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Excerpt

Garrett eyes my wool coat. “How about you take that off and stay a while?”

“I really shouldn’t. You need to rest.”

He gestures to his bed. “I’ve done nothing but rest for days, Cupcake. Make yourself comfy. I don’t bite.”

His devilish grin tells me otherwise, but I slide my coat off and drape it over the back of my chair. “You’re persistent.”

“It’s part of my charm.” Chuckling, he opens the food container and slathers the gyro with tzatziki sauce. He breaks it in half, wraps one piece in a napkin, and hands me the warm pita and meat conglomerate. “Eat this.”

“You’re a bit bossy too, Mr. Casey,” I murmur, accepting my portion.

“Funny, that’s also part of my charm.” He takes a bite of gyro, and his throaty moan reverberates to my clit.

I squeeze my thighs together to combat the sensation. A look of sheer bliss transforms his features as he chews. Even dressed in a hospital gown, connected to tubes and wires, with messy hair and a scruffy jawline, Garrett is still breathtaking. A groan rumbles from his chest. Then another low moan. No joke, the man is giving the diner scene from When Harry Met Sally a run for its money. Those amber eyes flutter in an apparent foodgasm, and I’ve never seen—or heard—anything sexier.

Well, except that time we had sex. That was way hotter. My heart races with the memory, and I need to remind myself to breathe.

“Mmm-mmm-mmm. Oh, God, yes.” His gaze locks with mine. “So. Fucking. Good.”

I get it. Nick’s gyros are to die for, but Garrett’s sounds are doing something to my insides. Hands shaking, I take the tiniest of bites, careful not to drip sauce onto myself. He moans again, making me flush and nearly drop my gyro.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying your food, but can you maybe be less vocal about it?”

He watches me while he chews. Swallowing the bite, he chugs some water. “Why?”

Because it’s turning me on. “Because it’s unnerving.”

“Why’s that?” He licks his lips. Then licks some sauce off his fingers. “You’ve heard me moan before.”

“Garrett.” His name leaves my lips unbidden, and I’m not sure if it’s a warning or a plea.

His lion like gaze burns into me. “I’m listening.”

“Huh?” He’s got me so flustered I don’t know my own name, let alone what I planned to say.

“Talk to me, Ella. Tell me why I’ve got you squirming.” He motions to the space between us. “Because I don’t have the time or energy to keep tiptoeing around this.”

“For one, I’m not squirming. Also, no one’s tiptoeing around anything. You’re lying in a hospital bed after a traumatic brain injury. This is hardly the setting for moans and innuendo.”

“Oh, yeah?” His wicked smirk makes him even sexier. “And why not?”

I stiffen my spine. “Because it isn’t.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Jesus, Garrett. What do you want from me?”

“I already told you. I wanna know what’s on your mind.”

“Forgive me if it’s a little hard to think when you look at me like that,” I huff the words, well and truly off my game now.

His smile widens. “Like what?”

“The way you stare sometimes.”

He sets down his gyro. “You mean when I’m envisioning your legs thrown over my shoulders, those sexy death-trap shoes by my ears?”

My breath rushes out of me. The visual does nothing to cool my heated body.

And he’s not done.

“Or when I imagine you straddling my face, grinding your wet pussy on my tongue.” His gaze sweeps the length of me. “Or on your hands and knees in front of me so I can watch my cock filling you?” He leans in close, and my inner muscles clench. “You need to be specific because I give you a lot of looks, and they all share a common denominator.”

“And that is?” My breathless voice is equal parts wanton and uncertain.

“I want you, Ella. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the gala. There’s something between us, and I know you feel it too. You’ve gotta tell me what’s on your mind so I don’t fuck up.”

“I’m a disaster,” I whisper, forcing a deep breath. “My mind’s a dark place.”

“Mine too, baby.”

“I have heavy baggage.”

“Suitcases turn me on.”

I laugh in spite of myself. “You’re insane.”

“The psychosis is real.” His expression sobers. “In all seriousness, feel free to unload. I’m a good listener.”

We sit in silence for a few beats while I consider his offer. Over the years I’ve confided in Paolo, burdened him with pieces of my past. I haven’t known Garrett for long, but his willingness to bear some of the weight puts me at ease. He’s not forcing me to talk. He’s giving me an option to use my voice. I get to choose who I share myself with this time.

Sometimes there’s power in being vulnerable.

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About the Author

Aria Wyatt is a pharmacist mom who spends the inhumane predawn hours with a cup of coffee and her laptop, gleefully indulging in her passion for romance. Her novels range in heat from steamy to scorching, and she doesn’t shy away from writing flawed characters with real life issues.

She resides with her husband and two children in New York’s picturesque Hudson Valley, near the Catskills and iconic Woodstock. The avid reader balances marriage, motherhood, her pharmacist career, and her romance author dream. When not writing, she dabbles in photography, using the natural beauty of the region to her advantage. She’s a self-proclaimed cat lady who cannot live without coffee, chocolate, music, and books.

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