The long-awaited story of Declan and Phoenix has finally arrived. TOUGH BREAK, the next Shakedown book, released! How about a little smexy excerpt? Scroll down for a taste of this slow-burn, angsty, steamy contemporary romance.
★★★★★
“I felt so much reading this book. I cried and rooted for these two.”
~5-Star Amazon reviewer
“…everything that I hoped for … and I loved every minute.”
~5-Star Amazon reviewer
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~EXCERPT~
She grasped one of his hands and brought it over her breastbone. “You need to stop trying to save me, Declan.” This man was good. He deserved someone good.
“Not trying to save you. I’m trying to love you.” His hot breath moved over her face, and a tingle cascaded through her entire body.
Then he doesn’t know what love is. But then again, did she? “Why?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“Most people would.”
He rested his forehead against hers, his large hand held between hers, keeping space between them. “I’m not most people.”
No, he wasn’t. He was remarkable and infuriating and as stubborn as her cat. “I’ve given you nothing.”
“You’ve given me everything.” Now he held both of her hands in his between them.
He must not want much then. The cool breeze kicked up, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his skin. Insects droned in the trees around them and sirens were going off in the distance. But his eyes glittered in the dark, and that’s when her resolve slithered to the concrete like a sail deflating in dying wind. He had always looked at her like that—like she was someone to him. Like she mattered.
His thumbs moved over her knuckles. “You and I are the same in many ways. But your strength makes me stronger. Makes me want to fight harder.” He pulled her closer. One of the crutches clattered to the concrete. Neither of them moved to get it. “You make me want to be worthy of you.”
Worthy? Her eyes pricked. “I don’t deserve that.” God, could she hear herself?
His cane slipped down his arm and dropped over his wrist to land in one hand. His other hand—the rogue—moved up to cradle her cheek. “Oh, yes, you do. I’d say we deserve each other—and the world that doesn’t want us to be happy? It can go to hell.”
She glanced at his lips. “You want to kiss me.” It wasn’t a question or a statement. More like utter disbelief this man would settle for just a kiss—from her.
“I do. But I won’t. You have to kiss me now.” One side of his mouth inched upward. “For making me wait six years.”
A slight laugh cut through her chest and up her throat. “You wish.”
He sobered. “I do wish.”
Her hands made their way to his pecs, the cashmere of his overcoat soft under her palms, his muscle hard underneath.
“There can’t be more.”
He nodded once.
So, she rose up on her one good foot and placed her lips on his.
“Not trying to save you. I’m trying to love you.” His hot breath moved over her face, and a tingle cascaded through her entire body.
Then he doesn’t know what love is. But then again, did she? “Why?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“Most people would.”
He rested his forehead against hers, his large hand held between hers, keeping space between them. “I’m not most people.”
No, he wasn’t. He was remarkable and infuriating and as stubborn as her cat. “I’ve given you nothing.”
“You’ve given me everything.” Now he held both of her hands in his between them.
He must not want much then. The cool breeze kicked up, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his skin. Insects droned in the trees around them and sirens were going off in the distance. But his eyes glittered in the dark, and that’s when her resolve slithered to the concrete like a sail deflating in dying wind. He had always looked at her like that—like she was someone to him. Like she mattered.
His thumbs moved over her knuckles. “You and I are the same in many ways. But your strength makes me stronger. Makes me want to fight harder.” He pulled her closer. One of the crutches clattered to the concrete. Neither of them moved to get it. “You make me want to be worthy of you.”
Worthy? Her eyes pricked. “I don’t deserve that.” God, could she hear herself?
His cane slipped down his arm and dropped over his wrist to land in one hand. His other hand—the rogue—moved up to cradle her cheek. “Oh, yes, you do. I’d say we deserve each other—and the world that doesn’t want us to be happy? It can go to hell.”
She glanced at his lips. “You want to kiss me.” It wasn’t a question or a statement. More like utter disbelief this man would settle for just a kiss—from her.
“I do. But I won’t. You have to kiss me now.” One side of his mouth inched upward. “For making me wait six years.”
A slight laugh cut through her chest and up her throat. “You wish.”
He sobered. “I do wish.”
Her hands made their way to his pecs, the cashmere of his overcoat soft under her palms, his muscle hard underneath.
“There can’t be more.”
He nodded once.
So, she rose up on her one good foot and placed her lips on his.
