Oblivion, on his band Warning Sign’s first tour. Until an overzealous fan goes
too far and his hard-partying ways catch up to him in the form of an ultimatum
from his manager, Lila Crandall.Clean up your image—or else.
Single mom Chloe Adams is in Vegas for a rare girls’ night out. She wasn’t ever
supposed to be attracted to another rockstar. In fact, she’s in rockstar rehab,
and the cure for her addiction definitely isn’t a sexy, smart-assed guitarist
with wicked fingers.
She never expects to accidentally end up his wife. Or to have her new husband
suddenly decide that she’s the solution to all his problems. And surprise…he’s
happy to show his appreciation in a number of interesting, inventive ways.
Pretending their marriage is real might just be the hottest proposition she’s
ever been given.
But what happens when a lie becomes the truth?
world of our Lost in Oblivion series! You never know who you’ll see show up in
The watery tones of the song seemed to infiltrate her skin. Her hips followed the silky rhythm as she lifted her arms. She closed her eyes just enough so the twirling lights became streaky trails dragging her away from reality. Her fingers brushed over crystals dripping off the overhead lighting fixtures of the bar.
She had enough vodka in her veins to ignore the fact that Michael Shawcross was at her feet. When his fingers skimmed over her calves and around to the backs of her knees, she opened her eyes and met his hooded gaze.
Silver winked from his eyebrow, and the shadow of a beard emphasized the angular lines of his face. He was absurdly handsome. Too attractive to be honest. No man should be that hot and be even remotely attainable.
And yet there she was. On the bar, with the calloused tips of his fingers dragging up the backs of her thighs.
She slid her fingers into his hair. The super short strands sifted around her short nails until she got to the denser wavy section on top. Just enough hair to twist, so she did. She tugged his head back, pressing her knee to his shoulder.
He reached up for her, gripping her waist with his huge hands. His long fingers made her feel tiny. Wanted.
His eyes screamed hunger.
No. Not for her. He wasn’t for her.
So much the wrong type.
Too bad the crackling arc of attraction between them wasn’t freaking listening.
Her breath shuddered out as she slid down his body, her breasts rubbing against his firm chest. Muscles everywhere. The breadth of his shoulders wouldn’t allow her to encircle all of him. She held onto what she could, her toes dangling off the floor.
His mouth was right there.
So close that she could taste the tequila shooter on his breath. The bite of lime would still be on his tongue. Her nails dug into his shoulders.
She wanted that lime.
Wanted his afterburn.
She couldn’t remember the last time her skin felt so tight and responsive. She didn’t want to question it. Didn’t want to play it safe.
Safe made no sense tonight.
She covered his mouth. This was no teasing kiss. They’d been teasing since the start of the night. Foreplay had simmered in the air between them, pulsed in the lights and music that followed him around like its own forcefield.
Power and haunting charisma drenched in charm.
She felt the curve of his smile before their tongues tangled.
Slick and dominant, he brought every one of her wants into the foreground. She’d believed the lies she told herself. That she didn’t need a touch. She could live without it. The starvation diet never worked. As soon as she had a taste, the craving became all-encompassing.
Hot. Worse than any drug she could imagine.
Need eroded sense. Sense floated away the moment his taste infiltrated her body.
He demanded participation with a tempting wind of lips and tongue. Just when she thought she would need to rip herself away to breathe, he adjusted their kiss for a teasing hint of oxygen.
Just enough to feed the beast building inside her chest.
Without warning, he scooped her up and carried her across the room. He dropped suddenly and she went free-falling into his lap. Startled, she tried to find her footing, but he pulled her astride him.
“Feel that?” He dragged his lips over her chin to her jaw and down the column of her neck. “Feel how hard I am?”
She sucked in a breath. Please don’t talk. Don’t make me think.
music and men, so she figured why not write about both? When she’s not writing,
she’s screaming at men’s college basketball games on TV, playing her music too
loud or causing trouble. Sometimes simultaneously.USA Today bestselling author Taryn Elliott is
obsessed with rock stars, men, and her unending playlists–maximizing these
things seemed like a very good idea. When she’s not writing, she’s losing hours
to hot men on TV, and/or a graphic design project. Multitasking is her middle
They decided to combine forces and found that hey…this writing deal is even
more awesome when you collaborate with your best friend.
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I love this quote, Diana
“I’m wondering what to read next.” — Matilda, Roald Dahl