Crashed(book three)(214)

“He’s got you wrapped around his little finger,” she says as she walks over to the sink to wash the flour from her hands.

“And you don’t?” I ask with a shake of my head as I walk up behind her and slide my arms around her waist, pulling her back into me. And f*ck if that ass of hers pressed against my dick doesn’t make me ache to take her, throw her over my shoulder, and haul her upstairs right now.

I press a kiss to that spot beneath her neck, and even after all this time, her body responds instantly to me. Goose bumps appear on her exposed skin, her breath hitches and the f*cking sigh that turns me on, as if her hands are wrapping around my dick, falls from her lips. And if her beautiful body doesn’t turn me hard as f*cking steel, her responsiveness does without a f*cking hesitation.

That and how much I know she loves me, faults and all.

How in the f*ck did I get so lucky?

I shake my head as all of the shit that’s happened in my life flashes through my mind. I chuckle, the things that hit me the hardest—that mean the most—all started with a damn storage closet and this defiant-as-f*ck woman in my arms who called me to the carpet, grabbed me by the balls, and told me our outcome was non-negotiable.

And f*ck me, we’ve still got a lifetime left for her to call all the shots she wants because my balls are still nestled exactly where they’re supposed to be, right in her hands.

“What are you laughing about?” she asks.

“Just thinking of the look on your face when you found out I’d won the auction,” I tell her, the memory clear as f*cking day. “You were so pissed.”

“What woman wouldn’t have been when you came off as arrogant as you did?” She snorts out a laugh and then sighs softly.

And the sigh alone makes my dick start to get hard.

“Arrogant? Me? Never,” I tell her.

“Whatever! I know you fixed that auction, Ace.”

And I laugh. God, I love this woman. Ten years later and still feisty as f*ck.

“Baby, that answer I’ll hold on to forever,” I tell her, pressing a kiss to the back of her head.

“That’s not possible,” she whispers, looking up to press a kiss to the underside of my jaw, “because you’ll be busy holding on to me.”

Fuckin’ A straight I will.

I squeeze her a little tighter, not wanting to let her go just yet because, f*ck, what racer doesn’t want to hold on to their checkered flag a little longer?

At least I know mine waves only for me.

My kryptonite.

My alphabet, motherf*cking A to Z.

My f*cking Rylee.





Wow! Where do I even begin to start? I was criticized for the length of my acknowledgments for Fueled…so if you were one who thought I was verbose, I suggest you skip this next part.


A little over nine months ago, I pushed publish on Driven. I wasn’t sure what I expected to happen. I just know that both my mom and my husband kept telling me to not get my hopes up. I could lie and tell you I had grand visions that people would love it and my writing career would take off overnight. In reality, I was scared to death. I’d never done something that put me ‘out there’ in the public realm to be scrutinized, criticized, or possibly praised. I hoped people would buy the book about this cocky, self-assured race car driver and a feisty yet believable heroine. Yes, I did use the formulaic story line of good girl, bad-boy, but I hoped that people would pick the book up for that reason alone and discover that I could actually write, spin a tale, draw you into a different world, and make you feel. And people did buy. And people did criticize my thematic plot. But people also fell in love with Rylee and Colton and the boys.