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    Krush: DirtSlap Series, #3
    Krush: DirtSlap Series, #3
    Krush: DirtSlap Series, #3
    Ebook83 pages1 hour

    Krush: DirtSlap Series, #3

    By Ashlynn Pearce

    5/5

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    About this ebook

    ***Novella***

    "Is the risk worth the rush?"

    Angel Brayson is sick of Nashville, the people in it…and a love that never happened. Her solution —a cruise. Go places she's never been, with people she's never met. Instead of crying in her beer over heartbreak, all she feels is relief. And a tangle with tall-dark-and-handsome is not a good idea, nor in her plan.

    For two years, Cole Rosin has done nothing but mourn his deceased wife and put up with his overbearing family. A cruise is his last attempt to feel something—anything—other than guilt. With one brief touch, the numbness in his soul disappears.

    Can he convince this angel with a doll's face he's worth the risk?

     

     

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWhimsy Notions Press, LLC
    Release dateJul 30, 2015
    ISBN9781513041544
    Krush: DirtSlap Series, #3
    Author

    Ashlynn Pearce

    Were it not for Hope...the Heart would Break. Music feeds my Muse. Ashlynn Pearce is an award winning author who writes fiery passionate romances. Her characters are perfectly imperfect. She's a true believer that damaged people need love too. Born and bred in Oklahoma, she lives with her husband, son and four pups. Despite four strokes, she continues the fight to keep her publishing dreams alive. After several visits to Nashville, she created the DirtSlap series. DirtSlap is a band - a little bit country, a dash of metal & a whole lot of dirt. Included in the series are FUEL, WRECK, KRUSH and FIXT…with more coming. If you're searching for a bit hotter...leather clad...erotic...tattoos, look no further than her new series, Rolling Asylum Motorcycle Club——ON EDGE. And coming soon, Toxic Edge. She loves to hear from her fans, so you can contact her via her website or social media. Insta, FB, Threads, TikTok Social Media: @ashlynnpearceauthor

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      Book preview

      Krush - Ashlynn Pearce

      Chapter One

      Angel Brayson stood on the deck of the cruise ship, but instead of enjoying the view of the never-ending expanse of water, she held her phone to her ear.

      No, Dad, pirates aren’t going to hijack the ship.

      I don’t know why you had to go off by yourself. You should’ve stayed home. Matter of fact, go ahead and get off that damn boat and get home where I can keep you safe.

      I am not a kid anymore. I’m twenty-five. I don’t need your permission. She shoved her big sunglasses atop her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. Even if I wanted to, the boat has already left shore.

      Not that she got to enjoy that either. She’d been too busy arguing with her dad. She loved him, but he was part of the reason she’d run off on this fourteen-day cruise to start with. She needed a break. From him, from Nashville… from everything.

      You can swim. You can’t be that far from shore yet.

      I’m hanging up, Dad. Love you.

      She ended the call, turned off her phone, and released a big pent up breath. She tuned out the people around her and focused on the waves. The salty air tingled on her skin. The sun shone high overhead and warmed her bare shoulders. She shoved her glasses and phone into her black cherry backpack and ambled along the railing.

      She’d never been this far from home without family or friends, but wasn’t it about time to figure out what she wanted to do with her life?

      Thrand obviously wasn’t it.

      The pain was still sharp. Not because she’d lost him—because how could you lose something you never had? But because she’d lost a lot of time waiting for Thrand to open his eyes and see her.

      Except he saw someone else.

      It was a lot like being dumped over the head with ice water. It left her cold, alone and shivering. Seeing Thrand with his girl, Cassie, and then watching her cousin, Ethan, get engaged was enough to make her scream.

      No way in hell was she going to the wedding. Right now, all that mushy shit set off her gag reflex.

      What she needed was time away. Fresh air with people she’d never seen in places she’d never been.

      She wandered the decks aimlessly. The sheer size of the ship staggered her. Like a floating city, she passed everything a girl could ever want. From shopping malls and salons to clubs and bars. She stepped into an elevator and hit Deck Six.

      A cruise in June seemed to be a hotbed for a lot of that mushy crap she was trying to avoid. The couple in the elevator were not helping her gag reflex. Nor was the pin the ‘bride’ wore.

      She hurried off, found her room, and pushed into the tiny stateroom. Her bags were already there and she walked around the king bed and then slid open the glass door. She’d splurged and her reward was the small balcony with the ocean view.

      Perfect.

      She closed her eyes. Just be. Nothing but the sound of the waves reached her ears. She collected all her thoughts and stuffed them in a box. Be. She could reflect later. There was plenty of time. She stretched her arms up over her head, spread her fingers wide, pushed up on tip-toes and breathed.

      Let it go.

      Her heart beat. Her pulse was light. She opened her mouth and… screamed.

      Long.

      Loud.

      The sound got lost in the waves.

      She opened her eyes, laughed, and pushed at her cropped hair. Ah, yes. Much better. Nothing like a little scream-therapy. It was totally underrated for dealing with daily shit-storms in life. Or in her case, years of stupid.

      She turned her attention to her clothes, shook out the wrinkles and hung up her dresses. Mostly black, with splashes of red and white dominated the closet. She picked out one, tugged it on, and slipped on her wedges. Cherry-red lipstick finished off her look before she headed out.

      I’m telling you, this is made wrong. Angel eyed the bartender and held up the offending drink. It tasted like vitriol and gasoline.

      Lady, that’s how I make my drinks. They have bite. People go on cruises to get drunk.

      Probably true and bite is fine. But this is sex-on-the-beach. It’s supposed to be fruity. It’s for girls. She narrowed her eyes on his nametag. Donny, I’m a bartender. Best one around. So let me show you how it’s made. You’ll sell more drinks if they actually taste good.

      You? The guy looked her up and down and sniggered. You look more like—

      Don’t say it, punk. She pointed a finger at him, sat on the bartop, swiveled, and plopped down on his side.

      You can’t do that, he said.

      Shut up, watch, and learn. She smirked and poured eight different ingredients into the shaker.

      That is not how you make it. Lady, you’re kooky.

      I may be kooky, but these are my specialty. I sell a shit-ton of these. She poured the mixture into a glass and handed it to him. Try it.

      He took a sip. You can’t taste the alcohol.

      That’s the point. It hits ’em about number three, depending on how lightweight they are. She hopped back on the bar, turned, and slid back onto her barstool. She stopped the first guy she saw by shoving the drink at him. Try this.

      * *

      Cole Rosin stopped just short of running into the drink that was shoved at his chest. His

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