Max Handsome Rush
I’m the black sheep of the Rush family, cut off from the bourbon distillery dynasty. Shrug. They didn’t approve of the high-octane rap sheet of arrests marring my pretty boy, prep school upbringing. Hot girls, hot cars, and time behind bars for illegal street racing—what can I say? Speed is in my blood.
Now I’ve cleaned up. I’m being good. I’ve got my own plans, and they for damn sure don’t include Shiloh Lockhart. Shy. The goddamn classic girl next door. She shows up out of the clear blue, turning all the MC dudes into drooling manwhores. But not me. I’ve got too much to lose to risk falling for a perfect girl like her.
When Shy’s overprotective folks tell her I’m bad news, they’re right. But come to find out she’s already endured more than her fair share of shit-gone-bad in her life, and she’s convinced I won’t make it any worse. Shy couldn’t be more wrong.
Shiloh Lockhart
I haven’t seen Max since he got kicked out of the Rush family home years ago. Now I’m determined to get back in touch with the boy I used to crush on growing up. They call him Handsome at the motorcycle club he belongs to, and I can see why. The long dark brown hair. The smoldering whiskey-colored eyes. The sculpted face and big muscled body.
Too bad he’s intent on treating me like a kid sister. Hmm. We’ll see how long that lasts, because to squash this schoolgirl crush I need to be with Max just once . . . turns out one taste of Rush isn’t enough.
My situation is life threatening, but what he’s hiding is even more dangerous. Too late. Rush is already in my blood.
Excerpt
Ripped and
ready, I cut through the dim, cool interior of the MC.
Sweaty, half
naked, with my shorts riding low, I stomped past the pool tables.
My tats
gleaming, my muscles charged, I barged out the front door. Brodie trailed me,
grinning like an evil ape when I swung my head back to—yup—sling about my fifth glare of the day c/o Shiloh Lockhart.
I was usually a
pretty easygoing guy.
Something about
having her hanging around turned me into a snarling animal.
Then I saw her helluva hot ride—a fucking white
Hennessey Hellcat with a black racing stripe.
Holy. Christ.
The hot coupe
with total street cred was nothing short of drool-inducing for a gear head like
me. A flat-out, top-of-the line, bitchin’ ride.
And then I took
stock of Shy, leaning against the above mentioned drool worthy Charger, looking
no less jaw dropping herself.
Strike. That.
I meant I could
see why Tail trailed out after us, then Cole.
Had nothing to
do with my gut deep reaction to seeing a gorgeous woman with a delicious body
wearing a long raspberry-colored dress that tightened over her tits and flowed
around her legs. Or the hint of sunshine in her smile when she saw me. Or the
sleek blonde-brown sun-drenched hair.
Or the luscious
lips.
Not At All.
“’Zup, Shy?” I
reeled in my tongue, half-shuttered my eyes, took anything but a platonic, good old friends greeting off the table.
Unfortunately I
hadn’t counted on her inspection of me.
Her soft
silver-colored eyes roamed and roved over me as she licked those—yup—luscious lips. I straightened taller
the longer she detailed every inch of my body—most of it bare, most of it hard,
a lot of it inked—and the color in her cheeks brightened.
Fuck. She was
making me self-conscious. I almost ducked my head in an aw shucks move.
Brodie would
get his rocks off about that.
Not gonna
happen.
She slowly—in a
silky movement—pulled herself away from the Hellcat. She came to me at what had
to be an intentionally seductive pace.
Or my breath
had roughened for nothing.
Didn’t look
like nothing.
Really needed
to be.
Hellcat?
I might have to
start calling her that.
Could I hold
out my fist for a knuckle bump with Shy? Back slap? High five?
Because hugging
her at that exact moment might prove lethal to all my just an old friend dictates.
Shy took
matters into her own hands, pulling me to her by the back of my neck while I
played wooden soldier in her embrace. Something sure was catching wood.
Between my
legs.
So wrong.
“Uhm.” Disentangling her arms from me, I
created some space and hoped my shorts were baggy enough to hide a growing
boner. “What brought you here?”
I heard Tail
loud-whisper to Cole. “She wants some of that.”
“Handsome’s
makeover’s working out then.”
“Nah. Dude. He’s magic. Could always pull
pussy.”
Brodie strode
up to the duo and smacked each of them on the back of the head. Not that he
wasn’t capable of the same damn loose-lipped bullshit.
Shy—Miss
Manners and all—pretended she hadn’t heard a thing. And for that I loved her.
“I was just on
my way to a meeting and I got a flat.” She pointed to the rear left tire.
“Hoped you could help?”
I took a turn
around sizzling hot Hennessey then hunkered down to inspect the dead tire. “You
should really take this to Stone’s. It’s their specialty. I can put on the
dummy tire and drive it over if you want.”
Lifting to my
feet, I realized Shy was way too fucking close in proximity.
Her fresh,
beach-swept scent slid over me.
Her silvery
eyes shone under a long fan of eyelashes.
And one step
closer, her tits would hit my bare chest.
I stepped back,
wiping my palms on my shorts.
“But you were
always into this kind of thing. You can take care of me, right, Max?” Eyelash flutter and sweet smile.
Shit.
Brodie—bastard
barbarian—shoved me forward. “He’ll do it. On the house too. We got just the
right tire inside.”
I walked over
to the garage side of Chrome and Steele and rapped on the wide door. “Open up.”
My feet
pounding on pavement, I struck back to Shy and the Dodge that gave me an
instant hard-on.
Because I
refused to blame the sudden need to bust-a-nut on my old friend, never flame,
the girl next door.
“Drive it in.”
“Why don’t you
do the honors?” She tossed me her keys.
I looked at the
car. Looked at her. And decided I might never get the chance to drive a Hellcat
again.
Shrugging, I
eased into the driver’s side then pushed open the passenger door. “Hop in.”
With a smoky
laugh, Shy curled in beside me.
I started the
car, and the loud purring engine sent another jolt to my dick.
This coupe was
goddamn heart-stopping gorgeous.
Come to think
of it, so was Shy.
Not going there.
I found my
voice somewhere deep down in my chest. “What made you buy this?”
“I like my toys
to be hard, fast, and sexy.”
“Toys?” A
ragged breath rasped from my throat.
Author Bio
Rie is the badass, sassafras author of Sugar Daddy and the Don’t Tell series–a breakthrough trilogy that crosses traditional publishing boundaries beginning with In His Command. Her latest endeavors include the Carolina Bad Boys, a fun, hot, and southern-sexy series.
A Yankee transplant who has traveled the world, Rie started out a writer—causing her college professor to blush over her erotic poetry without one ounce of shame. Not much has changed. She swapped pen for paintbrushes and followed her other love during her twenties. From art school to marriage to children and many a wild and wonderful journey in between, Rie has come home to her calling. Her work has been called edgy, daring, and some of the sexiest smut around.
You can connect with Rie via the social media hangouts listed on her website. She is represented by Saritza Hernandez, Corvisiero Literary Agency.
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