She just wasn't expecting to want him so much. As their investigation turns into all-out war with an organized crime ring, only Nick can protect her. And only Becca can heal the scars no one else sees.

Desire is the easy part. Love is as hard as it gets. Good thing Nick is always up for a challenge...

Read Chapter 1 of Hard As It Gets
Buy at Amazon | B&N | iTunes

~ Book Trailer ~

About Laura Kaye:

Laura is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over a dozen books in contemporary and paranormal romance. Growing up, Laura’s large extended family believed in the supernatural, and family lore involving angels, ghosts, and evil-eye curses cemented in Laura a life-long fascination with storytelling and all things paranormal. She lives in Maryland with her husband, two daughters, and cute-but-bad dog, and appreciates her view of the Chesapeake Bay every day.

Promo Post - Remy (Real #3) by Katy Evans

Date of Publication: November 25, 2013
Publisher: Gallery Books

Underground fighter Remington Tate is a mystery, even to himself. His mind is dark and light, complex and enlightening. At times his actions and moods are carefully measured, and at others, they spin out of control.

Through it all, there's been one constant: wanting, needing, loving, and protecting Brooke Dumas. This is his story; from the first moment he laid eyes on her and knew, without a doubt, she would be the realest thing he's ever had to fight for.

“REMY! REMY! REMY! REMY!” people yell.
Their chants grow in intensity while her startled golden eyes devour me like I’m devouring her.
“You want more Remy?” the announcer happily asks the crowd. “All right then, people! Let’s bring out a worthier opponent for Remington Riptide Tate tonight!”
Hell, they can bring out anything they want, man or monster.
I’m so primed, I could take a couple at once.
In my peripherals, I’ve got her pinned down, nice and tight. In that frilly shirt. Those body-hugging pants. I’ve already cataloged her at about a 120 pounds and five feet seven, at least a head shorter than me. In my head, I’m already measuring her breasts in my hands and tasting her skin with my tongue. Suddenly, I notice she whispers something to her friend, rises to her feet, and takes off down the aisle.
“And now, to challenge our reigning champion, ladies and gentlemen, is Parker ‘the Terror’ Drake!”
I stare in disbelief as she walks off, and a knot coils tight around my gut as the rest of my body tightens in preparation to chase.
The crowd comes alive as Parker takes the ring, and all I can do is watch her leave my arena while every molecule in my body screams at me to go get her.
The bell rings, and I don’t play the little feinting and waiting game that me and my opponents always do. I stare into Parker’s face and give him a look that says, Sorry, dude, and go straight for the slam and knock him down.
He falls splat and doesn’t move.
The crowd is stunned into silence. The announcer takes a moment to speak as I wait, frustrated as fuck, my heart pounding in anticipation as I wait for Parker to stay down and the counting to begin.
It begins.
Come on, motherfuckers . . .
I’m fucking winning the championship this year and I won’t be disqualified . . .
Just call it a knockout and let her hear . . .
“Holy cow, that was fast! We have a KO! Yes, ladies and gentlemen! A KO! And in record time, our victor once again, I give you, Riptide! Riptide, who’s now jumping off the ring and—where the hell are you going?
The crowd goes crazy as I land on my feet on the aisle and their screams follow me all the way to the lobby. They are screaming for me while my body is screaming for me to catch her. “Riptide! Riptide!”
My heart pumps like crazy. She’s walking fast, but I’m fucking running. Every one of my senses demand I chase, capture, and have this girl. I grab her wrist and spin her around.
“What the—” she gasps, her eyes wide in shock.
She’s so beautiful my lungs freeze. Smooth forehead, long lashes with spiky tips—those gold eyes, that dainty nose, and those marshmallow lips. I need to taste that like yesterday. My mouth waters as a wild, primitive hunger opens up inside me.
“Your name,” I growl. Her wrist is tiny in my hand, fragile, but I’m not about to let go. Oh, no.
“Uh, Brooke.”
“Brooke what?” I snap, tightening my hold.
Her scent works me into a lather. I need to find the source of that scent. The back of her ears? Her hair? Her neck?
She tries to pry her hand free but I tighten my hold because she’s not going anywhere but my bedroom.
“It’s Brooke Dumas,” a voice behind me says, and then the crazy friend who was with her throws off a number, which my idiot brain doesn’t grasp, for I’m still hung up on her name.
