Blurb:
From
New York Times Bestselling author Tracy Wolff and International
Bestselling author Katie Graykowski comes a sizzling tale of
heartbreak, Harley-Davidsons and high heels …
Harmony
Wright is a bad girl living a good girl’s life. From the time she
was born, she’s always been the good twin. The ladylike twin. The
twin her high society (or at least as high society as you can get in
San Angelo, TX) mom likes to parade in front of all her garden club
friends. She’s gone along with it, too—wearing pearls and Chanel
when ripped jeans and motorcycle boots are more her speed. But when
Harmony takes off for an extended visit with her twin sister, Lyric,
she leaves her good girl persona in the dust …
Dalton
Mane knows what it is to be bad and he’s more than ready for the
peace that comes with living the good life. Once the crown prince of
a powerful biker gang, Bastards of Hell, he walked away from it all
when tragedy struck. Now the general manager of the Fort Worth
Wranglers, he spends his time wheeling and dealing in the sports
world and all while keeping an entire team of football players in
line.
When Harmony crashes into Dalton, his tidy little life is over. Will he give up everything to keep Harmony out of trouble?
When Harmony crashes into Dalton, his tidy little life is over. Will he give up everything to keep Harmony out of trouble?
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“Who the hell are you?” Harm demanded, waving her bat at him like she thought it would actually protect her.
“Dalton Mane, I’m a friend of your brother-in-law.” He didn’t say any more. There’d be time for explanations later, when he wasn’t terrified BA, head of the outlaw biker gang she was currently facing off with, was going to murder this woman. But now that he had Harmony’s attention, he continued, “I’d hold out my hand for you to shake, but you look a little busy at the moment.”
Heath’s sister-in-law was really something else. Dalton tried not to notice how sexy she was, but it was difficult to notice anything else, even as she waved that club around. She was built. Really, really built. Large, full breasts, a tiny waist, and legs that would have made a supermodel jealous—especially when encased in those black leather bitch boots.
And her tattoos—he’d spent years dating women with pale, perfect skin, years telling himself that tattoos didn’t do it for him. Looking at Harmony Wright, he couldn’t help thinking that he’d been lying to himself all those years. Because her tattoos were gorgeous. Vibrant, exotic, and dangerous, they added a whole lot to her already prodigious sex appeal.
Then again, he’d always had a thing for dangerous.
“And why are you here?” Harmony’s eyes darted from man to man, clocking everyone’s movements, even as she spoke directly to him.
“Stay out of this, little brother.” BA’s voice was slow and even, which Dalton knew from experience was a very bad thing. It meant that he was about to lose his shit. “She broke my goddamn nose. She has to pay.”
“Don’t you think you’d be better off taking care of it than standing here hassling a frightened woman?”
“I’m not frightened,” Harmony squawked. “I’m pissed. If he comes any closer he’s going to see just how pissed I am.”
Goddammit. Didn’t this woman see what kind of danger she was in? Dalton shot her a look that told her to keep her mouth shut so he could get her out of this. He could tell the look had been received—and rejected—by the fact that she got even more pissed off. And when she opened her mouth to say God only knew what, he decided to hell with it. There was only one way to stop this, and it was time to take matters into his own hands.
“I’m not your brother. I never was.” Dalton waited until BA was looking straight at him, then he punched his stepbrother in the kidneys, grabbed his hair, and smashed his face into the pool table. Quick as lightning, he wrenched the club from Harmony’s grasp, scooped her up, and threw her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
“Put me down.” Harm wriggled and tried to kick her way free, but he held on tight.
He headed out the front door. Once in the parking lot, he yelled back to Rooster, “Tell them not to come after me. I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”
He might not be in a biker gang anymore, but fifteen years of Krav Maga had taught him the most efficient way to hurt someone. And for some reason, seeing his old family circling Harmony like a bunch of hyenas definitely put him in the mood to hurt a lot of someones.
“Put me down. Now.” Harm punched and kicked.
“Not until you settle down.” He carried her over to Cherry Cherry. “You need to learn not to pick fights you can’t win, little girl.”
“What the fuck did you just call me?” Harm demanded, redoubling her efforts to beat the hell out of his back and kick him in the balls.
“Stop it,” he ordered again, delivering a swift smack to her leather-clad ass. The sound made a nice pop in the night air.
It must have done the trick, because Harm stopped kicking and punching. He was just about to congratulate himself when a burning pinch came from his lower back. The burn quickly turned into flaming pain.
