Are you Team Ryder or Team Brock?
Find out in Amber to Ashes Releasing on June 9th!
From the New York
Times bestselling author of Collide
and Pulse comes a gritty new novel
about a shattered young woman who unexpectedly falls for two best friends.
They were a storm I never
saw coming, an unforeseen heartbreak on the edge of a dangerous cliff.
Amber Moretti’s life changes in the span of minutes. An
orphaned outsider, she is desperate to start fresh the moment she walks onto
campus. In the time it takes to cross the university’s dining hall, she meets
two men who bring color, air, and light to her darkened world.
They became my addiction,
each a needle to my next hit, my high.
Brock Cunningham’s appeal is dizzying, a potent force
Amber can’t deny. A green-eyed smooth talker, he instantly attracts Amber. It
doesn’t take long for him to consume her every thought, her every breath.
Ryder Ashcroft, a blue-eyed, tattooed, and pierced bad
boy, turns Amber off immediately—that is, until he kisses her, stealing a piece
of her heart, her soul.
They were as opposite as
fire and ice, yet I ached for them equally.
Never knowing she could be broken down in so many
unexpectedly beautiful yet petrifying ways, Amber finds herself falling for
both men.
Immoral? Maybe. I say
undeniable. Uncontained.
But one devastating event changes everything, shattering
each of their lives...and Amber isn’t sure she can recover from it.
“What are
you, Casey?” Ryder asks over his shoulder as he scrubs his hands with
antibacterial soap.
“Your
little cancer warrior,” she answers with a small smile.
“That’s
right.” He dries his hands and turns, a proud grin cracking his mouth. “The
bravest one ever.”
I grab
Casey’s hand and hold it tight, knowing nothing I’ve ever seen, heard, or felt
compares to what she’s facing. This child’s living with a fear I can’t
comprehend. One that’d slay all of my fears put together.
“Ready?”
Ryder asks, his tone soft and caring, everything it should be.
Casey
nods, clenching my hand. My heart swells, anxiety building thick in my throat
as Ryder slips on a pair of medical gloves and cleans the area around her port
with Betadine swabs.
Casey
looks at me, the cool blue of her eyes misting over. “Are you scared of
needles?”
“No,” I
say, running my free hand along the back of her neck. “Are you?”
“I used
to be.” She sighs, a single tear slipping down her face. “But not so much
anymore.”
It takes
everything in me not to drag her little body off the table and run out of the
apartment with her. I wipe the tear from her cheek, my need to hide her away,
sheltering her from the sinister storm she’s in the middle of, growing with
each unsteady breath.
“A little
cold,” Ryder warns before spraying the anesthetic on her skin.
“Hurry,
Ry,” Casey pleads, her voice weak yet panicked. “It doesn’t last that long.”
“I have
to make sure you’re numb, Case.” Ryder ducks his head and stares into her eyes,
trying to keep her focused on the silly faces he’s making.
His tactic works.
Casey’s
tiny giggles bounce around the kitchen, their musical notes blocking out the
sound of Ryder popping the cap off a weird-looking needle. With a small, clear
tube like a tail—and plastic wings stretched out on either side—it reminds me
of a dragonfly. Ryder presses his gloved finger against Casey’s port a few
times, his attention honed in on her face as he says, “Knock, knock.”
“Who’s
there?” Casey smiles at me, completely unaware that Ryder’s pricked her skin
with the needle.
“Aardvark.”
Ryder pushes the medicine through the syringe, his attention cutting between
Casey’s face and the needle.
“Aardvark
who?” she manages, a thin sheen of sweat dotting her upper lip.
“Aardvark
a hundred miles for one of your pretty smiles.” Ryder pulls the needle from her
chest, and before she can blink, he rests his lips against her forehead,
kissing away her remaining fear.
Close to
immobile, my heart tugs, the magnitude of what this man means to this little
girl—what they mean to each other—scraping
tears up my dry throat. I swallow the sound before it can leave me, warmth
pinching my stomach into a beautiful knot as I observe them.
“It’s
over?” Casey asks, uncertainty flashing in her eyes.
“Yeah,
kiddo. It’s over,” Ryder answers, his voice heavy with relief as he applies a
small piece of gauze over her port. “You’re all set, warrior. Go get cleaned
up, and we’ll get ready to leave.”
