Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
An Enemies to Lovers, Rock Star, Second Chance, Standalone Romance from New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, S.L. Scott.
Flat on my back is not how I imagined meeting my new boss and hot-as-sin rock star. But here I am . . .
If I didn’t already have amnesia, I’d be wishing for it now.
In my defense, Laird Faris was only wearing a shameless smirk and a towel wrapped around his chiseled abs when we met.
Brooding.
Devastatingly handsome.
Utterly intolerable.
Naturally, I’m instantly attracted to him.
It’s not only his broad shoulders and gorgeous face that wreck my equilibrium, but also a distinct tattoo on his chest that matches one on my hip.
Our chemistry is off the charts.
Searing kisses make his grumpiness bearable.
Every touch we share is full of fire and flashes of memories, making me wonder if our connection isn’t destiny after all.
But do the secrets he hides behind his icy blue eyes have something to do with the weekend I can’t remember and the past he can’t forget?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
“I’m in love.”
Him, a famous rock star.
Me, a mere mortal witnessing greatness.
Hard abs and broad shoulders.
A guitar god in the flesh.
I’ve never been a groupie, but I’ll be one for him.
Across a sea of people, his eyes meet mine.
Kismet.
Destiny.
Whatever we call it, it’s real with him.
“What?” My best friend says, “The music is so loud.”
She’s got earplugs in and is still complaining. I laugh when leaning closer to her and yell, “Look at the guitarist on stage.” Of course the song ends, and everyone is now staring at me, including her boyfriend. I hope the shade of red I’m turning is at least flattering. Just going with the mortification, I throw my arms out and shrug. “What? Like he’s not perfect?”
A lady pressed to the railing in the front row yells, “Marry me, Laird!”
Laird.
I’ve never seen a more beautiful man in my life. That he’s shirtless, a rock star, and plays amazing music just adds to his perfection. While the lead singer of Faris Wheel talks about the sweltering heat and all of us being here together in Austin, I’m still distracted by the guitarist.
Tall. Dark. So good looking it’s hard to believe men who look like that even exist. I wish I had freshened up, but there was no time before the concert. So I sweat, beads rolling down my temples, and enjoy the view . . . I mean, the music.
Marina says, “He’s just your type.”
I take a sip of beer and then giggle. “He is.” Before I let my imagination run wild, I turn to watch this glorious man perform. His gaze latches onto mine, I swear. He singles me out, mesmerizing me under his spell. Stunned to the spot, I’m unable to look away, my heart thundering in my chest and my throat going dry.
Bumping my side, Marina asks, “Is he staring at you?”
“God, I hope so.”
When the song ends, he steps up to the microphone. Our eyes meet across the crowd filling the sold-out concert. With a killer smile that about knocks me on my ass, he points at me and says, “We’ve got a date with destiny, baby.”
And then the drums kick in.
1
Poppy Stanfield
“What are you craving?” Laird Faris runs the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip, his eyes trained on my mouth as if he’s imagining what he can do with it. “I’ll give you anything you want, baby.”
Three o’clock in the morning is not the best time to make life-altering decisions. Fortunately, I know the answer. “You.”
“I’m yours.” At least for tonight.
Closing my eyes, I breathe him in and savor this moment deep in my lungs. It’s not something I’ll get to do tomorrow, so I take full advantage of the situation. I’m kissed, the sweet pressure turning firmer with each stroke of his tongue.
If I only get one night with this rock star, I’ll deal with the consequences of my choices come morning.
He pulls away, his piercing blue eyes that could give the sky a run for its money meeting mine. A grin punctuated with the slightest of dimples digging into his cheeks holds pure amusement. “You look like you’re concocting a plan I want to be a part of,” he says, running the back of his hand along the side of my neck and leaving a wave of goose bumps in its path.
I squirm under the intensity of his stare as he allows his gaze to drift over my body, drinking me in like a man fresh from the desert despite already having me bare in bed for hours. My heart beats faster, and my breath quickens. I almost hate how easy it is for him to incite a reaction from me, but I love it as well.
“How much mine?” I enjoy teasing him, maybe too much, but that lady-killer smile gets me every time.
“I’m all in.” The laughter I expect doesn’t follow from him, but he situates himself between my legs, which feels like a win.
One small shift and we’re back together again. It’s tempting to dare myself to take the plunge, but I haven’t lost all my senses . . . yet. “We need another condom.”
Darkness flares in his eyes, widening his pupils. He shifts, exhaling a deep breath as he hops off the bed to locate the box we bought on the way to the Capitol Hotel. That trip was a blur of whims, from the matching tattoos we got earlier to stopping at a convenience store for condoms, bottles of water, and more beer. The necessities for a good time.
Our attraction was instant, our chemistry undeniable, and the freedom to do as we please recklessly exhilarating. I’d forgotten what unadulterated happiness felt like until I met the famous guitarist from the band Faris Wheel. And smelled him. I don’t know what this man bathes in, but he’s intoxicating.