Bo:
I’m a lover, not a fighter. Yeah, right. Talk about bullshit. I’ve been fighting all my life, and I know zip about love. Frankly, I don’t want to. More than bullets whizzing past my head or the very real possibility of ending up dead, love scares the shit out of me. I’m used to guns and killing, blood and dust.
Lust.
That’s what I feel for this woman, my goddamn shrink, Veronica. Doctor Hartley digs inside my head. She asks me questions, which I never answer. I’d much rather take the smart, sexy Doc to bed, but I can’t because of our clinical relationship.
My last Force Recon mission destroyed any semblance of humanity I had left. Those little triggers go off all the time now. When I’m asleep. When I’m awake. When the memories are raw. I bolt up, at knife point again, but there’s no enemy now.
Just Veronica and me.
Veronica:
Veronica. Doctor Hartley. I told Bo to call me Ronnie like everyone else, but he refuses. He shows up like he has a cattle prod shoved up his ass and sits through the allotted hour for his counseling session impervious to every approach. He’s powerful, forceful, explosive. He doesn’t scare me.
My marine doesn’t speak, but his sharp gaze pierces me all the same. He watches me with all the greed of a hunger never sated, a need never fulfilled. A desire never explored. He stows his secrets safely away, but I’m patient. I’ll get to him if he doesn’t get to me first.
And when I have him? I’ll want him forever. I know this. But I can’t. His past might be complicated, but mine is a minefield, one that will blow up in our faces before all is said and done.
Too bad. We could be so good together.
Warning: Graphic sex, graphic action, graphic language. Triple X caution.
Ben tornate appassionate di biker romance con il terzo libro della serie spin off di Rie Warren, Bad Boys of Retribution MC. Questa volta il protagonista principale è Bo - Beauregard - Maverick.
Bo è un soldato, un marine. Dopo aver perso quasi tutti i suoi commilitoni in un agguato in Afghanistan, decide di andare a vivere isolato da tutti a Mt Pleasant in North Carolina. La sua conoscenza di Hunter ( vedi libro #1 ) lo porta a restare coinvolto nella vita turbolenta e affollata del Retribution MC, un club per motociclisti. Soffrendo di stress post traumatico per tutte le atrocità che ha visto e ha sofferto in prima persona, gli viene consigliato di farsi seguire da uno psicologo.
Tutto bene fino a che non scopre che il dottore è una donna....e che donna!! Risultare così debole e vulnerabile ai suoi occhi non è accettabile per lui. Le sue gambe lunghe, la capacità di leggergli dentro e i suoi commenti dolci e sarcastici, fanno breccia in un cuore ormai sigillato da anni. Saprà Bo, controllarsi e corteggiare l'unica donna che sembra essere fatta apposta per lui ? Bo, vive con un costante senso di colpa per la morte dei suoi compagni, anche se tutti gli sforzi fatti per salvarli sono stati più che onorevoli. Ogni volta che entra in una stanza controlla le vie di fuga, scatta ad ogni rumore, non può più vivere in questo modo. Oltre all'aiuto dello psicologo, Bo cerca di impiegare il suo tempo nella nuova attività di personal trainer. Lui è forte e muscoloso, essere un marine significa essere esperto in tecniche di auto difesa a corpo libero o con armi da taglio e fuoco. Lui sfrutta questa sua conoscenza per guadagnare quanto gli serve per sopravvivere.
Non parla con la sua famiglia da mesi, sono sempre stati molto affiatati ma non sopporta di presentarsi da fallito davanti agli occhi del padre, ex comandante marine.
Il primo incontro con lo psicologo lo lascia a bocca aperta, gli avevano detto che il suo nome era Ronnie...che è un soprannome diffuso per Veronica ma può anche essere confuso con un nome proprio maschile. Il suo ego e l'alpha man che è in lui, non gli permettono di apparire debole e sfiancato da tutto quello gli passa per la mente. Non aiuta il fatto che la trovi estremamente eccitante, tanto da sognarla di notte in atteggiamenti a luci rosse. La forza del suo desiderio per questa donna, l'essere travolto dalla sua analisi di se stesso, lo porteranno a voler portare la relazione tra medico/paziente ad un altro livello....magari al piano di sopra dove c'è la camera da letto!!!
