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“Screw you, Matt Hansen!” I shout at the shuttered house, my hands fisting at my sides. I swallow hard. “Jerk.”
Only silence answers me this time.
Well, that went down real fine, Octavia. Real fine.
What now?
I turn my back to the door, my eyes stinging. And I hate it. I hate that this affects me so much. It’s unfair that he told me I had a chance and then slammed the door in my face without hearing me out.
It’s the unfairness that gets to me. As I stand in the morning light, not blinking, hoping I won’t shed any tears—for all the things I’ve wished for since I was little in this shitty town, for all the dreams that I may not yet fulfill—I feel so close to falling apart, it’s unreal.
Get yourself together, Octavia. This is nothing.
A small setback.
Repeating that to myself, I walk down the porch steps and s
tare out into the empty morning, down to the path crossing the small, overgrown garden, already thinking of any other job I could find and cursing myself for heaping all my hopes on this one as if it were a sure thing.
A mistake.
But life goes on, like before, and it’s up to me to change it around.
Click on the cover below to buy CAVEMAN: the beginning of the WILD MEN series (or read for Free with Kindle Unlimited).
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0714MYPVH
Sample Of Storm
Sex and Bullets Series 1
Raylin is on the run.
Her father’s associates will stop at nothing to claim the money he owes them—including killing her. A last ditch ticket to Florida, a temporary house to hide in and no future to look forward to.
That is, until she meets Storm, a tattooed bad boy who is housesitting down the beach and doing repairs for the summer. A perfect place, a perfect pair of strong arms, a spot of calm in which to hide for a while—or is it?
Drop-dead gorgeous, kind, and hot in bed, Storm may not be what he seems. Who is the real Storm, and what is he hiding?
Raylin had better find out before the bullets begin to fly.
Prologue
The house on the beach feels like it hasn’t been visited in years. Dust has moved in, burying the furniture—you’d think the contractor coming in every month would have noticed—and the garden is a damn mess.
I spent hours cleaning the pool, and now I’ve moved to the fence, beach-side. A couple of planks are loose and I’m nailing them back on, considering a coat of paint for later on, when I get this itch between my shoulder blades.
Someone’s watching me.
Shit. Pulling my cap lower over my face, I bend to grab another nail from the toolbox, and sure enough, I see her from the corner of my eye.
I freeze for a long moment, caught in a spell. Man, she’s damn pretty with her long hair, the heart-shaped face, and that sweet, tight body. I hammer the nail into the plank, securing it, so fucking aware of her it’s crazy. Chills run over my skin. Heat pools in my gut, in my balls and dick, and just like that, from one look, I’m hard and aching.
What the fuck.
I want to grab her and press her to this goddamn fence and taste her rosy mouth, feel her tits pressed to my chest, taste her arousal as I fuck her mouth with my tongue. I’d rip that no-nonsense little blouse off her to lick her skin, lick her nipples, suck and bite until she begs me to fuck her.
And then I’d tear off her shorts, rip her panties and thrust into her hot pussy until she scratches her nails down my back and screams, until she comes so hard she can’t ever forget me.
