Trouble by Samantha Towle – Free eBooks Download. Description: Mia Monroe is running. Running from a person she doesn't ever want to find her. Running. trouble samantha towle · Trouble by Samantha Towle (ePUB, PDF, Downloads) Trouble by Samantha Towle – Free eBooks Download Description: Mia. And the new heavyweight champion of the world is Those are the words that Zeus Kincaid has been waiting to hear since he first put on a.

Trouble By Samantha Towle Epub

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Other Contemporary Novels by Samantha Towle The Storm Series: The Mighty Storm Wethering the Storm Paranormal Romances by Samantha Towle The. Unsuitable by Samantha Towle From New York Times bestselling author, Samantha Towle, comes a new sexy, Editorial Reviews. Review. **New York Times Bestseller**. About the Author. Samantha Towle began her first novel in while on maternity leave.

The guy lives on the edge. What the hell are you talking about? I get it, Indy. And I want you to be happy. And you can do way better than Dr. Dull, Indy. You deserve better. Brushing it aside, I stare at my brother. I give him the middle finger again. What he does barely constitutes as dating.

Try it out. See how you get on. What about that model you went out with last week? She seemed nice. We went to her place. We got naked. I stayed for three hours. I came. Came again. Then, I came home. Jesus Christ! Way too much info for me, thanks. Chuckling, he puts his bottle down on the table. Dull be joining us this weekend to celebrate Jett getting on the team?

Sounds good to me. The sound of crushing metal resounding in my ears, heat on my body from the flames, smoke clogging my lungs. Panic crashes into me. Rapid blinks bring my eyes to the white ceiling before moving them down the walls. This is not an unusual start to the day for me. My life. My craptastic life. Rolling over, I see the littering of condom wrappers on the bedside table, which tells of a good night.

I was restless and horny.

Instead of going home after my appointment, I went to a bar. Clearly, I got wasted and hooked up with whoever is lying next to me. I stealthily climb out of bed, so not to wake the body next to me. I pull on my clothes, slip my feet into my shoes, retrieve my wallet, keys, and phone from the desk, and shove them in my pocket. Then, I quietly leave the room.

I take the elevator down and make my way over to the reception desk. Paying for the room, I leave the hotel for the morning air and hail a taxi.

I pay the driver and let myself in my house. The silence echoes through me.

I pick up the mail from the mat and dump it on the hallway table without looking at it. I walk to the kitchen and see the house phone blinking a few messages at me. Probably my mother. Harris went. What do I say? Not what my mother would want to hear. She had wanted me to stay in Brazil. I felt too smothered there with my family fussing around me, wanting to help.

I thought that coming back here would fix things…fix me. Needing to wash the night off of me, I head upstairs and take a shower.

I let the hot spray beat on my face to the point of pain, just needing to feel something…anything. Toweling off, I brush my teeth, staring at myself in the mirror. The beard covering my face hides who I am…who I used to be. Flashes of last night flicker through my mind. The alcohol flowing. The girl all but riding my cock in the bar. Then, riding it for real in the hotel room.

They make me feel empty. Going into my bedroom, I get some black jogging pants and a plain black T-shirt. Slipping my cell in my pocket, I head downstairs. In the silence, I go to the kitchen and turn on the coffee machine. Stepping away from the counter, I bend at the waist and rest my folded arms on the counter, and lay my head on them, letting the noise of the coffee machine abuse my head and rattle through the emptiness in my hollow chest.

My senses breathing in the smell of coffee, I grab a cup and pour some out. Strong and black. Turning, I press my back against the counter and stare at a picture on the wall. I would have died a legend. Not the man I am now. A washed-up has-been.

This weak fucking version of myself. I have to race again. I have to get back in a car. I have to do this. I can do this. Putting my coffee down, I push my feet into my sneakers and head for the internal door to the garage. I stall when I reach the door. My hand starts to shake. Clenching my fist, I force the tension away. I open the door. Breathing through it, I reach for the light switch, turning it on. And there she sits. My car. She was for sale in the local garage near my home back in Brazil, and I had my eye on her for ages.

