No Gentle Giant (A Small Town Romance)

If I was going to drown, I’d drown all the way through to the end till I became a hoarse, screaming mess, driven half out of my mind.

“That sounds pretty intense. And kinda depressing, honestly,” she whispers. “Some things, you don’t get to come back stronger. You don’t get second chances.”

I know exactly what—and who—she’s talking about.

She isn’t wrong when the wrong brush with Paye and her crew could be fatal.

Still, she’s missing the hopeful part.

“Here’s the thing—you always have a way out,” I say, the memories taking hold of me hard: the knifing stab of ice-cold water, the searing pain of the sun overhead, salt water and sand in my mouth, the scream of my body, the voice barking drills, the smells of the men around me with their pores radiating not just sweat, but suffering and determination. “There’s a bell. When you get that deep in tactical training, there’s always a bell during every exercise. And when you hit your breaking point, when you can’t take anymore, when you’re ready to tap the fuck out for good and give up on the idea of being a SEAL forever...”

I gather her closer against me.

She stares at me in wonderment, nodding and asking for more.

“You ring that bell, Fliss. You ring it and then you walk out. It’s over. Done. You’ve quit. They broke you, and you just can’t take anymore. There’s nothing wrong with ringing that bell before you drown or lose your sanity for good. Nothing wrong with knowing your limits. It doesn’t make you a lesser person. It just means you weren’t ready—and you were never fit to go it alone.”

She’s looking up at me with understanding dawning in those clear, pretty eyes.

I think she knows what I’m asking even before I do.

“What I want to know, Fliss, is this.” I pause, searching her face. “Are you ready to ring that bell? Are you ready for help? Or are you ready to hand that gold over to Paisley Lockwood and hope she’ll go away for good?”

There it is.

That pride, that defiant flash in her eyes, that glint that tells me she might be afraid, but she’s not broken. There’s a difference, and that difference tells me this beautiful woman will fight with everything in her to the bitter end.

“No,” she says, soft but firm. “I’m not giving up. She killed my father because she blames him for Kurt Lockwood’s chickens coming home to roost. She killed him with her own bare hands.” Her pretty red lower lip juts out stubbornly, her jaw clenched. “I can’t rest until I stop her.”

“Then we’ll stop her together,” I promise, gently raking my thumb against that strawberry lip. “We’re both in this, Fliss. I won’t leave you shouldering it alone.”

Her mouth trembles, her eyes darkening.

“...no one’s ever promised me that before.”

“And I’m damned glad I’m the first.” I smile. “Even if you deserve so much more.”

I’m suddenly painfully aware of how lithe her body feels against mine.

How the rising heat trapped between us builds like an underground caldera, this vicious slow burn on my skin.

How she looks at me like she can’t see anything else.

How her lips part, her tongue darts over them, and—fuck yes—I’m riveted.

“I think I want more, Alaska,” she whispers. “Enough to make me forget tonight.”

I nearly groan with the electric shiver bolting through me, a charge lighting me up like a million volts, and she’s the current hooked into my veins.

“You gotta be clear. Tell me what you want, Fliss. What you need. I need to hear it from your mouth.”

“Kiss me,” she says, already leaning toward me, those inviting full lips shaping the words that rip me open and send half the blood in my body straight to the bulge seething between my legs. “Kiss me, Paxton Charter, and don’t you dare stop.”

17

All That Glistens (Felicity)

For the first time in all my years, I get what it means to be a dirty liar.

And I, Felicity Randall, am absolutely filthy.

I haven’t just been lying to Alaska this whole time.

I’ve been lying to myself.

I lied about the way he looks at me.

The way he touches me.

The way he growls at me.

The way to sweet oblivion.

Namely, the way he just kissed me.

I’ve lied to myself about what I want from him. How he makes me feel. Why that kiss cut me up, threw me to the breeze, and left me floating on sweetness and sin and delirium.

I’ve lied like a desperate, lovestruck, pigheaded fool because as long as I didn’t believe we deserve something good together...

...then I knew I wouldn’t have to be disappointed when the curse that haunts me ruins everything.

Ruins him.

But right now feels like a very different kind of ruin as he groans, bending to claim my lips with his mouth so firm and his hands pure hellfire on my skin.