He could have it all… but all he wants is her.
Ink & Iron, Book 1
During his soaring career as the lead singer of indie-rock band Ink & Iron, Cole Kennrick has been through it all: sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Overindulging until he lost what mattered most.
Now he’s pulled his life together and left his addictions behind, except for one: his ex-wife, Janie. If only he can convince her their love was—still is—the real thing.
In the seven years since their divorce, Janie has kept tabs on the only man she’s ever truly loved. The one she had to leave in order to save herself. Still, dark and often kinky desires they explored together linger in her dreams and fantasies.
Janie has seen up close and way-too-personal that rock stars are bad, bad medicine. But when Cole shows up at her yoga studio, clean and sober, his leather-and-motorcycles scent teasing her senses, it’s way too tempting to slip right back into the one place she swore she’d never risk again—his arms.
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PLEASE CHOOSE ONE OF THE EXCERPTS TO POST WITH THE BLITZ
Excerpts for Blog Blitz
Excerpt #1: Opening scene G-Rated-945 words
Janie inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly and lowered her body, bending at the waist until she could place her hands flat on her yoga mat.
“Everyone remember to breathe as you press hands and heels down into the floor, stretching the hamstrings…good. Gently rise up until you’re back in mountain pose, then reach high overhead with both hands, stretching…and bring both hands into prayer position in the center of your chest, head bent. Pause to inhale, exhale.” She straightened up and glanced around the room to see how her students were doing. “Now bring both arms up overhead again and…”
Oh Jesus God.
What the hell was he doing in her class?
Cole Kennrick. Indie rock star. Hottest man she’d ever seen. And her ex-husband.
She caught herself wanting to lean toward him to catch a hint of his scent: leather and motor oil from his motorcycle—he’d always had a motorcycle—and that little bit of something spicy and earthy that was him.
His skin. His hair. His mouth…
She blinked. Her class. What had she been saying?
“…inhale, lowering your arms until you touch the earth. Let it ground you.”
Please let it ground me.
Had he seen her blanch?
“Let your breath out slowly as you step back with your right foot, coming into Warrior pose. Lift your arms and breathe.”
If only she didn’t look at him again she’d be all right.
“Inhale, and straighten the left leg once more, exhaling as you bend. Good. Now let’s bend the right knee down to the earth, straighten up and place your hands on your hips…”
She was looking right at him—she couldn’t help it. And he was staring back at her; those mesmerizing ice-blue eyes gleaming even from the back of the room. Those eyes…and his tall, lean body, every muscle perfectly carved, his shoulders almost too broad for his frame. His right arm was completely tattooed now—a full sleeve in bold colors. His chest too, from what she could see—all black and gray work. God, she loved tattoos on a man.
She blinked, tried to breathe.
She would finish the damn class despite his presence. Despite the sheer male beauty of him lurking at the back of the room in nothing but black basketball shorts and a simple white ribbed tank top that managed to look sexier on him than on any other man alive.
She focused on the painted Japanese shoji screens behind him and continued with the instructions she knew by rote, thank God. Still, the hour-long class seemed to last at least a month before she reached the final pose.
“Bring your hands together in front of your heart, palms together. Bow your head and give thanks. Namaste.”
“Namaste,” the class repeated.
“See you all next week.”
She stood and began to roll up her mat, her gaze firmly on the polished bamboo floors she’d had installed in her studio, Om, when she did the remodel last year. They were softer on the feet.
His feet, right in front of her.
She inhaled, her eyes closed for several long seconds before daring to raise her head. Yep. He still smelled the same. And her body still responded with a slow, trembling heat that began in her middle and spread…everywhere.
She met his gaze and goddammit his eyes were still that glossy silvery blue that looked as if they’d been cast in glass, framed by dark, long lashes.
It made her hot all over and mad as hell that he could still do this to her just by showing up. Just by breathing.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” she demanded quietly from between gritted teeth.
“Janie, we need to talk.”
“We didn’t have a chance when I saw you a week ago—”
“We were at Sonny’s funeral, Cole!”
He ran a hand over his crop of dark hair. “Come on. I know that. That’s why I left it alone once you made it clear you didn’t even want to say hello.”
“So you just decide to show up at one of my classes?”
His fingertips swept over the dark stubble of his goatee. “I didn’t know where else to find you,” he said quietly.
“I thought that was the point.” Anger was a fire blazing inside her. She’d had no idea she still had so much of it in her. Toward him. In general. Apparently training all these years as a yoga instructor hadn’t afforded her the inner calm she’d been striving for.
All these years. Seven years since she’d left him—and she hadn’t seen him face-to-face since the divorce. Not until the funeral. She’d been so raw and angry and hurt that day she couldn’t bear to face him. She’d literally turned her back on him and walked away when he’d looked as if he might approach her.
It still hurt.
