WET AND RECKLESS

Private Pleasures, #4

by Samanthe Beck

Publication Date: May 10, 2021

Trope: Enemies to Lovers

Genres: Adult, Entangled: Brazen, Contemporary, Military, Romance

When former Navy SEAL West Donovan trades high-stakes missions for the calm of the police department in sleepy Bluelick, Kentucky, he craves peace, quiet, and order. Catching sexy, law-bending Hitchiker Barbie by the roadside in the middle of a rainstorm—literally, she passes out in his arms—raises his chaos quotient into the red zone and leaves him determined to quantify this particular tumbleweed of trouble and send her rolling along her merry way ASAP.

Aspiring singer/songwriter Roxy Goodhart ventures to Bluelick to outrun her latest mistake. It’s a doozy involving a lying ex-manager, a dire lack of funds, and a teensy bit of grand larceny. Landing in the long, strong arms of the local law—a/k/a Officer Donovan—is no way to keep a low profile while she re-builds her ‘L.A. or bust’ fund. Accepting a temporary job that turns out to put her in West’s path every dang day also doesn’t help. Worst of all, the longer she sticks around, the more she wants to stay in West’s arms…forever.

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EXCERPT

“You’re good.” Now he turned, and she found herself the recipient of his undivided attention. “Really good.”

Oh damn. A compliment, from him, directed right to her softest, most vulnerable underbelly. “You think?”

 “Yeah. Your voice is very”—he faced front, rubbed the back of his neck, and sent a sheepish smile to the night—“evocative. The two-tone hair? The NASCAR flag girl wardrobe? They’re just distractions, Roxy. You don’t need them. You’re never going to be run-of-the-mill. Not with your talent.”

West wouldn’t stroke her ego. He had nothing to gain from praising her, which might explain why his words put hazardous cracks in the defenses she’d scrambled to build where he was concerned. Singers, musicians, even songwriters, were a dime a dozen. Did she have anything unique to offer? Was she special? Did she possess the kind of innate gifts—not to mention the smarts—required to live up to the hopes and dreams her parents had held for her? The last few years had sown some serious doubts. Particularly in the smarts department.

Asking the questions out loud handed him way too much power, like paving him a shortcut to her weakest points. She defaulted to what would either push him away or lure him in under terms she could handle. At least, she hoped she could.

She undid her seat belt and leaned close enough to rest her breasts against his arm. He tensed, and the leashed strength in the reaction sent her pulse racing. “My voice isn’t the only talent I could bring to your bedroom.”

His breath stalled and then shuddered out slowly, as if the air around them weighed more than normal. She pushed herself up on one knee and ran her tongue along his locked jaw. A night at Rawley’s left traces on a man—hints of smoke and cocktail waitress layered over the straightforward scent of bar soap she found stupidly enthralling. The combination stirred her senses and sent a flood of salt to the back of her mouth.

The groan that vibrated through his chest was all the encouragement she needed. Lightheaded and ravenous for more, she climbed over the console, straddled his hips, and dropped onto his lap. A thick ridge prodded the V of her thighs, melting her from the inside. This time the groan came from her. “Or here,” she panted, going full steam ahead on a fuel of lust and bravado. “I could show you all my talents right here.”

His hands were everywhere, spanning her waist, squeezing her thighs, and then gripping her hips to drag her closer, grinding her softest parts against parts of him so astoundingly hard the contact alone wrung a moan of appreciation from her. The urgency in his response sent heat flooding between her legs, and she wondered if he felt her go damp through the layers of their clothes.

 Big hands sank into the gap at the back of her shorts and palmed her bare skin.

“Christ, I knew it. Traipsing around tonight in shorts one tug away from dropping around your ankles and not a stitch on underneath. Every time you moved all I could concentrate on was this. Squeezing it. Eating it. Owning it.”

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AUTHOR BIO

USA Today bestselling author Samanthe Beck lives in Kona, Hawaii, with her extremely patient husband, their turbo-son, and a furry ninja named Gander. When not writing fun, sexy, contemporary romance, she’s pursuing her goals of…um… training for the Ironman Triathlon, learning to speak Japanese, soaking up the sun and adding to her drink umbrella collection! Connect with Sam via her website at http://www.samanthebeck.com to check her progress on those goals, or to get the latest on her upcoming books!

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