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Stipulation
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Reparation
Affirmation
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USA Today bestselling author SAWYER BENNETT is a snarky southern woman and reformed trial lawyer who decided to finally start putting on paper all the stories that were floating in her head. Her husband works for a Fortune 100 company that lets him fly all over the world while she stays at home with their daughter and three big, furry dogs who hog the bed. Bennett would like to report that she doesn't have many weaknesses, but can be bribed with a nominal amount of milk chocolate.
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The Editor's Corner
February is the month for romance, especially at Loveswept...because this month we have a little something for everyone.
Sure to please fans of erotic romance, Lea Griffith's All or Nothing series returns to the deepest places of longing and obsession--don't miss More. In Sidney Halston's latest sizzling MMA romance, Below the Belt, a former title contender turns the tables on his knockout trainer with a lesson in seduction. New York Times bestselling author Tracy Wolff is back with another Ethan Frost novel, featuring the irresistible leading man from the New York Times bestsellers Ruined and Addicted in Exposed. USA Today bestselling author Sawyer Bennett hits the ice with the story of a playboy athlete whose winning ways lead him to a beautiful woman with a lot to lose. You don't have to love hockey to enjoy Garrett, the next book in Sawyer's Cold Fury Hockey series. Another of our Loveswept USA Today bestsellers, Mira Lyn Kelly, cranks up the heat for two lifelong friends whose most secret longings come true in every delectable way in Touch & Go. And later in the month, in Lavinia Kent's luscious, erotic historical romance, a free spirit learns her true desires from a master of the heart, of the body--and of the sweetest discipline. Check out Bound by Bliss. Ashlyn Macnamara finishes up this month of romance with a blazing hot novel, What a Lady Requires, the story of mismatched newlyweds who discover a simmering connection.
Be our Valentine this month and every month--read Loveswept.
~Happy Romance!
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
Read on for an excerpt from
Zack
by Sawyer Bennett
Available from Loveswept
Chapter 1
Zack
The overhead lights go out, and the club would be in total darkness if not for the recessed lights that edge the perimeter of the stage. I slouch down in my seat, pulling my ball cap lower over my forehead. This causes me to have to tilt my head back a little bit farther to watch the show but keeps my face better obscured. The beard I'd been growing for the past four months helps to hide my fame as well.
I don't want to be recognized.
I don't want anyone to see me and realize just how low Zack Grantham has fallen from grace.
A sexy techno beat starts thrumming low, gradually building in decibels. A few whistles pierce the air, one redneck sounding a catcall. A rolling tide of mechanical fog slithers across the black, lacquered stage and then swirling spotlights from the corners of the club start rotating. A slight flutter at the pitch-black curtains that sit closed tight is the only indication that something is about to happen.
A quick glance down at my phone that rests on the table in front of me shows me it's almost midnight. Time for the grand finale of the evening, the moment all the drunk and horny patrons of The Golden Box have been waiting for.
I ignore the phone, just as I ignore the glass of ice water sitting in front of me, my eyes sliding back up to the stage. When the music crescendos, a slim but toned bare leg sporting an obscenely high-heeled red shoe peeks through the slit of the curtains, thigh parallel to the floor...calf muscle taught, with toe pointing downward. The whistles and catcalls increase, but I watch dispassionately.
The owner of that bare leg raises the knee up higher, then stretches it out fully, gracefully, and holds it there, just as the music lulls to a slow grind.
She holds it for just a second.
Just a moment, when everyone waits to see what comes next.
The curtains fly apart just as the bass thump of music crashes through the club and a stunning woman with glorious curly blond hair bursts through. My brain processes a starched white button-down shirt and black fedora on her head, then just as quickly processes the fact that she reaches to the dipping gap at her chest and rips the shirt open. Beautiful, round, and by the looks of them real boobs pop forth...spectacularly bare and bouncing.
A hundred horny men start cheering, and I'm sure the majority of dicks go to full mast.
