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friends are just getting married. In desperate need of a restart, I set off on
a road trip to learn how to love myself again.
Can I learn to trust again after having that trust betrayed?
When he reveals his deepest secret, can I look beyond the lies and toward the
only thing that matters?
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A voice comes out of nowhere, startling me. I straighten and
smack my head into the hood.
“Crap,” I hiss out as I rub the sore spot.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, gorgeous.”
If the accent weren’t a dead giveaway regarding the owner of
the voice, the nickname confirms it. Stepping back, my eyes lock onto
Anderson’s, a sexy smirk on his lips.
“What’s wrong with your car?”
“It wouldn’t start a few minutes ago. When it finally did,
it wouldn’t go over twenty-five miles an hour.”
He gestures toward the engine. “Mind if I take a look?”
“You know something about cars?”
“I can get by.”
I step away, allowing him to take a look under my hood.
The car’s hood. Not my hood.
He bends down, toying with different parts of the engine. My
heart rate increases as I watch him check the oil, grease getting on his hands.
There’s something oddly erotic about watching a man as handsome as Anderson
working on a car, the corded muscles in his forearms straining, his brow
creased in confusion.
His broad shoulders pull at the fabric of his shirt, and I’m
able to make out the defined muscles of his back. When his t-shirt lifts, it
reveals a sliver of olive-toned skin. I wonder if he has that little V at his
waist all women seem to lose their minds over. In my fantasy, he most certainly
In my fantasy, I even lick the ridges of that V, all the way
“Nothing looks off,” he comments, facing me.
I inhale a sharp breath, his sudden movement taking me by
“Is that right?”
“That’s right.” His voice oozes with sin as he advances
With each step he takes, I take one in retreat, my heart
pounding in my chest.
When my back hits the side of a Jeep Wrangler parked a few
spots from mine, I pray the owner doesn’t choose this second to need his car.
“Nora…,” he exhales, angling closer.
I inhale his intoxicating scent, a combination of the ocean
and fresh rain. “Yes?”
He draws near, his lips skimming mine. “Need to move.”
His words snap me out of my trance.
“I need to get into the glove box.” He nods at the Jeep
behind me. “That’s my car.”
T.K. Leigh, otherwise known as Tracy Leigh Kellam, is a USA
Today Best-Selling author of the Beautiful Mess series, in addition to several
other works. Originally from New England, she now resides in sunny Southern
California with her husband, dog, and three cats, all of which she has rescued
(including the husband). In late 2015, she gave birth to her first (and only)
baby. When she’s not planted in front of her computer, writing away, she can be
found training for her next marathon (of which she has run over fifteen fulls
and far too many halfs to recall) or keeping her daughter entertained.
Website – https://www.tkleighauthor.com
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/tkleighauthor/
Twitter – https://twitter.com/TK_Leigh
Instagram – https://www.instagram.com/tkleigh/