My father bought her for me when I turned eighteen. I had her shipped over when I moved to London. She goes everywhere with me. All I have to do is go over there, push the key in the ignition, and turn her over. Forcing my fears away, I move my feet to my car.

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Unlocking it, I open the door. She still smells the same, aside from the stale dank air escaping her. Deep breath, I climb inside. I shut the door behind me with a clank. Squeezing my eyes shut, I ignore the fear in my head.

Breathing in through my nose, I lift the keys. Nothing is going to happen to me. Now, stop being a pussy, Silva, and drive the fucking car. She chugs and sputters for a few seconds. Not my fault then. With the feel of the engine vibrating and the music playing, my head explodes. Images of the accident assault my senses. I can smell the smoke. Taste the blood in my mouth. Feel my chest compressing. My fingers scramble to turn the engine off. Opening the door, I fall from the car onto my knees.

I gasp for air. Then, I really lose it.

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Like me. The car that my father bought for me, all I have left of him, and I destroyed her. Grief lances through me. What the fuck is wrong with me? I stagger back into my house, heading for my office. I see all my trophies lined there, taunting me. Then, I realize the bat is still in my hand. I feel worse, if possible. I hate myself.

I drop to my knees, among the mess I created. My head in my hands, I grip my hair, and for the first time since the accident, I cry. Drying my face with the back of my hand, I get up and walk over to my desk. Sitting in my chair, I open the bottom drawer, pulling out the bottle of whiskey I keep in there. I unscrew the cap and take a long drink. Then, another. And another. Then, without thought, I pull my cell from my pocket, and dial Dr.

Harris is currently in an appointment. Who is calling? Silva, I can have Dr. Harris call you back.

See a Problem?

Just forget it. Why the hell did I call her? Frustrated, I toss my cell on the desk and down some more whiskey. The silence in the room feels almost as painful as the noise in my head. Reaching for my phone, I turn on the music to drown it out. He sounded on edge, told me not to bother telling you he called, but I knew you would want to know.

I tried calling Leandro back as soon as she gave me the message, but I got his voice mail.

Forty minutes late. I tap my fingernails on my desk, debating on what to do. Then, my office phone rings. I snatch it up. I try to ignore the actual level of relief I feel, which is more than I usually do in these cases.

His clothes are rumpled, like he slept in them. His overgrown black hair is messy, like he just fell out of bed and ran his hands through it. But even still, he looks handsome. As my eyes move down from his face, I see something red on his shirt, near the top button.

I immediately think blood. Red lipstick. I curl my fingers into my palms, nails biting my skin.

My voice sounds tight. What the hell is wrong with me? I will myself to relax. He rolls up his shirtsleeves, revealing strong tanned forearms dusted with black hairs. With a nod, he walks over and sits down.

Leaning forward, forearms on his thighs, he clasps his hands together.

The smell is strong on him. And I can smell perfume. Cheap perfume. They bother me equally in measure. Annoyance flashes through his eyes, and then they narrow on me. Clearly, it was way too much because I woke up in a hotel room and realized I was late for my appointment with you. I exhale a calming breath.

Then, his expression hardens. I go for a change of tactic. Then, he looks back to me. I want to be the man I used to be. He looks away. His jaw is tight, looking like it might shatter.

Then, he moves his eyes to my empty hands. The appointment will be short, as you have only twenty minutes left. I have other patients who have scheduled appointments, who need my help, too.

Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his thighs and drives his fingers into his black hair. I choked like a little bitch. Then, I got out of my car and smashed the hell out of her with a baseball bat. Good, while I was doing it.

Then, afterward…I felt like shit, so I went inside and smashed up all my racing trophies. And who I am now. That gives me a lot of hope for his recovery. I went out to a bar and got trashed. Then, I woke up in a hotel room with two women in bed with me and little recollection of the night before. Why is this affecting me in this way? I push my feelings aside and sit back down. You suffered a terrible accident.

I feel weak. His eyes lift to mine, and something unexpected moves through my chest. I feel it all the time for my patients. Before I can question myself, I quickly glance from him to the clock.

