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Always You by Roxie Noir


 

Title: ALWAYS YOU

Author: Roxie Noir

Genre: Contemporary Romance

About Always You:

I’ve been broken since the day I was born, with a past full of ugly secrets and a brother doing life in prison.   Not that you’d know it if you read the tabloids. According to them I’m the rock-solid guitarist for the biggest band in the world. I’m the dependable one. The steady one. The anchor.   They don’t know the truth. No one knows who I am underneath, once the music is over and the lights are off.   No one but Darcy.   She’s my best friend. She’s my fucking savior, my light in the dark, beautiful as hell and talented as fuck and every bit as broken as me.   And I fucking yearn for her. I have for years. I see the way she looks at me, what’s behind her eyes.   I know what she thinks about alone, in the dark, because how could I not know.   It’s getting worse. Every second, every heartbeat, every moment we spend together and every secret we share makes me want her more. Even though I know that one kiss, one night could ruin everything we have, I need her.   And for Darcy, I’ll risk it all.  

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Exclusive Excerpt:

If there’s a heaven, it probably feels a little like this, playing in perfect time with three other people while thousands more cheer for you. Suddenly everything that we went through to get here is worth it: ironing out guitar and bass licks in the studio at three in the morning, heading home as the sun rose. Arguing over a chord progression for three hours, practicing the tricky parts until I got blisters. We end the first song and slide into the second without even stopping for a beat, just like we practiced. Darcy’s bass swoops low and then rises, the only sound for a couple of bars, and I look over at her. She’s fucking mesmerizing. Every single fucking time, all eyes on her for these few bars, and even though I know she doesn’t like being the center of attention it’s glorious when she is. The curve of her neck and she tosses her dark hair back, the line of her shoulders in her dress, her fingers on the bass. And her legs in that short dress, covered in ripped fishnets, wearing boots. Jesus Christ, man. One hundred percent pure rock chick, loud and careless and brash and don’t-give-a-fuck as hell. I’m gonna be honest: Darcy’s crazy hot all the time, but right now is when she’s the hottest. Right now’s the time when I wonder again what would happen if I finally stopped pretending that I don’t want her and just fucking did something about it. But then I join back into the song and the wild, nearly-uncontrollable urge fades back to its normal level, always there but under control. As I do she glances over at me, a little smile on her face like we’ve got some kind of secret, just the two of us, even across the space and the noise of the stage. I smile back because we do. We’ve got lots of secrets. Darcy knows things about me that no one else does, and vice-versa. We finish that song, and the momentum only builds. The crowd gets louder, stompier, and we move again into the third song without stopping. This one’s slower, not exactly a ballad but as hard as the first two. I’m already sweating under the stage lights, playing a little slower, a little softer. It’s a lull, a respite, a brief meditation from the madness. I let the air buzz around me and find this quiet place, my hands on autopilot for a moment. And then there’s a bang. It’s loud as hell, behind us and way overhead where there shouldn’t be a bang and I flinch, then whirl around wonderin what the fuck that was. Then there’s a second bang, the fizzle and flash of a lone firework. I keep playing on autopilot, but my stomach turns uneasily because Dirtshine doesn’t have fireworks. There shouldn’t be fucking unannounced pyrotechnics, I think, glancing toward the side of the stage. Is that left over from the band before us, or did someone fucking forget to tell— The bass line cuts out in a jumble. I jerk my head over. She’s on fire.  

Author Bio:

I love writing sexy, alpha men and the headstrong women they fall for. My weaknesses include: beards, whiskey, nice abs with treasure trails, sarcasm, cats, prowess in the kitchen, prowess in the bedroom, forearm tattoos, and gummi bears. I live in California with my very own sexy, bearded, whiskey-loving husband and two hell-raising cats.  

Author Links

Facebook | Facebook Reader Group | Amazon | Bookbub | Instagram | Goodreads

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