Hard-edged rocker Graham Allen has it all. He's flush with cash from playing bass in a band by night and restoring classic cars by day. And there are plenty of women willing to share his bed for a night, complication-free. Perfect, because if there's anything he learned from his past, it was to never get attached—to anything. So when bartender Carly Sullivan flashes her innocent smile, Graham isn't prepared for what happens next.Never fall in loveTwo rules, that's all Graham has—never apologize and never fall in love. He knows Carly is everything he should avoid. Cheerful and sweet, she has "relationship" written all over her. But Graham can't stay away from her probing questions and concerned blue eyes.When Graham discovers Carly is hiding a crushing secret, he's prepared to risk it all. Until in one single moment, everything changes and Graham's past threatens to collide with his future. His life is crumbling down around him, and soon no apology in the world can save him.He should've known to walk away.
I didn’t owe this girl anything. I wasn’t with her. I
didn’t cheat on her.But my heart was looking into those blue eyes and it
knew. I’d hurt her, bad. God, I didn’t want to hurt this girl.Her lips parting on a shaky inhale, tears threatening,
Carly said nothing.Desperate, stupid, I said the one thing that’d make it
worse. “Hummingbird.”She pivoted and ran.I didn’t even think. I went after her.And damn, could she run. Like the wind. She flew
through the club, hit the parking lot and kept going. I had a feeling she was
only just getting her stride. I knew I’d caused a scene in the club, running
half naked after a fleeing girl, but I didn’t care.I was trying to gauge where she was going and somehow
cut her off when she slowed at the far edge of the property. She jumped on a
beat-down dirt bike, at the same time giving it a kick start. The motor turned
over and she wasted a few seconds throwing her helmet on. It was all the time I
needed.I grabbed the handlebars and straddled the front tire.
“Hey!”Carly whipped her helmet off, tears streaming down her
face. “You don’t get to do this!” she yelled back. “You do not get to pretend
you give a shit!”Jesus, she was crying. And that was all I could think
about, those tears. She wasn’t leaving like this. I cut the engine on the bike
and tried to piece this together through all the alcohol. “What are you doing
here?”She looked stunned for a moment. “I came to see the
show.”“How’d you get in the back hallway?”“I know Hank.”That motherfucker. He was so fired. Wait, she knew him?
“How do you know Hank?” I was gonna kill him.“Go inside and put your shirt on before you freeze.”She was worried about my shirt? “I’m fucking drunk, I
don’t feel the goddamn cold. Answer the question.”“That’s rich, Allen. Nice.”Goddamn it. “How do you know Hank?” So help me, if he’d
fucked her, I was going to kick his ass then fire him.“I’ve worked with him!”“Fine!” I could live with that.“Yeah, it is fine. And if it wasn’t, that’s too bad
because it’s none of your business!”“God damn it, Carly, I’m trying to talk to you! Not
yell.”“I’m not yelling!”I stepped away from the tire, pulled her off the seat
and kicked the bike over. Wrapping my arms around her tight, I brought her to
my chest. She fought like hell but I held on. Goddamn it, I held on.“Let go! I hate you!” She kicked at my shins. Her hands
pounded my sides. “I hate you! I hate you!”“I’m not gonna apologize, Carly. I know I hurt you but
I’m not going to apologize. We’re friends, nothing more. You know that. That’s what
I grew up in Northern California with my head in a book and my feet in the sand. I dreamt of becoming a painter but the heady scent of libraries with their shelves full of books drew me into the world of storytelling. I love the New Adult genre, but really, any story about a love so desperately wrong and impossibly beautiful makes me swoon.I now live in Southern Florida and while I don’t get to read as much as I like, I still bury my toes in the sand. If I’m not writing or fighting to contain the banana plantation in my backyard, you can find me spending time with my handsomely tattooed husband, my brilliantly practical son and a mischievous miniature boxer…But Seriously?Here are ten things you really want to know about me.I grew up a faculty brat. I can swear like a sailor. I love men in uniform. I hate being told what to do. I can do your taxes (but don’t ask). The Bird Market in Hong Kong freaks me out. My favorite word is desperate…or dirty, or both—I can’t decide. I have a thing for muscle cars. But never reply on me for driving directions, ever. And I have a new book boyfriend every week—don’t tell my husband.