This is one ride that I did not want to get off of. With a storyline that had me from the opening pages and the heartwarming characters you could not help but fall in love with them, this is a book you do not want to miss. ~5 Stars – Nicki
Have you ever devoured a book and just wanted it to never end. Hard Hart is that book, you will fall in love with not only the characters but their story. This storyline will captivate you and will hold you locked to the words … Hard Hart deserves ten stars instead of the five I can give it. ~ 5 Stars – Kylee
It’ll take a tough woman to win this Hard Hart…
Krista Matthews, a hard-headed, hard-fighting rookie cop, is determined to prove herself on the force. It’s not just a man’s world anymore and she’ll show them all she’s up to the challenge, even if it means putting up with the advances from her lecherous mentor, Myles Slade. However, Brock is even more stubborn than she is, he’s all male, all alpha—and whether she likes it or not he’s made keeping her safe his number one priority. He doesn’t realize she doesn’t need protection; she can take of herself and then some.
Brock Hart, bodyguard and retired special operative, has never known anyone like Krista. Ever since their first meeting, when she pulled him over for speeding, he’s been drawn to her. She infuriates him, challenges him, and has gotten under his skin in a way no woman ever has. He’s kept people at arm’s length all his life for good reason, but Krista won’t stand for it. She wants to know everything about him, and that puts him on edge. But one drunken night together changes everything. Their worlds are rocked, and Brock’s quiet, introverted life is threatened forever. Which may be exactly what he needs.
Fun and Flirty Excerpt
He watched in the mirror behind the bar as Krista chewed her food slowly, a small, sexy smile on her face. She closed her eyes and hummed softly. Jordy in the kitchen always made a killer burger. Brock’s taste buds were just as happy as Krista’s. And fuck what he would give to be that burger right now, rolling around on her tongue and in her hot little mouth.
“So, Brock Hart, if that’s your real name?” she finally asked on a swallow. “Where do you live?”
A smile jogged on his lips as he methodically chewed his fries. “Around here,” he finally said. “Walking distance.”
“Stumbling distance?” She snickered, digging into her own fries. “’Cause that’s what we’d do, stumble there. Or at least me. That tequila’s hit me hard. Good call on the food.”
Brock didn’t say anything. He simply studied her face. She had a tiny bit of mustard at the corner of her mouth that he wanted to wipe, lick, or suck off for her. Preference on the latter.
“You want to get out of here?” he finally asked.
“I … uh … ”
He lifted one shoulder cavalierly and then shoveled fries into his mouth before taking a healthy sip of his beer to wash it all down.
She eyed him curiously before nodding at Mickey for yet another shot. “I had an awful day,” she said quietly. “I’m drinking to forget.”
“Did you have to stand out in the rain and issue tickets all day?” he asked, his volume matching hers. He drained his beer and lifted an eyebrow at Mickey for another.
She nodded but then shook her head. “I didn’t issue any citations. And then there was a fatal accident on the highway we had to deal with.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Those are never easy.”
She shook her head again. “No, they’re not.”
It seemed like she was avoiding his gaze on purpose now, swirling her last remaining fry around and around in a big puddle of ketchup until it was limp and covered in red. “I don’t want to be a traffic cop,” she finally managed to whisper. “I didn’t want to be out there. Besides you, I pulled over two little old ladies and didn’t have the heart to cite them.”
He snorted. “Yeah, my dad was a cop, said it was tough when he’d have to pull over a car for speeding only to find a wrinkled little blue hair behind the wheel. For the most part, they drive slow as fuck, but then once in a while you get an eighty-five-year-old Mario Andretti with a medical alert bracelet, going sixty in a school zone.”
To Brock’s surprise and delight—which also surprised him—she burst out laughing, nodded and then slammed back the shot in front of her. Damn, she was cute. And she smelled incredible.
He nodded, signaled Mickey and told him to put everything on his “tab.”
Krista finally finished that last fry and drained the water glass in front of her. She let out a loud and satisfying ah before lifting her head and batting her lashes at him.
“You look different from the picture on your license,” she said. “I like your hair longer. And your face has filled out.”
His skin prickled. He hoped to God she didn’t ask anything personal. Brock never got personal.
She leaned forward so their faces were only six inches apart. Her breath smelled of tequila and ketchup, but it was quickly overpowered by the most divine scent—floral and sweet with a hint of spice. It wrapped around him and he had to force himself not to shut his eyes and inhale deeply.
“Hmm?” he hummed, wondering what she was looking at.
She blinked those diamond blues at him and smiled coyly. “You have beautiful green eyes. And the scruff beard is hot, definitely better than the clean-shaved look of your picture.”
She’d remembered that much about him? Was she coming on to him? Was she always this forward, or was the tequila making her brazen? Either way he didn’t care. She was hot as fuck, and if she said the word, he’d have her home and clawing up his back before the clock struck twelve.
“You owe me, you know,” she said with only a slight slur to her words.
He decided to play along. “I do, do I? I bought you a burger and covered your tab. I’d say we’re square for whatever it is you think I owe you.”
With a sultry little lip bite and a head shake that tousled those untameable curls of hers, she said, “Nuh-uh.”
“I let you off with a warning. And we both know you were speeding right up until you saw me. You tossed on the brakes at the perfect moment.”
Well, she had him there.
“So I owe you then?”
“I’m not sure you should be drinking anymore, and I’m not a fan of dessert. How do you propose I owe you … constable?”
Her pink tongue darted out between her lips and ran seductively along the seam. “Stumbling distance?”
A growl built at the back of his throat. He hadn’t gotten laid in ages, and this little sprite had him sporting a half-chub since earlier in the day. Did she have her handcuffs with her still? Maybe an officer’s hat?
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About the Author
A Canadian West Coast baby born and raised, Whitley is married to her high school sweetheart, and together they have two beautiful daughters and a fluffy dog. She spends her days making food that gets thrown on the floor, vacuuming Cheerios out from under the couch and making sure that the dog food doesn’t end up in the air conditioner. But when nap time comes, and it’s not quite wine o’clock, Whitley sits down, avoids the pile of laundry on the couch, and writes.
A lover of all things decadent; wine, cheese, chocolate and spicy erotic romance, Whitley brings the humorous side of sex, the ridiculous side of relationships and the suspense of everyday life into her stories. With mommy wars, body issues, threesomes, bondage and role-playing, these books have everything we need to satisfy the curious kink in all of us.