Today we have an exclusive excerpt from the recently released Trophy Husband by Lauren Blakely.
ABOUT ‘TROPHY HUSBAND’:
Sometimes you can’t help falling in love, even when you try to do the opposite…Successful fashion blogger McKenna Bell has spent far too long protecting herself after the way her ex-fiancé left her at the altar for a college chick he met the night of his bachelor party. Loving again, trusting again, well, that’s just not in the cards. Especially now that her ex is back in town with his new woman, demanding custody of McKenna’s favorite creature in the whole world–her dog. No effing way. McKenna’s had enough of him, and she decides to even the score by finding her own hot young thing — a Trophy Husband. Sure, she’s only twenty-seven, but doesn’t that make it even more fun — and infuriating to her ex — to pursue a younger man? When she declares her intentions on her daily blog, her quest quickly skyrockets in popularity, and that’s when Chris enters the picture, and he’s got all the assets. He’s handsome, successful, and turns her inside out with a kiss to end all kisses, the kind that makes you feel like a shooting star. But loving again could mean losing again, and it’s so much easier to focus on getting even, isn’t it? Unless, you just can’t help falling in love. Which means McKenna will have to come face to face with what she really wants in life — protecting her heart from hurt, or letting go of her fears of a new beginning.
Excerpt
Chris turns on the Xbox and then hits the on-button on my guitar. We’re in the former car stereo room at the electronics store, only now it’s been converted into a sort of gaming living room. Customers can come here and test out all sorts of games on the various consoles. Or they can get lessons from the master once a week.
The game whirs on, a picture of a dark pink mountaintop, set against a black night sky, appears on the gigantic television screen hanging on the wall in front of us. Chris moves closer to me, taps a few buttons on my guitar to click past that screen, then the next, then the next. I want him to touch a few more buttons on my guitar.
He teaches me the basics, how to play the green, red and yellow notes on the easy level of the game. How to hit them at just the right time. How to hit the strum bar at the same time too. I butcher my way through Slow Ride and Hit Me with Your Best Shot, getting booed at by the virtual audience, tossed off stage. So I dig in, like a batter at the plate, eyes fixated on the screen, feet planted firmly on the ground, index, middle and ring finger poised over the notes. Chris walks behind me, adjusts the strap a bit, moving the guitar a bit lower. He places his right hand on top of mine on the notes.
Damn. There goes my concentration. His hand feels so good. The slightest bit of contact with him turns me inside out. I’m not used to this feeling. I don’t know what to do with this feeling. It doesn’t fit in my life. It fits in a song, and I don’t know how to make it fit for me.
“So this may sound cheesy, but the real key is to let go. Let go of the need to check where your hands are, or to look constantly at the neck of the guitar.”
I nod.
“So what I want you to do is close your eyes.”
“Close my eyes?”
“Yes, close your eyes. I know it’s going to be real hard for you not to be in control for one second, but trust me.”
“Oh, ha ha,” I tease.
“Yes, McKenna. I’ve already picked up that you like to be in charge.”
“You’re astute.”
“I am. Now do as I tell you. Close your eyes.”
I do as he tells me.
“So you have to just feel where your fingers are. So here’s the green note.” He places his finger down on top of my index finger, playing the green note.
Mmm…
“Here’s the red.” He presses his middle finger against mine, playing the red note now. I want to lean into him, to fall against him, and feel his chest on my back. I want him to wrap his arms around me, and hold me tighter as he teaches me to play. I want to feel his touch. I want contact. I want it so badly, I don’t know how I’ll ever play a song because I am living and breathing only one thing right now – the wish to be closer to him, my back curved into his front, his arms wrapped tight around me, our bodies beginning to entwine.
“And here’s the yellow.” He keeps his ring finger against mine, playing the yellow note. Then he holds the note. His fingers are playing my fingers, and my entire body feels like a tuning fork, vibrating hotly from his touch. “So you want to feel the notes, not look at them. Just know when green comes up, your index finger presses down. When red appears, your middle finger. When yellow shows up, your ring finger.”
I played arcade games for fun when I was a kid, for release when I was left curbside by my ex. But I have never used video games as foreplay. I have never known video games could be foreplay. Here with Chris in some semi-private room at an electronics store, of all places, it feels like foreplay. It feels like he could turn me around, place his hands on my cheeks, and pull me in for a kiss. The kind that makes the world fall away. That leaves you powerless to resist, helpless to do anything but be consumed with an endless kiss. Nothing else matters, and the kiss is all there is, all there was, all there will ever be.
Until it becomes more than a kiss. It becomes heat in your blood, and a roaring in your ears, and you have to clutch the guitar so you don’t turn around and show your hand to him. Show it in your eyes, and in the way you part your lips, and in the words that threaten to tumble from your lips. Words like I want you so much.
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