FURIOUS RUSH
Author: S.C. Stephens
On Sale: August 23,
2016
Publisher: Forever
Trade Paperback:
$12.99 USD
eBook: $4.99 USD
Audio: $22.98 USD
The
first in an emotion-fueled, New Adult series from the #1 bestselling author of
the Thoughtless novels!
Too
fast, too furious—and way too hot to handle…
Mackenzie
Cox has a lot to prove. Daughter of a racing legend, she is eager to show the
world that she has inherited her father's talent in the male-dominated sport of
professional motorcycle racing. The last thing Kenzie needs is to be
antagonized by her rival team's newest rider, Hayden Hayes. Plucked from the
world of illegal street racing, Hayden immediately gets under Kenzie's skin.
His insinuations that Kenzie is a spoiled princess who was handed her career
fuels her desire to win, and much to her surprise, Kenzie soon learns she
performs better when she's racing against Hayden.
As
Kenzie and Hayden push each other on the track, the electric energy between
them off the track shifts into an intense—and strictly forbidden—attraction.
The only rule between their two ultra-competitive teams is zero contact. Kenzie
always does her best to play by the rules, but when her team slips into a
financial crisis, she has no choice but to turn to Hayden for help. The tension
simmers during their secret, late-night rendezvous, but Kenzie has too much to
lose to give in to her desires. Especially when she begins to doubt that Hayden
has completely left his street life behind...
“Do you
have any idea who this guy is, and why the hell he’s on our track?”
Myles
tilted his head as he thought. “Don’t know, but if he’s on the track before
noon, your dad must have hired him. The Bennetis know not to break that rule.
Not after what happened last time.”
The
last time a Benneti stepped foot on our track before they were allowed to, that
Benneti had found himself duct-taped to the flagpole in the middle of the
track. Naked. Of course, the Benneti team had gotten us back by breaking all
the windows in the garage doors. They were still boarded over, since we
couldn’t afford to fix them yet. For the sake of our bank account, Dad had
ordered every Cox racer not to continue the paybacks, no matter how warranted
they were.
Ignoring
Myles’s chuckle, I renewed my inspection of the racer. The new rider was fast,
and ridiculously good—his setup on the corners was perfectly timed, and he kept
his body low, hanging off the bike so that nothing was over the center line but
his outside arm and leg; his “triangle of daylight”—the space between his
inside knee and the bike—was so beautiful that Dad would probably photograph it
and hang it on his office wall. Considering the furious competition at the
professional level—races were won or lost by mere seconds—and considering how
much time, energy, and resources were spent on training new riders, I wasn’t
too surprised this guy was top-notch. With the upcoming racing season so close,
any person Dad brought onto our team would be impressive. Dad wouldn’t settle
for anything less than amazing; he couldn’t afford to. Yet another reason I was
feeling a profound pressure to perform. There was no free ride for Jordan Cox’s
daughter; I had to earn my place, same as everyone else.
When
number 43 finally finished his set and slowed to exit the track, Myles let out
a low whistle. “Not bad. He reminds me of you.” Frowning, I peeked up at him.
His dark eyes sparkled with amusement. “No guts, no glory, balls-to-the-wall
racing, like you have something to prove every time you go out there.” He
raised a dark eyebrow at me, but I remained silent. Having to prove myself was
a daily occurrence, and Myles knew that.
The
rider exited the track at the same place where we were standing with our bikes.
He slowed to a stop directly in front of us, shut off his motorcycle, and
removed his helmet. My jaw dropped to my chest, and my eyes bugged out of my
skull. No. It was not possible. But the long-dulled desires starting to tingle
back to life at just the sight of him told me it was possible. The man
who was proudly wearing the number 43 was the same drop-dead-gorgeous man who’d
won the street race early this morning. What the hell was he doing here—on my
turf—looking for all the world like he belonged?
In the
bright sunshine, I could see that his eyes were actually a light shade of
green. There was a devious glint in them that silently promised that every day
with him would be even more intriguing than the last. Add that to his dirty-blond
hair, rugged jawline, perfect bone structure, athletic build, and perfectly
full lips that hinted at a treasure trove of untold pleasures, and you got a
man who attracted a lot of attention everywhere he went—as I’d witnessed last
night by the swarm of groupies surrounding him while he’d been illegally racing.
No way.
There was no way Dad had hired this guy!
Hopping
off his bike, the stranger ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. The shaggy
strands were sticking up every which way now, and the chaotic hairstyle was too
damn appealing. A small groan slipped from me in my shock. Get it together,
Kenzie.
His
emerald eyes swung my way, taking me in, and I held my breath and stood a
little straighter. Did he recognize me like I recognized him? Did I want him
to? Damn it . . . what was his name again? And why the hell did he have to have
such incredible eyes? Green with flecks of gold, penetrating and intense, like
when he was looking at you—truly looking at you—nothing else around him
mattered. I could easily picture him studying the track with that unrelenting
gaze. I could also picture him studying my curves with that superheated stare.
Goddammit, no. This couldn’t seriously be happening.
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THE BOOK HERE
S.
C. Stephens is a #1 bestselling author who spends her every free moment
creating stories that are packed with emotion and heavy on romance. In addition
to writing, she enjoys spending lazy afternoons in the sun reading, listening
to music, watching movies, and spending time with her friends and family. She
and her two children reside in the Pacific Northwest.
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