Crash Into You. Roni Loren
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CRASH INTO YOU
RONI LOREN
To my husband, Donnie.
You are my heart and my very own romance hero.
Thank you for being such a damn good man.
Table of Contents
“Hot and romantic, with an edge of suspense.”
—Shayla Black, national bestselling author
“With her debut erotic romance Crash Into You, Roni Loren has penned a sexy, sizzling tale that is sure to have readers begging for more! Reid is the dominant hero of Brynn’s BDSM fantasies, she is the only submissive for him, and neither has been able to forget the love and blazing passion they once shared. But these two will have to brave old hurts, painful secrets, and new danger before they can be together. I can’t wait for Roni Loren’s next tantalizing story!”
—Jo Davis, author of I Spy a Dark Obsession
“Revved up and red-hot sexy, Crash Into You delivers a riveting romance!”
—Lorelei James, New York Times bestselling author of the Rough Riders series and the Blacktop Cowboys series
Don the gas masks and cue the mushroom cloud. Brynn’s date was spiraling toward DEFCON 1—imminent disaster. In the brief time it had taken her to down three hors d’oeuvres, her sexy doctor had tumbled from fantasy fodder to potential therapy client.
Dr. Depressed propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward, his brows knitted. “I don’t know what I did wrong. One minute we’re in love and planning the future, the next I catch her in the copy room with her arms wrapped around the pharmaceutical sales rep.”
Brynn frowned as tears gathered behind his glasses. Oh, hell. She couldn’t have another guy cry on her. That’d be the second one this month. She was becoming the Barbara Walters of dating—taking a perfectly put-together person and reducing him to tears without trying. She reached across the table and gave his hand a quick squeeze. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. It sounds like she took advantage of what a nice guy you are.”
He stared at her for a moment, and then released a breath. “God, what am I doing? I’m breaking that cardinal rule, right? No ex talk on dates. I’m sure you didn’t ask me to come to this fund-raiser so you could hear me yammer about my breakup.”
“It’s fine. Breakups can be tough,” she said, giving her therapist half-smile—the one that said I feel your pain and am so not judging you, even though she was already formulating a hypothetical treatment plan in her head. She drew her hand away and sipped the last of her iced tea.
The lines in his face relaxed, and he leaned back in his seat. “I’m sorry I let it come up. You’re just so easy to talk to.”
“Occupational hazard, I guess,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. But the truth of her statement turned the words to sawdust in her mouth. She enjoyed her work, but did that mean she had signed up to heal every guy she dated? For once, she’d love to worry, like other women did, that a guy had asked her out simply to get her in bed. Instead, she had to worry if someone asked her to dinner because it was cheaper than a therapy session.