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The Storm, Tome 3 : Taming the Storm

Description ajoutée par Gkone 2014-03-29T06:39:45+01:00


Lyla Summers hates men. Okay, maybe hate is a strong word … Lyla intensely dislikes men.

Her father has let her down her whole life. Her brother betrayed her in the worst way possible. And her past relationship experiences with men have been less than great.

Lyla is focussing all her energy into her band, Vintage, so when they receive an offer to sign with TMS Records, it seems that things are finally turning around for her. The last thing she wants is a man getting in the way.

Tom Carter loves women. Okay, love might be pushing it … Tom enjoys screwing lots of women.

When tragedy befalls his best friend, Tom finds himself making a promise to the big man upstairs – he’ll change his ways, if he saves the woman his best friend loves.

Tom’s prayer is answered. Now he has to change. Which means no sleeping around.

After Vintage’s manager breaks her leg skiing, Tom steps in as tour manager, and Lyla finds herself on tour with the man whore of rock.

Put one perpetually horny Tom and one sex resistant Lyla together, equals a recipe for disaster. Or so you’d think…

But an unexpected friendship is formed. A closeness neither of them expected. Putting one chastity belt and one lamp that is in desperate need of rubbing, to the test.

Will the sex storm that is Tom Carter, finally find himself tamed by the rock chick with a hardened heart, or will he go back to his womanizing ways…?

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Classement en biblio - 2 lecteurs


Ten Months Ago—Backstage, Madison Square Garden, New York City

“Dex! Chad! Cale! Sonny! Where the hell are you?” I call out as I wander down the empty hallway, my voice echoing back at me.

I’ve been wandering around—actually, where in the hell am I? I’m somewhere backstage. It’s like a maze back here. I think I might be a bit lost.

Shrugging to myself, I lift the half-empty champagne bottle I snagged earlier to my lips and take a drink.

I also might be a tad drunk.

But I’m celebrating.

My band, Vintage, just opened for The Mighty Storm in Madison Square Garden! That’s where I am now, lost in this place. My band won a radio contest, and the prize was to be The Mighty Storm’s opening act. This was a huge thing for us! I’m not ashamed to admit that I nearly peed my pants the moment I found out we won the competition.

So, now, I’m celebrating—alone. I can’t seem to locate a single one of my band members or my boyfriend. In the excitement and crowd of people, I managed to lose them when we went offstage. I mean, seriously, I’d think my boyfriend or brother would have at least waited for me.

I bet Chad is getting shitfaced with Sonny and Cale, and Dex is probably hooking up and getting his rocks off as I speak.

I cup my hands around my mouth. “Dex, I know you’re probably on third base with a hot piece of ass, but come on! We just opened for The Mighty Storm! The. Mighty. Effing. Storm!” I punctuate the words, still unable to believe it.

I take another swig of champagne, stumbling in my heels. I steady myself on the wall with my hand before I resume walking.

“Dex, I want to celebrate with my big brother! Can’t you just leave your sexcapades until later…please?”

Dex is lead guitarist in our band, and he’s a total whore. When I say whore, I mean, he likes to whore around with men.

I love my brother more than anyone else in the world. I’m lucky to have him. He takes care of me, and I do the same for him. We’re a team, the best team.

Turning a corner, I spy a door off to my right. It looks like it could be a janitor’s closet.

Dex has a thing for having sex in closets. Hall, coat, janitor’s—any closet really will do. He’s not fussy.

“I bet you’re in here!” I sing. “Well, zip up your pants, bro, ’cause I’m coming in!” The champagne bottle clangs against the door as I grab the handle. “Oops.” I giggle.

I yank open the door, but the closet is empty. Just mops and buckets. No Dex. On a sigh, I close the door.

I’m never going to find anyone at this rate. I haven’t seen another person in quite a while. This is starting to get eerie, like bad-horror-movie eerie. It’s all very Freddy Krueger back here. Just endless hallways.

Resigned to my potential death by a fictional serial killer, I carry on down the hall, and I take a left at the end, hoping for some sign of human life. I clamp a hand over my mouth, stifling a giggle, when I see a couple of people going at it a little farther on. The lighting is bad, so I can’t see much, not that I want to, but from the sounds of things, it seems like they’re having a really good time.

Lucky bastards.

I’m about to turn and leave the sexy-time couple to it when one of them speaks.

“That’s it, baby. Take it all. You know you love my big fucking cock.”

My heart slams into my rib cage. The floor drops out from beneath me.


No. It can’t be.

I’m moving toward them before I realize it. Then, he turns his head and—


God, no.

I’m going to throw up.

I freeze to the spot the instant his eyes meet mine. I watch in abstract horror as the shock of my presence reverberates over his face. We stay locked in a suspension of time where neither of us does or says anything.

Then, it breaks, and Chad kicks into movement. He pushes away from the person he was screwing, yanks his pants up, and tries to fasten them before he advances toward me.

And that’s when I see exactly whom my boyfriend was screwing. The person turns, and our gazes meet.

I feel like I’ve been punched in the face. Hard.

I can’t breathe.

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