Some of my favorite romance themes are friends-to-lovers and stories set in the rockstar world and this book combines both as two bruised souls struggle towards their HEA. Keep reading to get a tempting taste of Always You by Roxie Noir with its gritty and angsty romance. In honor of this second installment in the Dirtshine series make sure to fill out the form below for the chance to win a signed print copy of this book too!
I’ve been broken since the day I was born, with a past full of ugly secrets and a brother doing life in prison.
Not that you’d know it if you read the tabloids. According to them I’m the rock-solid guitarist for the biggest band in the world. I’m the dependable one. The steady one. The anchor.
They don’t know the truth. No one knows who I am underneath, once the music is over and the lights are off.
No one but Darcy.
She’s my best friend. She’s my fucking savior, my light in the dark, beautiful as hell and talented as fuck and every bit as broken as me.
And I fucking yearn for her. I have for years. I see the way she looks at me, what’s behind her eyes.
I know what she thinks about alone, in the dark, because how could I not know.
It’s getting worse. Every second, every heartbeat, every moment we spend together and every secret we share makes me want her more. Even though I know that one kiss, one night could ruin everything we have, I need her.
And for Darcy, I’ll risk it all.
Look at him, fucking look at him, what’s wrong with you.
I squeeze my hands into fists and finally, slowly, raise my eyes to look at Trent. Every nerve in my body is exploding.
“I lied when I said I didn’t want this,” I whisper, the words coming out in a rush, like someone’s yanking them from my mouth.
“You never said that."
“I told you not to kiss me."
“But you never said you didn’t want me to."
I touch my fingers to the back of his hand, which twitches, but before he can take my hand in his I move it up his arm, over his patchwork of tattoos to his shoulder, until the back of my hand is resting against his collarbone, and I step in toward him.
Just like that, his arms are around me, warm and thick and familiar because we’ve hugged probably thousands of times. I know this so well but at the same time I don’t.
I’ve got one hand on his shoulder. The other finds its way, somehow, around the back of his neck. My eyes close again and his hands trace my spine in a whisper, so gentle against my new scar that I can hardly feel them.
Then up, over my neck, and Trent’s fingers are warm and solid in my hair. I’m on my tiptoes, eyes closed, and he strokes a thumb across my cheekbone, leaning his forehead against mine.
You can’t uncross this bridge, I think. You still haven’t actually kissed him yet, you can back out and it’ll be okay, probably --
I kiss him.
I do it so gently that for an instant I’m not even sure I did or whether my nerves somehow got the better of me and I’ve started hallucinating, but after a fraction of a second his hand tightens in my hair and he presses his mouth harder against mine and he’s warm and hard and soft all at once, everything that I always thought kissing Trent would be.
We kiss harder, his mouth moving against mine, somehow rough and reckless, and I can feel his fingers digging into the base of my spine, tugging me against his wildly before he pulls back, his lips leaving mine.
Trent pauses, just for a split second, like he needs a moment to collect himself. He’s breathing hard, and he runs his thumb over my cheekbone again, like he’s making sure of something.
And then his mouth is back on mine, harder than before, needier, like a dam’s burst and he can’t hold back. I kiss him fiercely, ferociously, opening my mouth and meeting his tongue with mine, my fingers tight on the back of his neck.
I bite Trent’s lip. He groans quietly, pulling my body against his by the hips, his other hand still in my hair. He’s hard as a rock, his erection against my lower belly and I move my hips against it, something wild and wanton unlocked inside me as he groans again.
Because Jesus, I fucking like that noise and more than anything I like that he’s making it.
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I love writing sexy, alpha men and the headstrong women they fall for.
My weaknesses include: beards, whiskey, nice abs with treasure trails, sarcasm, cats, prowess in the kitchen, prowess in the bedroom, forearm tattoos, and gummi bears.
I live in California with my very own sexy, bearded, whiskey-loving husband and two hell-raising cats.
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