Fuel the Fire
(Sprache: Englisch)
"Protect your family. At all costs. Rose has danced with many devils, and this time she makes a deal with the worst one: Celebrity Crush. To protect the ones she loves most, Rose teams up with Connor to turn the spotlight on themselves. But this means Rose...
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"Protect your family. At all costs. Rose has danced with many devils, and this time she makes a deal with the worst one: Celebrity Crush. To protect the ones she loves most, Rose teams up with Connor to turn the spotlight on themselves. But this means Rose must go far outside her well-established comfort zone and tackle some of her deepest insecurities. It'd take the impossible to hurt Connor Cobalt, even for a moment. Now that he's twenty-six, his narcissistic tendencies have made room for the people he loves. And he loves Rose Calloway. But when his love is threatened, when his greatest dreams with her are compromised-what is the cost then? Love will guide his choices. For the first time in his life"--
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OneRose Cobalt
Take directions from your husband, Rose Cobalt.
Who, who fated me with this night? You, Rose. A sour taste fills my mouth. I am partly to blame, I'll admit. I refused to let him drive. I thought if I was behind the wheel, he'd tell me where we're headed.
Instead, he's given me the barest of directions. I'm driving blindly, at his will.
Take directions from Connor Cobalt, outside of the bedroom. I'd rather drown myself in hot, bubbling magma.
"Turn left at the light," Connor says, his fingers to his lips. I catch his smug smile, illuminated in the blue glow of the dashboard.
I itch to do the opposite, to take a sharp right, but wherever we're going, I want to be there as much as him. The endgame-which I am privy to-means more to me than starting a fresh rivalry with my husband. So I suck up my overwhelming pride and whip my Escalade left.
I can feel him gloating. "The more you grin like I'm giving you a quickie in a disgusting public bathroom, the more my ovaries wither and die," I tell him. "So just think about all of our future children you're annihilating, Richard."
He outstretches his arm behind my headrest. "I'm so extraordinary that my mere grin can make you infertile?"
"I was insulting you," I retort, my eyes flickering to him.
His brow arches with more satisfaction. "It was partially a compliment and partially erroneous."
I scoff. "Erroneous?"
"Illogical, irrational, senseless-"
"I know what 'erroneous' means. I just want to cut off your tongue for using it against me." He may be right. It's not a rational statement, but I would hope my ovaries would stand with me and not firmly on his side.
"You forget that I use my tongue for your pleasure-turn right."
I swing the car to the right. "I don't need your tongue," I refute. "I have other means of pleasuring myself." Though masturbating isn't quite as good or substantial, but I'm avoiding another compliment towards a man who finds them in
... mehr
insults.
His fingers drum the headrest. "Are these means battery-operated?"
I shoot him a sharp look, not denying the truth.
His thumb brushes my cheek, and I actually relax some. "Your argument lacks evidence, darling. Turn left after this light."
I roll to a stop, the red light gleaming along the nearly deserted street. It's 10 p.m. on Thanksgiving night, and everyone is eating pie with their families indoors. Not gallivanting across the back roads of Philadelphia on a bizarre mission.
"Where are we going?" I ask for the fourth time.
"A parking lot," he says again.
"I've passed about thirty of them already." I motion to the empty one beside a dimly lit gas station. "Will that one not suffice?"
"A specific parking lot," Connor amends. One that he'd had to Google on his phone, the device clutched in his palm. "We're almost there. Do you think your ovaries will survive until then?"
"Do you plan on impregnating me in this parking lot?" I glare, spinning fully towards him while we wait for the green light. He wears a blue button-down and suit jacket, tailored perfectly for his six-foot-four frame. Connor Cobalt is as classy as he is conceited. Both attract me.
Both annoy me.
I'm a paradox. And maybe that's why he loves me.
"I plan on impregnating you seven more times," he declares, "but not tonight." He cups my face, and his thumb brushes my bottom lip in a slow, measured line.
My chest falls shallowly, especially as his eyes flit to my mouth. He wants eight kids. An empire. We already have one child together, but there are stipulations that we haven't discussed in full detail yet if we want more. For another time. Another day. We have too many crises to stir another one.
"You're taking too much pleasure in this," I say a bit quieter than I intended. I'm not even sure what I'm referring to: our proposed empire, him contr
His fingers drum the headrest. "Are these means battery-operated?"
I shoot him a sharp look, not denying the truth.
His thumb brushes my cheek, and I actually relax some. "Your argument lacks evidence, darling. Turn left after this light."
I roll to a stop, the red light gleaming along the nearly deserted street. It's 10 p.m. on Thanksgiving night, and everyone is eating pie with their families indoors. Not gallivanting across the back roads of Philadelphia on a bizarre mission.
"Where are we going?" I ask for the fourth time.
"A parking lot," he says again.
"I've passed about thirty of them already." I motion to the empty one beside a dimly lit gas station. "Will that one not suffice?"
"A specific parking lot," Connor amends. One that he'd had to Google on his phone, the device clutched in his palm. "We're almost there. Do you think your ovaries will survive until then?"
"Do you plan on impregnating me in this parking lot?" I glare, spinning fully towards him while we wait for the green light. He wears a blue button-down and suit jacket, tailored perfectly for his six-foot-four frame. Connor Cobalt is as classy as he is conceited. Both attract me.
Both annoy me.
I'm a paradox. And maybe that's why he loves me.
"I plan on impregnating you seven more times," he declares, "but not tonight." He cups my face, and his thumb brushes my bottom lip in a slow, measured line.
My chest falls shallowly, especially as his eyes flit to my mouth. He wants eight kids. An empire. We already have one child together, but there are stipulations that we haven't discussed in full detail yet if we want more. For another time. Another day. We have too many crises to stir another one.
"You're taking too much pleasure in this," I say a bit quieter than I intended. I'm not even sure what I'm referring to: our proposed empire, him contr
... weniger
Autoren-Porträt von Krista Ritchie, Becca Ritchie
Krista and Becca Ritchie are New York Times and USA Today bestselling authors and identical twins—one a science nerd, the other a comic book geek—but with their shared passion for writing, they combined their mental powers as kids and have never stopped telling stories. They love superheroes, flawed characters, and soul mate love.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autoren: Krista Ritchie , Becca Ritchie
- 2023, 608 Seiten, Maße: 14,2 x 20,8 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Berkley
- ISBN-10: 0593639642
- ISBN-13: 9780593639641
- Erscheinungsdatum: 24.11.2023
Sprache:
Englisch
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