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

feel his words drift over me like a warm blanket on the coldest of nights. Still, an anxiety so powerful against commitment of any kind blossoms to life within my gut, reminding me where this could lead.
    Where this could ultimately end.
    Yet above everything, I can’t deny he’s jolted something loose inside me, cracked a few codes. I take a nervous breath, unable to ignore the voice in my head telling me he’s already captured a tiny piece of my heart. It’s whispering to me that he’s about to hold my hand, guiding me with care along a fork in a road I never intended to walk.
    I just hope my warped past and the ghosts who still visit me don’t make either of us stumble down it . . .
    Praying that I don’t mess up my chance at something resembling happiness, I flatten my palms against Brock’s chest, push up on my tiptoes, and seal my lips over his, dipping my tongue inside his mouth for a kiss I know neither of us will soon forget.

CHAPTER 5
    Ryder
    I ’D KNOW THAT ass anywhere.
    Sitting in my car in front of a diner in Laurel, I whip off my sunglasses and, with a chuckle, relax into the scene unfolding across the road. I’m fairly certain there is a God, and he loves me today.
    Amber Moretti, clad in jean shorts that barely cover her perfect ass, is leaning over the opened hood of her shitty Honda Civic. Smoke’s billowing from the engine, mixing through a hint of a breeze. Unknowingly giving a peep show to not only me but several male commuters, Amber swipes a frustrated hand across her forehead—which is no doubt dripping with sweat.
    It’s hot as hell.
    That is, the weather. But I can’t deny Amber, who’s now furiously kicking the tires of her shitty car, isn’t adding to the sweat gathering on my neck. I smile a little while I wait for the air conditioner to cool down my car. Her rich ebony hair’s piled on top of her head, allowing me an unobstructed view of her tits. Her gorgeous tits, which are also most likely sweaty under her barely there pink wifebeater. I lick my lips and imagine sucking on them.
    “Down, boy,” I mutter to my dick, which is currently demanding Amber’s attention.
    I have a couple of options. I can let Amber suffer in the Indian summer heat, which has my balls stuck to the side of my leg, while she waits for someone to pick her up—probably Brock or a fat tow-truck driver named Harley who’ll definitely try to fuck her.
    Though it’d be a shitty thing to do, I really don’t need any company.
    My stomach’s full from having an early dinner with some married chick, Layla. I fucked her on the new carpets I installed throughout her mansion while her lawyer husband won a case against some degenerate. After a few mediocre fucks, we got hungry and came here. I paid the bill; she slipped me her number and took off in her Mercedes. No strings attached—just my type. I might call her. Either way, it’s been a pretty decent day, and adding Amber to the mix could flip the script on it.
    My other option includes getting Amber into my vehicle by turning on my charm, which seems to throw her into a frenzy. The charm I’ve been graced with comes naturally under circumstances such as this, but convincing her won’t be easy. Besides my not having seen her since the day she visited Brock at practice nearly a week ago, as usual, Amber will fight our sexual attraction. But the air-conditioning and my concern for a damsel in distress should do the trick.
    Deciding on the second option, I rip out of the parking lot, my dick twitching in anticipation as I wait at a stoplight. What can I say? She gets me going.
    Amber’s sitting on top of the trunk, a towel spread under her ass. Her elbows are resting on her knees, her hands clasping her hair, which has fallen from the security of its messy bun.
    Fuck. She looks even hotter with her hair completely down.
    I cross the busy two-lane road and slow my car to a crawl, stopping beside hers. Rolling her eyes, Amber lets out a scornful laugh,