Here’s a little sneak peek into Trouble which releases on February 4th! Get ready to fall in love with the bad boy of Dogwood Lane 😉
Sliding the metal across the drywall, I hold my breath and wait for him to say something. I put the nail into the hole and wait again. Still nothing. Just as I draw the hammer back, he speaks.
“Are you new around here or what?” he asks.
My hands drop to my side as I spin around. “Why do you ask so many quest . . . ions . . .”
It’s like his gaze is waiting for me. It plucks mine out of the air and locks it in place. As soon as our eyes meet, an audible gasp escapes my lips.
Holy. Shit.
I’ve seen those eyes before. They were lit up by a makeshift fire beside Dogwood Lake as we dined on a bag of cheesy chips and a can of soda from a machine by the bait shop.
He’s smiling up at me with the deepest, sexiest dimple that God ever gave a man. “You are definitely new around here. I’d remember seeing you.”
My mouth opens to call bullshit, to tell him he’s seen more of me than what he’s looking at now, when I stop myself.
He doesn’t recognize me.
Well, hell.
Nothing like a kick to the self-esteem when your one-night stand doesn’t recognize you, even if it was ten years ago.
His brows pull together. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I—ah!” I move too fast for the old ladder. It rocks beneath me, the stabilizing bars on the sides wobbling. Before I know it, my legs are going one way and my top half is going the other and I land
In.
His.
Arms.
My breath comes out in panicked huffs, my heart thundering in my chest. I take in a deep lungful of air that’s tinged with a clean, masculine scent—a scent that is like electricity in my veins.
Holy freaking crap.
One of his thick, muscled arms is wrapped beneath my legs. The other is cushioned around my back. He holds me with no effort and looks down, completely pleased with himself.
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to ignore the way a ripple of goose bumps speckles my skin.
“That’s okay. I’m used to women falling for me.”
I pull my hand away from across his wide shoulders, letting my fingertips trail the back of his neck for only a split second. “Put me down,” I say while I have the sense to say it. “Please.”
“Sure thing.” He grins as he sets me on my feet. “Want me to hang the speaker for you?”
“No, I do not,” I say, my cheeks flushing. “I can do it.” It takes everything I have to rip my eyes from his tattooed arms—the arms I was just cradled in—and look at Harper. “You were right.”
My phone rings in my hand. My mother’s number is displaying on the screen. Even though I generally just put her to voice mail to avoid a lecture on how I’m screwing up my life, her timing is perfect.
“I was right about what?” Harper asks.
I head to the door and pull it open. Before stepping outside, I glance at Penn. The bastard is smirking.
“He’s trouble,” I say, and step out into the morning sun.
If you’d like to listen along to the songs that inspired me while writing Trouble, check out my Spotify playlist!
