Release Date
June 29th
Genre: Contemporary Fighter Romance
Hope
is a dangerous thing. I know that more than most. Everything good I've
ever had has been stolen from me — my friends, my fiance, my innocence,
some would say even my sanity. All I have left is the cage. Fighting is
the only thing that eases the ache inside me even a little. It’s the
only thing that keeps the bottle at bay.
I
was content to ride out my life alone. I was done dreaming that things
could be better. But then I met Grace, and suddenly, all I could do was
dream.
She's battling those
same demons, only she's losing. I don’t want to care, but something
about her calls to me. That pain in her eyes is so sharp, so familiar. I
know it’s only a matter of time before it pulls her below the surface.
I
can help her, and maybe, just maybe, she can help me too. For the first
time in what feels like forever, I’ve got hope, and that scares the
hell out of me.
This is a
full length novel with no cliffhanger. There will be a sequel, but this
book resolves all the story elements by the end. It is written with dual
perspectives, so both Logan and Grace get their say.
(Grace POV):
I gave a tiny shake of my head. It felt like a big gesture, one that should have set the earth
shaking and the sky falling, but it was strangely liberating at the same time. A moment
of clarity in an ocean of confusion. I wanted him. I couldn’t deny that anymore. I wanted
everything those absent words implied. His hands on my body, his lips on mine. I knew that
given a few days, a few hours, maybe even a few minutes, my pain and self-loathing would
resurface and start sabotaging this again, but right now, in that moment, I was free of that.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I lunged towards him. He was so tall that I had to stretch
up onto my toes, wrapping my hands around his neck to pull his mouth down to mine. It
sent a powerful longing through me, that height, that sheer bulk. I normally hate to be
reminded how diminutive I am, but I liked how small he made me feel. There was something strangely comforting about it.
His body stiffened and he mumbled a curse against my lips. For a moment, he barely moved.
I could feel the war playing out behind his eyes. But then the fight drained out of him, and
his arms enveloped me as he began kissing me back with an urgency strong enough to be
almost frightening. Part of me expected it to feel wrong, a betrayal of everything I’d had
with Tom, but instead my body simply melted against his like it had always been there, and
all other thoughts disappeared.
All my other first kisses had been timid affairs, but this was something else entirely, fierce
and hungry; an explosion of everything that was simmering inside us. Though I’d initiated it,
Logan quickly seized control. This wasn’t a man who simply stood by and had things happen
to him. Leather-rough palms ran amok across my back and shoulders, pulling me against him
as though he was afraid I’d be snatched away at any moment. I moaned involuntarily into
his mouth as his tongue darted and teased. In some distant part of me I felt ashamed, but it
was dwarfed by the fire that was coursing through my veins. I’d never been kissed like that
before. Not by Tom. Not by anybody. It felt like a matter of need rather than want. Life or
death.
I’d seen him shirtless plenty of times of course, but the sight was different now. Erotic,
sensual, and above all, mine. I could barely breathe for how magnificent he looked. Sculpted
and tanned and lit with moonlight; a living breathing Greek statue. I wanted to touch all of
him, to feel each inch between my fingers, in my mouth, in every part of me. I’d never been
so intoxicated by another human being.
My hands took on a mind of their own, dancing hungrily across his bare chest. His muscles
were so hard, like his entire body was just skin stretched over stone sculpture. Everything
inside me seemed to clench as my fingers took it all in, the perfectly defined grooves
between his pecs and his abs, the mountainous curl of his biceps. He was still slick with
sweat and hot from the night’s exertion, but that only excited me more. Images played
through my head of him in the arena, his body a perfect primal machine leveling all of that
power at his opposition.
My lack of control seemed to trigger something in Logan. He reached for my shirt, tugging it
over my head, and then his hands turned ravenous, squeezing my breasts, my ass, the curve
of my hips. It felt like his fingers were everywhere at once, and my body tingled and burned
in response. It was so good to be touched again. I hadn’t realized how long it had been or
how much I missed it, but there was something exquisite about it — a tactile euphoria that
kept me centered in that perfect moment and scattered all my problems to the wind.
He broke away, breathing heavily, his face twisted into some bizarre combination of pain
and desire. Pressing his forehead against mine he locked eyes with me. “Are you sure?” His
voice was low, the primordial growl of a man who was just below the cusp where words
were no longer relevant.
