I dig. It’s what I do. I’ll literally use a shovel to answer a question. Some answers, though, have been buried too deep for too long. But I’ll find those, too. And I know where to dig—the Blackwood Estate on the edge of the Mississippi Delta. Garrett Blackwood is the only thing standing between me and the truth. A broken man—one with desires that dance in the darkest part of my soul—he’s either my savior or my enemy. I’ll dig until I find all his secrets. Then I’ll run so he never finds mine. The only problem? He likes it when I run.
Author’s Note: This is a mystery/suspense romance with violence and explicit sex. Trigger warning.
Author’s Note: This is a mystery/suspense romance with violence and explicit sex. Trigger warning.
“You can’t keep me here,” I said with far more bravado than I felt. “I refuse to be held prisoner by a psycho in need of a shower and shave.”
He laughed, this time the sound rich and sultry. It reverberated inside my chest. Something about it reminded me of the forest, the way the sunrise warmed it but couldn’t quite reach its dark heart.
“You don’t like my beard?” He sat next to me, much closer this time.
My pulse ratcheted up, and I took in a quick breath.
“Well?” He grinned and took my wrist.
I tried to pull it away, but his grip was like an iron shackle. He eased the back of my hand down his cheek. “Not so bad, is it?”
It wasn’t. Not exactly soft, it felt thick and masculine. Rich. “What are you doing?” I leaned back until I pressed up against the headboard.
He moved closer, his woodsy scent a mix of smoke and soap. Maybe he didn’t need a shower after all. I didn’t turn away, not even when his lips were only inches from mine.
“I just wanted to see.” His eyes flickered to my lips.
“You’re about to see what a vicious head butt looks like.” My rapid pulse infected my voice, making it quaver.
“Yeah?” He squeezed my wrist harder. “I don’t believe you.”
“Fuck you.” I stared into his eyes, searching the stormy irises for some way to solve the enigma of Garrett Blackwood.
He laughed, this time the sound rich and sultry. It reverberated inside my chest. Something about it reminded me of the forest, the way the sunrise warmed it but couldn’t quite reach its dark heart.
“You don’t like my beard?” He sat next to me, much closer this time.
My pulse ratcheted up, and I took in a quick breath.
“Well?” He grinned and took my wrist.
I tried to pull it away, but his grip was like an iron shackle. He eased the back of my hand down his cheek. “Not so bad, is it?”
It wasn’t. Not exactly soft, it felt thick and masculine. Rich. “What are you doing?” I leaned back until I pressed up against the headboard.
He moved closer, his woodsy scent a mix of smoke and soap. Maybe he didn’t need a shower after all. I didn’t turn away, not even when his lips were only inches from mine.
“I just wanted to see.” His eyes flickered to my lips.
“You’re about to see what a vicious head butt looks like.” My rapid pulse infected my voice, making it quaver.
“Yeah?” He squeezed my wrist harder. “I don’t believe you.”
“Fuck you.” I stared into his eyes, searching the stormy irises for some way to solve the enigma of Garrett Blackwood.
He smirked again, just the slightest quirk of his lips, then leaned back and released my wrist. The air cooled between us, and goose bumps rose along my bare arms.
Celia Aaron is the self-publishing pseudonym of a published romance and erotica author. She loves to write stories with hot heroes and heroines that are twisty and often dark. Thanks for reading.
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