Summer Breeze Kisses Read online

  Summer Breeze Kisses

  Addison Moore

  Contents

  Connect with Addison Moore

  Whiskey Kisses

  Prologue

  1. Heart in a Blender

  2. Holt

  3. Piece of Me

  4. Holt

  5. Desperate and Dating

  6. Holt

  7. The Proposition

  8. Holt

  9. Touching You, Touching Me

  10. Holt

  11. Dance Hall Days

  12. Holt

  13. Great Sexpectations

  14. Holt

  15. The Beginning of Us

  16. Holt

  17. All the Dirty Details

  18. Holt

  19. All of Me

  20. Holt

  21. Love Like This

  22. Holt

  23. The Whole Story

  24. Holt

  25. Letters and Thank You Notes

  26. Holt

  27. Wishes and Dreams

  Forbidden Kisses

  Prologue

  1. Hell’s Bells

  2. Rex

  3. One Big Unhappy Family

  4. Rex

  5. Agent Orange and Other Unnatural Disasters

  6. Rex

  7. Untying the Knot

  8. Rex

  9. Mad About You

  10. Rex

  11. Bitter…It’s What’s for Dinner

  12. Rex

  13. Happily Ever After

  14. Rex

  Revenge Kisses

  1. Two-Timing Twosome

  2. Knox

  3. Shady and the Tramp

  4. Knox

  5. Breaking into Fort Knox

  6. Knox

  7. Hearts Aquiver

  8. Knox

  9. It’s a Pizza Cake

  10. Knox

  11. Don’t Mess with the Girl in the Red Dress

  12. Knox

  Hot Honey Kisses

  Book Description

  1. Once upon a Body

  2. Shepherd

  3. If Looks Could Kill

  4. Shepherd

  5. Death Becomes Her

  6. Shepherd

  7. Dead until Sundown

  8. Shepherd

  9. Death by Hot Honey

  10. Shepherd

  11. Drop-Dead Delicious

  12. Shepherd

  13. I Love You to Death

  14. Shepherd

  Dirty Disaster

  Prologue

  1. A Fight to Remember

  2. Axel

  3. Triple XXX Threat

  4. Axel

  5. Joy of Sex With Your Ex

  6. Axel

  7. Belle of the Bar

  8. Axel

  9. Pretty Little Lies

  10. Axel

  11. A Night to Remember

  12. Axel

  Dirty Deeds (Preview)

  Broke and Hitched

  Books by Addison Moore and Bellamy Bloom

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Connect with Addison Moore

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  Edited by: Sarah Freese

  Cover design by: Gaffey Media

  Hollis Thatcher Press, Ltd

  Copyright © 2014 by Addison Moore

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. The author holds all rights to this work. It is illegal to reproduce this novel without written expressed consent from the author herself.

  All Rights Reserved.

  This eBook is for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase any additional copies for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Copyright © 2014 by Addison Moore

  ISBN: 978-1-62430-023-3

  Created with Vellum

  Prologue

  Izzy

  When I was a girl I’d whisper my wishes and dreams into a jar, screw the lid on tight, and collect them all for someday. My world once had everything—powder blue skies, starry nights lit up like a pirate’s treasure, and wide open meadows I’d run through while taking in vats of fresh North Carolina air. Then on a dime, the sun went dark, the stars faded to nothing, and I lacked the oxygen I needed to breathe. The night that my life changed forever, I opened the lid on that silly jar and let all of my wishes and dreams evaporate to nothing into the cold, cruel world I was abandoned in.

  In retrospect, I can see the ominous pattern my life is mapping out. My world seems to fracture at least once a decade, and, seeing that I’ve just crested the horizon on twenty-seven, I’d say I’m overdue. I’m not a superstitious person by nature, but when you have a track record of misfortune it makes you uneasy enough to glance over your shoulder now and again just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  The first fracture came when I was just a child. My father left us when I was seven and my sister only two. He called me Little Bit, a play on Elizabeth, and I believed that was my true moniker to the point of correcting my teacher and classmates. My name was Little Bit because my father never lied. And it was so on that day he came to me with tears in his eyes and said he was leaving and never coming back. I stood stoic next to my mother, my sister dangling from her hip, and listened as he poured out instructions over me. Make sure Momma is never alone. Protect your little sister. And write me. Even though he said he would never get my letters—I did. I wrote feverishly. Every year I would designate a different color paper, different textures—one year they were all in the shape of a leaf. After a while I thought maybe when he came back I would string them out like party decorations and the house would be festive, dressed in the pastel sheets I bathed in tears. But he never came, the party never happened, and all of the letters remain entombed in a box where my father will never read them just as he said.