“What the hell?” He dropped Harm on her ass. “Did you just bite me?” He looked over his shoulder, trying to see if she’d drawn blood.
“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you.” With that proclamation, Harm popped up onto her feet and nailed him with a mean right cross.
Jesus. She wasn’t a firecracker, she was a hellcat.
He grabbed her, went to put her in a restraining hold, and she easily twisted out of it.
“Krav?” Dalton choked out as she twisted his arm behind his back. If she didn’t stop, she’d break his wrist.
“Level-four black belt.” Harm released his arm. “You?”
“Level two.” Dalton stood, ears ringing as it registered that she could kick his ass.
“You shouldn’t bite people.” He rolled his shoulder—she’d damn near dislocated it.
“You shouldn’t pick up strangers in a bar.” Harm crossed her arms and smirked at him.
But before he could say anything else, Heath ran out of the bar, pulling Lyric behind him. “Time to go.”
Dalton tried to open the passenger door, but it was locked. “Unlock it.”
“It is unlocked.” Heath didn’t slow down until he was next to Cherry Cherry. He hit a button on the remote, but the doors didn’t unlock. “Come on, Cherry Cherry. This is an emergency. We need to get out of here now.”
Nothing happened.
“Come on, baby. Harmony needs a ride, just his once.” Lyric was cajoling. “I promise I won’t let her hurt you.”
Cherry Cherry’s trunk popped open.
“I’m not riding in the trunk of that possessed car.” Harm rolled her eyes when the doors remained firmly locked. “Screw it. I’m going back inside.”
“That’s not a good idea.” Heath leaned over and whispered something close to the car window and the doors unlocked. “We gotta go now. I set a little fire in the bathroom to distract them so we could get away.”
“How big of a fire?” Dalton wrenched open the back passenger’s door and practically threw Harm inside before he jumped into the front seat. Then he pulled out his phone to call 9-1-1. He might have walked away from them, but the Bastards were the closest thing he had to family. The last thing he wanted was for one of them to get hurt. Well, except BA. A little smoke inhalation could only improve his attitude.
Cherry Cherry peeled out of the parking lot and onto the road.
“I’d say a solid two alarm, but since the building is cinder block, the damage should be contained to just the bathroom.” Heath drove like the devil was on his ass—or like the Bastards of Hell were.
“Dalton Mane, I’m a friend of your brother-in-law.” He didn’t say any more. There’d be time for explanations later, when he wasn’t terrified BA, head of the outlaw biker gang she was currently facing off with, was going to murder this woman. But now that he had Harmony’s attention, he continued, “I’d hold out my hand for you to shake, but you look a little busy at the moment.”
Heath’s sister-in-law was really something else. Dalton tried not to notice how sexy she was, but it was difficult to notice anything else, even as she waved that club around. She was built. Really, really built. Large, full breasts, a tiny waist, and legs that would have made a supermodel jealous—especially when encased in those black leather bitch boots.
And her tattoos—he’d spent years dating women with pale, perfect skin, years telling himself that tattoos didn’t do it for him. Looking at Harmony Wright, he couldn’t help thinking that he’d been lying to himself all those years. Because her tattoos were gorgeous. Vibrant, exotic, and dangerous, they added a whole lot to her already prodigious sex appeal.
Then again, he’d always had a thing for dangerous.
“And why are you here?” Harmony’s eyes darted from man to man, clocking everyone’s movements, even as she spoke directly to him.
“Stay out of this, little brother.” BA’s voice was slow and even, which Dalton knew from experience was a very bad thing. It meant that he was about to lose his shit. “She broke my goddamn nose. She has to pay.”
“Don’t you think you’d be better off taking care of it than standing here hassling a frightened woman?”
“I’m not frightened,” Harmony squawked. “I’m pissed. If he comes any closer he’s going to see just how pissed I am.”
Goddammit. Didn’t this woman see what kind of danger she was in? Dalton shot her a look that told her to keep her mouth shut so he could get her out of this. He could tell the look had been received—and rejected—by the fact that she got even more pissed off. And when she opened her mouth to say God only knew what, he decided to hell with it. There was only one way to stop this, and it was time to take matters into his own hands.
“I’m not your brother. I never was.” Dalton waited until BA was looking straight at him, then he punched his stepbrother in the kidneys, grabbed his hair, and smashed his face into the pool table. Quick as lightning, he wrenched the club from Harmony’s grasp, scooped her up, and threw her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
“Put me down.” Harm wriggled and tried to kick her way free, but he held on tight.