I think talking more today could really help. Can you come back at six p. How does that sound to you? Thank you. I was supposed to have dinner with Dan after work before his shift at the hospital. My lungs feel compressed. His eyes are fathomless. Eyes I could fall into. I feel caught off guard.

My face is warm, and I know my cheeks are red. Catching myself, I look away and wrap my hand around my arm, willing the feel of his touch to dissipate. It only works to increase his handsomeness. I feel a ripple in my chest. I take a step back. Something intense. A simple brush of our arms, and exhilaration rushed through me. No connection. I fuck to forget, not because I want those women.

I like her. After last night, I need her help more than I realized. I love the sound of her name each time I say it. And I love how her voice sounds when saying my name. Balancing the coffees I just picked up from Starbucks with the takeout sandwiches, I push through the door into her reception area. I can control myself around her.

I give a knock on her door before letting myself in. She smiles those red lips at me, and I feel my cock stir to life. Down, boy. I give a nod and then put the coffees and the bag containing the sandwiches down on the table. I take a seat. See you later. Love you. Of course she has a boyfriend.

Look at her. She takes her seat across from me. That was really thoughtful of you, Leandro. But please let me reimburse you for the coffee and sandwich. My treat. She pauses for a moment and then lowers her butt back into the seat. Why I do that, I have no clue. Okay, I do have a clue. I want to see her react to me again. My eyes search her face for a reaction, but I get nothing this time.

Feeling a bit deflated, I pick up my own coffee and rest back in the chair. Then, she takes a sip.

She drinks black coffee and wears red lipstick. So, of course, you need to talk about the accident, get those feelings out there for you to deal with them. Anyone ever tell you that?

Right before they tell me that my methods really helped them. I watch her walk away from me, over to her desk, where she leans overs to retrieve her keys. The fabric of her fitted pencil skirt stretches over her ass. She has an amazing ass.

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My cock starts to stir in my pants. I have to quickly rearrange myself before she turns back around to me. Snatching up the bag containing the sandwiches, I wait for her to round the coffee table, then, I follow her out of the office and to her car.

The man is like a walking sexual conductor. Because a man has never affected me in this way before. The reminder hits me like a blast of cold water in the face, and my libido. I need to put a stop to my feelings and thoughts—right now.

Jett picked it out. He saw it at the showroom, and it was love at first sight for him, so of course, I had to download it. I have to admit, it is a stunning car and awesome to drive. I feel like a movie star when I drive it. But someone close to me is. I was talked into downloading this. His stare is direct and intense.

I swallow down. I tear my eyes from his. I make sure not to touch his fingers, like when he handed me the coffee earlier. I felt like I had an electrical surge pulsing up my finger. It took everything in me to maintain my composure. I unwrap the sandwich and take a bite. I have to hold back a moan. Putting the sandwich on my lap, I pick up my coffee from the cup holder in my car, and I catch Leandro looking away from me. Was he watching me? I scratch the thought from my mind and focus on my job, which is helping him.

Taking a sip of coffee, I keep the cup in my hand. Better or worse? His fingers curl around the cup. He brings his eyes back to me. Nothing can happen to me in a parked car, right? I shut my door with a soft clunk.

I feel…stupid. People who come back from war have it. People who have survived a traumatic experience, like you did, can also suffer from PTSD.

Understanding your problem is half of the battle to beating it. Meeting my eyes, he returns that smile, and it momentarily lightens his dark eyes.

Ruin by Samantha Towle

I have a stack on my bedside table. I scrunch them up in my shoes. Give me your keys. Facing forward, he starts to flex his hands out, and he takes a deep breath. You feel stressed or panicky at any point, just stop and take deep breaths.

Why not? He laughs again. I really like hearing him laugh. I watch his eyes close as my car rumbles to life. His hands are wrapped around the steering wheel, his knuckles white from his tight grip. He closes his eyes again.

Hands still on the steering wheel, he rests his head back against the seat and blows out a breath. We sit like that for a long moment. Leandro acclimating himself to his environment. Me watching him, assessing if a panic attack might be about to happen.

