Synopsis:
New Adult. MA 17+ Content.
After Kylie’s dad dies in a freak accident, he leaves her with nothing other than her crazy step-mother, Darla, and the ability to play guitar. When Darla kicks Kylie out and she loses her job all in the same day, she hops a bus to Nashville determined to make her late father’s dreams come true. Waitressing and saving her pennies to record a demo, her big break comes when she’s asked to join a tour going down the tubes with once platinum album-selling country music superstar Trace Corbin. But touring with Trace is hardly a dream come true since he’s pretty much drinking his career down the drain. If Kylie can’t pull Trace out of his rut, he’ll pull her and her dreams down with him.
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Excerpt:
Running lights on the floor illuminated the interior of the bus just enough to keep her from falling and breaking her neck on her way to the kitchenette. She reached out and felt around for the switch under the cabinets that lit up the area above the sink. She had just flicked it on when Trace’s bedroom door opened.
Her heart stuttered and Kylie froze. If the blonde
from the bar was in there with him, Kylie was taking her ass to that Winnebago
dressed just as she was.
Taking a few deep breaths to brace herself, she
turned. Trace stood in the doorway, his dark shirtless figure making her heart
race.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she said softly. He just stared at
her, reminding her with his scorching gaze that she was dressed in a thin
nightshirt that barely reached her thighs. “No company tonight?” she asked,
doing her best to keep her voice light, unaffected.
Trace said nothing as he stalked towards her slowly,
the force of his stare backing her against the counter.
“Trace,” she said softly as he came close enough to
touch.
Still nothing. Just his eyes burning into hers as
his bare chest expanded with each breath. His hair was a mess, like he’d spent
all night raking his hands through it, and he was barefoot in jeans. Kylie was
pretty sure this was the hottest she’d ever seen him. Heat flooded her body,
liquefying the lust between her thighs.
The sensation became so intense it was almost
painful. Before she had time to ask him what he was doing, Trace’s strong hands
gripped her and lifted her onto the counter. His labored breathing was the only
sound she heard as he used those same hands to spread her knees apart. Kylie
whimpered when he moved forward to press himself between them.
This was not the Trace Corbin she was used to. This
man had pleading eyes and was trembling to the point of vibrating with…want. Or
maybe it was need. Kylie wasn’t sure. The muscles holding her rigid relaxed
under his warm hands. He trailed them up her thighs, to her hips, finally
reaching up and touching her face with gentleness she hadn’t expected him to be
capable of. His thumb grazed her bottom lip and it sent a shock straight
through her, causing her to arch into him.
“You played those boys tonight.” His quiet ragged
voice raked over her.
She couldn’t speak, so she nodded. Yes.
“You been playing me?” He pinned her with an intense
stare she struggled to return.
This time she shook her head no.
When he let his hands fall back to her hips, she
reached up and placed her fingers in his hair, using the lush brown locks to
pull him closer. His head dropped below hers with a soft moan, and she could
feel him breathing her in. She took advantage of the opportunity to do the
same. Bourbon, aftershave, and that woodsy scent that was all Trace. No cheap
perfume from his friend from earlier. Trace’s soft warm lips brushed against
her neck, sending another shiver through her with so much force it would’ve
jolted her off the counter had he not been holding her in place. “I’m sorry
about what happened in Jackson,” he whispered. “God, I’m so sorry.” His voice
was thick and raw and broke something inside of her.
She still couldn’t manage to get any words to reach
her mouth, so she just gripped him tighter. She’d already forgiven him.
Her mind raced with questions. The most pressing one
being, what the hell are we doing? But
somehow it didn’t seem important to figure it out right that second. She wanted
this, ached for it. She hadn’t even realized how badly until that very moment.
Holding him close to her felt right. Safe. As if this was what she had needed
all along. This is what would take the pain away.
Trace pulled away, just a few inches, but Kylie
moaned her displeasure. She tried to pull him back in, biting her lip when he
shook his head. God, those eyes. Take
cover, they said, because the storm was here, now. And Kylie wanted nothing
more than to hurl herself right into its path.
She didn’t know what he was looking for, but his
eyes sought answers in hers that she didn’t have. She didn’t even know what the
question was. She just wanted him. Like she had never wanted anything or anyone
in her entire life.
Cupping her chin firmly, Trace leaned in and oh, oh she was more than ready for his
mouth. But he didn’t kiss her. He pressed his forehead to hers and closed his
eyes. “So damn beautiful,” he rasped.
Gripping his hips and pulling him as close as
possible, until the only thing keeping them apart was the thin lace of her
panties and the denim of his jeans, Kylie let her hand stroke his stubbled
cheek. She pulled her legs up to wrap them around his waist and Trace let loose
a deep growl that had her throbbing against him. The intimacy of it was like
nothing she’d ever experienced, taking her higher than even performing on stage
had. Trace Corbin should come with a warning label: highly addictive.
About the Author:
Caisey Quinn
"Debut Indie Author. I write New Adult books about country girls finding love in unexpected places. <3
Wearer of cowgirl boots, writer and avid reader of New Adult romance, lover of wine, addicted to chai tea lattes. Brand spanking new author of soon to be released books including Girl with Guitar and Keep Me Still (which may or may not include spanking).
Gemini, wife, mom, and former high school English teacher living in Birmingham, Alabama. I spend my days chasing a three year old and hiding away with my Macbook. I spend my nights writing because sleep is overrated."
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