It's March and LOVE ME CRAZY, my contemporary new adult romance set in sunny South Carolina, is ON SALE for 99¢!
To celebrate, here is an excerpt from Quinn's perspective where he and Cassidy just had a revealing conversation about their feels for each other. She thinks she's said enough, but Quinn isn't finished…
“I want a secret from you. I want to know how you feel around me. How you feel about me.”
She forces me back and slips off the counter.
I grab her elbows, cupping them with my hands. “Just tell me.”
She turns her head and her lip bobbles. “Safe. Confused. Falling for you scares me. I don’t invest me in other people’s lives because I can’t afford to let them invest in mine.”
“Try, just this once.” Come on, I’m not a fucking serial killer.
She shakes her head. “You don’t get it. Relationships are a waste of time. You give, give, give and please, please, please, and all you get in return is a mediocre pat on the back and the notion your two hundred percent is worth ten to the other person. Relationships fuel disappointment.” She leans back on her elbows, grabbing all the distance from me she can. “I have no use for disappointment, and with you…I foresee monopolized time, emotions, and quite possibly my heart. That equals disappointment. Long term isn’t an option and cannot happen. And you want long term. You want heart and soul. I don’t have that to give.”
My heart stops beating, like physically stills in my chest for one, two, three seconds, then whoosh, I inhale and holy fuck. I get it. I totally get it. I understand how having something, then losing it fucks with your heart and mind. It made me cautious, leery even, of new people entering my life, and old friends who don’t know the half of what I’ve suffered. Not so cautious I avoided relationships. I dated. And yeah, maybe slept around a little—or a lot in the beginning, but I know what I want out of a relationship and I know they take work.
I blink Cassie back into focus. And this one’s going to take a fucking front-end loader and a wrecking ball to make happen. “None of that changes how much I want to kiss you.”
“I think I should go to bed.” She ducks under my arm from where I pinned her against the counter. The glance she casts over her shoulder leaks her uncertainty into the air.
Fuck if I’m going down that easily.
I push open her door, grab her around the waist and pull her into me, taking her lips without caution. Her hands ball into fists and press against my shoulders. She turns away and I give her a second to think this through, to really consider what she and I could have, right now, right here. If she wanted. And I need her to want me.
“You can walk away,” I whisper, “but I can’t walk away without a fight.”
Her hands soften as her glazed olive-green eyes consider my offer. I let her go and hold my hands up, waiting for her choice. Will she chose me, or herself?
“Don’t stop fighting,” she whispers. “I want you to win.”
I lock the door and move swiftly to her side, afraid I’m imagining this. Afraid I’ve drunk too much—highly improbable—and am experiencing the most elaborate hallucination ever.
She takes my hands and walks me around the edge of her bed. Her hands slip over my chest, lower to my belt and undo me in a matter of seconds, both physically and mentally. I tug at her shirt hem and shimmy it up, exposing her gorgeous map of freckles. I lean down and kiss her neck, her shoulder, and the dip where her collar bones meet.
Her hands thread through my hair and direct me up. Her kiss settles on my lips. Her tongue traces their seam. I back her into the bed, no longer wanting to take it slow. She pulls her shirt over her head and reaches for the hook on her bra, but I hook her elbow with my finger, wanting to enjoy the sight a bit longer—loose red strands falling from her messy bun, curling just above her navy lace bra. I trace the outline of her nipples and they harden against the sheer material.
She sits on the edge of the mattress. I drop to my knees and lean over her legs, inhaling her and tracing a kiss across her breasts. She arches back and collapses on the bed, but not before grabbing a handful of my shirt and inviting me to stretch out with her.
She pulls my shirt over my head and traces the trail of tattoos across my chest before pulling me closer. I roll on top of her and settle a kiss on her lips. Warm fucking lips. Hot fucking body. Sexiest damn woman I’ve ever met.
“This is our first date, right?” she asks.
“No way.” I kiss her and stretch her arms overhead so I can trace the curves her body makes. “You don’t score on the first date.”
“Thought we could change that.”