THERE’S WILD, THEN THERE’S YOU
He’s someone she can’t trust…
She’s someone he thinks he knows…
Violet Wilson is a wallflower. Shy, serious, and accident-prone, she’s got a bad habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The night she’s forced to pose with her friend might just be the worst time of all—that’s when she meets Jet Blevins. She knows better than to get involved with someone like him, but he touches her in ways she never expected, neverwanted before.
On the outside, Jet is a typical rocker, an arrogant lead guitarist who unapologetically lives a wild lifestyle. But on the inside, he’s battling demons and using the stage to escape the troubles of his past and the addictions of his present. Until the night he sees Violet standing at the back of the room. She brings his life into focus. She knows his secrets. She’s the girl he can’t forget, and the one thing he craves more than his addiction.
But can they ever hope to have a future when their very foundation is nothing but lies?
I lick my lips before I raise my eyes to his. Part of me knows I should turn and run, foregoing common courtesies and niceties. Something in me, some deep and rarely used instinct that lives within, knows that once I meet those eyes, I’ll be forever lost. It makes no sense, but I know it like I know my name and my eye color and the way my hair flips out on the ends when it’s rainy outside.
Despite my better judgment, I do it. I look up and up and up until I reach a blue so fathomless I feel like I could dive into and never reach the bottom. Like I could drown and never even know it.
But I can’t do that. I can’t dive in. Not with a guy like this. I’ve seen what someone like this can do to a person—turn that which was once whole and capable into nothing more than scattered pieces of wreckage and ruin.
“I’m Jet,” he offers softly, his eyes never leaving mine.
Jet. Even his name is sexy, which makes me more uncomfortable.
Ridiculous! my rational, level-headed, slightly bitter side scoffs. It pipes up with its less bedazzled perspective, reminding me that guys like this are nothing more than predators. The love ’em and leave ’em type. And he’s obviously worse than most, as evidenced by his attendance here. Apparently, he’s got a real problem.
I give him a tight smile as I straighten away from him. “Violet. Nice to meet you,” I say, hurrying to continue. “Excuse me please.”
I slip on my familiar, no-nonsense persona like a protective shield, like the armor that has kept me from harm all these years. It has never failed me before; I don’t expect it to now.
My head is high, my spine is rigid, and my imperviousness is firmly in place as I move past the dark and damaged stranger. With every step I take, I determine to put him out of my mind and never think of him again.
Until he speaks once more. His words make dents in my breastplate like armor-piercing rounds.
“It’s short,” he calls from a few steps behind me.
Confused, I turn.
Knowing I shouldn’t, still I turn.
“My name. It’s short.”
“Short for what?”
I watch as he moves toward me, narrowing the space I only just created. He stops within inches and bends slightly forward, one side of his mouth pulling up into a self-deprecating grin. “Jethro.”
And, just like that, he’s human. And vulnerable. And slightly imperfect. And even more dangerous to me than he was before.
M. Leighton is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of The Wild Ones and The Bad Boys romance trilogies. She is a native of Ohio, relocated to the warmer climates of the South, where she lets her mind wander to romantic settings with sexy Southern guys much like the one she married and the ones you’ll find in her latest books. When her thoughts aren’t roaming in that direction, she’ll be riding horses, swimming in ponds and experiencing life on a ranch, all without leaving the cozy comfort of her office.
Connect with M!