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RB Hilliard lives in Charlotte, North Carolina with her husband and two children. In 2012, she began writing His End Game, the first book in her MMG series. Hilliard has not only published six books in this series, but has gone on to publish her hilariously funny Whisky’s novels, as well as her Amazon bestselling rock star romance series, Meltdown.
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A Dangerous Rock bonus scene
Bella
Las Vegas isn’t all heat and sun in late December. The spray of the Bellagio’s fountains is fucking freezing, especially without a buzz. But being lucid for this is worth any temporary pain.
I barely remember our wedding night. I need to remember every second of our first anniversary.
Joel’s hand is pressed against mine. We’re already done with most of the day’s activities. We went up to the top of the Eifel Tower. We rode on the gondolas. We gorged on strawberry sorbet instead of strawberry vodka slushee. And we kissed. God, how we kissed.
But we only kissed. Okay, and maybe we touched a bit over his clothes. Okay, a lot. But all that friction of his palm against my ass, his chest against my fingertips, his crotch against mine with those stupid jeans in the way—
I need more.
I need to get back to our hotel room and fuck his brains out.
I nestle into Joel’s body as we climb the steps to the pedestrian bridge over Las Vegas Boulevard. The neon lights of the city blend into the soft orange glow of sunset.
Before I met Joel, I never would have appreciated a view like this as anything other than a gross display of capitalism.
My life was as dull and grey as a winter day in New York City.
Now, it’s as vibrant as the sunset. Everything is in technicolor. Everything is within my grasp. And everything makes me feel alive.
I turn to my husband. His green eyes are on fire. He’s up to something. But then he always is.
“I can’t believe it’s been a year.” I comb my fingers through his wavy hair. Stare back into his gorgeous green eyes. “I think I’ve said that a hundred times.”
His smile spreads over his cheeks. “A thousand.”
“Compromise on five hundred,” I offer.
He shakes his head.
“Seven-fifty?”
“No.” His smile gets goofy.
“What?”
“You.” He slides one arm around my waist. Then he undoes my bun and combs his fingers through my hair. It’s the mil
lionth time today he’s done it. Okay, maybe the seven hundred fiftieth time.
It feels as right as the first time.
His touch sets me on fire as much as it did a year ago.