But his breathing seems even, and his grip on the steering wheel has relaxed a little. And I guess a part of me did. Then, I do something I never, ever do. I make him a promise. I promise you. And I retract my burning hand, knowing I need to find my professional balance here. I had a meeting earlier at Lissa.

Tilting the phone away from my mouth, I give the driver the address to the restaurant. India has been taking me out on drives.

Sounds lame considering what I do for a living, but I have to take it slow. She says if I rush it, I might end up hindering myself and risk an anxiety attack, taking myself back steps. To a degree, this whole baby-steps shit is frustrating because I want nothing more than to be able to drive a car. Dates want more than one night. And his silence speaks volumes.

Andi made you call me, right? Her hairdresser. Problem was, that was all it was—a fuck. Andi had to find a new hairdresser. Resting my head back on the seat, I blow out a breath, rubbing my clean-shaven chin. I got rid of the beard. I even had my hair cut. I thought it was about time. And it will show India that I am really trying to clean myself up. Okay, so pep talk, Silva… I will not have sex with the bendy yoga instructor—unless she is absolutely clear on the fact that it is a one-time thing.

Then, fucking her will be fine. And I will not get drunk. I laugh in my head at that thought. Since India started treating me, my drinking has slowed down to a stop, and the random hook-ups are also nonexistent.

My goal is to work toward getting back in a car, driving it, and then eventually racing. One step at a time, no matter how long it takes. Well, aside from being about to enter the last year of my contract.


That kind of puts a time cap on it. The taxi pulls up outside the restaurant. I pay the driver and climb out. She instantly recognizes me. An ass you could grab ahold of while you fucked her. As I reach the table, I let my eyes flicker over to the yoga instructor.

Dark hair. Pretty face. Big tits. Hands off my wife. Grinning at me, he stands, and we do that handshake and half hug that us men like to do. You doing okay? I meet his eyes, giving him a nod. I put my hand out to shake hers. No spark or connection. A strange sense of relief settles inside me. Story of my fucking life at the moment. And call me Kat. I know she thinks I drink too much. I did drink too much. Kat turns in her seat to me, pressing her knee right up against my thigh.

Something uncomfortable moves in my chest. I flicker an appreciative look to her, to which she smiles. She moves fast. Not that I have a problem with fast. No chemistry, no fucking. Her fingertips have just made it to my thigh when the waitress returns with my drink, so Kat retracts her hand, placing it on the table.

When I lift my eyes, I catch Carrick grinning at me. I give him a fuck-off look, to which he chuckles. Taking her hand in his, he kisses it. Harris is here. The Andi before India would have had a problem answering that question. She was secretive and kept things to herself—her words, not mine—but since India has being treating her, Andi is more open, less afraid to tell people things about herself.

All I have ever known. Mia figured this was just how things were going to be for her. Then finally, something happened a 5 Stars! Then finally, something happened and she had too much. Even if she is troubled, she wants to change that.

Mia has a mission. After finding some info in her fathers office, she is driving to Colorado to track down her mother. She wants to start over, not be the same woman she has been. All that Mia went through broke my heart.

Trouble by Raven Dark

The first time leaving the state of Boston, the first time being out on her own. Mia makes the long journey to Colorado and gets pointed to the direction of a nice hotel.

There she meets Jordan. From the first time she laid eyes on Jordan, that instant attraction was there. It definitely went both ways. Taking me in, he sweeps his hair back revealing eyes the color of maple syrup. I have the sudden urge to eat pancakes.

This guys is gorgeous. Strong jawline Everything about him screams male. He looks like sin. Like hot, dirty, incredible sex. I fell hard for this guy. He owns it. He as his reasons. Jordan makes it his mission not to go there with Mia. No more sleeping with the customers. After spending more time with Mia, he can tell somethings happened to her and he just wants to be there for her.Cale catches my eye, and he mouths, You okay?

Henry starts up the engine. I have to do this. I got nothing relevant, only pictures of Tom. I found my way to carry on. I sit at the desk, my now makeshift dressing table, and sans makeup, I fix my hair into a messy bun on the top of my head.

I exhale. And I will not get drunk.

WILEY from Hesperia
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