Publication date: February 18th 2017
Genres: Adult, Romance, Sports
“You want to know why I train? It’s because it’s the only time I’m not thinking about Tyler and the fact that I killed him.”
Jake Pennington is a hockey super star. Hot. Rich. Gorgeous. And super talented. But when a series of personal tragedies rock his world, Jake’s life is ripped apart and he is brought to his knees. Broken and completely devastated, he retreats to his family cabin in Canada desperate to forget the world and something he once knew as happiness.
“My therapist would say it was me trying to reclaim my life back. To recapture the girl I had once been—frightened of nothing and living life on a whim.”
Mackenzie Eden is battling her own demons. Following a horrific incident in college, Mackenzie throws herself into her job as a means to outrun her pain and her litany of phobias. When her path crosses with Jake Pennington she sees a way to bring them both out of the darkness and back into the light.
Only, Jake’s not buying it. He doesn’t want a sports agent and he doesn’t want a hockey career. Not that Mackenzie is willing to listen. She has a point to prove, not to mention, a bet to win.
Come Undone is a story of two people finding each other in the darkness. A sports romance, it will make you laugh, cry and fall head over heels in love.
Pretend you didn’t see them.
Pretend you didn’t see them.
Of course I saw them. Two perfect nipples pressing up tight against the fabric of her towel. I adjusted myself because I was freakin’ hard as fuck. Jesus Christ, I needed to do something about that.
I had zero interest in Mackenzie. Zero interest. But tell that to my dick.
I tried to focus on making breakfast. Tried to focus on buttering toast and not picturing her soaping up her naked body under a steady stream of warm water. Tried to give the poached eggs my full attention and not picture her hands sliding across her soapy breasts and over two perfect, pink nipples. Tried to remember how long the goddamn bacon took to defrost in the microwave and not picture soapsuds sliding down the length of her perfect body, down to the crevice between her thighs. Christ. When she came out of the shower I was going in there myself and I was going to get rid of this ridiculous need once and for all.
But what if it didn’t go away. What if . . .
I frowned. Oh, hell no. I didn’t like this woman. This annoying, tenacious woman. The sooner this blizzard passed the better.
I glanced out the window. It was still snowing and there was barely a hint of light, even though the clock on the wall said eight-forty-five. The blizzard didn’t look like it was letting up and I felt a rise of panic in my stomach.
How long was I going to be snowed in with Mackenzie?
And how the hell was I going to keep my hands off her?
I have always written stories for as long as I can remember. I wrote my first book when I was five years old. It was called ‘The Goodies’ and it was a short story about driving to the shops to get some milk. Needless to say, it was a very short book and hardly the page turner. It was also illustrated in orange felt tip pen because it was the only felt tip pen left in the pencil case that wasn’t dried up and useless.
My first attempt at writing romance was in high school when my athletic ambitions were replaced with Sunday sessions in my bestfriends bedroom, smoking cigarettes and writing smut about the hot guy at school. They were dreadfully crude stories. Lots of awkward fumblings in the dark or a series of awful first kisses. They were also very straight forward. Very straight to the point. Because I didn’t have a clue about what I was talking about. And I used terrible words such as “shaft”, “her moist warmth” and “velvet cavern”…yeah, they were awesome!
In following years I wisely gave up the cigarettes, became Mum to the “best kid in the world” and married a vastly understanding and supportive soul who tolerated the complete absence of my inner domestic goddess. Through a lot of trial and error, I think I may have started to write stories other people would want to read … without an orange felt tip pen in sight…
Oh … and you can find me in Australia.
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