Présentation de l'éditeur :
Rock Hard: Chord Brothers
Synopsis:
Synopsis:
Drummer Ryder Chord has been living half a life since he was
sixteen and his twin sister was murdered. He throws himself into his music.
When Lexi Evanovich joins the band, life becomes almost tolerable. Until one
day when the rest of the band isn’t there and Ryder and Lexi have to share a
hotel room: with only one bed.
Rule number one of band-dom: You never sleep with anyone in the
band.
Rule number one of bro code: You never sleep with anyone’s
sister. You definitely never sleep with your best friend’s little sister.
Rule number it’s so obvious it’s a count even a drummer can
keep: You Never. Ever. Sleep with your best friend’s little sister when she’s
in the band…and he is too.
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A propos de l'auteur :
M. J.
Roberts is a writer, editor, and teacher – with more than two million copies of
her stories in circulation worldwide, Roberts is well loved for creating
characters who feel as real as your most cherished friends. Roberts works to
diligently to create believable, lovable characters, witty dialogue, prose
ripe with metaphor, exciting plot twists, action that keeps you on the edge of
your seat, and romance scenes that sizzle.
Roberts is a multiple
award-winning author including first place in the prestigious Summer Lovin’
Romance Literary Contest 2015 for the novel Risk
Your Heart.
Roberts
also writes under the pen name Natasha Action. Roberts is originally from New
York but lives in the southern United States for the purpose of endless comic material.
She’s
married to a professional musician (A.K.A. The Rock and Roll God) because she
is too busy tormenting imaginary characters and counting her blessing to pursue
her longtime dream of Rock n’ Roll stardom herself.
Connect with M.J.:
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Then Lexi takes off her
jacket. Her white tank top plasters to her body, instantly soaking it to almost
see-through. A cab screeches to a halt in front of us. Thank God it’s a
van-style cab or our screw factor would have crescendoed to beyond what I want
to deal with.
An old black man helps us pile our gear into
the back and we get in.
“Where to?”
“A hotel in a safe
neighborhood,” Lexi says.
He laughs. “You know
this is Detroit, right?”
“Well, safer
neighborhood.”
Lexi takes out her phone
and begins searching for hotels. She
starts mumbling under her breath. The streets begin to look better and her
curses get creative. She makes phone calls.
“What?” Lexi says into
the phone. She hangs up, again, looking dejected.
She turns and looks at
me. “Yeah, there are three conferences in town this weekend, a big tech show,
and a car trade show.” She stifles a sigh. “Even the Air B&Bs are booked
up; it’s not looking good.”
“Try the Comfort
Suites,” the driver says over his shoulder.
Lexi calls them. Bingo.
We get there, wearily
load our stuff—which is whatever Lexi throws into a small duffle, and my
custom-made bass drum and crazy expensive cymbals that I always take in every
time we sleep somewhere, just in case someone breaks into the bus— onto a big
luggage cart and roll up to the front desk. A frumpy but still cute and sweet
old lady helps us.
“It’s a queen and a
twin, is that okay?”
“Fine,” Lexi says.
Now it’s closer to four
thirty in the morning. Usually not a problem, but we’d played twelve gigs in
nine days without a break. Hit Man’s hitting it the last straw. Lexi is swaying
on her feet.
Of course our room is at
the end of the hall.
We get in there and both
stare.
One bed.
“I’ll sleep on the
floor,” I say.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I
can fix this.” She calls the front desk.
“Well, can you bring up a trundle bed?” There’s a pause. “No, no, I
understand.”
She hangs up just as I
whisper, “Extra blankets,” thinking I’ll be crashing on the floor.
“Thick as manure and
half as useful,” Lexi says.
“Listen I can sleep on
the—”
“I’m too
fruck-er-nuttering tired to argue.” She peels off her tank top, revealing a
skintight pink push-up bra. Holy shit.
“I’m going to take a hot
shower. That bed is plenty big; pick a side. If I were any more wiped, I’d be a
dish rag.”
She turns away from me,
and not a moment too soon because I’ve been keeping my facial expression blank,
but as soon as she turns away my jaw hinges open, because holy hell, her
beautiful, perfect, full, pink-covered breasts are now forever burned in my brain.
F………fffffffuck.
Rule number one of
band-dom: You never sleep with anyone in the band.
Rule number one of bro
code: You never sleep with anyone’s little sister.
Rule number two of bro
code: You definitely never sleep with
your best friend’s little sister.
Rule number it’s so
obvious it’s a one-two-three count even a deadbeat drummer can keep: You
never. Ever. Sleep with your best friend’s little sister when she’s in
the band… and he is too.
She is the hottest thing
ever in a hot pink—no, now naked and hot and wet—and less than fifteen feet
away from—I rub a hand over my face. I am so
screwed.
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