“I’m sure.”
shaking and the sky falling, but it was strangely liberating at the same time. A moment
of clarity in an ocean of confusion. I wanted him. I couldn’t deny that anymore. I wanted
everything those absent words implied. His hands on my body, his lips on mine. I knew that
given a few days, a few hours, maybe even a few minutes, my pain and self-loathing would
resurface and start sabotaging this again, but right now, in that moment, I was free of that.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I lunged towards him. He was so tall that I had to stretch
up onto my toes, wrapping my hands around his neck to pull his mouth down to mine. It
sent a powerful longing through me, that height, that sheer bulk. I normally hate to be
reminded how diminutive I am, but I liked how small he made me feel. There was something strangely comforting about it.
His body stiffened and he mumbled a curse against my lips. For a moment, he barely moved.
I could feel the war playing out behind his eyes. But then the fight drained out of him, and
his arms enveloped me as he began kissing me back with an urgency strong enough to be
almost frightening. Part of me expected it to feel wrong, a betrayal of everything I’d had
with Tom, but instead my body simply melted against his like it had always been there, and
all other thoughts disappeared.
All my other first kisses had been timid affairs, but this was something else entirely, fierce
and hungry; an explosion of everything that was simmering inside us. Though I’d initiated it,
Logan quickly seized control. This wasn’t a man who simply stood by and had things happen
to him. Leather-rough palms ran amok across my back and shoulders, pulling me against him
as though he was afraid I’d be snatched away at any moment. I moaned involuntarily into
his mouth as his tongue darted and teased. In some distant part of me I felt ashamed, but it
was dwarfed by the fire that was coursing through my veins. I’d never been kissed like that
before. Not by Tom. Not by anybody. It felt like a matter of need rather than want. Life or
death.
I’d seen him shirtless plenty of times of course, but the sight was different now. Erotic,
sensual, and above all, mine. I could barely breathe for how magnificent he looked. Sculpted
and tanned and lit with moonlight; a living breathing Greek statue. I wanted to touch all of
him, to feel each inch between my fingers, in my mouth, in every part of me. I’d never been
so intoxicated by another human being.
My hands took on a mind of their own, dancing hungrily across his bare chest. His muscles
were so hard, like his entire body was just skin stretched over stone sculpture. Everything
inside me seemed to clench as my fingers took it all in, the perfectly defined grooves
between his pecs and his abs, the mountainous curl of his biceps. He was still slick with
sweat and hot from the night’s exertion, but that only excited me more. Images played
through my head of him in the arena, his body a perfect primal machine leveling all of that
power at his opposition.
My lack of control seemed to trigger something in Logan. He reached for my shirt, tugging it
over my head, and then his hands turned ravenous, squeezing my breasts, my ass, the curve
of my hips. It felt like his fingers were everywhere at once, and my body tingled and burned
in response. It was so good to be touched again. I hadn’t realized how long it had been or
how much I missed it, but there was something exquisite about it — a tactile euphoria that
kept me centered in that perfect moment and scattered all my problems to the wind.
He broke away, breathing heavily, his face twisted into some bizarre combination of pain
and desire. Pressing his forehead against mine he locked eyes with me. “Are you sure?” His
voice was low, the primordial growl of a man who was just below the cusp where words
were no longer relevant.
“I’m sure.”
Maya
Cross is a writer who enjoys making people blush. Growing up with a
mother who worked in a book store, she read a lot from a very young age,
and soon enough picked up a pen of her own. She’s tried her hands at a
whole variety of genres including horror, science fiction, and fantasy,
but funnily enough, it was the sexy stuff that stuck. She has now
started this pen name as an outlet for her spicier thoughts (they were
starting to overflow). She likes her heroes strong but mysterious, her
encounters sizzling, and her characters true to life.
She
believes in writing familiar narratives told with a twist, so most of
her stories will feel comfortable, but hopefully a little unique.
Whatever genre she's writing, finding a fascinating concept is the
first, and most important step.
The Alpha Group is her first attempt at erotic romance.
When
she's not writing, she's playing tennis, trawling her home town of
Sydney for new inspiration, and drinking too much coffee.
No comments:
Post a Comment