Brooke Dumas.
My lips curl as I meet that pretty gold gaze. “Brooke Dumas,” I say gruffly out loud, slow and deep, my tongue twisting around the name as I savor it. Such a strong, classy fucking name.
Her eyes widen in shock—and she gives me a hungry, doe-eyed look that lets me see she’s a little excited but a little afraid.
It makes me crazed. I need to touch, smell, taste, claim. I burn with the need to tell her she should be afraid of me, and at the same time, all I want is to pet my hand down her long hair and promise her I’ll be her protector.
Yielding to the impulse, I slide my fingers into the nape of her neck, fighting to be gentle so that she won’t run, while only one thought remains in my head: Take. Her.
My gaze never leaving hers, I set a dry kiss on her lips, slowly, trying not to scare her, but just so she knows who I am, and who I will be for her.
“Brooke,” I say against her soft lips, then I draw back with a smile. “I’m Remington.”
Her eyes meet mine, and they’re metallic gold and liquid with something I recognize as wanting. My smile fades as I look down at her mouth again. It’s so pink and soft I bend my head to take it even more deeply. My blood rushes through my veins as her scent drowns me. I want this woman. I can’t wait one more second without tasting her, taking her.
One second she’s warm and trembling in my arms, quietly tipping her head back for more, and the next, the crowd engulfs us and some fucking lunatic is screaming in my ear.
Brooke Dumas seems to snap into motion and quickly squirms free.
“No.” I reach out to snatch up a piece of her white shirt. But she and her friend wind through the throng like wiggly, little bunnies, and I’m in the crowd stuck with two fans who—
Riptide, my god, please let me touch your cock.”
“Riptide, you can take us both together!”
As they rub their hands down my abs, I think, FUCK! and pry their arms away, then I charge after her. When I reach the elevator, the gate is shut and I hear her noisily ascending up to street level.
Growling in anger, I slam my palm to the closed door, then dodge an incoming group of fans and bulldoze my way back into the locker room.
I don’t know if I’m angry, frustrated, or . . . I don’t know. Where the fuck is she going? She was looking up at me like she wanted me to eat her; I don’t even understand fucking females and never fucking will. Scowling as I charge to get my stuff, I slam my fist into a locker.
“Take care of your knuckles, Tate!” Coach snaps as he gathers all my things into a red duffel.
I loathe being told what to do. So I slam my other fist into another locker and dent it like I did the first, then I glare at the old man and grab my headset, my iPod, and a sports drink. Following my crew out to our Escalade, I’m pissed as fuck at myself for letting her go. I try saving her number on my phone, at least the few numbers I remember.
“That KO was unbelievable, dude, you knocked him down within three seconds!” Riley says, laughing.
I stare out the window at the lights of Seattle and tap my fingers on my knee.
“All right, so what was that all about? Are we going to discuss the elephant in the car?” asks Pete from up front. “The one with the long hair? You seemed hell-bent in chasing, Rem?”
“I want her watching my next fight.” The car falls silent when they realize I’m fiercely hung up on her.
Pete sighs. “All right, I’ll see what I can do. We also got you a couple of girls.”
“A good assortment,” Riley adds. “A blonde, a brunette, and a redhead.”
And as soon as we get up to the suite, there they are. They’re waiting for me. Three girls with different-colored hair, waiting in next-to-nothing clothes, ready to fuck the Riptide.
“Pete, you think I need a sports rehab specialist?” I ask.
“No, Rem.”
“Why not?”
“You’re an asshole, dude. You hardly let the masseuses massage you for more than twenty minutes.”
“I need one now.” Pushing my iPad over to him, I tap the screen and signal to the name below her image. “I need that one.”
Pete lifts an interested eyebrow. “You do. Do you?”
“I need a sports rehab specialist on my payroll. I want her to tend to me every day. In whatever ways they do.”
He smirks. “They don’t do blow jobs, I’ll tell you that.”
“If I wanted a blow job, I could have had three just now. What I want . . .” Once again, my finger taps over her name. “Is this sports rehab specialist.”
Pete’s eyebrows fly up to his hairline, and he leans back and crosses his arms. “What exactly do you want her for?”
I chomp down the rest of my food, then take a long gulp of water so I can speak. “I want her for me.”
“Rem . . .” he says in warning.
“Offer her a salary she can’t decline.”
