Free Amber to Ashes (The Torn Heart #1) by Gail McHugh

he crashes his mouth to mine. My lips part on a moan, and I grip his shoulders, my nails clawing into his golden flesh as I writhe beneath him, ignoring the pain of the splintery wood at my back. Our flavors fuse together, an intoxicating blend of beer and urgency. I kiss him hard, his sweet, musky scent invading my nostrils like a potent aphrodisiac.
    And just like that, the loud ringing of his phone jolts our attention away from each other.
    Brock swipes it from the pier, glances at it, and, with frustration hardening his jaw, he groans. “I have to take this.” He swathes my lips in a quick kiss and stands. “I’ll be right back.”
    I nod and push up onto my elbows, trying to cool myself down. Try as I might, I can’t escape my body’s need to fuck. On a sigh, I get to my feet and attempt to eavesdrop on Brock’s conversation. Not only has his voice disintegrated to a heated whisper, but he’s walking toward the Hummer. After a while, annoyance grabs me tight. Before I allow it to talk me into hitchhiking home, Brock pockets his phone and saunters over to me.
    “I apologize.” He cups my cheeks. “I was waiting on an important call.”
    “Secrets,” I mumble, looking at the pier below us.
    “No,” he says softly. Lifting my chin with a gentle finger, he presses his forehead to mine, his eyes imploring. “Prior commitments. That’s all.”
    Seeing pure sincerity in his expression and feeling somewhat embarrassed that I actually said that to him, I nod. “Okay. Do you have to get out of here or something?”
    “I do.” He sighs, wariness all over his face. Sliding his fingertips down my arms, he pulls in a slow breath. Tingles scatter along my skin as he brings my hands to his chest and rests them over his heart. “I know my prior commitments kind of fucked up our day, but I’m hoping you’ll give me another shot at proving I’m really not an asshole.”
    “I don’t think you’re an asshole.” I’ve dealt with my share of assholes over the years and, as of now, thankfully he hasn’t earned that title.
    “No?” he says, somewhat shocked.
    I smile as he lifts my hands to his lips. “No.”
    “So since you don’t think I’m an asshole,” he says, still holding my hands to his lips, “I’m wondering if you’ll let me take you out on an official date.” He pauses, his eyes gleaming pure mischief. “I mean, considering we came close to showing each other the way we really feel about being together—right here on a public pier, no less—I’m thinking we can get something to eat or some shit. But, hey, it’s up to you. No pressure, Ber.”
    I shake my head, my smile spreading. “I know I’ve said it a few times today, but has anyone else ever told you that you’re a wiseass?”
    “Never once,” he deadpans.
    “Well, then I’m happy I’m your first.”
    Expression softening, Brock kisses my right then left hand. “You wanna know what I hope for?” he whispers, winding his arms around my waist.
    “Sure,” I all but stutter, my concentration split between his warm fingers caressing the small of my back and the primal look in his eyes.
    “I hope that you’ll become my first for a lot of things.” He dips his head, barely touching his lips to mine.
    I shiver, my mind wiped clear of everything but the here and now. With his lips still teasing mine, Brock continues to seduce each of my senses in ways I never imagined possible.
    “I hope that I become everything you need in your life.” He kisses my cheek, his grip tightening around my waist. “I hope there never comes a time when you think I’m an asshole. I hope that at least once a day, even if only for a second, I can make you smile.” He pulls back, and stares into my eyes, his voice a soft hum of promise. “I hope that nothing I ever do makes you cry, and most of all, I hope that some part of you eventually trusts me enough to let me into your heart. Really let me into it.”
    From the depths of my shattered soul, I