Miranda Brookhaven returned to Bitterthorn, Texas
to fix the past. Years ago, her father used her teenage romance with Coe Rodas
to steal the prototype for a groundbreaking new automotive invention. Now her
father’s dead, and thanks to the convoluted will he left behind, she’s stuck in
town until she rights the wrong that lost her the man she loved.
Coe learned early on that life never goes
according to plan. His dreams of hitting it big vanished when Miranda all but
invited her father to take the only thing of value he ever had. But now the
once-pampered princess is holed up in a condemned trailer on the edge of
town…and everything he thought he knew about her—and about what happened
between them back then—seems completely wrong.
Miranda’s determined to give back to Coe all that
he lost. If she can do that, maybe she can move on from the past. But Coe seems
to be more interested in their rekindled passion than claiming what she thinks
he deserves. She’s got sixty days to convince him to cough up evidence that
he’s the original inventor—after that, the only way to transfer the patent
rights over to him would be to make him part of the family, and she’s not sure
her heart can take another hit.
The raw power of his dark eyes punched through her like a wrecking ball, but she refused to let it hurt. Nor did she smile at being the focus of those fathomless eyes as she once had, or itch to loosen the tie that held back his unruly shoulder-length black hair. Even when they’d been little more than kids, he’d always looked like he needed a shave. It was just the same now, his perpetual five o’clock shadow underscoring high, sculpted cheekbones he’d inherited from a long-ago Comanche ancestor. Silver hoops hung from both ears and there was a new silver barbell at the edge of his left eyebrow. A hint of what looked to be a black tribal tattoo peeked out of his collar on the right side, and on his left wrist was another, smaller tribal design.
Without even trying, her brain conjured up the image of her name in scrolling cursive on his arm just below the deltoid muscle, an image of her true signature claiming him as hers. At the time they’d gotten their tattoos, he had complained that it hadn’t been fair, as her name had more letters. Like an idiot, she had given in to his wish that his name, written in his own handwriting, cover the small of her back between the twin dimples just above her butt. For years she’d made herself forget the tattoo was there, always promising herself that she’d get it removed someday. But here she was, seven years later, suddenly feeling its presence as keenly as the day she’d dreamily marked her body as his.
Eighteen-year-olds were such idiots.
“Well, well. The true face of evil.” His usually golden-hued face looked pale as he pushed to his feet and towered over her. She balled her fists, resisting the urge to step back. “You’ve got a lot of balls showing up here, Miranda.”
AND ONE MORE EXCERPT – Just because!!:
The moment he came within reach, she dug her fingers into the rough wool of his coat and tugged him into a kiss. A world of revenge was packed into it—a need to tantalize with the alluring stroke of her tongue, determined to make him remember all that he’d thrown away by kicking her out of his life. She wanted him to suffer—to lie awake tonight and yearn for her, all the while knowing she was lost to him forever. She wanted to punish him with a lush pleasure that could never be his again.
More than anything, she wanted him to know the torment she’d carried inside for seven long years.
A rough sound growled deep in his throat, and she couldn’t tell whether it was a sound of warning or of pleasure as she nuzzled her lips against his to perfect the fit. His flavor was even better than she remembered, and for a heartbeat it transported her to a past where the world was perfect and the people in her life loved her as unstintingly as she loved them. That had been a beautiful life, but it had never been reality. It never would be, no matter how desperately she ached to bring that time back.
When she felt Coe’s arms lift to gather her closer, she hardened the heart he and her father had crushed so long ago, and pushed him away. And when she raised her eyes to his, she hoped he only saw icy fury there, and none of the bittersweet anguish she’d opened herself up to when she chose to punish him with a kiss.
eight, Stacy Gail began writing stories in between events to pass the time. By
the age of fourteen, she told her parents she was either going to be a figure
skating coach who was also a published romance writer, or a romance writer who
was also a skating pro. Now with a day job of playing on the ice with her
students, and writing everything from steampunk to cyberpunk, contemporary to
paranormal at night, both dreams have come true.