Page 1 of Hard to Break

1

BROOKE

The back passenger window of the Range Rover sticks to my neck. My jacket is bunched at the small of my back.

A cramp threatens to seize my calf, which is trapped awkwardly against the seat.

The tension I’m most aware of is the one deep in my stomach, thrumming between my thighs.

“Listen to me, Brooke. This thing is going to detonate in your face.” My mom’s voice over the phone line carries a hint of static.

I try to shift, less than half my brain on the conversation because a six-four-and-a-half pro basketball player is on top of me with one hand tangled in my hair and the other spanning my ass. His lips trail lazily down my throat like it’s his job and he’s getting paid by the minute.

This wasn’t the plan exactly. I didn’t start today with “steamy sweat session in the parking garage of Kodiaks Arena” on my Bingo card, but I can’t seem to shut it down.

“We need to do damage control,” Mom goes on.

She might as well be on another planet.

Miles drags my sweater up above my breasts. My hips lift to help him, providing the most delicious friction. He hisses out abreath and looks up at me with devious blue eyes before ducking back to kiss a line up my stomach.

“Blame Kevin,” I say into the phone. “He started it.”

Ow!Smooth lips are replaced by sharp teeth in a fleeting warning.

Guess Miles doesn’t like hearing Kevin’s name.

My ex in college not only cheated on me and left cocaine in my room for my sorority sisters to find, but he’d put the blame on me. Miles, acting out of loyalty to my brother, had beaten the crap out of Kevin and told him never to come near me again.

Evidently, Kevin’s memory is wearing off, because he thinks he isn’t done with me—or with Miles.

Miles Garrett has loomed large in my life for years. Back in college, I wasn’t that into basketball players, but my brother’s friend was different. Sure, he was gorgeous. Tall, with sparkling blue eyes that seemed to laugh at himself as much as at you. But he was also the guy you’d want to have your back.

My brother trusted him. His teammates did.

When you were with him, you felt accepted.

Right now, “accepted” isn’t what springs to mind as his fingers trace beneath the waistband of my pants, the friction lighting up my nerves with want.

Miles’s thumb rubs across the button, and I arch to get closer.

He smells like his shower, clean and addictive.

“It’s not that simple.” Mom’s still there, trying to tell me something. “What matters is the story, what people perceive.”

It’s hard to think anything is genuinely terrible when Miles’s fingers are deftly working free the button on my pants, unzipping my fly.

“People don’t need a story if they have the truth,” I manage.

The truth is, Kevin was waiting for Miles to get to the Kodiaks’ arena last night. While Miles did hit Kevin, it was onlyafter Kevin goaded him, baited him, and threw the first punch. Miles had been doing his best to avoid a confrontation. Dozens of bystanders with phones caught it.

“And yet every piece of footage only shows Miles Garrett, pro basketball player, hitting an upstanding community member.”

New tension has my stomach flexing.

I hate the thought of the world being persuaded once again of Kevin’s side of the story. This time, it’s not only me at risk.

It’s Miles. He’s having the season of his career so far, and he doesn’t just want it—he needs it. He has people he’s looking out for, like his Grams.

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