A brand new novel in the New York Times bestselling Hard Feelings series—where nothing’s more dangerous than a bad boy with a broken heart…
First Sergeant RafeMurano did everything to the extreme. He trained harder, he fought harder, and, unfortunately, he loved harder. And falling for the wrong woman nearly destroyed him.
Home from a deployment, and without his missions to consume him, Murano is ravaged by memories of his heartbreak. So he drinks until he’s numb and drowns himself in meaningless one-night stands. But they only take the edge off…
Until he meets Fallon.
Haunted by her past, Fallon Kelly knows all too well about the desperate desire for an escape. So when she sees the tatted-up bad boy who’s one punch away from a ride in the back of a squad car, she offers a distraction—one that quickly becomes an addiction.
Little does she know, this bad boy can love so hard, it can break her…
EXCERPT
Fallon was a bed hog. A selfish sleeper. A kicker, a moaner, sometimes a talker, apparently a snorer, and most definitely a cover stealer. In her defense, she’d never shared a bed with anyone. Never. No man had shut his eyes and drifted in to dreamland on her watch. She wouldn’t let them.
So, needless to say, when she flailed her leg out to the side and attempted to roll herself up in her
comforter sometime before dawn, she was more than startled to feel a hard body beneath her leg
preventing her from reaching the other half of the comforter. Then she panicked. But only because the sight of Rafe asleep in her bed pricked a flutter in her chest that made her smile.
She wanted him there. As alarming as that should have been, it was comforting.
Slowly, so she didn’t wake him, she lifted her leg from the dip in his back and straightened the cover that was barely covering his naked rear as he lay spread out on his stomach, thick arms bent above his head and his face buried into the pillow.
It was still dark, but the privacy of her property allowed her the ability to enjoy the large panel
windows that lined every outside wall of her second-story bedroom without the protection of blinds or curtains. The moon fluttered over the mountains and sprinkled a haze of light into her room—almost as if drawn to Rafe the same way she was. The moonlight found all of his contours, all the ridges and dips in his
muscles, and highlighted them perfectly, permitting the shadows to dance around them, refining the beauty the light was creating over his back and shoulders.
Lifting her hand, she gently skimmed her finger along the outline of the large angel wings that spanned the width of his back and reached all the way down past his hips. It was beautiful. A
kneeling man with his head hung between his shoulders was in the center of his back, the wings
protruding from his back. It was so beautifully crafted that it appeared that the wings belonged to both Rafe and the man. She continued to trace the intricate feathers, but as she glided the tip of her finger over his spine, he stirred. And she froze.
A sleep-induced rasp staggered from his parted mouth as he rolled onto his back, the comforter
falling lower on his hips. The sharp cut that pointed toward his manhood was narrow and defined. The muscles of his stomach were ones a woman would be thankful for and the curves of his
pectorals were simply delicious. Just as she’d imagined, his arms were fully covered from wrist to shoulder in a mix of beautifully designed and skilled works of art. His arms were quickly becoming her absolute favorite physical feature of his. Arms that held power and security and strength. All things she was realizing she enjoyed wrapped around her.
She blinked and shifted her gaze to his scruffy face. His buzzed head was sexy and the way his eyes
fluttered beneath his lids as he slept was adorable. If she hadn’t been worried about waking him, she would’ve leaned in to press her mouth to the deep valley in his lip and cascade her mouth over his jaw and down his neck, following the length of his scar.
He looked rough, and she smiled to herself. If only her mom and dad could see her now. Taking her clothes off for money and sleeping with a man who looked like he could kill with his bare hands, rob a bank, front a rock band, and give a woman an orgasm with his eyes. Wouldn’t they be proud?
He inhaled deeply through his nose and stretched his body, slowly opening his eyes. The ebony color seemed to reach a new depth of dark in his sleepy daze—a depth that was endless and
capturing, like quicksand.
Turning his head, he pressed a single light kiss to the inside of her palm where her hand was resting near his pillow. The stubble on his jaw grated against her skin in the most heavenly way, leaving a wavering sensation in its absence. He smiled when he saw her watching him, his scar making his bottom lip curve slightly lopsided in a way that was beginning to make her melt. She began to
reconsider her favorite part of his body—no, not his arms; that imperfect mouth of his just took its place.
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