by Kinney Scott | Jul 12, 2019 | Addicted to Trouble, Ashwood Series, Book Release, Sneak Peek |
EXCLUSIVE SNEAK PEEK
Lincoln watched from a stealthy distance while a stream of happy
people gathered to chat up their small-town lives. Men shook hands, women
wrapped each other in loose-arm hugs, and kids raced into the party ahead of
their parents, hoping for a thick slice of cake. Lincoln huffed. All this
bullshit to celebrate an engagement. Why the fuck did anyone bother getting
married anymore? A pathetic waste of time, except for the free booze at the
open bar.
New to town, he hadn’t expected to score this invite. Shit, he’d
only hired the guy who was getting hitched to knock out a quick remodel job. In
Oakland, that slim business connection would have only earned him a lukewarm
beer from a dirty cooler. Evidently, in Ashwood, a handshake agreement was
enough to get in. But into what? A dull surprise party packed with uptight
asshats.
Lincoln shook his head. Nope.
Not going. There wasn’t enough
alcohol inside that old converted lumber mill to loosen up this stiff crowd. He’d
seen enough. He didn’t belong here and probably never would. Determined to
leave, he shifted his weight, and his Harley’s leather seat creaked beneath his
butt. Why should he give two-shits? Making friends wasn’t his priority—making
money was.
Instead of wasting time here, he’d head over to the run-down building
he’d just bought and knock down another wall. It would put him one day closer
to opening Lincoln’s Pizza. That temporary front would get him by until he transformed
the restaurant into his real moneymaker—a marijuana shop. And when Cascade
Cannabis opened with zero competition, he’d thrive in this isolated hole.
Ashwood came loaded with plenty of young tourists—climbers, hikers, and
whitewater rafters —who’d make up for all these well-dressed, smiling, annoying-as-
shit locals.
He snagged his helmet from the tank, more than ready to leave
these happy people to their happy gathering. Feet planted, he twisted the key
and pressed the starter, sending a low, vicious growl from the pipes. The sound
surged across the gravel lot and collided with a gorgeous woman wearing a blue
skirt. Buoyant fabric floated, putting long legs on display as she spun his
direction with a startled, wide-eyed jerk.
His sly grin spread when he spotted two bottles of Jack Daniel’s
tucked against her torso—one heavy liter in each fist. Fear held her taut,
giving Lincoln time to measure her discomfort. Why did she look so fucking
scared? Incrementally, his grin faded and his fingers tingled, wanting to
smooth that distress away. But, damn, that alarm only enhanced her wild beauty—dark
hair, silky as liquid chocolate, ruby lips worried by white teeth.
Defiant, she lifted her chin and held his attention as his bike
growled beneath him. The machine vibrated, eager to leave, but Lincoln’s boots drilled
into the gravel, steadying the motorcycle.
A frigid gust whipped her dark hair and urged the long-legged
angel into the party. With the grace of a dancer, she rushed away on flat
silver shoes through the wide bay doors, melting into the sea of happy people.
Lincoln’s hand released the Harley’s throttle, and he silenced
the engine. That woman gave him reason enough to stay, if only to learn her
name. He pulled off his helmet, raked his fingers through his hair, and
considered his options. Contemplating choices came easier with a smoke. He
swung his leg over his bike and ambled toward the trees while fishing his lone
cigarette of the day from a pack—that single cigarette kept a promise he’d made
to his son to cut back.
He usually waited until after dark for the heady hit of nicotine,
but he needed to think, and the familiar feel of a paper cylinder between his index
finger and thumb helped. A quick flick ignited his Zippo, a silver rectangle
that had belonged to his Dad. Sheltering the flame, his fingers smoothed over
the worn camel embossed on the front. The tip lit. He inhaled, pulling heat
past his lips while considering the stunning woman in the sexy skirt.
What had frightened her? And why was she packing two bottles of pricey
whiskey into the party? The temperature dropped a few more degrees while he
paced the edge of the massive gravel lot. Cooled by an early March wind, the
air smelled a little like snow. Lincoln pulled another hit from his cigarette
to keep warm. He’d already decided to attend the shindig, but he’d hold off
until after a loud ‘surprise’ trapped
the engaged pair inside.
Eventually, the bright and shiny couple pulled up. Arm in arm,
they walked unsuspecting into the massive building. A moment later, a cheer erupted
and loud music echoed through the tall evergreens. Lincoln waited out three more
songs before he wandered in from the cold, reeled in by the dark-haired angel
wearing those sexy silver shoes.
