Author: Stacy Kestwick
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: May 7
Cover Design: Hang Le
Doughnuts were her weakness.
If Sadie Mullins hadn’t been running on the beach to burn off the calories from her doughnut addiction, she wouldn’t have noticed the man not moving out in the water.
Wouldn’t have dived in after him.
Wouldn’t have met West Montgomery.
The cocky bastard should have been thankful, grateful even.
Of course, he wasn’t.
That should have been the end of it.
Of course, it wasn’t.
I woke up slowly to the sound of panting. Hot, damp air was puffing rhythmically against my face. When something wet poked my cheek a few seconds later, I jerked away reflexively. Confused, I cracked my eyes open blearily and staring back at me were saddest, droopiest brown eyes I had ever seen.
What the hell?
I smothered a scream and struggled to sit up in bed. Blinking against the sledgehammer banging in my skull, I fell back to my elbow and realized two things at once. One, I knew those eyes. General Beauregard was staring back at me forlornly, opening his mouth in a huge yawn, drool stretching between his jowls. Two, I was most definitely not in my own bed.
Looking down to see a tattooed arm draped over my hips, I was slower to realize the most important fact. I wasn’t alone in the bed either. The arm moved into a stretch, and the man next to me yawned too.
My elbow fell out from under me, and I laid on my back staring at the ceiling, trying to force my sluggish brain to work. What the fuck happened when I left Grady’s?
West leaned over me to rub General Beauregard’s ears. “Morning, boy. You ready to go out?” West’s voice was a raspy rumble that resonated through me. His bare chest pressed against my left side, and if I lifted myself up the smallest fraction, I’d be able to lick his shoulder. I closed my eyes against the temptation and took a deep breath. I smelled soap, salt, and citrus. I smelled West. I swallowed back a moan.
General Beauregard let out a soft whine of pure bliss and laid his head heavily against me. When I turned to glance at him, his tongue swiped my cheek and his tail thumped against the floor. West laughed softly and gave the dog one last pat. “I know, buddy. She does look good first thing in the morning.”
My cheeks warmed. And other parts of me did too.
His arm brushed against my breasts as he pulled it back, and my nipples budded in response. He flipped back the covers on his side and padded quietly across the room to a set of sliding glass doors, opening one enough so that the hound slipped out. The sunrise peeked over the ocean through the glass, but it barely registered before my eyes returned to West.
He stood looking out the door in just a pair of boxer briefs. He was all golden skin and lean, ropy muscle and a tight, tight ass hugged by some thin black fabric. I was jealous of that fabric. As he turned back to face me, the grooved definition of his abs was on display, his torso narrowing to a tempting V before disappearing. My eyes dropped lower, taking in the prominent bulge in his shorts. Maybe I was still dreaming. That would explain everything but the jackhammer in my skull. The light dimmed as he drew the curtains and shut out the light.
Slipping back into bed and covering his lower half back up, he turned on his side and faced me, one arm tunneling under the pillow beneath his head, the other resting between us. I stared at his fingers and tried to focus. I dida quick inventory of my body. My head was pounding, but the darkened room helped. My stomach was clenching, but I blamed that more on the view than the hangover. I tensed my legs experimentally. My thighs felt… fine. Not sore at all. What did that mean? Had the sex been bad? Or maybe he had been like Jared, and the act had been over so fast that my muscles never even got a workout.
“Coffee,” I croaked, turning away from him. I couldn’t be expected to think clearly without coffee. I sat up on the side of the bed and swayed dizzily for a moment. Jesus Christ, my head. Looking down, I saw I was only wearing one of the logoed bar shirts from the Wreck and my underwear. My cutoffs were on the floor near the end of the bed and I slid them on quickly, grateful for the oversized length of the shirt.
Without looking back, I slipped from the room, figuring the kitchen couldn’t be that hard to find. Sure enough, it was just down the hall and to the right. I pushed my wild hair out of my face and squinted around the too-bright room. Morning light filtered through curtainless windows and glinted off the oversized stainless steel fridge. I reached for my wrist, but apparently my hair tie had disappeared along with the rest of my clothes.
Coffee. I smelled it. I had to be close. Turning around farther, I spotted it. Just past the retro enamel toaster, a glass pot sat beneath the small coffee maker, filled halfway with steaming brown liquid gold. . I plucked a cup out of the sink, not caring if it was clean or dirty, and filled it to the brim. Leaning back against the counter, I inhaled deeply, trying to expel the smell of West from my mind.
As I took my first tentative sip, Wyatt walked into the room, wearing only board shorts. I swallowed the wrong way, coughing and sputtering before setting the cup down behind me, my lungs burning. What was it about these guys that messed with my basic ability to breathe properly? And what the fuck was Wyatt doing here?
Wyatt reached around me to pour himself a cup. “Mornin’,” he said, smiling at me knowingly, his eyes running down the length of my body.
I stared at him in dawning horror.
Oh. My. God.
Did I have a threesome last night?
I’m a Southern girl who firmly believes mornings should be outlawed. My perfect day would include lounging on a hammock with a good book, carbohydrates, and the people around me randomly breaking into choreographed song and dance routines. It would not include bacon, cleaning, or anything requiring patience.
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