Excerpt: Meet Fenton Abbott

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One of my favorite Locke men is Fenton Abbott. Why? He has basically everything I want in a book boyfriend. He’s wicked smart, super confident, and, of course, tall, dark, and handsome. He also has an air of mystery about him and keeps you on your toes.

Many of my readers that found me through the Landry Series or Gibson Boys haven’t met Fenton in Wherever It Leads. It’s a complete standalone novel with no tie-in to anything else.

I have an excerpt from this book today in case you haven’t met this fine man. It’s live now on Amazon, enrolled in Kindle Unlimited, and the audiobook is available on Amazon, iTunes, and Audible. Yay!

I hope you enjoy this little nugget. Let me know what you think in the comments.


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I frown as we pull into the busy parking lot of Angel’s Market and I don’t see anyone standing around with a phone in their hand. Presley throws the car in park and we climb out, heading towards the main entrance.

“What do we know about this mystery man besides the fact he sounds like cashmere?” I raise my brows and watch Pres slide her sunglasses over her eyes.

“His name is Fenton and he’ll be waiting by the bananas.”

I follow a few steps behind her, a sudden rush of memories skirting through my brain. “Bananas! That’s where I set it down,” I exclaim. “Now I remember! The pineapple poked a hole in my coffee right there and I had to get it to the trash! Yes! That’s where it is, I bet.”

“No bets about it,” she says as the doors automatically open and we step inside the store. “That’s where he said it was.”

“I’m so damn …”

A soft gasp replaces the rest of my sentence.

I know it’s him. Because whatever a cashmere voice sounds like, this man looks like he’s the one to own it. He’s tall, probably six-three, with jet black hair and rich olive-y skin. He’s dressed in black pants and a tight black t-shirt that hugs his muscled arms and wide chest. He stands at the bananas, working on a white cell phone and I’m instantly relieved it isn’t mine.

“My Lord,” Pres mutters under her breath as we near him.

He glances up, first looking at Presley and then instantly past her. To me.

His gaze slams into mine, almost physically knocking me off my feet. I stumble, my steps faltering under the heaviness of his stare. It feels like his eyes should be blue, but as I peer into them, I realize they’re grey. A steely color that’s not warm or cool, just intense.

I don’t know what to make of him and I certainly can’t process it because he’s too beautiful. Too male. Too intoxicating as we get close enough to smell the expensive musk of his cologne.

And then he smiles, his full lips stretching to both sides of his slightly stubbled cheeks, and I’m sure my knees are going to wobble beneath me, leaving me an embarrassed pile of goop on the floor.

Presley, ever on her game, flips her hair before extending a hand. “You’re the man I’m looking for.”

If I could react, I’d roll my eyes at her innuendo. Instead, I just stare like a cartoon character. There are probably little hearts extending from my pupils, exploding right above his head.

“I might be,” he says, looking at Presley.

“Do you want my name or something to confirm it?” she hints.

“Well,” he drawls, his voice as luxurious as Presley made it out to be, “I believe you said it was your friend’s phone. So if that’s the case, I think it’s her name I should get.”

Presley’s jaw drops at the same time as mine. They both look at me.

“If you just show it to me, I can tell you if it’s mine,” I half stutter.

His smirk deepens. “I’m pretty certain it’s yours. Your pictures are on the camera roll.”

“You looked at my pictures?” I gasp, my cheeks heating. “You had no right to do that!”

“How else could I be sure the right person came to pick it up?”

He has a point, but I still don’t agree. Yet I don’t want to argue. Not at least until I have my phone. It feels like such an invasion of privacy and I should be offended, or at least, mock-offended, but I’m really not. Not even when I try to dig deep to find the feelings.

“Thank you for finding it and tracking me down. Can I have it back now?” I ask.

He digs a large hand into his pocket, too near his cock for my own good, and retrieves it.

“Thank you,” I whisper. My fingertips brush his palm as I take it. The contact sends shivers down my spine.

“It’s my pleasure.”

“We’d love to thank you,” Presley says, batting her eyelashes in his direction. “Is there anything we can do?”

He glances at her before resting his gaze on me again. “First, reset your password. It was entirely too easy to access your information and I don’t think I need to explain the consequences if it had fallen into someone else’s hands.” He raises his brows. “Make it something random,” he adds.

I blush at his admonishment.

“Second, I’d love to take you to dinner tonight.”

I know Presley gasps but neither I nor the exotic stranger in front of me acknowledges it. We’re standing in the busy market, but it seems like it’s just the two of us.

“That’s not necessary,” I whisper.

“What time shall I pick you up?”

“Oh, I, uh …”

He grins like he’s just won a small victory. All coherent thoughts float away, replaced with lewd visions of him baring his lean body. He stands smugly and I wonder if he has some kind of telepathy and can read minds. Presley steps next to me and elbows me in the side.

“Does six work for you?” he presses.

My mouth won’t work. The words won’t come out.

It’s not that I don’t want to go, because I do. But is it safe? We just met this guy. I don’t even know his name.

Start there.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Fenton Abbott.”

“She’ll be ready at six, Fenton,” Presley says, speaking for me. “And thank you for finding her phone.”

“Can you text me your address?”

“I’ll meet you somewhere,” I compromise.

“I’d like to pick you up.”

“Driving to a public spot is safer than being at your mercy, you know?”

His smirk is delicious. So delicious, in fact, I almost want to just say fuck it and be at his mercy in the middle of the produce section. But I hold my ground.

“Smart girl. I’m impressed. I’ll text you the address of the restaurant.”

“You don’t have my …” I start to say, but I realize he’s already taken my number.

He smirks. “I need to get my shopping done, ladies. I’ll text you when I return home, Brynne.”

“Okay.” The word falls from my lips before I can think about it.

With a final glimpse, he turns and heads down the canned soup aisle. Presley and I watch his long legs and tight ass until he’s out of sight. Then we collapse into one another, breathing for what feels like the first time in ages.

“My Lord! Did you see that man?” she asks, locking her arm through mine and leading me back out of the store. “Holy shit!”

“See him? Did you smell him? Did you hear him?”

“Cashmere,” she says, slipping her sunglasses back on. “My Hottie Radar is on point. I should charge a fee for scanning men for people. Have him call me, pay me a hundred bucks, and I’ll tell you whether he’s cute or not.”

“That was impressive, Pres. Totally impressive.”

“Right? And you have a date, my friend!”

“Fuck.” The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. I have no idea what to wear. I’m not properly shaved and groomed and—

“You have me. Don’t panic. I’ll make sure you’re ready,” Presley promises.

I watch her smile and I’m certain I’ve never appreciated having Presley Bradshaw as a friend more than I do right now.

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