Meet Hawke and Abby in the newest
standalone in the Sphere of Irony Series.
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Blurb
Hawke
Evans is the drummer for the Grammy winning Sphere of Irony. The quiet,
tattooed and pierced hottie behind a pair of geek chic glasses is hiding a
seriously troubled adrenaline junkie with a death wish.
Abby
Kessler is studying psychology at UCLA. Her desire to help those fighting
mental illness stems from a life-changing incident in her past.
When Abby
meets Hawke backstage at a local club, she’s instantly attracted to his bad boy
good looks. But when she discovers the damaged man beneath the beautiful
exterior, she’s compelled to make up for past mistakes.
How long
will it take for Hawke to realize his reckless behavior isn’t only endangering
him, but the hearts of those around him? How long will it take for Abby to see
that she can’t help someone who has no desire to be fixed?
***This is book 4 in the Sphere of Irony
Series. It can be read as a standalone. This is a spin-off of the Famous
Series***
Excerpt
“Go away, Evans. I’m talking this
nice girl.” This prick has no idea
how close I am to snapping or what Abby means to me. The way Brad says ‘girl’,
combined with the obvious ‘fuck off so I can get laid’ look in his eyes, seals
Brad’s fate.
Blinded by rage, I pull back my arm
and drill my fist right into his smug face.
“Fuck!” Brad cries out. He touches
his mouth to find his lip split open and bleeding.
“Oh my god, Hawke! What is your
problem?” Abby shouts. I move to punch the bastard again, but Abby steps
between us, grabbing my hand. “Stop!”
“Move,” I hiss, shooting a murderous
glare over Abby’s shoulder at Brad, who is still holding his hand up to his
mouth.
The rest of the room has gone
silent, everyone stopping to stare at the disruption, eager to watch a good
fight. Dax must have either left or is holed up in his room with Kate,
otherwise he’d be right in the middle of things, using his enormous muscles and
underground fighting skills to put an end to the confrontation.
“Don’t,” Abby begs, forcing me to
look at her by stepping into my line of sight. When I meet her eyes, shimmering
with tears and betrayal, all of the rage I felt for Brad turns into frustration
with Abby for drinking and putting herself in the situation with Brad to begin
with.
“Leave,” I bark at Brad, pointing at
the front door. Before she can protest, I grab Abby’s wrist and haul her to my
room. She stumbles behind me on her high heels. Using my foot, I slam the door
shut with a bang.
“Ouch, Hawke!” Abby twists out of my
hold, turning to glare at me. “What is your problem?”
“My problem?” I shout. “I’m not the
one getting drunk and letting Brad piece-of-shit
Vargas touch my ass!”
Her mouth drops open and her eyes
bulge. “Are you kidding me right now?”
I step forward, crowding her in a
corner of the tiny space I share with Gavin. “Oh, I’m far from fucking kidding,
Abby. He’s a slimy douchebag who wants nothing more than to get you drunk and
fuck you.”
“So what? It’s none of your business
who I sleep with!” Abby puts her hands on her hips and scowls. It’s almost
adorable, until she continues her rant, going straight for the jugular. “I
don’t say anything about the whores you bang every night!”
Anger, shame, raging desire—they all
battle inside my chest, clashing until they detonate in a huge fireball of
uncontrollable emotions. “I don’t want them!” I shout, my hands going to my
hair, fisting huge hunks.
I step closer, Abby’s back now
pressed against the bathroom door. I lean forward, dropping my hands to cage
her in on either side of her head. Her breathing picks up and I drop my gaze to
drag up her sinful body, ending at her heart-stopping eyes. “Don’t you get it,
Abby?” My voice lowers as I finally confess what I’ve held inside for too long.
“I don’t want Brad touching you. I don’t want anyone touching you! I want you. You’re mine.”
Abby gasps, either in shock at my
declaration, or with desire. I don’t wait to find out because at that moment, I
lean closer, letting my hips press against hers so she can feel exactly how much I want her. Abby’s eyes
fall to my mouth, her thick lashes fluttering against flushed skin. When her
pink tongue darts out to lick her lips, any remaining willpower I possessed
dissolves into nothingness.
I tilt my head to see if that mouth
tastes as sweet as she smells, but Abby holds me back with a hand to my chest.
A fist squeezes around my heart. Of
course she doesn’t want me. Why would she? I’m a fucked up mess and she
knows it.
Abby inhales a shaky breath, drawing
my attention back to her eyes once more. “What’s your real name?” she asks.
“What?” I pull my brows together.
“Your real name. I… I don’t want my
first time to be with someone whose name I don’t know,” she whispers, her cheeks
blazing red with embarrassment.
I huff out a laugh. “Henry. It’s
Henry Walker Evans.”
“Like Gavin Walker?”
I shake my head. “No relation.”
