Today I have an excerpt from ROCK KING by Tara Leigh!
Be sure to grab your copy on Feb 20th!
Title: ROCK KING
Author: Tara Leigh
Genre: Rockstar Romance
Release Day: Feb 20th
About Rock King:
Fans of Kristen Callihan and Kylie Scott will scream for this sizzling bad boy rock star romance!
I'm not who you think
I am.
Shane Hawthorne has it
all. At least, that's
what the headlines say about me. I have millions of fans, awards, more money -
and women - than I know what to do with. But what you don't see is the wreckage
I've caused. The memories and pain I can't escape, even when I pour them into
music and spin them into gold.
I tried to forget. To
lose myself in booze and groupies. It didn't work. It hurt me and - worse - it
hurt my band. That's the last thing I want to do, so I'm cleaning up my act...
starting with Delaney Fraser.
Gorgeous, smart,
drama-free, and even nice - Delaney is the perfect
"girlfriend." When I'm with her I don't have to pretend. It's like
she sees the real me. And I can see a future with her. But
that's dangerous. Because the truth is, Shane Hawthorne doesn't actually exist.
He's a shield to hide who I really am. Fraud. Runaway. Addict. Murderer.
And it's impossible to
love a lie, right?
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The Nothing but Trouble series:
Rock King
Rock Legend
Rock Rebel
Exclusive Excerpt:
“Yeah.
I’m usually stuck in a tour bus or chartered plane flying to some city I won’t
actually see. But tonight I’m at a Beverly Hills party where I don’t really
know anyone, besides my agent and a few industry suits, talking to the most
gorgeous girl in the place. Pretty lucky, huh?”
Feeling
like a complete idiot, I looked around again. And then I pointed at my
collarbone with my index finger. “Me?” I repeated.
Shane
threw back his head and laughed. Instantly I wished I could record the sound on
my phone so I could play it on repeat. Forever. It was the most delicious noise
I’d ever heard. “Yeah, you. Where did you come from, anyway?”
“Bronxville,”
I squeaked.
Shane
laughed even harder. When he finally got control of himself, he brushed at his
eyes. “And do you have a name, or should I just call you Bronx all night?”
All
night. “Delaney. Delaney Fraser.” I extended my hand.
“I’m
Shane.” Offering his last name would have been redundant. Shane’s fingers
closed around mine, the pad of his thumb pressing into the center of my palm.
I
nearly groaned. Please don’t let go, ever. “Would I sound like a groupie if I
said I already knew that?”
He
quirked a rich, sable brow. “Are you a groupie?”
I
shook my head. “No. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a fan.” Since high
school, when lusting after rock stars I’d never meet was safer than talking to
boys I encountered in my real life, who eyed my chubby body and frizzy hair
with barely disguised revulsion.
“I
do love my fans.” Shane’s throaty growl pulsed in my ears, and for a moment I
let myself believe he might be flirting with me. But then I looked down, a
blush staining my cheeks as a sea of uncomfortable memories rushed in. Get a
grip, Delaney. Why would Shane Hawthorne ever be interested you? All those
years of awkwardness, of feeling so uncomfortable I almost couldn’t bear it,
were still trapped inside me even though my reflection in the mirror had
changed.
Shane
lifted his other hand to my jaw, pulling my gaze back to him. “Don’t do that.”
His
fingertips were hot, controlling my blood flow like some kind of stylus. I
could feel it rushing to the surface of my skin, surging to meet Shane’s touch.
“Do what?” I asked, my voice a ragged whisper.
“Look
away from me. I like feeling your eyes on my face.” He balled his hand into a
fist against my cheek, stroking my flesh with his knuckles, each touch erasing
a tiny piece of the self-conscious teen living inside me.
Knowing
this was probably the last time I would be so close, I studied Shane. Memorized
his face. His lips, I decided, were almost too full to belong on a man’s face.
Tried to imagine how they would feel on mine.
“If
you keep looking at my mouth like that, I won’t be held responsible for what
happens next.” Shane’s comment interrupted my perusal.
