Seth Loveless has been my weakness since I was sixteen years old.
One Last Time, an all-new second chance romance with all the feels from Roxie Noir, is available now!
Read my 4 1/2 ⭐️ review HERE.
Two years ago, I moved back to my hometown. I started a business, bought a house, took up yoga, and went on hiatus from dating. Life is good.
If I never had to see Seth, it would be perfect.
After all, my history with my ex-boyfriend is anything but simple. It’s taken us years, but we’ve finally learned to live in the same town without killing each other.
Is there an elaborate set of rules governing our every casual interaction?
Yes.
Do I still think dirty, off-limits thoughts every single time I see him buying apples at the grocery store?
Of course. I’m only human, and Seth and I are practically experts at the two F’s: fighting, and…
…sleeping together.
Still, we’re managing just fine.
And then?
He shows up at my sister’s wedding. The man looks like pure sex in a suit, handsome as the devil himself and twice as charming.
Worse, he claims he’s my date.
We flirt.
We dance.
We break every one of our carefully-crafted rules, and we… should stop.
Too bad I’m having the time of my life.
I know I should end it. After all the heartbreak, hurt, and anger we can’t be more than enemies.
But Seth asks me for one more night.
Just one night.
Then, we’re back to being virtual strangers to each other.
I know I should turn him down.
I know this ends with my heart shattered into a million pieces.
I know lunacy is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
But I’ve always been bad at resisting a weakness.
One Last Time is a standalone romantic comedy and the final book in the Loveless Brothers series.
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Excerpt
Delilah takes one more drink straight from the bottle..
“It’s a clockwork heart,” she says. “My stepmom still doesn’t know because it’s a giant tattoo right on my chest, and I think it might give her a stroke.”
A memory taps at me, floats into my brain: Delilah, holding a fruit basket at my front door, pulling her shirt to cover gauze.
“Seems like she’s about to know if I figured it out,” I say, taking the bottle back.
“She’s got better things to do right now,” Delilah says, shrugging.
I take a drink.
“Than stare at your tits?” I ask. “Like what?”
Right here, right now, I cannot think of a better pastime to save my life.
“I thought we were friends, Seth.”
“It’s a friendly stare,” I say, but I lift my eyes to her face. “Friends can’t look at tattoos?”
Suddenly the lights in the hall dip low, until they’re almost out, then slowly brighten. When they stop, they’re dimmer than they were before.
“How long have you had it?” I ask.
It’s so quiet in this hallway that I think I can hear the old house settling, each individual wooden slat shifting a millimeter down.
“Two years and change,” she says quietly, her eyes meeting mine.
My hand drifts to her waist, and she moves into me. A tiny, almost imperceptible movement, amplified until her warmth under my hand is all I can feel.
I can feel her breathing under my fingers. I can feel her heart beat, thumping away, and I force myself not to read into the timeline or into the tattoo.
Instead I lean into her, again. My face against hers, again, the feeling that my bones are dissolving at her nearness, the feeling that I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
“Do you have anything new?” she asks, her voice nearly a whisper.
“No tattoos,” I say, and I keep tracing the flowers on the lace with my fingertips, pressing into her soft flesh, and she puts her hand on my chest, her thumb sliding between the buttons on my shirt. I don’t know if it’s an accident or not, but either way, she doesn’t move it back.
“I did something stupid and got a new scar. It’s on my shoulder, I’ll show you if you want.”
Delilah gasps, the tiniest, slightest gasp.
“Right now?” she murmurs.
“Unless you’d rather see it later.”
Now her hand is on the tie that she loosened earlier, the lightest pressure pulling against the back of my neck.
“What else?” she asks.
“That’s all.”
“Two years and nothing else has changed?”
I haven’t been with anyone else. I haven’t even kissed anyone else, not since the last time we were together, not since she moved back to town.
Before, when she was hundreds of miles away, I could push her from my mind. I could forget about her for hours at a time.
Now, that’s impossible.
“Two years, three months, and sixteen days,” I say, my voice rough and raw with the truth, and there’s a pull at the back of my neck as she pulls at my tie and finally, finally, I kiss her.
I feel like a stadium when the lights go out. Like a concert hall when the orchestra stops tuning and suddenly plays the first note of a symphony. The background noise stops and the note swells, shifts, breaks into harmony.
This is all there is.
About Roxie
I love writing sexy, alpha men and the headstrong women they fall for.
My weaknesses include: beards, whiskey, nice abs with treasure trails, sarcasm, cats, prowess in the kitchen, prowess in the bedroom, forearm tattoos, and gummi bears.
I live in California with my very own sexy, bearded, whiskey-loving husband and two hell-raising cats.
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Professor Romance 