When the one woman I could never forget, Ginger Crawford, shows up as my boss all bets are off. The heat between us is tough to ignore but I have to if I want a future at this hospital. It isn’t easy. Every time we argue, I want her even more.
But I’ve got secrets she can never know, and she’s always going to be way too good for me. So it’s best if she hates me…at least that’s what I keep telling myself.
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Robin Covington, who NYT Best Selling authors, Robyn Carr and Carly Phillips, said was their new “auto-buy author”, writes sizzling hot contemporary and paranormal romance.
A Night of Southern Comfort, her best-selling debut novel was a 2012 finalist in the RT Book Reviews Reviewers Choice Awards, earned 4.5 stars and was touted by RT Book Reviews as bringing a “fresh, modern feel to the genre while still sticking to the things that get our adrenaline pumping — sex and danger”. When she’s not exploring the theme of fooling around and falling in love, she’s collecting tasty man candy, indulging in a little comic book geek love, and stalking Joe Manganiello.
Robin is a member of the Romance Writers of America, the Washington and Maryland Romance Writers, a faculty member at Romance University, a member of the Waterworld Mermaids, and a contributor to the Happy Ever After blog at USA Today. You can find Robin on her website, Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter (@RobinCovington).
Robin lives in Maryland with her hilarious husband, brilliant children, and ginormous puppy.
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“What the fuck were you thinking? What were you doing?” She gritted out as he trapped her hands in his own tight grip, pulling her tight against him when she struggled even harder at the confinement. They shuffled backwards, her back slamming against the closed door, their exertions rustling the blinds closest to the door and joining the sound of the ER bustling just beyond the panel of wood.
“Damn it Ginger, stop it!” He hissed out trapping her hands between their bodies as he leaned into her, his face, his mouth less than a breath away from her own. She stared up at him, her lips opening to rail at him, to strip him down for scaring the shit out of her with a stunt like that but he spoke first. “I’m okay.”
His voice was a low, deep, reassuring balm against her frazzled nerves but she needed more. Needed more than words.
She kissed him. Soft and light. A quick brush -- once, twice, a third time -- enough to feel his warmth and taste his flesh. To know he was alive.
Beckett pulled back first, his gaze penetrating as he analyzed her, figuring out just where this thing was going. Virginia licked her lower lip, tasting him there and biting back a groan but not the tiny whimper that escaped her mouth. At that sound, Beckett’s jaw tightened, the edge in his eyes honing to a fine point of focused desire and decision and she shivered a little under his scrutiny.
He transferred both of her wrists into the grip of one hand and lifted them over her head, effectively pinning them there against the smooth, cool wood. The movement brought their bodies in full contact¾from the hard length of his thigh inserted in between her own, to the granite-hard muscles of his chest pressed against her full, aching breasts.
She watched him like a hawk, even though she felt more like prey as he drank her in, taking his time to review every square inch of her before he returned to gaze into her eyes with a look so hot, she flinched from it, trying to shrink back from the passion it represented.
But he was having none of that, his hold on her wrists growing tighter as he leaned in, his lips teasing her own while he maintained eye contact.
“When you hate me again later, remember that you started this,” he growled.
And then he kissed her.
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