***
Watching Natalie melt into Seth’s arms brought back too many
memories—Iris vaguely remembered being held like that a lifetime ago. She sighed,
brushed away a few tears, which were equal parts happy and sad. Maybe someday
she’d have another chance at a love like that. But was taking that chance in a
small town where she owned the local dive bar worth the risk?
“Can I get another pitcher of the IPA?” Kent’s request brought
her back to her senses. Even though he was one of her regulars, and almost ten
years younger, he still flashed his sexy-as-sin grin. Definitely not taking
any chances with Kent.
Iris smiled and lifted an eyebrow. “Pitcher of beer coming right
up. Anything else? Maybe a Cherry Coke for Amanda?”
“Oh, sure, I guess.” Kent swallowed hard when Iris leveled a
look, letting him know she was keeping track of her underage guests even at an
engagement party.
As Kent turned away, Wade leaned in. “Thanks for keeping an eye
on my cousin. I’m afraid she’s trusting the wrong guy.”
“Don’t worry about Amanda, she’s got that poor guy tied up in
knots.”
Their eyes traveled to the dancefloor—girls spinning in high
heels, wrapped in snug cocktail dresses, keenly aware of the power they had
over the men in the room. Yet Iris noticed a few guys hovering near the bar, their
glasses too full to need another round. They seemed held in orbit by an invisible
force. She looked one way and then the other. Was she the one controlling the pull?
The DJ changed things up and she grinned as a 90s hit took her
back to barefoot summers in Kansas, simpler times where a good day was defined
by staying out late riding bikes and wearing cut-off jeans. Slide by the
Goo Goo Dolls moved her feet, and Dillon stepped from the all-male asteroid
belt near the bar and grabbed her hand, coaxing her onto the floor.
Hands over her head, Iris lost herself in the rhythm. When the next
song began, Wade claimed Dillon’s spot and kept her on the floor for another
familiar throwback. Arms that easily lifted kegs wrapped around her, and she let
him control the way her body rocked from side to side. Iris tangled her hands around
his neck and Wade leaned in. “I love these songs but look around—it feels like
we’re dancing to the oldies. Would you go back and repeat your glory days if
you could?” he asked with a grin.
She fought a shudder and laughed. “Not a chance.” Iris kept a smile
in place and spun, thankful she’d never have to repeat her past again. “There’s
a line at the bar,” she said with a thumb over her shoulder.
“Keep dancing, I’d like to watch you from a distance.” Searing
heat in his voice scalded her senses, flushing her cheeks, chest, and center with
unexpected heat. A cold drink seemed vital. Iris tried to follow Wade back to
the bar, but her steps were suddenly halted by a cool, steady hand.
“Stay.” A voice slowed her momentum and dark eyes held her in
place. His tattooed arms were so chilly, he must have just come inside from
having a smoke. A hint of tobacco still clung to his clothes, but on him, the
scent enticed rather than offended.
If Wade’s comment had felt hot, this man’s presence incinerated,
and she became steam in his hands. Iris blinked, barely registering that he’d
already plastered her against his chest. Good thing, otherwise, she would have drifted
away.
“Are you new to our small town?” she asked, staring into
unfamiliar, captivating eyes. The rich auburn bands around his pupils reminded
her of top-shelf whiskey.
“Yeah. I hope I didn’t crash this shindig. Wade tossed me an
invite the last time he dropped a delivery by my place.”
“A delivery? B-Beer, I’m assuming,” Iris stammered, ensnared in
his tattoo-covered arms.
“Yeah. Bottles, not kegs. I’ll never move the volume you do at
Northside Grill.”
Iris narrowed her gaze. “You have me at a disadvantage. Clearly,
you know who I am.”
His chuckle should have put her at ease, but he seemed to be
mocking her. She stiffened in his arms, trying to gain some space. His hand
flexed across her back, keeping her secured. “Iris, I’m Lincoln. I’m opening a
pizza shop in town.”
Her feet missed a step, and she wished the classic U2 song would
end, even though With Or Without You was one of her favorites. Iris
lifted her chin, synced her feet to the rhythm again, and steadied her gaze.
“Great. I can’t wait to sample the competition.”
Lincoln’s eyebrows lifted and his lips spread in a devilish
grin. “Angel, I can’t wait to give you a taste.”
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