The first in an
emotion-fueled, New Adult series from the #1 bestselling author of the
Thoughtless novels!
Too fast, too furious—and
way too hot to handle…
Mackenzie Cox has a lot to
prove. Daughter of a racing legend, she is eager to show the world that she has
inherited her father's talent in the male-dominated sport of professional
motorcycle racing. The last thing Kenzie needs is to be antagonized by her
rival team's newest rider, Hayden Hayes. Plucked from the world of illegal
street racing, Hayden immediately gets under Kenzie's skin. His insinuations
that Kenzie is a spoiled princess who was handed her career fuels her desire to
win, and much to her surprise, Kenzie soon learns she performs better when
she's racing against Hayden.
As Kenzie and Hayden push
each other on the track, the electric energy between them off the track shifts
into an intense—and strictly forbidden—attraction. The only rule between their
two ultra-competitive teams is zero contact. Kenzie always does her best to
play by the rules, but when her team slips into a financial crisis, she has no
choice but to turn to Hayden for help. The tension simmers during their secret,
late-night rendezvous, but Kenzie has too much to lose to give in to her
desires. Especially when she begins to doubt that Hayden has completely left
his street life behind...
EXCERPT
“Do you have any
idea who this guy is, and why the hell he’s on our track?”
Myles tilted his
head as he thought. “Don’t know, but if he’s on the track before noon, your dad
must have hired him. The Bennetis know not to break that rule. Not after what
happened last time.”
The last time a
Benneti stepped foot on our track before they were allowed to, that Benneti had
found himself duct-taped to the flagpole in the middle of the track. Naked. Of
course, the Benneti team had gotten us back by breaking all the windows in the
garage doors. They were still boarded over, since we couldn’t afford to fix
them yet. For the sake of our bank account, Dad had ordered every Cox racer not
to continue the paybacks, no matter how warranted they were.
Ignoring Myles’s
chuckle, I renewed my inspection of the racer. The new rider was fast, and
ridiculously good—his setup on the corners was perfectly timed, and he kept his
body low, hanging off the bike so that nothing was over the center line but his
outside arm and leg; his “triangle of daylight”—the space between his inside
knee and the bike—was so beautiful that Dad would probably photograph it and
hang it on his office wall. Considering the furious competition at the
professional level—races were won or lost by mere seconds—and considering how
much time, energy, and resources were spent on training new riders, I wasn’t
too surprised this guy was top-notch. With the upcoming racing season so close,
any person Dad brought onto our team would be impressive. Dad wouldn’t settle
for anything less than amazing; he couldn’t afford to. Yet another reason I was
feeling a profound pressure to perform. There was no free ride for Jordan Cox’s
daughter; I had to earn my place, same as everyone else.
When number 43
finally finished his set and slowed to exit the track, Myles let out a low
whistle. “Not bad. He reminds me of you.” Frowning, I peeked up at him. His
dark eyes sparkled with amusement. “No guts, no glory, balls-to-the-wall
racing, like you have something to prove every time you go out there.” He
raised a dark eyebrow at me, but I remained silent. Having to prove myself was
a daily occurrence, and Myles knew that.
The rider exited the
track at the same place where we were standing with our bikes. He slowed to a
stop directly in front of us, shut off his motorcycle, and removed his helmet.
My jaw dropped to my chest, and my eyes bugged out of my skull. No. It was not
possible. But the long-dulled desires starting to tingle back to life at just
the sight of him told me it was possible. The man who was proudly
wearing the number 43 was the same drop-dead-gorgeous man who’d won the street
race early this morning. What the hell was he doing here—on my turf—looking
for all the world like he belonged?
In the bright
sunshine, I could see that his eyes were actually a light shade of green. There
was a devious glint in them that silently promised that every day with him would
be even more intriguing than the last. Add that to his dirty-blond hair, rugged
jawline, perfect bone structure, athletic build, and perfectly full lips that
hinted at a treasure trove of untold pleasures, and you got a man who attracted
a lot of attention everywhere he went—as I’d witnessed last night by the swarm
of groupies surrounding him while he’d been illegally racing.
No way. There was no
way Dad had hired this guy!
Hopping off his
bike, the stranger ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. The shaggy strands
were sticking up every which way now, and the chaotic hairstyle was too damn
appealing. A small groan slipped from me in my shock. Get it together,
Kenzie.
His emerald eyes
swung my way, taking me in, and I held my breath and stood a little straighter.
Did he recognize me like I recognized him? Did I want him to? Damn it . . .
what was his name again? And why the hell did he have to have such incredible
eyes? Green with flecks of gold, penetrating and intense, like when he was
looking at you—truly looking at you—nothing else around him mattered. I could
easily picture him studying the track with that unrelenting gaze. I could also
picture him studying my curves with that superheated stare. Goddammit, no. This
couldn’t seriously be happening.
GIVEAWAY
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
S. C. Stephens is a #1 bestselling author who spends her every free moment creating stories that are packed with emotion and heavy on romance. In addition to writing, she enjoys spending lazy afternoons in the sun reading, listening to music, watching movies, and spending time with her friends and family. She and her two children reside in the Pacific Northwest.
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