Veronica da parte sua ha già i propri guai ma per quanto si nasconda dietro alla frase "non posso avere relazioni con i miei pazienti" , ha lei stessa difficoltà a non abbandonarsi al piacere di accarezzare quel petto muscoloso o i bicipiti che sono costretti dietro alla t-shirt. Non è facile far capire a Bo che non è ancora pronto per una relazione, i suoi problemi comportamentali, la sua aggressività potrebbero non fargli capire la differenza tra sfogo della rabbia mediante il sesso invece che assaporarlo come unione di due corpi. Il suo flirtare è da vero ruba cuori, non perde occasione per farle capire quanto desiderio provi per lei. Ma come dicevo prima, V ha già i suoi guai a cui pensare....e si ripresenteranno in tutta la loro pericolosità. Questa coppia è perfetta da ogni punto di vista, si completano in modo superlativo. Dove lui è scombussolato dal suo passato, lei lo calma; gli interessi di lui per moto e sport vengono seguite da lei con lo stesso trasporto. A match in heaven!!
Sapranno aiutarsi reciprocamente, superando insieme situazioni di pericolo e allontanamento familiare, non senza qualche litigata di troppo che rende tutto più "frizzante" per il lettore!!
Naturalmente fanno da gradevole e simpatico contorno tutti i personaggi della serie con le rispettive mogli e/o fidanzate, la vita del Motorcycle Club è sempre attivo e scoppiettante. C'è intimità, senso famigliare, un caldo abbraccio, un luogo sicuro per tutte quelle persone che hanno avuto poco dalla vita e cercano di farsene una nuova secondo i dettami della vita da biker.
Un pò di azione, intervalla la storia complicata ed eccitante tra Bo e V.
Mi dimentico sempre di precisare che tutti i romanzi di Rie Warren sono scritti dal punto di vista del protagonista maschile. Non c'è niente di più sexy secondo me di leggere di un maschio eccitato per una donna o vulnerabile perché ha fatto qualcosa che l'ha fatta arrabbiare e deve cercare di farsi perdonare. Questa è una delle tante ragioni che mi spingono a continuare a leggere i romanzi di questa scrittrice. Ammetto di riscontrare delle ripetizioni per alcuni aspetti, soprattutto nella trama ma quando si incontrano tanti personaggi maschili così simpatici e tormentati, ci si affeziona e si desidera il lieto fine per ognuno di loro.
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A few days after I’d gone crazy-Vet with Doc Veronica, with March nearing an end and April in sight, I expected a new client. This one had signed up online for a workout session. I was checking my equipment out in the yard when I heard the doorbell through the open deck doors. I walked inside, thinking I’d need to find some rental space before summer fully arrived. It was fine for trained soldiers to bust ass outside in one hundred plus degree heat but I probably didn’t want my clients keel over from heat stroke.
“Coming,” I called out. Kicking my extra pair of cross trainers away from the door I opened it and . . . “You?”
“Me. In the flesh.” Veronica stood on my front stoop, not dressed in one of her Doc Hottie suits.
“You’re my twelve o’ clock?” Transparent shock filtered across my face.
She nodded and her long ponytail in rich claret red bounced, the ends curling to the middle of her back.
“You’re not Penny Richmond.”
“Yes, I am. For a couple hours at least.” She pointed at her ponytail. “Besides, I have the whole copper thing going on.”
“Why?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” Cocking her hip, she drew my gaze to her body scantily covered in workout gear.
Well, I could see that. In fact my eyes were bugging out of my head even while I tried to make my tongue form words.
“I’m working.” I glared down at her all the while inventorying her outfit.
Stretchy black yoga shorts led to a tight bright yellow Lycra tank molded to her upper body. The dark blue straps of a workout bra peeped out on her shoulders. Her breasts restrained, they still looked round and full, and her skin gleamed. I couldn’t wait for the back view. Fucking criminal to look like that underneath her suits.
“I know. That’s why I made an appointment, and I tend to keep them.” Her saccharine smile held the hint of a killer edge.
A smile I wanted to kiss off her lips with my tongue in her mouth.
Sweeping past me she asked, “Where do you want me?”
Trick question.
In my bed? On the couch? Hell, right now the floor would work pretty damn good. I’m not fussy.
I hung back, closing the door, taking my time to enjoy that rearview and, oh man, what a sight it was. Her waist narrowed, her hips flared and that ass. Jesus. She had to be wearing a thong because there was no hint of a pantyline beneath the black fabric cupping her full cheeks just so and just right.
