Drumline by Stacy Kestwick
Cover Designer: By Hang Le
Release Date: Tuesday, September 5, 2017
Preorder Links:
Amazon: Coming in September
iBooks: http://apple.co/2uRYpE3
B&N: https://goo.gl/HeFv5D
KOBO: https://goo.gl/v6bwTe
Goodreads: https://goo.gl/NWrS7b
Chapter One Sneak Peek:
www.stacykestwick.com/drumline-chapter-one
Blurb:
Traditions are important. Especially in the South.
College football. Rivalries. Tailgating. Halftime shows.
Some things just don’t change.
Until Reese Holland shows up with her long legs and
no-bullshit attitude to audition for the prestigious all-male Rodner University
snare line.
It doesn’t matter how much hazing she has to endure from
Laird Bronson, with his narrowed green eyes and arrogant smirk. She wants that
damn spot, and she’s more than good enough to earn it.
She expects there to be tension. Even friction.
But not sparks hot enough to burn the entire campus down.
Excerpt:
He devoured me.
Being eaten alive had never felt so good.
His lips. His hands. His heat. My entire being was
overwhelmed by him finally, finally touching me.
The kiss started hard, desperate, the inevitable conclusion
to the tension that had been building between us for two weeks. With my eyes
closed and my breasts flattened against the wall of his chest, I gave into it,
surrendered to the moment. My mouth clung to his as he tilted my head to the
side, changing the angle to deepen the contact.
His hands moved over me restlessly, hungrily, skimming down
my back on the way to my ass, then back up my sides to frame my face, his
fingers leaving a trail of heat behind on every inch of skin he claimed for
himself. I pulled at his shirt while he pushed me against the solidness of the
door. My heart tripped over itself in its race to keep up. Muffled sounds came
from both of us, vibrating in our throats but not escaping our lips because we
hadn’t even parted for a breath yet.
Who needed fucking air when Laird Bronson was kissing them?
Not me.
His lips were somehow firm and soft at the same time as he
slanted them over me again and again. It was like being called up to the major
league from the minors. Nothing in my past compared. I shivered from the intensity
of it, from the innate authority of his mouth as he consumed me. Like I was
made to bend to him, as inevitable as the moon ceding to the sun.
I lifted on my tiptoes to get closer, one of my hands
snaking up to tangle in his dark hair. The strands were barely long enough at
the top to grip, and when I gave them a tug, he rolled his hips against me,
showing me just how much he liked it. I moaned and felt an answering wetness
gather at the juncture of my thighs.
Dear sweet rosy-cheeked baby Jesus and all the saints in
heaven.
His mouth needed to come with a warning label. Danger.
Highly flammable.
But it was too late. I’d had a taste and I liked the burn.
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