Dalton is no stranger to hitting rock bottom. He's worked hard to turn his life around. Now he has a quiet life, a successful business and a no-strings-attached arrangement for sex with Kincade. Everything is just as it should be. Then a late-night rendezvous is interrupted by a sexy newcomer, and Dalton realizes something is missing.Caught up in the intense passion the men share, Erin doesn't know whether to run or get between their hard bodies. She's convinced her attraction is wrong. However, a little persuasion from both Dalton and Cade convinces her she belongs with and between them.
Erin's surrender becomes Dalton's reawakening. A BDSM master, Dalton is in his element commanding his lovers, and soon the threesome fills their nights with mind-blowing pleasure. But when a piece of Dalton's past resurfaces, it threatens the very foundation he's built...and could put him back at the bottom.
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An Excerpt From: RAGGED EDGE
Copyright © SARA BROOKES, 2011
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Chapter One
Dalton was damaged goods.
He’d been broken down and built up again, only to have the world crumble around his feet. Defeated, those ruins of his life had been ignored because he had felt no desire to deal with them. In salvation mode, he’d shut himself away from everything.
A loner and resident bad boy, Dalton Shaw sought solace in no one.
The wind howled as his bike sped down the road to his shop, his carefree attitude evident in his driving. He pushed the bike well over the posted speed limit. This late at night, there weren’t many school children to watch out for.
It had been an interesting evening. A local graphics designer he’d hired to redesign the logo for his bike shop missed the appointment. Things came up, he understood that. But he also appreciated the value of someone’s word. If someone said they’d be somewhere at a certain time, in Dalton’s eyes, they were there.
He’d waited around for two hours, far longer than decorum dictated, and had given up around nine-thirty when his stomach started to protest. Luckily Sally, the sweet elderly waitress at the diner in town, saw herself as a mother figure. She never let him go hungry, no matter the hour. After a hard day of work finishing off the bike he’d spent the past month restoring, it had been a nice break to sit and chat with her.
The late hour comforted him, as he always flourished in the dark, but now he was growing tired and the road blurred in front of his eyes. He shifted gears and noticed the flashing lights bouncing off the trees around him.
A quick glimpse in the side mirror confirmed his suspicions. “Shit.”
Annoyed, he pulled his motorcycle to the shoulder and pushed his foot down on the kickstand to balance the massive bike under him.
Dalton’s fingers tapped out an uneven rhythm of impatience against the gas tank as he waited. He was no stranger to the law in this town, mostly because he spent enough time doing what he could to skirt it. His actions never bothered anyone and no one seemed to take issue if he chose to gamble with his life.
Well, except one person.
The brittle crunch of rocks underfoot caused Dalton to turn to the officer as he approached.
Sheriff Kincade Roberts hooked his thumbs over a large metal belt buckle as he rested his weight on his back foot. Dalton nearly snorted at the posturing. “Is there a problem, Sheriff?”
“You do know we have a helmet law, Mr. Shaw.”
Dalton couldn’t hold back and did snort at the tone of the sheriff’s voice. “Yeah. Obviously you see how much I care. It’s the middle of the night. Not as if there’s a highway full of cars around that I have to worry about.”
The tall man reached up, slid off his hat and brushed a hand over his short reddish-brown hair. “Laws don’t care about the time of day.”
Dalton reached forward and clamped his hand over the handlebar despite the fact it earned him a stern look. “Christ, Roberts, give it a fucking rest. Give me the ticket, go home and take that stick out of your ass.”
Cade shifted again, his posture reflective of the attitude change in his suspect. “Do we have a problem here, Mr. Shaw?”
“Yeah, we do. I’m being stopped by some prick with a badge who thinks he can throw his weight around because he’s on the other side of the law. That new power of yours has gone to your head.”
“If that’s how you feel about it, shall we take this downtown?”