“Henry,” she says, smiling as she
trails her trembling fingers up my chest, over my collarbone, to wrap around the
back of my neck. “Kiss me, Henry.”
Without hesitation, I lift my hands
from the door to cup her flushed cheeks, letting my full weight press against
her body. Abby’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, sending a rush of blood
straight to my groin. I groan in pleasure. “God, I’ve been wanting to do this
forever.” Before she can answer, I lean in and our mouths connect.
Abby melts against the door, her
muscles going limp, allowing me to control the kiss. When I slide my tongue
against the seam of her lips, she lets out a throaty moan that vibrates all the
way to my toes. Her mouth parts on a soft exhale, the sound sending little
sparks of electricity dancing across my skin. I’m so turned on, so desperate to
taste and feel every part of her, that my brain turns off and instinct takes
over. Primal, animal instinct to possess, to claim, to make her mine.
I step forward, putting one foot
between hers to kick her feet apart. Once there’s enough room to maneuver, I
push my stiff dick against the junction of her thighs. Abby gasps and comes to
life. The girl who was content to be passively carried along through our kiss,
threads her fingers through my hair and grips tight. The streak of pain across
my scalp shreds my last vestiges of rational thought.
Panting, I break away, dizzily
gulping down oxygen. “Off. Now.” I grab the hem of her silky tank top and yank
it over her head, revealing two perfect, round breasts supported by a lacy
white bra. “Fuck.” I palm my hard-on through my way too tight jeans, the ache
nearly unbearable.
Abby stares at me, her eyes wild,
pupils dilated. Desire has put crimson streaks on her cheekbones and turned her
throat and chest a deep shade of pink. “Your turn,” she says, clawing at the
bottom of my own T-shirt. I reach over my head to pull it off, but hesitate
when my fingers grip the material.
The scars. I’ve haven’t had sex with
anyone without a shirt on since the accident, usually not even getting my pants
all the way off. It’s always been quick backroom hook-ups or blow jobs. My
pulse races, fear overtaking desire, pricking my skin uncomfortably.
“Henry.” Abby caresses my cheek, her
thumb brushing across the silver stud in my bottom lip. “I don’t care. I want
you, all of you. You’re perfect the way you are.”
Our eyes lock, and I know she’s
telling the truth. This is Abby. I
can trust her. She skims her hands down my ribcage, hooking her fingers into
the waist of my jeans. In a bold move, Abby tugs me forward and arches her back
off the door, grinding against my aching cock.
I nod, knowing right now, I’ll give
her whatever she wants. I fist the collar of the shirt and pull it over my
head, balling it up in my hands between us, using it as my final shield.
Without breaking eye contact, Abby covers my hands with her own and slowly
removes my fingers, taking the shirt from me. She tosses it to the ground, blue
eyes still fixed on mine. Abby slides her hands around my waist and I flinch.
“Don’t be afraid,” she murmurs,
skimming her hands up my torso, her fingers exploring every inch. They brush across
my abs to my chest, where she gently flicks her thumbs across my nipples. “I’m
not. I know you’ll take care of me.”
“Jesus, Abby.” My head lolls back
from the pleasure of her touch.
Abby winds her hands behind my head
and pulls my mouth back to hers. Our tongues slide together, wet and hot and so
fucking perfect. She stops to catch her breath, fumbling with the button on her
own jeans. As I stare, entranced, Abby shoves down her pants and underwear and
reaches behind her to unsnap her bra, letting it slide down her arms to the
floor. She’s so beautiful, I stop breathing to stare at her naked body,
snapping out of it only when she speaks. “Make love to me, Henry.”
Check out the Beautiful NEW
COVERS!
Incite (Book One) The Sphere of Irony Series FREE
Strike (Book Two) The Sphere of Irony Series
Resist (Book Three)
The Sphere of Irony Series
About the Author:
Heather C Leigh
Heather C.
Leigh is the author of the Amazon best selling Famous series. She likes to
write about the 'dark' side of fame. The part that the public doesn't get to
see, how difficult it is to live in a fishbowl and how that affects
relationships.
Heather was born and raised in New England and currently lives outside Atlanta, GA with her husband, 2 kids, and French Bulldog, Shelby.
She loves the Red Sox, the Patriots, and anything chocolate (but not white chocolate, everyone knows it's not real chocolate so it doesn't count) and has left explicit instructions in her will to have her ashes snuck into Fenway Park and sneakily sprinkled all over while her family enjoys beer, hot dogs, and a wicked good time.
Heather was born and raised in New England and currently lives outside Atlanta, GA with her husband, 2 kids, and French Bulldog, Shelby.
She loves the Red Sox, the Patriots, and anything chocolate (but not white chocolate, everyone knows it's not real chocolate so it doesn't count) and has left explicit instructions in her will to have her ashes snuck into Fenway Park and sneakily sprinkled all over while her family enjoys beer, hot dogs, and a wicked good time.
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