Love on the Tracks
Description
Welcome to the Snow and Ice Games where the
competition is fierce and the romance is HOT.
Rowan
Andrews is the unexpected darling of the Denver Snow and Ice Games. Luge has
never captured the American public’s imagination as much as figure skating or
even hockey, but her outsized personality and dare-devil ways have got
everyone’s eyes glued to the track. Including a certain chart-topping
heartthrob.
Zane Rivera
is the lead singer of License to Game, the hottest band in the country. When
Zane finds out Rowan Andrews has had some complimentary things to say about
him, he arranges to meet her while he’s in Denver enjoying the games. And when
a photo of him kissing Rowan on the cheek goes viral, they both see the
advantages of faking a relationship for the publicity.
After
Rowan’s injured in her final race, their relationship starts to feel all too
real to Zane. But is this rock star ready to fall in love?
Buy Links
Author Bios
Tamsen
Parker is a stay-at-home mom by day, USA
Today bestselling erotic romance writer by naptime. Her novella CRAVING
FLIGHT was named to the Best of 2015 lists of Heroes and Heartbreakers, Smexy
Books, Romance Novel News, and Dear Author. Heroes and Heartbreakers called her
Compass series “bewitching, humorous, erotically intense and emotional.” She
lives with her family outside of Boston, where she tweets too much, sleeps too
little and is always in the middle of a book. Aside from good food, sweet
rieslings and gin cocktails, she has a fondness for monograms and subway maps.
She should really start drinking coffee.
Authors Links
Website: http://tamsenparker.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/tamsenparker
Twitter: https://twitter.com/tamsenparker
Excerpt from Love on
the Tracks copyright © 2017 by Tamsen Parker
When I see
the now-familiar black Land Rover idling by the corner, and the rear driver’s
side door opens to let Zane out into the chilly evening, it doesn’t feel so
complicated. He smiles at me, and rubs his bare hands together—guy should
invest in some gloves before he starts going to the outdoor events.
I don’t know where it
comes from, but that bold part of me wells up and swamps all my doubts and
insecurities. This is supposed to be fun. I’m supposed to be having fun. What
would be fun would be to kiss the incredibly good-looking guy who’s smiling at
me as though I’m the only person on earth even though I’m well aware of being
trailed by half a dozen photographers.
So I walk right up
and lay my mittened hands on his chest and go up on tip-toe to kiss him. His
scruff brushes against my chin, and his lips move against my mouth, and then
his hands are in my hair. My hair.
He’s never done that before, and the way his fingers thread through my hair to
sculpt around my head and hold me fast to kiss me . . . I’m accustomed to
adrenaline rushes. Half my life is spent trying to go a fraction of a second
faster and risking my life to do it. There’s not a whole lot that can beat out
hurtling down an icy tunnel and barreling around corners with five Gs pulling
at you, but this might be it.
It’s so stupid. It’s
not as if I’ve never been kissed before. But I’ve never been kissed quite like
this. His tongue teases the seam of my lips and I open for him, wanting him
more, wanting more of him. It’s not until I hear someone say loudly, “Hey,
isn’t that Zane Rivera?” that I remember we’re in public.
Flashes are going
off, and I can hear the crowd starting to form around us. As much as I’d like
to keep kissing Zane, we’ve got to get out of here. He must feel the same way
because he doesn’t resist when I break off our kiss, only lays a hand on my
lower back to steady me and then help me into the Land Rover, waving at the
crowd and smiling as he does.
Is this his life? I
can handle the attention for concentrated bursts, but for Zane it may be more
like a years-long slog with extra crazy sauce drizzled on top when they go on
tour or to an awards show, or apparently when they kiss SIG athletes.
Once he’s firmly shut
and locked the door and given the driver the go-ahead, he turns to me. Cups my
jaw with a hand and runs his thumb over my cheek. It’s the sweetest way anyone’s
ever touched me and it makes all these gooey romantic feelings drip out of my
heart and spread through my whole body.
“You okay, Row? You
look a little shell-shocked.”
That’s how I feel. Or
like game being chased by a pack of well-trained hounds. Yeah, I suppose it is
open season on us right now. I’m so unsettled, I can’t even really enjoy that
he called me Row, just like I’d fantasized he would. “I’m okay, I’m not used to
. . .” I wave to the people still crowding the car, trying to snap pictures
with their cellphones and long-lensed cameras through the tinted glass. “This.”
Zane’s hand falls
away from my face, and I wish he would put it back. Instead, he reaches over
and buckles my seatbelt before tucking me under his arm—well, as far as the
seatbelt will allow. “I don’t think people ever get used to it. At least the
people I know don’t. Sick of it, yeah, but it’s always shocking, always makes
me tense up, you know?”
He shivers, probably
in an exaggerated way to make me feel better. It does. And the way he called me
Row, which I’m getting to relish while replaying it in my head. That’s the
first time, but I hope it won’t be the last.
“Still want to go to
the movie?”
“Yeah, I’ve been
looking forward to it all day.”
He smiles that
charming smile and it makes me wonder how many girls he’s smiled at like this
before. Probably a million. He’s only picked me to smile at for now because
it’ll sell him some records. Well, that’s fine. We can have fun while we play
the media.
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