Gone Country (MF)

Evernight Publishing

Heat Rating: Sizzling
Word Count: 20,000
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Dale Harris Blakely made it big after he left Marbletown, Tennessee, so why does he feel small when he comes back ten years later? He can’t forget the things he did that got him banished and he wonders if Temerity Jones has forgotten the kiss they shared under the bleachers of the high school football stadium. He wants to make amends and a new start, but it’s tough to do in a place where folks wear their beards long and carry their grudges even longer.

Gone Country (MF)
0 Ratings (0.0)

Gone Country (MF)

Evernight Publishing

Heat Rating: Sizzling
Word Count: 20,000
0 Ratings (0.0)
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Cover Art by Jay Aheer
Excerpt

“You wouldn’t notice a nobody like me. Not ever.”

“You’re wrong.”

I shook my head. The strands of hair he’d pushed behind my ear came loose and clung to my hot cheek that was still wet with tears. “What Schumacher said was mean, but the way you’re teasing me hurts a lot more.” I tried to push past him, but he made a barrier out of his body.

“I meant everything I said.”

“Yeah, right. Let me go.”

“Not until I convince you I’m being truthful.”

“You could talk ‘til we’re both blue in the face.”

“You’re right, talking isn’t going to get us anywhere. Tell me, would this be a lie?”

I waited for him to say something. Instead, he put his hands on either side of my face, angled it up toward him and kissed me. It was a light kiss, soft and undemanding. He pulled away, then he closed the short distance between us again, as if he’d liked what he’d tasted and was coming back for more, as if he couldn’t stay away. That first chaste kiss had not been a lie. The second one? I believed it with all my heart.

It would be wrong to say I kissed him back. I was motionless, breathless, like a stunned bird. It lasted forever and an instant. My knees buckled, but I didn’t fall, because Dale’s hands were gripping my shoulders, and his body was pressed against mine.

I was starving for oxygen but I also discovered a different kind of hunger. When I finally sucked in a breath, it was his breath, soft and warm. It had the same effect as if he were giving me CPR. I came alive in a way I couldn’t quite control. My arms came up around him. I raised my head to him while my hands turned to fists in his black hair and pulled him even closer. His reaction sounded like a cross between a deep rumbling laugh and a groan. It vibrated through to my core as he pressed himself harder against me.

My whole body convulsed. It was a full tremor that shook him loose.

Dale pulled his head back. “You alright?” He reached up to rub a thumb over my flaming cheek, and it came to rest against the corner of my mouth.

“I’m fi—ne,” I said, but a hiccup made two syllables out of the word. “I forgot to bre—athe.”

I didn’t see him break into a smile, but I felt his lips curve upward as he put his mouth on mine again. When I angled my head and bit lightly at his thumb, he pulled away again with widened eyes.

His lips, those beautiful soft, full, warm lips formed that crooked smile of his that was almost a smirk. But there was a gentleness in his eyes. And there was a gleam that I couldn’t name but sensed it could burn me up from the inside out.

“Why, Temerity Jones, you are full of surprises. Very pleasant surprises.”

His lips parted, whether to say something or to kiss me one more time, I would never know. And I would never, ever, as long as I lived, forgive Mr. Schumacher for ruining the most sensuous moment of my sixteen years.

Marbletown High’s winningest and meanest coach put his ham hand on Dale’s shoulder in that instant and spun him around, catching him up by the collar of his jeans jacket.

“There you are. Not even smart enough to run. Found your buddy Marty Manning down by the track with a nice assortment of pills.” With his other hand, he patted Dale down and pulled a baggie from the inside of his jeans jacket lining. “What in hell is this?”

“Guitar strings,” Dale answered. “Steel string. Acoustic. I’m not into the hard stuff, though I’ve been tempted.”

“You think you’re smart?” Schumacher threw the baggie onto the ground and continued rummaging through Dale’s pockets.

“I’m smart enough to know you don’t have a right to search me.”

“If you punks put as much energy into schooling as you did in trying to get away with stuff, we’d have a bunch of geniuses on our hands.”

“Take your hands off me,” Dale growled.

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth, and you’re worth shit. You want a lesson in rights? I’ll teach it to you.” Schumacher reached into the pocket of his own sweats, pulled out a snack-sized bag of pills, and stuffed it into Dale’s jacket.

“You can’t do that!” I cried. “He didn’t do anything. He got those strings off Marcus. He never even talked to Marty. He was with me this whole time. I’m a witness.”

Coach laughed at me and looked me up and down over his mountainous shoulder. “You’re not a very convincing alibi.”

That kiss had not been an alibi. “I won’t let you do this to him.”

“Trust me, he’s got it coming. Get back to class, chicken legs, before I—”

Dale’s fist ended the threat, turning Coach’s head almost 180 degrees on his thick neck. Schumacher swung back to him slowly. He rubbed a big hand over his mouth and stared down at the blood on it.

“You piece of garbage.” He punched Dale back hard.

Dale staggered, but he didn’t fall. His lip, that gentle, soft, beautiful lip was bleeding. Coach called him everything in the book and some things I had never heard before. I knew Dale wouldn’t be getting detention for this. Not even suspension. He was getting expelled.

While Coach called him a worthless piece of trash and so many other things, Dale regarded me as if I were the only one there. He smiled at me, not a smirk, but a genuine wistful smile. His kiss had woken my heart. That smile broke it.

“You think this is funny, punk?” Coach gave him a shake. Dale didn’t answer him. His eyes were still on me.

Just before Coach yanked him away by the collar, Dale winked. “See you in ten years.”

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