She looked up as the next session’s instructor came in.
“Oh, sorry, Janie. I was going to set up for my Kundalini class. Am I interrupting?”
“Go ahead, Brenda. We were…on our way out.”
“Janie—” he started.
Her look silenced him and she grabbed his wrist and began to pull him from the room, trying not to notice the soft hairs on his forearm, the muscle flexing there beneath the gorgeous ink. “Come on. We’ll talk in my office.”
She moved as quickly as she could down the hallway, pushing open her office door and letting him pass through before shoving the door shut behind her. Leaning back against it, she took a breath, trying to control her shaking legs.
“Okay. Talk, Cole.”
Copyright Eden Bradley 2015
EXCERPT #2: R-rated 680 words (reference to power play)
Squirming, she pushed away from him, fighting down the emotion that wanted to overwhelm her.
“I can’t go there, Cole. I don’t want to talk about my fears with you. Or being your girl. Or my fucking hair, for God’s sake! This is…ridiculous. Impossible.”
But the sheer masculine beauty of his face—a face thousands of women would have killed to be close to—and the sincerity of his tone were getting to her. That, and the pure chemistry that still sizzled and snapped in the air between them like static electricity before a storm.
The past was the past. Wasn’t it? How was it possible that she still responded to him like this? She couldn’t seem to think straight.
“Have dinner with me tonight. We can talk.”
Her mind spun with images of them together in the darkness, with nothing but the light of the moon shining on their naked bodies through the windows of their old house in Venice Beach… Those images drove the other ones away, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or if it was bad, but this certainly felt better. “Tonight?” she asked uncertainly.
“Seven o’clock. I’ll pick you up wherever you tell me to. Here. Your home.” An air of command in his voice even while he was giving her options. How did he do that?
“I didn’t say I was going.”
He smiled, a devastating flash of strong white teeth. “You didn’t say you weren’t.”
“Damn it, Cole,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. She wanted to say no, but oh, the storm was coming.
He let out a low chuckle. “Still have to be a little mouthy before you give in. But you know I’ve always liked that about you.”
Oh, they were so not getting into the whole power exchange thing. She’d be lost.
“I can still say no.”
He only smiled, making her want him to kiss her again. And again. And damn it, he had her. For dinner, anyway.
She shook her head. “Okay. Okay. But I’ll meet you. Just tell me where.”
“Come on, Janie girl. You know I’m more of a gentleman than that. There is no way I’m not picking you up.”
She blew out a breath, dropped her arms and turned to grab a pen and a green sticky note from her teak desk. “This is my address.”
He glanced at the note. “Los Feliz. Cool, funky neighborhood. You close to Griffith Park?”
She raised her chin a few notches. “Yes. It is.”
He leaned in until she could feel his breath warm on her cheek, his voice low. “I understand you being defensive, finding it hard to trust even having a simple conversation with me. I get it, baby. But just for tonight, for what we had between us once, I need you to find a way to let me in. A little, at least.”
She nodded, unable to speak, his scent going through her like a live wire.
It had always been like this. He’d always had this effect on her—rendering her speechless simply by standing close to her. His touch was absolutely devastating. And his scent… God, no man had a right to smell that good.
Another shiver ran through her as she breathed him in. She would see him. She would be open to talking. But she would not let him make her head spin like the teenager who had fallen so hopelessly in love with him.
That’s a lie. You’ve never been able to resist him.
She wished it weren’t true. But that was the main reason she’d never faced him once the divorce papers were signed. Because she knew if she spent ten minutes alone with him—even after the drug and alcohol abuse, even after the nights she’d spent alone wondering where the hell he was, having him come home staggering at six in the morning—turning away from him would be impossible. She wasn’t sure she could do it again.
She was an idiot.
She nodded. “Seven o’clock.”
Copyright Eden Bradley 2015
EXCERPT #3: X-Rated- Cole-solo scene: 457 words
He could either hang in the studio some more beating his head against the writer’s block, or he could go upstairs and get in the shower and stroke off some of the tension in his body.
Tension about Janie.
Those long, lean legs and her perfect, heart-shaped ass…
He’d spanked that gorgeous ass, and she’d loved it. He’d tied her up, played her with hot wax… Was she was still into the kink, or had that been nothing more for her than the explorations of sexually charged youth? No—he knew enough about BDSM and the power dynamic these days to look back and recognize that what they’d had was the real thing. The dynamic had been sizzling hot and the connection when they played hard had been intense. Amazing. That was something no one could ever forget.
He remembered her tied up with the long scarves she wore around her neck, on her knees on the bed, hands behind her back, every line of her bound body perfection. The way she gave herself over to him in those moments was flawless.
His cock was growing harder as he made his way up the stairs, one hand on the rising bulge in his jeans.