He headed out the front door. Once in the parking lot, he yelled back to Rooster, “Tell them not to come after me. I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”
He might not be in a biker gang anymore, but fifteen years of Krav Maga had taught him the most efficient way to hurt someone. And for some reason, seeing his old family circling Harmony like a bunch of hyenas definitely put him in the mood to hurt a lot of someones.
“Put me down. Now.” Harm punched and kicked.
“Not until you settle down.” He carried her over to Cherry Cherry. “You need to learn not to pick fights you can’t win, little girl.”
“What the fuck did you just call me?” Harm demanded, redoubling her efforts to beat the hell out of his back and kick him in the balls.
“Stop it,” he ordered again, delivering a swift smack to her leather-clad ass. The sound made a nice pop in the night air.
It must have done the trick, because Harm stopped kicking and punching. He was just about to congratulate himself when a burning pinch came from his lower back. The burn quickly turned into flaming pain.
“What the hell?” He dropped Harm on her ass. “Did you just bite me?” He looked over his shoulder, trying to see if she’d drawn blood.
“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you.” With that proclamation, Harm popped up onto her feet and nailed him with a mean right cross.
Jesus. She wasn’t a firecracker, she was a hellcat.
He grabbed her, went to put her in a restraining hold, and she easily twisted out of it.
“Krav?” Dalton choked out as she twisted his arm behind his back. If she didn’t stop, she’d break his wrist.
“Level-four black belt.” Harm released his arm. “You?”
“Level two.” Dalton stood, ears ringing as it registered that she could kick his ass.
“You shouldn’t bite people.” He rolled his shoulder—she’d damn near dislocated it.
“You shouldn’t pick up strangers in a bar.” Harm crossed her arms and smirked at him.
But before he could say anything else, Heath ran out of the bar, pulling Lyric behind him. “Time to go.”
Dalton tried to open the passenger door, but it was locked. “Unlock it.”
“It is unlocked.” Heath didn’t slow down until he was next to Cherry Cherry. He hit a button on the remote, but the doors didn’t unlock. “Come on, Cherry Cherry. This is an emergency. We need to get out of here now.”
Nothing happened.
“Come on, baby. Harmony needs a ride, just his once.” Lyric was cajoling. “I promise I won’t let her hurt you.”
Cherry Cherry’s trunk popped open.
“I’m not riding in the trunk of that possessed car.” Harm rolled her eyes when the doors remained firmly locked. “Screw it. I’m going back inside.”
“That’s not a good idea.” Heath leaned over and whispered something close to the car window and the doors unlocked. “We gotta go now. I set a little fire in the bathroom to distract them so we could get away.”
“How big of a fire?” Dalton wrenched open the back passenger’s door and practically threw Harm inside before he jumped into the front seat. Then he pulled out his phone to call 9-1-1. He might have walked away from them, but the Bastards were the closest thing he had to family. The last thing he wanted was for one of them to get hurt. Well, except BA. A little smoke inhalation could only improve his attitude.
Cherry Cherry peeled out of the parking lot and onto the road.
“I’d say a solid two alarm, but since the building is cinder block, the damage should be contained to just the bathroom.” Heath drove like the devil was on his ass—or like the Bastards of Hell were.
About the Authors
Tracy Wolff
Tracy
Wolff collects books, English degrees and lipsticks and has been
known to forget where—and sometimes who—she is when immersed in a
great novel. At six she wrote her first short story—something with
a rainbow and a prince—and at seven she forayed into the wonderful
world of girls lit with her first Judy Blume novel. By ten she’d
read everything in the young adult and classics sections of her local
bookstore, so in desperation her mom started her on romance novels.
And from the first page of the first book, Tracy knew she’d found
her life-long love. Now an English professor at her local community
college, she writes romances that run the gamut from contemporary to
paranormal to erotic suspense.
And
for all of those who want the unedited version:
Tracy
Wolff lives with four men, teaches writing to local college students
and spends as much time as she can manage immersed in worlds of her
own creation. Married to the alpha hero of her dreams for twelve
years, she is the mother of three young sons who spend most of their
time trying to make her as crazy as possible.
You
can find Tracy also on Twitter, www.tracywolff.blogspot.com
and www.sizzlingpens.blogspot.com.
Tracy
Wolff also writes as Tessa
Adams
Katie Graykowski
I
write romantic comedy with lots of heart. I like scuba diving,
Mexican food, chocolate cream cheese frosting, movies where lots of
stuff gets blown up, and sparkly things. I have a husband, a
daughter, and three K-9 kids. I'd love to hear from you. Shoot me an
email at katiegraykowski@me.com
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