The second seductive, full-length standalone novel in the Fight For Me series from A.L. Jackson is coming next month, and I have the stunning cover for you, as well as a never-seen-before sneak peek.
I searched him in the flickers of light that danced against the darkness, illuminating the stunning lines of his face. “You don’t even know me.”
“Some things are just written on a person. You can’t hide who you are, just the same as I can’t hide who I am.”
“And who is it you think you are?”
He sighed with my question, as if this time it was me who was getting too close. Digging in too deep.
Straight on, he met my gaze. “A guy who probably shouldn’t be standing here doing this.”
I saw the stark flash of it take him whole, the impact of it so severe it jarred me back a step.
I blinked at him, trying to make sense of this complicated man and piece together his complex layers. “What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t get close to women, Hope, and the only thing I fucking want right now is to get closer to you.”
Everything inside me took flight.
Kale set his tumbler aside before taking my glass and placing it next to his. Then he pushed to his full height, towering over me, pinning me with the power of his presence.
He framed my face in both of his hands.
That conflict raged inside me.
The push and the pull.
“Is there any chance you’ll take him back?”
“No.” It flew from my mouth like a curse. “Never.”
He stood there, staring down at me, rocking on his heels. “Good. Don’t settle, Hope. Don’t fucking ever settle.”
“I won’t,” I promised, swallowing over the lump that had grown thick at the base of my throat.
His forehead dropped to mine, and I reached up, wrapping my hands around his wrists, the man still holding me while I clung to him.
His breaths mine. My heart reaching for his.
He groaned a needy sound before he tilted up my chin, searching as he stared down at me.
Slow . . . so slow . . . he leaned down and brushed his lips across mine.
Racing my flesh. Hijacking my veins.
His tongue tangled with mine. Stroking, dizzying as he edged me back, deeper into the darkness that lined the far recesses of the balcony.
His kiss no longer gentle.
An all-consuming demand.
My heart rate kicked, drumming wildly.
I swore his caught, too.
Because the very air around us started to thrum.
Heads spinning and spirits soaring.
I gasped when I was suddenly propped on the very edge of a small bistro table that was tucked against the far wall, Kale’s fingers sinking into the outside of my thighs as he broke the kiss and dropped into a chair in front of me.
“Kale . . . what are you . . .?”
I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, not when he ran his thumbs over the flesh. “You said we had one night. I want to give you this. I want to make you feel good.”