Pete answers me with a puzzled silence. He seems taken aback and is trying to make sense of me. He’s looking into my eyes, and I can tell he’s observing whether they are black or blue.
I’m not black. So I wait quietly. He sighs, slowly jots down her name, and speaks cautiously. “All right, Remington, but let me say, this has Bad Idea written all over it.”
Shoving my plate aside, I lean back and cross my arms.
My head betrays me half the time. One day, it tells me I am god. The other, it tells me that I not only rule hell, but I invented it. Does Pete think I give one fuck about what his own head thinks about my idea? I don’t listen to my head anymore. I listen only to my gut.
“I want her watching me fight Saturday,” I remind him as I get up and shove my chair back under the table. And I want her watching from the bet seats in the house.”
“Remington . . .”
 “Just do it, Pete,” I say as I cross the living room back to the master.
“I already have the tickets ready to go, dude, but it’s hard enough keeping Diane from knowing of your . . . er, issues . . . It’s going to be even harder to keep it from someone like this sports rehab specialist.”
I prop my shoulder at the threshold of my bedroom and think about that. I lower my voice. “Make her sign a contract, so I have guaranteed time with her. And stabilize me the instant I start losing my shit.”
“Remington, just let me get some other girls—”
“No, Pete. No other girls.”
I shut myself in my room and grab my headphones, then just lie there with my iPod in my hand, staring at it.
What will it be like if I make her mine?
I don’t delude myself into thinking that she will accept me, but what if she does? What if she can understand me? The way I am? The two parts of me? No. Not two parts. Every. Single. Fucking. Part. Of me.
My gut tightens as I remember the way her eyes shone when she looked at me. The way they softened after I kissed her and she looked into my eyes, wanting more of me.
I have never seen a look quite like that before. I have been wanted by thousands of women. Nobody has ever looked at me with such open, frightened longing as her.
She was not frightened of me. She was frightened of “it.” This same thing clenching my gut that has me all tangled up. Every cell in my body is buzzing with awareness. Every inch of my skin is awake. My muscles feel primed like they do when I’m ready to fight. Except I’m not ready to fight now. I’m ready to go get my mate.
God help her.
The Seattle crowd is wild tonight. Backstage, the noise reverberates between the walls, bounces off the metal lockers in the room where I prepare with some of the other fighters. I watch Coach bandage the fingers of one hand, and all I can think of is how Brooke Dumas is out there among the spectators, sitting in one of the seats I bought for her.
I’m so jacked up I feel like I’m plugged into a fucking electrical outlet. Blood pumps heady through my veins. My muscles are loose and warm and ready to contract and strike anything in my path. I’m ready to put on a fucking show and there’s one girl, one lovely girl, that’s got me tied up in knots, that I want to see me fight.
I hand Coach my other hand and stare at my bare knuckles as he shoots off the same instructions he always says.
My guard . . . patience . . . balance . . .
I zone out, letting his words slip through me and into my subconscious, where they belong. Right before a fight, I find a calm. I can hear all the noise but listen to nothing. A clarity comes with fighting. Every detail sharpening in your mind.
This sharpness and awareness makes me lift my head to the doorway. She stands there like out of some childhood dream, looking at nobody but me.
She wears a pair of white jeans and a pink top that makes her skin look even tanner than it is and so damn lickable my tongue hurts inside my mouth. Neither of us so much as twitches as we stare.
Hammer steps into my peripherals, and when I see him head straight for her, my anger ignites.
With deadly calm, I grab the tape from Coach and throw it aside as I stalk over to her. Then, I position myself directly behind her and to her right, taking my spot in a way that lets the dipshit Hammer know I was born to be here. Beside, behind, and by her.
“Just walk off,” I warn him, my voice low but lethal.
He doesn’t seem inclined to listen, instead narrows his eyes in contest. “She yours?” he asks with narrowed eyes.
Nodding, I narrow my eyes and let my gaze burn into him. “I can guarantee you, she’s not yours.”
The asshole leaves, and I notice Brooke doesn’t move for a long second, as if she doesn’t want to step away from me in the same way I don’t want her to go anywhere. Holy god, she smells good.
