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Spencer Collins likes his life just fine, thank you very much. As the owner of the lifestyle club Cuffs & Spurs in Jackson Hole, he has a bevy of available subs who are his to command – not that any of them have held his interest in longer than he can remember. When his best friend’s sister-in-law gets herself into trouble, Spencer heads out to rescue the little brat who is in need of a firm hand. But he never expects to be forced to confront the incendiary heat that has always existed between them.
As the storm rages around them, they surrender to a passion hotter than the sun. Now that he has felt her surrender, Spencer attempts to lure Meghan into his world. But will they let go of their pasts or will they allow secrets to destroy them?
Read an Excerpt
“You’re wasting time. If we don’t get a move on, we’ll both be stuck out in this mess. Just leave it. No one’s going to mess with it.”
She hefted the bag and slammed the car door before she whirled on him. Snow and wind battered her face as she glared at him. “First of all, I didn’t ask for your assistance although I am grateful for it. Second, some of this equipment is worth more than my car so there’s no way I’m leaving it behind to freeze, and wind up losing my job. Third, what crawled up your ass today? Or any day, for that matter? Would it kill you to, I don’t know, not be a complete asshole?”
Spencer’s full mouth, framed by his black beard, firmed into a hard line and he glowered. The man made curling up with a mountain lion seem downright appealing.
“Depends on the day. Give me those and get your ass in the truck.” He didn’t ask, just reached out and removed the bags from her hands before he stomped up the embankment to his big black monster truck. Even trussed up as he was in his black parka, she could detect the power in him. It emanated from him, was an integral part of his essence. His confident strides were long and chock-full of determined purpose. His jeans carried a fine dusting of snow.
Meghan locked the car with her key fob, then slogged up the embankment behind him. In the last two hours at least another three inches of snow had fallen, blanketing the ground in a sea of white. If she remembered the weatherman’s forecast correctly, they were predicting over two feet. At least her hiking boots were suitable for snow and her thick parka insulated her well enough.
Spencer had already tossed her bags in the back seat and had the passenger door open for her when she stepped up beside him. Before she could comment on his rescue, needle him as was her fashion, his big hands gripped her waist. The simple touch acted like a lightning rod slashing her composure, making her slow to react. He lifted her up, shoved her inside, and dumped her rather curtly so that her butt plopped onto the leather bucket seat. The snarky—and most likely bitchy—remark stuck in her throat. Their gazes clashed and a jolt of unbidden desire razored through her system. It left her breathless and shaken. And, if anything, Spencer’s face hardened even further into a stern mask of disapproval, like he was in a competition with Mount Rushmore for whose face looked more like stone. With a scowl furrowing his black brows, Spencer retreated as if she’d burned him.
“Buckle up,” he commanded and slammed the door shut.
She curled her hands into fists, even as warmth from his heater spread through her. The man had the proclivity and seemed hellishly bent on driving her to physical violence. And why, oh why in the holy hell did her body respond to him the way it did? Every. Time. It was like sticking her finger in an electrical socket.
She didn’t even like the overbearing jerk. But tell that to her body and girly bits. They sure as hell didn’t see it that way. Her damn fool hormones would prefer she cozy up to him and give him carte blanche permission to do whatever naughty things he could cook up. Word around the sub club campfire was that the man knew how to cook… and then some.
He vaulted into the driver’s side seat without a word, shifted the vehicle into drive and steered the behemoth truck back onto the road. He was traveling in the opposite direction from Carter’s house. It was on the tip of her tongue to correct him but Spencer saved her the headache as he piloted the truck around snow drifts and over slick stretches of road where the pavement disappeared entirely beneath a blanket of snow. His wipers swished furiously on high, headlights and floodlights on to illuminate the path forward. Not that it did much good in the white out conditions. Visibility was at zero. They could see about ten feet in front of his truck and that was all.
He placed his phone to his ear. “Carter. I found her. Roads are too bad to make it out to your place tonight. I’ll take her to mine and she can weather the storm there. Yep, will do.”
His place? He was taking her to his place? They were going to be in the same location, alone, the two of them, without supervision? Would they survive the night without strangling each other?
About the Author: Born in St. Louis, Missouri, Anya grew up listening to Cardinals baseball and reading anything she could get her hands on. She remembers her mother saying if only she would read the right type of books instead binging her way through the romance aisles at the bookstore, she’d have been a doctor. While Anya never did get that doctorate, she graduated cum laude from the University of Missouri-St. Louis with an M.A. in History.
Anya is a bestselling and award-winning author published in multiple fiction genres. She also writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance under the name Maggie Mae Gallagher. A total geek at her core, when she is not writing, she adores attending the latest comic con or spending time with her family. She currently lives in the Midwest with her two furry felines.
Visit my website here: http://www.anyasummers.com
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Website as Maggie Mae Gallagher: http://www.maggiemaegallagher.com/
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Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Anya-Summers/e/B01EGTVRKC/
Buy the book at https://www.amazon.com/Secret-Love-Cuffs-Spurs-Book-ebook/dp/B07NKN5Y2S/ref=sr_1_fkmrnull_2
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