SLOW RIDE by Erin McCarthy

SLOW RIDE by Erin McCarthy

A Fast Track Novel

As a tribute to her late journalist father, Tuesday Jones is planning a career benefit, auctioning off racing memorabilia and meet-and-greets with drivers.

Ex-racing star Diesel Lange has had his own brush with death, and is determined not to waste another minute of his life...especially when he meets Tuesday. He wants nothing more than to shift their romance into high gear, but he knows she’s still grieving.

Can Diesel do the one thing he could never do on the track and take it slow?

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Tuesday Jones was feeling both grateful that her toast as maid of honor was behind her, and that her orange bridesmaid dress looked remarkably better under the muted ballroom lights. Heading for the bar, because one glass of champagne clearly wasn’t enough, she veered at the last second to the dessert table. She was supposed to meet Evan Monroe, the man who had been smart enough to marry her best friend, Kendall, and throw her a big old wedding reception four months after their impulsive elopement. When Evan had commented during dinner that women couldn’t do shots of whiskey, Tuesday felt it was her duty, orange dress and all, to stand up for her gender.

But first she wanted a piece of cake.

To coat her stomach for the liquor.

Or maybe just because she liked cake.

She had to admit she was feeling weird, happy for Kendall, but also like she still wasn’t totally enjoying herself. Like she couldn’t. Yet for the first time in the three weeks since her dad had died, she didn’t feel like she might burst into tears at any given moment, so that was progress. Baby steps. Little tiny almost non-existent baby steps, because there was nothing easy about losing her father. Death sucked. Grief sucked.

Grabbing a piece of cake from the assortment displayed on the table, she crammed it into her mouth on that very unpleasant thought.

And discovered that she had chosen the damn coconut slice, one of her very least favorite foods ever. There was good, there was bad, and then there was coconut. Her mouth automatically opening in horror, she looked around for a napkin, the flavor invading and offending every single one of her taste buds. Feeling like she might gag, she worked the cake forward with her tongue, debating just chucking it out of her mouth and into her champagne glass.

A hand shot out in front of her mouth and Evan said, “Just spit it out.”

She only paused for a second before depositing the vile waxy coconut hunk into Evan’s hand. “Oh, my God, thank you. That was so freaking gross-

Tuesday forgot the rest of her sentence when she realized that it wasn’t Evan next to her. It was Diesel Lange. Retired driver. The man she had cried on at her father’s funeral.

And the man she had now just spit chewed up cake into his outstretched palm.

Oh. My. God. She felt heat flood her face as she stared at him, trying to think of something, anything to say. “Sorry,” was the best she could manage. “I thought you were Evan.”

It was a lame explanation, but how did you really explain regurgitation onto total strangers?

His eyebrows furrowed. “Why would you think I was Evan?”

“Because I was meeting Evan.” Tuesday licked her lips, still tasting the coconut, still feeling like an ass. “I don’t usually just spit out food into random people’s hands, you know.” Food she realized he was still holding. “God, that’s so gross, I’m sorry.”


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SLOW RIDE - A Free Read by Lorelei James

SLOW RIDE - A Rough Riders FREE READ from Lorelei James

Keely McKay Donohue is enduring the longest wedding reception of her life: her own. The only saving grace is that Jack Donohue is finally hers. Usually her hunky man gives her everything she wants, so why is her groom denying her the one thing she wants right now?

Jack thought his secretive wait-for-the-honeymoon plan was romantic, until he realizes he's only put Keely in a fighting mood. If he wants to get back on his temperamental bride's good side, he'd better find a way to sweep his cowgirl off her boots...fast.

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Excerpt:

This was the longest wedding reception in the history of the world. She wished it were over—which truly was saying something, since it was her wedding reception.

Jack leaned closer and whispered, “Stop sighing.”

His warm breath sent goose bumps cascading down the right side of her body. Keely turned her head so his five o’clock shadow scraped her jaw. She closed her eyes and inhaled his familiar scent: cologne, starch on his shirt collar and the underlying hint of his heated flesh.

Jack Donohue. Her husband. She really and truly was married to this gorgeous, sexy, intense man.

Keely sighed again, not out of annoyance, but out of pure pleasure.

He smiled against her cheek. “Now that’s a sigh I recognize.”

“I have different sounding sighs?”

“Uh-huh. You make that one in bed after I—”

“Bringing up sex when we aren’t having any just makes me cranky, Jack.”

His soft chuckle tickled her ear.

“It’s not funny. Why aren’t we rolling around in bed nekkid right now?” she demanded in a fierce whisper. “We are married. Why are we still stuck at the reception? No one would care if we left.”

He eased back to gaze into her eyes. “As much as I can’t wait to roll around naked with you, if we skip out early, your dad will kill me, turning you into a widow before you’ve had a chance to be a wife.” His voice dropped an octave and the possessive rumble vibrated through her in an electric caress. “My wife.”

“You certainly get off on saying my wife.”

“Yes, I do, Keely McKay Donohue. So go ahead and call me a Neanderthal.”

“I would if it meant you’d employ some caveman tactics and drag me off to your cave. Right now?” she asked hopefully.

“God, I wish.”

“Jack, I—”

The chinking of silverware hitting glassware crescendoed . Knowing what the crowd of family and friends wanted, Keely twined her arms around Jack’s neck and gave him a long, wet, tongue-tangling kiss that probably caused some guests to squirm in their seats. She didn’t give a damn. It was her wedding day. If she wanted to make out with her husband, she damn well would.

When they broke apart, Jack murmured, “Two more hours and I swear we’re outta here.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

“I’d expect nothing less, buttercup.”

“So where are we going in one hour and fifty-nine minutes?”

He kissed her temple and said, “It’s a surprise,” for the millionth time. Then his brother Justin snagged his attention and he turned away.

Sneaky-ass tease. Jack hadn’t told her where they were spending their two-week island honeymoon beyond the cryptic hint that she only needed to pack beachwear—preferably a dozen skimpy bikinis.

Normally he’d spill his guts if she bribed him with unlimited, no-strings-attached sexual favors. But this time, the stubborn man wouldn’t budge.

After the Twin Pines banquet workers cleared the dinner plates, the head table was disassembled to make room for the wedding dance and members of the wedding party were relocated. Which would’ve been fine with her, if she and Jack hadn’t ended up on opposite sides of the dance floor.

A hard bump connected with her hip as AJ McKay—her best friend, matron of honor and sister-in-law—sidled up beside her. “Why the frowny face, Mrs. Donohue?”

She plastered on a fake grin. “Better?”

“No, that’s actually worse. What’s up? You seem jumpy.”

Would she sound like a horny ho-bag if she admitted all she could think about was jumping her husband? Wait. Could she even be a ho-bag if she was obsessed about having nonstop, shake-the-barn-rafters sex with the man she’d just pledged the rest of her life to?

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