  I wish I could say the next fracture happened as unexpectedly as the first, but this time all of the signs were laid out in front of me by way of wandering eyes, groping hands that belonged to the men my mother dragged home like pigeons she baited with a box trap. The night before my eighteenth birthday was the day the universe laid a bruise over my existence and burnt my world to cinders once again. The first fracture tore my heart in half. The second broke my spirit. I remember the last moment before I walked through that fire. The dance class I taught had just let out. The room cleared, and standing by the door was the brother of one of the girls. Holt Edwards had eyes so luminescent he could light up a dark alley at midnight as bright as a football stadium.

  He tilted into me filled with all the adolescent angst you could ask for and said, “Izzy Sawyer, you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.” He kicked the floor, and his shoe squeaked before he walked out of the room as if nothing happened. It was the last bit of sunshine in my world before I was forced to drink a bitter cup full of vinegar and bile, and to this day when I think of that horrible night, Holt’s beautiful eyes still shine through
the darkness like a distant ray of hope.

  And now, here we are, all these years later on my bed with nothing but a bottle of whiskey splitting the difference. Holt Edwards looks at me expectantly—his eyes slit with wanting, his entire face glazed over with lust for me.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Maybe.” I feel it coming like an animal senses an earthquake rumbling, long before the tremor ever hits the surface.

  Holt digs into me with those unearthly pale eyes. “What has you running scared?”

  And there it is. I take another bitter hit from the bottle and let the fire race all the way down to my gut.

  “So—you want all of my secrets on a platter.” I blink a smile as the room starts to sway. “You tell me yours—I’ll tell you mine.” I’ve long since suspected Holt has been harboring his own issues.

  Holt takes the bottle and indulges in one last swig before settling it between his legs. He looks up with a devilish grin, and suddenly I’m very damn thirsty for whiskey.

  “Why do I feel like you’re changing the subject?” I reach down and cradle the bottle with my fingers grazing over the hard situation blooming in his jeans. “Hello there.” I glance down as I move the whiskey to the nightstand.

  “He can’t quite hear you.”

  “Maybe I’d better bring my mouth a little closer.” I run my tongue over my bottom lip, and the smile slopes right off his face. “Secrets?”

  “How about we focus on the here and now?” He scoots over and pulls me onto his lap. His breath warms my neck with the strong scent of whiskey. When I was little, I would open that old bottle my mother keeps as a shrine and take in its scent. It always reminded me of fresh cut wood, of a forest, a man, but oddly never of my father.

  Holt holds the scent of a country meadow, earthy and raw. His fingers dig into my flesh as he massages his way up my thighs. I roll my head and give a soft groan until it feels as if I’m falling right through him. Holt and I don’t need liquor. We can get drunk simply off each other. Holt is the only high I’ll ever need.

  “I’m sort of liking the here and now.” My heart thumps, wild and rabid, as it tries to break free from its cage. I reach up and run my fingers over his rough stubble. Holt is handsome as hell, kind, and I’m pretty certain he’d kill for me. He’s my pot of gold, that’s for sure. I wonder if he’d want to live in this room with me forever. How could I ever explain that those were the terms I promised my father—that I could never abandon my mother to the fate of being alone after she sacrificed so much for Laney and me.

  “What’s running through your mind?” He smears my lips with a juicy kiss.

  “I’m thinking you should stay right here in this bed and never leave.” I blow the words right over his lips. “You in?”

  “I’m in.” Holt lies over me, and my robe opens voluntarily.

  “There’s something I want to give you,” I whisper as my heart fires in my chest like a gunshot.

  “What’s that?” He traces my lips examining me like this, naked and splayed beneath him.

  “All of me.”

  Heart in a Blender

  Izzy

  Dear Dad,

  Everything is going great. I’m on track to graduate, I’ll be getting married in a few weeks to the man of my dreams, and I love where I work.

  Actually, that’s Laney’s life. But don’t worry about me. I’m pretty happy with Mom. And, most importantly, I’ve kept Laney safe just the way you told me. It cost a little more than I bargained for, but things that are worth it usually do.

  Love,

  ~Iz

  “Would you get a load of that tight ass?”