I drag her scent to my lungs like a junkie, and suddenly every inch of my body wants to cup her hips and draw her into me so I can scent her more. She turns her head to mine and softly murmurs, “Thank you,” but quickly leaves. I duck my head and haul in as much as I can before she walks away.
I remain standing there, feeling dizzy, my shorts ridiculously tented.
“Riptide! Hammer! You’re up next!”
Exhaling as I hear my name, I glance narrowly at Hammer across the room, who seems amused as fuck that I am clearly in deep shit with this girl.
He’s in even deeper shit with me.
“Remington . . . are you listening to me?”
I whip around to Coach, who’s fixing that last bandage he couldn’t secure. I keep glaring at Hammer as Riley extends my satin robe, and as I ram my arms into the sleeves, I decide Hammer better be prepared to vacation in a coma for a while.
“I said don’t let that bastard get to your head.” Coach knocks his knuckles to my temples. “And that girl neither.”
“That girl’s been in his head since the first fight here,” Riley tells him with a smirk. “Hell, he wants to carry that girl around with him like an accessory on tour. Pete is drafting the contract as we speak.”
Coach pokes a finger into my chest and I feel it almost bending. “I don’t give a shit what you’re planning to do tonight with the girl. You keep your head in the fight going on right now. You got that?”
I don’t answer, but obviously I get it. I don’t need to be told these things. Half a fight is in your head. But Coach likes feeling useful, so I just roll with it and trot out. I’ve fought all my life to stay sane. To keep focused, driven, and centered. But tonight, I fight to show one woman my worth.
We go toe-to-toe. I feint and Hammer swings, opening his side. So I jab his ribs, feel the satisfying punch race up my arm, and we bounce apart. Hammer is stupid in the head. He falls for all my feints and never covers right. I ram him hard enough to make him bounce on the ropes and drop to his knees. He shakes his head and hops to his feet after a moment. I love this. My heart pumps slowly. My every muscle knows where to move, what to do, where to send my power—right from my center, up my chest, shoulder, down the length of my arms, to the tips of my fucking knuckles that hit with the force of a charging bull.
I take him down, and then I do the same with the next foe. And the next.
A powerful energy takes over me as I fight, and I fight knowing that Brooke Dumas watches me. If there’s anything in my head other than winning, it’s that I want her to think inside that lovely round head of hers that she has never, ever, seen a man like me.
By the time the tenth guy falls, sweat coats my chest, and as the ringmaster raises my arm, I’m anxious to see the look in her eyes. I want to see that she liked it, that she—like everyone else in this room—thinks I’m the shit. Our eyes lock, my gut goes hard and twisted and wild with desire, and I smile at her as I try to catch my breath.
When the ringmaster releases my arm, I cross the ring, jump over the cord, and land in the aisle, watching her part her lips in shock as I come over.
People go crazy when I go outside the ring, and they’re losing their shit right now.
The whole room screams with their applause and cheers. And I know they all can see where my gaze rests and where I’m headed.
“Kiss his heart out, woman!”
“You don’t deserve him, you bitch!”
“You go, girl!”
I smile down at this woman who has stolen my thoughts, and as I wonder if she wants me to, she looks pleadingly up at me, almost begging me not to kiss her here. My blood simmers as I remember her lips on mine, but it won’t be happening again.
Not until you’re ready, Brooke Dumas.
I bend to her and scent her hair, whispering at her temple, “Sit tight. I’ll send someone over for you.”
I back off before I lose it, and climbing up into the ring, I steal one last look at her. My chest does all kinds of strange things when our eyes lock.
“Riptide, people!” the announcer screams.
The yells feed me. I suck them in with a smile, full of pride and satisfaction. I can see in every one of these people’s eyes that I’m the man. But I want to see it in her eyes. That. I’m. The Man.
The man who wants to be hers.
About Katy Evans

Hey! I’m Katy Evans and I love family, books, life, and love. I’m married with two children and three dogs and spend my time baking, walking, writing, reading, and taking care of my family. Thank you for spending your time with me and picking up my story. I hope you had an amazing time with it, like I did. If you’d like to know more about books in progress, look me up on the Internet, I’d love to hear from you!