I rubbed a hand through my hair and quickly knocked my gaze up when she turned toward me. “Uh, hi?”
Suddenly I was distinctly aware I was as negligently clothed as her. Loose nylon shorts held low on my hips by the string tied at my waist. No shirt. Compression shorts beneath, and at the at moment they were failing at concealing the length and general girth of my cock, because that shit was getting interested in these goings on.
I didn’t know if Veronica had superhuman willpower, if she was just so goddamn good at being professional, or if I really didn’t affect her at all, but she hardly dipped her gaze to my chest before meeting my stare.
“Hello, Bo.” Her eyes twinkled, rum cask-colored today.
She looked totally different, and then I finally placed why.
I pointed at her, still stupefied. “You have ink.”
My brain finally caught up. When her back had been turned colorful vines and flowers snaked across the top of her back and shoulder blades, the edge of something tattooed with a gritty metallic sheen peeking just above her sports top.
“Is that an entire backpiece?” I asked. Talk about unexpected, and even hotter because of that.
“You have tats too. Is there a problem?”
The only problem was her appreciative glance at my ink. My skin was on fire as her gaze touched the tattoos. I could only imagine her fingers walking along my flesh, tracing the solid marks of ink: a highly stylized version of the star and stripes with the words Semper Fidelis covered the skin on the side of my neck. An explosive array of detailed-down-to-the barrel service revolvers spread across my chest, each with a helmet emblazoned on the grip. One for every teammate I’d lost.
Fallen. Never forgotten. The words wrapped underneath.
I swallowed harshly. “No. No problem at all. Shall we?”
Holding out my hand, I beckoned Veronica through my house, leading her out back.
“You live alone?”
My eyebrows shot up. “Isn’t that obvious? You know, me and people not being on the best of terms.”
“How could I forget?” For a moment she sounded rueful, but then she swished ahead of me and stepped outside.
We ended up side by side on the deck on a pair of yoga mats.
“We’ll start with some warm-up.” I guided Veronica through some stretches she proved more than capable of handling.
We finished with our legs wide open, leaning down to place our foreheads on the mat then reaching for our ankles.
She remained in that position long after I sat up, and when I tapped her shoulder she curled up, grinning. Her face shined as she arched her back and rolled her neck.
“Wow. You’re flexible for a big guy.”
So was she, and I could think of a million ways to limber her up even more in my bed.
“What’s your fitness level, Doc?”
“Oh, I think I can keep up.”
Not if I have my way with her.
Once down on the ground, I set Veronica to work and went at it right beside her. The obstacle course I switched up everyday had us crawling under crosshatched wires, hurtling over sawhorses and dive rolling beneath heavy swinging logs.
I even made her dig her own trench. Fuck the lawn. I gave her a two-minute break after she lined the top of the culvert with sandbags.
Damn right I drilled her. She wasn’t a gym bunny, and I approved. No slab-board abs or ropey lean thighs, she looked soft and warm and curvy in all the right places, just how I liked a woman. That didn’t mean she didn’t know how to get down and dirty and dig in, which made me respect her even more.
An hour later, we panted next to each other, guzzling water and mopping up sweat with our towels.
“You’re really good at this, Bo. I think you could make a killing.” Then she winced, because she said the k word.
“Don’t worry about it.” I gripped the ends of her towel, drawing her nearer so the heat of her body collided with mine. “I don’t think about killing every hour of every day.”
Ecco a voi i primi due libri di questa serie recensiti dal nostro blog, cliccate sull'immagine per andare direttamente al link:
Rie is the badass, sassafras author of Sugar Daddy and the Don’t Tell series–a breakthrough trilogy that crosses traditional publishing boundaries beginning with In His Command. Her latest endeavors include the Carolina Bad Boys, a fun, hot, and southern-sexy series.
A Yankee transplant who has traveled the world, Rie started out a writer—causing her college professor to blush over her erotic poetry without one ounce of shame. Not much has changed. She swapped pen for paintbrushes and followed her other love during her twenties. From art school to marriage to children and many a wild and wonderful journey in between, Rie has come home to her calling. Her work has been called edgy, daring, and some of the sexiest smut around.
You can connect with Rie via the social media hangouts listed on her website https://www.riewarren.com. She is represented by Saritza Hernandez, Corvisiero Literary Agency. http://www.corvisieroagency.com/Saritza_Hernandez.html
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