Happy Release Day!
Description:
Some lines are meant to be crossed.
Patrick
That hair. That fucking hair. It was everywhere, always, and I wanted to tangle my fingers in those dark curls and pull. And that would be fine if she wasn't my apprentice.
Andy Asani was nothing like I expected. She was exotic and scary-brilliant, and the slightest murmur from those lips sent hot, hungry lust swirling through my veins. Outside my siblings, she was the only person I could name who shared my obsession with preserving Boston's crumbling buildings.
Andy
My wants were few: good eats, tall boots, hot yoga, interesting work. One incredibly hot architect with the most expressive hazel eyes I ever encountered and entirely too much talent in and out of the bedroom wasn't part of the original plan. Apparently he was part of the package.
Wine was my rabbi and vodka was my therapist, and I needed plenty of both to survive my apprenticeship. Especially with Patrick Walsh leaving love notes in the form of bite marks all over my body.
Brewing up trouble one pint at a time.
Enemies ...After years away, Miranda Sweet returns to Salvation, Virginia to save her family's brewery, but her fate is in the hands of her lover-turned-enemy, Logan. What's a girl to do when the only person who can help her is the man who betrayed her?
Lovers ...Logan Martin can't believe his luck when the woman who smashed his heart to smithereens walks into his bank asking for his help. What she doesn't know is that he needs the land her brewery is on--and he'll do whatever it takes to get it.
An Irresistible Combination ...Their wager becomes a battle between their attraction and their determination to win. But it's in each other's arms that they realize there might be more at stake now than their bet. With the town against the Sweet Salvation Brewery's success, Logan has to choose between what's expected of him and what he really wants...
EXCERPT
"You've been staring at me for two hours." Andy crossed her arms over her chest as she leaned against the sink. It was an observation delivered with the same tenor she used to order an iced green tea. Lemon, no sweeteners.
God, I wanted her. I wanted all of her, and I knew at that moment I'd give up most anything to get out of my Bermuda Triangle and have her.
"Yeah, I was wondering…did you decide if you have room in your weekend for fried clams?"
"I don't know yet."
"When will you know?" I asked.
"When you tell me why you have me under surveillance."
I glanced at the expanse of bare skin from the plunging neckline of her sweater up to her jaw, and I remembered the way her body reacted to my teeth on her ear. Setting my beer bottle down, I pushed away from the wall and approached Andy until we were a breath apart.
I shrugged. "I stare because you don't give me much else." My knuckles grazed her upper arm and I waited for her to push me away or tell me to stop.
"You walked away from me," she said hotly, her head cocked.
That's how she saw it? Fantastic.
I lifted my hands to her face and kissed her, pouring all of my frustration and misery and desire into the tangle of our lips. I tasted the tart cherriness of Andy. My hands went to her hair, angling her head to take more, taste more, tell more. I needed her to know everything I wasn't able to put into words, all the things I couldn't explain or understand myself.
It wasn't enough to weave my fingers through her hair and consume her mouth. I wanted her skin in my hands. Her waist was slim and silken where my fingers kneaded her beneath her sweater. She must have craved the same contact because her fingers slipped between my sweater and shirt. As she pried open the buttons of my shirt, her touch was a searing reminder of what I missed this past week.
Breaking our connection, I gazed into Andy's heated eyes and smiled when I saw her beautiful and flustered. She was different, at once dark and light, and a warm flush hinted at her cheeks.
"There you are," I whispered, my hands framing her face, my thumbs stroking her delicate cheekbones.
****
"You've been staring at me for two hours." Andy crossed her arms over her chest as she leaned against the sink. It was an observation delivered with the same tenor she used to order an iced green tea. Lemon, no sweeteners.
God, I wanted her. I wanted all of her, and I knew at that moment I'd give up most anything to get out of my Bermuda Triangle and have her.
"Yeah, I was wondering…did you decide if you have room in your weekend for fried clams?"
"I don't know yet."
"When will you know?" I asked.
"When you tell me why you have me under surveillance."
I glanced at the expanse of bare skin from the plunging neckline of her sweater up to her jaw, and I remembered the way her body reacted to my teeth on her ear. Setting my beer bottle down, I pushed away from the wall and approached Andy until we were a breath apart.
I shrugged. "I stare because you don't give me much else." My knuckles grazed her upper arm and I waited for her to push me away or tell me to stop.
"You walked away from me," she said hotly, her head cocked.
That's how she saw it? Fantastic.
I lifted my hands to her face and kissed her, pouring all of my frustration and misery and desire into the tangle of our lips. I tasted the tart cherriness of Andy. My hands went to her hair, angling her head to take more, taste more, tell more. I needed her to know everything I wasn't able to put into words, all the things I couldn't explain or understand myself.
It wasn't enough to weave my fingers through her hair and consume her mouth. I wanted her skin in my hands. Her waist was slim and silken where my fingers kneaded her beneath her sweater. She must have craved the same contact because her fingers slipped between my sweater and shirt. As she pried open the buttons of my shirt, her touch was a searing reminder of what I missed this past week.
Breaking our connection, I gazed into Andy's heated eyes and smiled when I saw her beautiful and flustered. She was different, at once dark and light, and a warm flush hinted at her cheeks.
"There you are," I whispered, my hands framing her face, my thumbs stroking her delicate cheekbones.
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About the author:
Kate doesn't have it all figured out, but this is what she knows for sure: spicy-ass salsa and tequila solve most problems, living on the ocean--Pacific or Atlantic--is the closest place to perfection, and writing smart, smutty stories is a better than any amount of chocolate. She started out reporting for an indie arts and entertainment newspaper back when people still read newspapers, and she has been writing and surreptitiously interviewing people—be careful sitting down next to her on an airplane—ever since. Kate lives on the water in Rhode Island with Mr. Canterbary and the Little Baby Canterbary, and when she isn't writing sexy architects, she's scheduling her days around the region's best food trucks.
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