Color
me gullible, but I couldn’t help myself. “What would happen?” I breathed. There
was a moment before Shane answered, a moment when I lost myself in his eyes.
His pupils were black flies caught within a whorl of amber. My heart thudded
inside my chest, trapped by the darkness I saw within the depths of his gaze.
Shane Hawthorne wasn’t just some vapid one-dimensional celebrity. He bristled
with intensity. And even in the center of a Beverly Hills party, punctuated by
popping corks and trying-too-hard laughs, waves of danger rolled off Shane’s
broad shoulders, swirling around me like the chilly waters of the Pacific.
I
should have been scared. I was, actually. But not scared off. I wanted to meld
my body against Shane’s taut length, potential groupie status be damned. Desire
filled my lungs, every breath a heady cocktail, and I swayed toward him,
catching myself just before crashing into the perfectly carved statue wrapped
in tight jeans and a shirt that did nothing to hide his rippling abs.
Shane
stood still, watching the flicker of emotions on my face with interest. “Maybe
we should go somewhere else. Somewhere with a lot less people. Somewhere we
could both be wearing a lot less clothes.”
Pulling
my eyes away from Shane’s blistering gaze, I looked down at the trail of
feverish skin exposed by the plunging neckline of my borrowed dress. “I don’t
think I could wear anything less and still be considered dressed.” I didn’t
even recognize myself right now. Was I flirting?
His
laugh was a caress, the rich timbre soothing nerves rubbed raw by his
overwhelming presence. “That’s my point. Exactly.”
Breath
punched from my lungs and I staggered back a step. Shane didn’t mince words,
did he? I raised my face back to his, just as he reclaimed the distance I’d put
between us.
“Let’s
go,” he added, one of his hands reaching out to cup my elbow.
A
shiver tore through me at Shane’s blunt command, reality hitting hard from the
shock of his palm sliding against my skin. Instinct made me step back, out of
reach. I didn’t have room in my life for Shane Hawthorne. He was a distraction
I couldn’t afford. There was only one man I should be focused on right now, and
he was sitting in a jail cell. Because of me. I was the only one who knew he
was innocent, except he’d made me promise not to say anything. I was free
because of him, but feeling alive—smiling and laughing and having fun. It had
been three years since any of those things felt appropriate, or even possible.
Tonight,
I did feel alive. And I was smiling and laughing and having fun. God, it felt
so good. And so wrong.
There
was a woman lying in a cold grave tonight whose laugh I would never hear again.
What
Shane was offering—more of this, of him, of feeling this way—terrified me.
Spending the night with Shane Hawthorne, or even just a few hours, would either
be knock-my-socks-off amazing, or a bitter disappointment. Either way, when he
walked away from me without a second glance, I’d be crushed.
I
had reached my quota of broken dreams already. One more might break me.
“Sorry.
That’s not who I am.” I forced the words out through gritted teeth, the
quivering kaleidoscope of butterflies in my stomach launching a winged protest.
I’d already started to walk away when Shane grabbed my arm, pulling me so close
I could feel the washboard of muscles ridging his abdomen. His touch seared my
skin, melting my willpower.
“Who
are you?” he whispered in my ear. Shane’s breath was hot along my neck, sending
ripples of need racing in all directions before making their way to one spot in
particular. Throbbing en masse.
My
resolve wavered, desperate to claim the promise shining from Shane’s eyes. The
promise that he’d outshine everything in my world for just a few minutes. That
he’d make me forget about the wrecking ball that had slammed into my life and
shattered everything I’d ever believed in. But this kind of reaction, just from
a touch…No. Any more and I’d go into toxic shock.
I
glanced around, not wanting to make a scene, wrenching my arm from Shane’s
grasp with a small grunt and forcing words past my lips that left a bitter
taste in my mouth. “No one you want to know.”
About Tara Leigh:
Tara Leigh attended Washington University in St. Louis and Columbia Business School in New York, and worked on Wall Street and Main Street before “retiring” to become a wife and mother. When the people in her head became just as real as the people in her life, she decided to put their stories on paper. Tara currently lives in Fairfield County, Connecticut with her husband, children and fur-baby, Pixie.
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