With
Ryder’s aid, Casey slides off the table and heads for the bathroom, the bounce
in her step less tangible as she slips around the corner. Quiet reigns, the
events from the last few minutes whispering across my mind as Ryder looks at me
with exhausted eyes. Stress lines cut across his forehead, wariness drowning
his beautiful features. Overcome, I watch him swipe a tired hand over his face
and turn, resting his palms against the counter. As though having no control
over my body—a magnet pulling in my gut—I stand and move toward him, each
tentative step I take carried out with shallow, quick breaths. I come up behind
him, lift a shaky hand and tap his shoulder, my pulse lurching as he turns and
meets my gaze. Our connection strikes, a bolt of emotions paralyzing us as we stare
at each other.
I touch
my fingers to his stubbled cheek, my conscience crying out that my actions are
wrong, so very wrong, but my heart mutes the warning as I move my palm to the
back of his neck.
His
muscles go taut, restraint lighting the fiery blue of his eyes. “Amber, don’t.”
The words come out not as a rough warning but a soft plea. “Don’t do this.”
“I have
to,” I whisper, trembling. “You’re . . . amazing, Ryder. What you did for her, everything you do for her . . . I just .
. .” I drop my eyes to his chest, my heart galloping as I register his hands
gripping my waist. Their heat sears through me, a thrill jumping from cell to
cell. “You’re tender, cocky, gentle, and an asshole all at the same time.
You’re kind, giving, nurturing. You’re . . . everything.”
My lips
find his, testing, teasing, barely touching. Our breathing comes faster, harder
as I pull him down, our foreheads pressed together as we stare into each
other’s eyes. “Please . . . I just . . . Just once more. That’s all I need.”
I think . . . hope.
With
hunger demolishing all traces of restraint from his gaze, Ryder buries his
hands in my wavy curls and looks at me a beat before capturing my lips in a
slow, passionate kiss. I sigh into his mouth, my senses drowning in his
familiar flavor as I fall in step with his calculated strokes. On a deep groan,
he draws me closer, his tongue dipping in and out, out and in. Still, nothing
about his touch is rough, yet everything in it screams that he needs me in this
moment.
In this
wicked space and time of his life.
Every
lick and nip is a soft caress, like he’s trying to burn the sensation of my
lips into his memory. My pulse hammers in staccato mode as I melt the full
weight of my body into his. With my blood swimming through my veins, and
sinking further into everything that is Ryder,
I feel the emptiness of his soul slice through me. A dull ache pinches my
heart, spreading its misery through my muscles as he cups my cheeks and deepens
the kiss with a gentleness I never knew he possessed. My breath catches, wiped
from my lungs as he glides his lips along my jaw, down the base of my throat.
The cadence of his exotic growl slips through my ears, dizzying my head in the
sweetest way.
“Christ,
I fucking want you so bad,” Ryder whispers hoarsely. He drags his lips back to
mine, his kiss urgent, greedy. However, he brings it down a notch, his
movements revisiting slow, sensual, worshipping this moment for everything it
is. Worshipping me for all I am. “So
badly, peach. More than I’ve ever wanted anything or anyone. You drive me
crazy. Your smell, skin, eyes.” He sucks my lip between his teeth, a groan
punching from his chest as he runs his fingertips along my bare arms.
Goose
bumps pop, deliciously pricking my skin as I tighten my grip in his hair.
“Your
little giggles, pouts, personality. Every single fucked-up scar you own in and
out. All of it. All of you.” He licks
into my mouth, his tongue exploring mine with precision as his hands find my
nape, their hold possessive. “Fuck. It should’ve been me. Not him. Me.”
And just
like that, our moral compasses spring due north, Brock the center of its
attention—our attention. We slowly
break the kiss, our breathing choppy from the loss.
A self-proclaimed chocoholic, married mother of three, and a
lover of writing for as far back as she can remember, Gail McHugh is the author
of two New York Times bestselling novels. The COLLIDE series (which includes
COLLIDE and PULSE), was acquired by Atria Books on September 17th, 2013.
"The first of two sexy contemporary romances about a woman torn between her seemingly perfect boyfriend and a dark, mysterious stranger who will stop at nothing to have her." - Publishers Weekly on COLLIDE, a Top 10 Romance pick!
You can follow Gail on the below social media sites:
"The first of two sexy contemporary romances about a woman torn between her seemingly perfect boyfriend and a dark, mysterious stranger who will stop at nothing to have her." - Publishers Weekly on COLLIDE, a Top 10 Romance pick!
You can follow Gail on the below social media sites:
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