The stripper, who I happen to know goes by the name Candi Apple--and, yeah, that's Candi with an i--struts confidently up to the silver pole lodged firmly at the edge of the stage.
Hips swaying, tongue licking at her full bottom lip, hair wild and blowing from some kind of cheesy wind machine built into the stage flooring.
Her right hand reaches out, grabs the pole, and she bends her knees...squatting way down until her ass is almost on the floor. Her legs are spread wide and the rotating strobe lights cause sparkles to bounce off the silver sequins that cover the scrap of material between her legs. Candi gyrates her hips, fucking the pole...right in front of me. Her dark eyes scan the men surrounding the stage, calculating who might be the biggest tipper. Her gaze passes right over me because she doesn't see green clutched in my fingertips, waving back and forth with zeal to stuff them in her G-string.
The show goes on and I watch it all...willing for my body to feel something. I'd hoped for a hard-on to prove I wasn't dead, but even a slight fluttering of lust deep in my groin would have been welcomed. Hell, I'd probably kill for a gurgle of indigestion...just fucking something...anything, to show I could react.
I come up fucking empty.
The slight ache in my right wrist pulls my attention away from the tits and ass, and I open and close my fist several times to ease the cramp, finally giving it a hearty shake. Overall, my wrist has healed well over the last four months. The plates and screws have been removed, physical therapy has been completed, and I'm feeling physically strong. Yeah...my wrist is aching right now, but only because I realize I've been gripping the armrests of my chair too tightly while I waited to see if Candi Apple might be the one to bring me back to life.
I've been cleared by the team orthopedic, Mark Godson, and cleared by Coach Pretore as well. Starting next week, I resume practice with the team, and if I'm lucky, it won't be long before I'm back in the game...starting, second-line left winger for the Cold Fury.
My insides feel dead, my capacity to care for much of anything seems lost, but there are two things that still keep me functioning. It's the prospect of playing hockey again and, more important, my son, Benjamin.
Subtle movement catches my eye and I see my phone vibrating. I pick it up and see an angry text from my sister, Delaney.
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WTF, Zack? You left an hour ago to get some milk and you're not back yet? Where are you?
Guilt suffuses through my body, and it's not lost on me that I'm actually feeling an emotion. But then again...guilt is all I ever seem to feel anymore nowadays.
I wonder what Delaney would say if I texted her back, I'm at a strip club. Hoping Candi Apple turns me on...proving I'm still alive.
She'd shit a brick, that's for sure.
I stand up from the table, ignoring Miss Apple on stage. I fish a five-dollar bill out of my pocket and throw it on the table, a tip for the delicious glass of ice water the waitress brought me not but fifteen minutes ago.
As soon as I get out of the club and into the silence of my car, I dial Delaney.
She answers on the first ring. "You scared the shit out of me. Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I murmur as I start the engine and wait for my Bluetooth to connect. When I hear the subtle click telling me she's on speaker, I put the car in drive and say, "Just driving around...thinking."
I hear her blow out a gust of sympathetic frustration, but her voice is gentle. "Okay. Just get home."
"Is Ben okay?" I ask.
"He's still asleep. Have you gone over the applicants I picked out for you?"
My hands tighten on the steering wheel, a tiny pain shoots through my wrist...a pain I'd never admit to the team doctors...so I ignore it. "Not yet."
"Tomorrow," Delaney says sternly. "You have to make a decision tomorrow."
"I know," I mutter, realizing my time for dragging my feet and procrastinating is over. "I promise. Tomorrow."
"Okay," she says softly. "That's good."
I don't say anything else, my mind already starting to shut down. I abhor the thought of culling through her final recommendations for a nanny for Ben. Because that means that this is final...that Gina is really dead and Ben's mommy is definitely not coming back.
"I love you," Delaney says...almost desperately, into the phone.
I bite my lip, hard, and feel my tooth slice down into the delicate flesh. "Back at ya," I say, my voice harsh and raspy. Words of love to my older sister...the woman who has been my rock-solid support the last four months since Gina died...unable to materialize.