Undercover cop Clay Navarro left the Sultans biker gang a changed man. Its ringleaders may be awaiting trial, but he wears the memory of every brutal act he was forced to commit tattooed across his skin. He doesnβt have space in his messed-up life for anything gentleβnot now, maybe not ever.
Dr. Georgette Hadley is drawn to the damaged strangerβs pain, intimidated but intrigued by the warmth that lies beneath Clayβs frightening exterior. But when the Sultans return looking for revenge, she finds herself drawn into the dirty underbelly of a life forged in violenceβ¦that not even her touch may be able to heal.
Adriana Anders has acted and sung, slung cocktails and corrected copy. Sheβs worked for start-ups, multinationals and small nonprofits, but it wasnβt until sheΒ returned to her first loveβwriting romanceβthat she finally felt like sheβd come home.Β Today, she resides with her tall French husband, two small children and fat French cat in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, where she writes the dark, gritty, steamy love stories of her heart.
Amazon: http://amzn.to/2ogHdkD
iBooks: http://apple.co/2ogA9Ey
Excerpt
βSeveral sessions, definitely. A few months, certainly. I would venture to say close to a year. Possibly longer.β Sheβd seen tattoos take ages to fade. And someβ¦some never went away. βThereβll almost always be remnants, Mr. Blane. I just need to make sure you understand that. Your skinβs never going back to how it looked before.β
He nodded and sighed, that big back curving slightly, as if in defeat. Were he a woman, sheβd put a hand on his shoulder, comfort him, but this manβ¦ No. Better keep that to a minimum.
βIβve got a couple fartherβ¦uhβ¦farther south.β One wide, ink-blackened hand gestured vaguely to his legs, and she smiled nervously, nodding as if this were all just par for the course. As if she hosted half-naked bad boys in her office every day.
βYes, well. How about we start with one session whenever we can fit you in, and weβllββ
βStart now.β
βOh. No. Thereβs prep that needs to be done. We need to numb you for big surfaces like this. And then when you come in, weβll also ice you down. For the pain.β
βDoesnβt matter.β He swallowed, his Adamβs apple bobbing visibly, and she could feel his nerves or fear or whatever that edge was. βClockβs ticking, Doc.β His expression grew impossibly harder: jaw tight, lips curving down into a sharp, pained sneer. βJustβ¦β One of those big, rough-looking hands skimmed his chest. βAt least my face and knuckles. Here too. Whatever a suit canβt cover up to start with, butββ
That surprised her. βA suit?β she asked before she could hold the question in.
He gave a tight smile, one brow arched high. βYeah. Canβt picture that, huh?β
βOh, no, thatβs not whatββ
βI know what you meant, Doctor.β He caught her eye, held it, intimidating, but also human behind the markings.
βNot offended.β
βLook.β She glanced at her watch, trying not to think of the parody of a timepiece etched into his wrist. βItβs late on a holiday weekend andββ
βI donβt need pain meds. I can do this. And I know you got family waiting. But maybe you could justβ¦β
He looked away before nodding once and turning back to her with a harshly expelled breath. βYouβre right. Not the best time. Iβll let you get back to your life.β
He stood, swiftly and smoothly, and George couldnβt help but stare at the mess of his skin, contrasted with the perfection of his bodyβthe mystery of the man within.
All sorts of bodies came through her clinic, young and old, tight and saggy. Sheβd examined some whose scars were hidden and others whose damage was obvious.
Thereβd been babies, fresh and new and already marred for life, and yes, there were sometimes men she admired. Next door, for Godβs sake, was a plethora of hard bodies to choose from. The MMA school overflowed with themβmen who lifted and punched and
fought and worked, but thisβ¦this was masculinity in its purest form. This man didnβt primp in the mornings or even look in the mirror. He got up, he washed, he walked out the door. Only there wasnβt a door in her musings. There was nothing but the great outdoors, savage and unkempt, or the mouth to a cave.
Hard and dark, his hair almost black, with brows that arrowed straight out from three deep frown lines. And his bodyβshe stared, caught up in the realness of this man, which was the oddest thought, as if the rest of her patients were somehow less than this one.
This wasnβt just another epidermis to examine. This was muscle, undeniable in its curves and hollows. And even the damage was heartbreakingly appealing, layered as it was on top of that firm flesh, his energy palpable, tensile strength, so real that she could almost feel him vibrate with it.
Beneath her gaze, under the harsh, white light, she could have sworn his nipples hardened, and viscerally, her body felt it, reacted as if separate from her doctorβs brain.
Keep it in your pants, Hadley! The man is probably dangerous, possibly in trouble, and, if nothing else, completely inadvisable.
Out of guilt, as if to make up for her rogue brain or overactive hormones or whatever the hell was pushing her to skim the line between brazen and professional, she put a hand up to stop him.
βFine. Weβll do your knuckles and your eyes and see how it goes from there. Your face isβ¦ Youβll need injections and metal eye shields. Would you like something to drink? Water or tea?β
βTea?β he asked, that brow up again, and she felt herself flush. Right. Not a man who drank tea.
βAll right, well Iβll need to numb your lids first.β
βNo numbing.β
βItβll be painful, Mr. Blane. Like being splashed with hot bacon grease.β I know firsthand, she almost added but decided to keep that detail to herself. βAnd if you accidentally open your eyes, itβsβ¦ Look, I donβt recommββ
βNo numbing,β he repeated firmly.
βOkay, then. But Iβll have to insert eye shields. Theyβre like big metal contact lenses.β
βSounds sexy.β His voice was low with what might have been humorβan apology, perhaps, for his abrupt words before.
Georgeβs eyes flew to his to find him watching her, and rather than dwell on the way his gaze affected her, she looked quickly away and busied herself by collecting supplies. If nothing else, she could at least pretend to act professional.
She was, after all, a doctor.
Giveaway