“There is no downtown in this God-forsaken place. Blow the attitude out of your ass.” The motorcycle came to life under Dalton as he pulled away in a spray of rocks. He sped through the gears without care for the damage incurred on the bike. It could be fixed later. Right now, he was too annoyed to care and wanted to put distance between him and the town law.
He wasn’t surprised to see flashing lights behind him as he accelerated. If the new sheriff wanted a high-speed chase, he’d get one. The bike vibrated, the engine purring fast and smooth as it sped down the narrow country road. He shifted gears and the bike roared under him as it leapt forward. Without a helmet, the wind whipped around him and stung his eyes so they watered.
This freedom was his element.
The engine cut off completely when he thumbed the choke and let the speed he’d gathered carry the bike directly into the bay of his shop, Iron Cruisers. As the sheriff pulled into the dirt lot, Dalton smirked and tapped the control to slowly lower the heavy bay door.
The last thing he saw was Cade’s narrowed green eyes. Dalton nearly flipped the sheriff off, but that would be pushing it a little too far and he was already walking a very fine line. While he enjoyed pushing the limits of the law, even he knew there was a line you just didn’t cross.
As he swung his leg to dismount the bike, the side door burst open and the sheriff barreled through. The look on his face was priceless and Dalton grinned in satisfaction.
“You have a real attitude problem, Shaw.” The soft, lazy drawl of the South did nothing to smooth out the rigid authority of the sheriff’s voice.
Dalton shrugged and stood, easily towering several inches over the man in front of him. Cade was tall but lean and almost lanky in contrast to Dalton’s bulk. “Of course I do. Remember, I live just to piss people off. Think I’ve just raised the bar for next time, though.”
“Fine, you’re under arrest for reckless driving and willful endangerment.”
The sheriff stepped forward, clamped his hand around Dalton’s biceps and pulled hard to throw him off balance. Dalton anticipated the move, however, and compensated to flip their positions. Cade stumbled, hitting the bike hard enough to give a grunt of protest.
Dalton moved before the sheriff could stand upright and pushed his body firmly against the hunched man. “So, Sheriff, it seems as if you’re proficient in issuing orders. But I wonder, how versed are you in taking them.” His hand worked between the man and the bike so he could flip the buttons open on the crisply pressed shirt. Cade’s breath hitched as Dalton stripped the fabric back. He let the material gather at the elbows and brought the two halves together to trap Cade’s arms behind him.
The sight of all those straining muscles made Dalton want to lean forward and slide his tongue over the surface of that rock-hard skin. He refrained, but leaned in closer and savored the feel of the man’s firm back against his chest, drank in the sweet cedarwood scent of his aftershave.
“I’ve never had a sheriff before.”
“So you just want to add me to your count. Put another notch on that belt.” There was tension in those words and Dalton’s body sang in response.
“You know very well I don’t use a belt. My hand works just fine.” That same hand glided over the fabric covering Cade’s ass. “When I open tomorrow, what do you think my customers will think when they walk in here and smell the scent of your come all over my workbench?
“I personally like the idea. It would remind me how much the new sheriff couldn’t control himself with a suspect. It may even give me more ideas about finding out just how much that particular sheriff can take. I haven’t put my skills to use in quite some time. I think I’d like to see if I’m still as proficient as I once was.”
Cade’s voice rumbled when Dalton pushed at the front of his pants, forcing his hand all the way down to the base of the man’s cock. Dalton squeezed tightly, perhaps more tightly than the situation called for. He gloated at the feel of the rock-hard state of the sheriff’s erection. Normally Dalton liked to work for it a little more, but tonight was special.
“Fuck.” Cade let out a shaky breath indicative of something other than discomfort.
“Later.” Dalton moved his hand and proceeded to cross the line to show Cade this was no longer just an amusing game. “Right now, you’re going to put that mouth of yours to better use. On your knees.”
He flipped their positions and leaned against his bike as he waited for Cade to comply. When Cade continued to stand there, Dalton decided he needed some incentive and used his free hand to strip open his jeans. Cade’s eyes burned with need as Dalton lifted the hard length of himself free.
