Tuesday, May 24, 2016


A smokin’ hot new series from Marie Harte featuring tough-guy mechanics and the women who jump-start their hearts.

Johnny, Foley, Sam, and Lou are the rough and tumble mechanics of Webster’s Garage. These reformed bad boys are used to living fast, but it’s the women in their lives who take them from zero to sixty in a heartbeat.

Johnny Devlin’s a charmer with a checkered past. He’s had his eye on scorching-hot bartender Lara Valley for ages, but she’s rejected him more than once. That doesn’t mean he won’t come to her aid when some dirtbag mauls her. When she asks him on a date as a no-strings-attached thank you, he can’t say no.  And then he’s saying nothing but hell, yes.

About Marie Harte:

Caffeine addict, boy referee, and romance aficionado, New York Timesand USA Today bestselling author MARIE HARTE is a confessed bibliophile and devotee of action movies. Whether hiking or biking around town, or hanging at the local tea shop, she’s constantly plotting to give everyone a happily ever after. She lives in in Central Oregon.


Enter to win 1 of 3 copies of Test Drive by Marie Harte.


He’d never been so captivated by a woman before. He’d seen prettier women. But something about Lara Valley struck him in the heart, the brain, and yeah, right between his legs.
He hoped she kept her gaze on his face, because he couldn’t do much about his erection with her so close.
She dabbed his cheek, and it stung. But then she blew on it, and he swallowed a moan. Dear Jesus, she was killing him. He smelled the flowery soap she’d used to wash her face. Fresh and clean, the way he always thought of her.
“What?” He sounded hoarse and had to clear his throat.
“For hurting you. I saw you flinch.”
From wanting you too much. “Don’t tell the guys, okay? I have a rep.”
She chuckled and continued to be gentle with him. “I promise. I owe you.”
He stopped her from swabbing his cheek, his hand over hers. “No, you don’t. You don’t owe me a thing, Lara. I’m serious.” He didn’t want her gratitude. It made him uncomfortable, felt wrong, somehow. Taking care of her was no big thing. It just was.
Her slow smile warmed him all over again. “Okay. I don’t owe you. Then can you do me another favor and be a willing patient while I practice my nursing skills on you?”
“Well, if you put it like that. And you did insist I eat your cookies.”
“I did.” She tried to look solemn, but her smile ruined her attempt.
He sat, staring at her, while she took care of him. Man, she was something else. So damn beautiful it hurt to look at her. She’d make eye contact before quickly glancing away, her eyes dark, a fathomless brown, rich and addicting and impossible to deny.
His heart raced any time she was near. And damn if he didn’t want to protect her from the world—himself included—while lusting after her all the same.
I am so totally gone on this chick.
He tried to act cool and collected but feared he looked like a love-struck ass. Not that love had anything to do with the way he was feeling—or so he’d been telling himself for years—but it probably described his expression better than anything he could come up with.
She put a bandage across his cheek. “There. You were bleeding a little, and you’ll bruise, but you should be all better soon.”
“Thanks, Nurse Feel-Good.” He wiggled his brows, and she blushed.
Hell. If she looked down, she’d catch a real eyeful.
Fortunately, she put her tiny medical kit aside and moved back to her spot across the table from him. Then she took a cookie and eased into the bite. “Oh, these are good.”
“I’m telling you. Whenever Ray puts your cookies on the menu, they sell like crazy. You sure you want to be a nurse? ’Cause I’m thinking you bake like an angel.”
“An angel?” She raised a brow, the one she normally used with him to indicate she didn’t believe a word of his crap. Another reason she’d captivated him. She saw through his bullshit. “That’s the best you can do?”
He pleaded exhaustion. “I’m sorry. I took a blow to the head. It’s all I’ve got.” He put on his needy face. “Careful. I might swoon.”
“Faker.” She snickered. “I know you don’t want my gratitude. So I’m thanking you with cookies.” Her amusement faded, and she looked down, then up at him, then away again.
“Lara? What’s wrong?”
She met his gaze and said in a rush, “How come you keep asking me out?”
Change of subject, but o-kay. “Because I wanted a date.”
“Want, wanted. Whatever.” He frowned. “Hold on. Don’t all of a sudden agree to go out with me because you think you owe me something. We settled that. Cookies for bruises. It’s a done deal.” He stood and took a few steps back from the table, not wanting to loom over her. She’d been assaulted tonight, even if she insisted she was fine. “Say what you want, but you’ve had a rough night. I should probably go.”
She just watched him with an expression he couldn’t read.
But he couldn’t leave just yet. “Lara, Ron’s an asshole. No one should ever touch you when you don’t want it.” He scowled, annoyed and unable to hide it, and reiterated, “And I sure as shit don’t want you going out with me out of some fucked-up sense that you owe me.”
Damn. Talk about some money to add to the swear jar.
Her slow smile confused the hell out of him. “What?” he snapped, aware his legendary calm seemed to have deserted him. And talk about the wrong person and the wrong time to act like an ass. First Ron, now him.
She stood and crossed to him, then took his large hands in her smaller, softer ones. Christ, she was smooth. Her silky palms felt hot against his, and he wondered if his scars and calluses reminded her of their differences. Around her he felt like a big, uneducated grease monkey. Lara Valley, bartender, waitress, and college kid. Well, college woman. He’d never thought of her as a kid, not with those curves. Besides, he only had two years on her.
“Ask me again.”
He stared down at her, at those eyes he could drown in. At that ripe mouth that looked so soft yet bore a bruise or two from fuckhead Ron. “Huh?”
“You know. Ask me.” She tugged him closer, until they stood so close he could feel her breath over his chin.
Lust and tenderness swamped him, and it was all he could do not to grab her and shove her up against the nearest wall, right now. “Ask you…?”
“For a date,” she whispered and pulled him forward.
To his shock, she kissed him. A soft taste of chocolate and Lara, homey goodness and sex appeal that had him hard and unable to think beyond getting more of her. She didn’t use any tongue, but he was leery of ending the moment by taking charge, so he let her lead the way.
Soft presses of her lips moved from his mouth to his cheek. When she kissed him gently over the bandage, he felt trembly. Unsure and confused and totally not himself. All his sly one-liners escaped him, replaced with a crazy need to hold her close and never let go.
She pulled back and waited.
“Lara,” he said, his voice husky. “Will you go out with me?”
“Yes. I think I will. How about dinner and a movie?”
How about I remember how to talk instead of staring at you? He swallowed audibly. “That would be nice.”
She smiled. “Great. It’s a date.”

No comments:

Post a Comment