  Jemma leans so far out of her seat I have to pull her back by the elbow before she does a face-plant onto the floor. She’s waiting for her sister to arrive much like I am. Although I never look down on a minute I get to spend with my best friend since these moments are far and few between as of late. We’re just killing time by staring at the aforementioned tight ass.

  “Leave it to you to balance out equal rights by objectifying the male species.”

  “Oh, hon, I ain’t objectifying.” Jemma has held onto her country accent ever since she moved to North Carolina in the middle of junior high. It’s one of the things I love about her. Jemma is not only fun as hell to listen to, but she comes fully equipped with a plethora of what I’ve grown to accept as Jemma-isms—slightly salted words of wisdom that are eerily on target. “If he didn’t want all eyes on deck, he wouldn’t dress that way.” Point in case. Jemma is the worst offender when it comes to objectifying anyone with an extra appendage slung between their legs. She fluffs out her deep fried hair and plucks a cigarette from her purse simply out of habit. Jemma knows there’s no smoking in the Black Bear—Holt Edwards and his tight ass have probably warned her enough in the past. She moans as he walks by. “He keeps strutting around in those bun-hugging jeans, and I keep noticing.”

  I sneak a glimpse at Holt with his tall, sturdy frame. He’s built like a linebacker, muscular, but not overly so. He’s got the same thick hair I remember and those illuminating eyes that look as though they have the ability to see right through your soul. He glances in our direction, and I’m quick to turn back to Jemma. A wave of heat floods over me at the thought of him heading this way. I’ve never understood how he has the power to make my heart flutter like a love struck schoolgirl. Whenever we meet, the air seems to thicken unnaturally. My body heats up ten degrees, and my fingertips tremble to touch him. He’s gorgeous beyond belief—that should explain the blatant desire my body has to worship his. But Holt already has more than his fair share of devout parishioners willing to sacrifice daily at his king-size altar. He’s a little younger than me, but obviously my hormones couldn’t give a rat’s ass if he were an embryo. I hate feeling helplessly attracted to someone, mostly because I hate feeling out of control.

  He walks down to the far end of the bar, and I take the opportunity to further investigate Jemma’s skintight theory.

  “They’re not bun-hugging.” I tilt my head to better inspect our friendly bartender’s rear assets. “They’re loose and sort of low hanging. And, by the way, I’m pretty sure Ron wouldn’t appreciate that.” Ron is Jemma’s latest spousal acquirement. At the ripe old age of twenty-seven, she’s managed to amass three of them in rapid gunfire succession. She’s two divorces up on me, and here I’ve yet to get out of the conjugal starting gate. Not that I’m looking to venture into that lawyer-laden not-so-great beyond. In fact, I’m pretty content right here in the singles stall with no desire to jump into the matrimonial spiral that seems to have swallowed up so many of my girlfriends. Jemma and I stopped juxtaposing our lives around the time she had baby number four with daddy number three.

  Holt catches my eye again. He’s lean and mean and full of enough testosterone to let everyone in a ten-mile radius know he’s ready and willing to light any ripe coeds fire. But it’s me he keeps stealing glances at—lingering those silver eyes over mine like a skin graft.

  He heads in this direction, and I straighten.

  Jemma’s mouth opens to say something, and I covertly shake my head at her. Jemma is known to espouse all sorts of wild crap at the least opportune moments. Please God, let her pick another time to balance out the scales of tight-ass injustice.

  “Hey, ladies.” Holt leans over my shoulder and the entire left side of my body erupts into flames like dry brush in August. “Can I get you something? We’ve just put in a full lunch menu.” He points to the laminated sheets that Jemma and I are currently resting our elbows on.

  “Burger and fries. Throw on one of those fancy cocktails, too.” Jemma wets her lips as her gaze drops to his crotch. “How about a Scantily Clad Cabana Boy for starters?”

  “Never heard of it, but I can look it up.”

  “Oh, hon, you can make it any way you like.” Jemma shakes the girls when she says it, and I avert my eyes for fear of having one of them poked out by an errant nipple.

  “
How about you?” Holt kneels beside me with his silver eyes harnessing the light and mastering its wayward beams. “How’ve you been, Izzy?” He breaks out a warm grin all for me, and my body melts right into the seat.

  “I’ve been good. And you?”

  “Same story, different day.” He tweaks his brows, and my insides jump right along with them. “How about it? You up for inventing a new cocktail this afternoon?” He gives Jemma a quick wink at the dig.