That heat poured into Dalton, causing a slow burn at the base of his spine that reflected the need to come. But not yet, it was too soon. They were celebrating Cade’s recent election to sheriff and Dalton wasn’t about to blow it all in a few seconds like some hormonal teenager experimenting in his parent’s basement.
“On your knees,” Dalton repeated again, using more force this time.
Cade sank to the floor, leaning forward as he followed the command. The flat of his tongue slid across the crown of Dalton’s cock and the sheriff clearly crossed a few lines of his own.
* * * * *
Erin Corvus sighed as she worked through the gears on her aging sports car. She didn’t expect Dalton would still be at the shop right now, but she’d feel better if she dropped off the sketches she’d put together. That way they would be there waiting for him when he arrived the next morning.
She shifted again to navigate a tight turn and thought about how Collington Creek was a virtual ghost town this late at night. The small town was situated an hour north of Atlanta, Georgia. With a population of less than seven thousand residents, it wasn’t the sort of place locals had to worry about traffic jams. Of course, most of the town’s population was tucked away in their beds watching late-night talk shows while she sped toward the Iron Cruisers shop.
They were the smart ones.
Long hours were part of the job. Blackbird Design, her graphic-design company, was her livelihood and she had to do everything in her power to ensure its success. Even if that achievement meant she had to work into the wee hours of the morning to finish a job. Her business was only as good as the hours she put in.
She meant to be at the appointment hours ago. Her need for perfection with one of her designs caused her, yet again, to ensure everything was just as it should be.
The motorcycle shop came into view faster than anticipated and she parked in the empty slot next to the sheriff’s vehicle in front of the bay door. Odd for a motorcycle shop to repair a car, but many residents of the town seemed to multi-task when it came time to help each other out.
She’d even done some web designs for a local business or two in order to make money on the side. Maybe Mr. Shaw worked out a deal with the town government and he did all the repairs on city vehicles. Of course, the new sheriff had already made a name for himself with his unconventional ways to save the town money, so it wasn’t completely out of the question.
Now that would be a sweet contract to land, she thought as she shut the car door. She’d love to have a shot at redesigning the town seal in an effort to reflect the history of the area and draw in even more tourists. But if she continued to miss important client appointments, she’d be lucky to design a logo for the historic stockade that stood in the town square.
The shop was simple, as were most things in town, and nondescript with its faded wood siding. Small with only one bay instead of the row of work areas like the shops she was used to back home in Texas, the building before her screamed rural living. An assortment of aging tin signs, which added to the antique air of the business, hung in various locations on the front of the property.
In fact the owner, Dalton Shaw, specialized in restoring late-model motorcycles. It had been one of the things he’d insisted on when they’d spoken on the phone. Somewhere in her design there needed to be an antique bike. She’d done just as he requested, several times over, and hoped he liked the designs she’d come up with.
As she started to set the large black leather case used to transport sketches in front of the shop’s door, she spotted a gap. That trusting nature of locals to unlock doors and even leave keys in ignitions had taken her a bit to get used to. Back in Austin, any property left sitting around unguarded asked to be stolen.
Curious, she pushed open the heavy entrance door. “Hello? Is anyone here?”
Her question was met with silence, not that she really expected anyone to answer her—not at this time of night. But this was the only address she had for him, and she wanted to be sure he had something to look at when she called tomorrow morning to apologize.
However, that curiosity earned her more than she bargained for.
Her eyes went wide in surprise as she stepped closer and saw someone leaning against the motorcycle in the center of the shop floor. The friendly greeting died in her throat as she realized that someone wasn’t alone. The light in the bay was low, but it was enough for her to make out two figures.
A late-night lovers rendezvous.
Now she understood why the sheriff’s car was parked outside. He was on his knees in front of the man.
If that wasn’t enough indication of the man’s identity, she also recognized the tan uniform shirt stripped back to his elbows. He also still wore the matching dark brown pants and spit-shine chloroform shoes.
Someone had been in a hurry.
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