He moved through the living room, with its free-standing stone fireplace and the enormous window overlooking Hollywood. Down the hallway and through the master bedroom until he reached the bathroom.
Kicking his way out of his big black boots and his jeans, he tossed them over the edge of the round bathtub that stood in the center of the bathroom under a skylight. This room was a hedonist’s delight, but all he cared about right now was getting naked into the shower with his girl on his mind.
He stepped into the enormous pale slate and glass enclosure, which was fully equipped with multiple showerheads and body sprayers. He turned on the tap, leaving the water a little cool. Stepping under the spray, he grabbed the bar of sandalwood-scented soap and lathered up his chest, making himself wait before touching his hardening cock.
Janie on her back, her hands clenching the sheets while he dripped hot wax onto her gorgeous breasts, her pink nipples darkening, hardening…
She loved the wax. Loved a little pain. Loved being taken over. All he had to do was press on the back of her neck and she responded immediately. Usually so in control of things, she went right down when they were in those roles. So fucking sexy.
Janie’s eyes going glassy with desire and submission as he buried his hand in her hair and pulled.
Finally, he lowered his hand and began to soap his rock-hard cock.
“Oh, fucking yeah…”
Copyright Eden Bradley 2015
EXCERPT #4: R-X-rated 812 words
Cole was leaning against the doorframe, one arm braced over his head in a relaxed pose only the most confident of men could pull off. He wore a black button-down shirt edged in blue stitching that brought out the icy blue of his eyes, and it was fitted enough that she could see the breadth of his shoulders straining against the fabric. The sleeves fit his biceps perfectly, as if molded there, and the fit of his jeans made her entire body ache with need.
“Hey, Janie girl. You look beautiful.”
She blinked. Focused on his mouth. Oh, that was not any better. Or it was, but…
“Um…you find the place okay?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
“Good.” She grabbed her purse from the console table next to the door. “I’m ready to go.”
He paused, clearly wanting her to invite him in, but she knew she was doomed if she did that. Cole Kennrick and her, alone in her apartment? A very bad idea.
Or a very good one.
She looked up to find his gaze on hers, a smoldering blue that went right through her like a physical sensation—warm and intense.
All he did was reach out and run a finger under her chin, but he may as well have put his hand between her thighs. That touch and his steady gaze on hers were working like some kind of wild aphrodisiac. Her legs went weak. Her sex went hot. Her mind went numb. When he stepped forward, she didn’t say a word. When he moved closer, using his big body to press her back, and closed the door behind him, she didn’t resist. She remembered this about him—how could she ever forget?—the way he used his tall, muscled frame to command her, to wrestle her into submission without even a word. But oh, when the words came, they were exactly the right ones to get her to shift gears in her head. To allow her to give herself over.
She hadn’t wanted to talk about the power play, but it was happening. It was too much a part of who Cole was—so naturally dominant despite his laid-back persona—and too much a part of who they were together. Submissive and Dominant. Absolute trust. Absolute vulnerability.
There were alarm bells going off in her head. She ignored them as he leaned in and kissed her.
Really kissed her—not like that brief brush of lips at her yoga studio. This time it started with a soft press of his beautiful, lush mouth to hers. Then again, and again. His hand wrapped around the back of her head, holding her closer so he could kiss her harder, and she was damned if she wasn’t the first one to open her mouth and invite him in.
She really was in trouble then. His tongue slipped in, hot and wet and sweet, and began to explore. Except it wasn’t some slow exploration—it was more as if he would die if he couldn’t kiss her, taste her, drink her in. And she was kissing him back every bit as hungrily.
His hands slid down to her waist. She dropped her purse to the floor as her arms went around his neck and she breathed him in. Oh yes, it was Cole, all right. Like pure sex to her. He yanked her in tight and she gasped, but the sound was lost in his kiss—he was swallowing her up, or she was melting into him. She wasn’t sure. Didn’t matter. All that mattered was his mouth on hers, his arms holding her tight, the crush of her breasts against the firm wall of his chest. Oh, and the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against her belly.
Her nipples were just as hard, almost grating against the lace of her bra. She wanted out of it now. Had she ever been this turned on in her life?
Only with him.
She kissed him harder, with everything she had. She’d had no idea how badly she needed this, needed him.
When he lifted her and turned, pressing her back against the door, she let out a moan. She’d always loved the way he handled her—as if she weighed nothing, yet knowing she wasn’t fragile, that she could take some roughness.
She liked it rough.
He grabbed both her wrists in one of his big hands and raised them over her head, held them against the wood door. Pressing against her with his hips, essentially trapping her with his body, he pulled back to demand, his tone harsh with desire, “Janie. You know me. You know what I am. I have to ask you for your consent. Say yes. Or tell me to stop right now.”
“Tell me. Tell me to stop. Or tell me yes.”
Copyright Eden Bradley 2015