I can’t resist any longer. I lean forward and press a kiss to his lips as tears swim in my eyes. My heart swells with love for him and I need him to know. “I love you, Hawkin Play.”

He pulls back and now the tables have turned, his eyes are shocked wide and his expression becomes one of surprised enamorment. The image will be forever burned on my mind, the feeling ingrained in my soul.

“I’ve never fallen in love before, Quin…. I’ve never allowed myself to, but I know you are the only one I want to write the next song of my life with.”

I meet him halfway, fingers sifting through his hair, lips sealing our connection, hearts entwining with each other’s in a lazy decadent kiss teeming with emotion. He brings his hands to frame my face tenderly as he leans back and looks in my eyes, his breath still feathering over my lips.

“Love is nothing more than a meaningless word in a lyric until someone comes along and makes the music to bring it to life … and sweetness, you’re helping me make music for it, one instrument at a time.” The smile spreads wide on my lips, my body reacting to the thought of being played by Hawkin. I laugh softly and need to sate my simmering desire with another kiss, but he holds my face firm. My eyes flick back up to see a new intensity in his gaze.

“I love you, Quinlan.” He murmurs the words but to me it sounds like he is shouting them from the rooftops. And damn it feels good to know we’re both going into this on an open playing field with clear eyes, full hearts, glitches expected, and vulnerability exposed.

“Hey, Hawke?” My heart overflows with so much joy I can hear it in my own voice.

“Mm-hmm?” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine but dick stirring back to life beneath me.

I angle my head and a lascivious smirk turns up the corner of my mouth. “I finally know the answer to the question.”

“The question?”

“If it’s true you can play my body like a guitar.”

He shifts his body some so that he can look at me better, and I love the mischievous smile that lights up his face. “Hmm,” he murmurs as he runs a finger up and down my arm, my body reacting instantly. “So?”

“Well, you sure know how to pluck my strings right,” I say, brushing a soft kiss against his lips that garners me a low hum.

“And?”

“You can make my body sing,” I say, the smile that comes to my lips so natural it’s ridiculous but feels so good.

“We do make beautiful music together,” he says with a snicker.

“Oh God!” I roll my eyes and laugh, breaking the moment. “That was totally corny.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” He leans up and presses his lips to mine. When he lays his head back down, our eyes meet, and there’s something in them that makes my heart beat faster. “I have a bet for you.”

“I thought you swore off bets?”

“Yeah, but there’s no chance in hell I’m gonna lose this one.” He raises his eyebrows in challenge, mouth spread in an arrogant smirk.

“You’re so sure of yourself considering you lost the last one.” I trail my finger up and down his collarbone as if our bodies lying on top of each other weren’t enough of a connection.

“I may have lost in one sense, but I sure as hell won what matters.” And I know he’s just trying to butter me up for whatever bet he wants to make, but it doesn’t stop the ridiculous hitch in my breath from the sentiment.

“Lay it on me, rocker boy.”

“Blind bet,” he asserts and just puts his finger against my lips when I start to disagree. “Loser gets a pink heart on the inside of their wrist in Bent fashion.”

“Hawke …” I look at him as if he’s crazy despite the small thrill that just courses through me over the thought that not only does he love me, but he considers me one of the guys. That’s pretty damn cool. “What are …? I don’t … You already have one! That’s not fair.”

“Agree? Yes or no,” he says, continuing with his little display of authority, which is kind of hot.

I narrow my eyes and stare at him, knowing full well I’m going to agree despite not knowing the terms of this bet. When I don’t respond quickly enough for his liking, he starts tickling me.

“Stop! Stop!” I cry out and try to wriggle away from him to no avail.

“Agree, then.” He laughs.

“Okay! Okay! I agree!” And the minute the words are out of my mouth, he stops his tickle torture.

Our residual laughter fills the room as we both take a second to catch our breath. “I knew you’d see my way of thinking.” When I just roll my eyes, he continues. “So, loser gets a pink heart, right? You get one or I make mine bigger. Agreed?”

“Yes.” I nod my head cautiously.

“Sweet. I guess we better get a future appointment lined up for you with Sledge, then,” he says, making a show of smacking his hands together and rubbing them back and forth in triumph.

“Wait! You’re already declaring victory and I don’t even know the bet yet!”

“Yep!” He falls silent to torture me on purpose.

“The bet, Play …” My patience is waning.

“You have your career to build and we have so much more to experience together first, so not in the immediate future …” He pauses, and we stare at each other for a beat as that slow, shy smile I love lights up his face. “But I bet you that you’ll say yes.”

“Say yes?” What is he talking about? “I say ‘yes’ all the time, so you’re going to have to be a little more specific. Say ‘yes’ to what?” And as the last comment falls from my lips, it dawns on me just what he’s saying to me. The lump forms in my throat instantly, followed by goose bumps blanketing my body. My mind tries to catch up with my heart, but for the first time in forever I don’t want it to. I want to live in the moment. I search his eyes, the emotion in them giving me an answer way before he speaks.

“When I ask you to marry me.”

It’s funny. I figured this was what he was going to say, but hearing it out loud still causes my heart to skip a beat. My smile is so wide my cheeks hurt. “That’s a good question,” I murmur with a calm composure that completely contradicts my racing pulse and overload of happiness.

He pulls me tighter against him, and I hum in contentment as I settle into the comfort of him, knowing the answer I’ll give when the time comes, without a doubt in my mind. It may be a long time off, and we might have more sour notes to face along the way, but Hawkin Play has definitely claimed my heart.

And then it hits me. I snap my head up and look at him as if he’s crazy. “Wait a minute. You’re betting me that I’m going to say no?”

“Took you long enough.” He laughs and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Gotta hedge my bet somehow and your reaction just let me know that I’m going to win this one hands down.”

He stops my sigh of exasperation by pressing his lips to mine. It’s so easy to slip into the kiss with him, so damn natural I feel like everything that has been lacking in my love life for so long finally clicks into place.

And I know that bet or no bet, it doesn’t matter, because this man has wrapped himself around my heart, and I don’t ever want to let him go. I can’t wait to see our future unfold.

Note by note.

      Beat by beat.

            Song by song.

Instrument by instrument.




Continue reading for a preview of

K. Bromberg’s next steamy standalone romance,


HARD BEAT

Coming from Piatkus in November 2015



A hand slaps me on the back firmly. It’s one of many in an impromptu celebration to greet me in the bar of the hotel.

“Welcome back, you crazy fucker!”

Burn out, my ass.

I turn to see Pauly: broad grin, hair falling over his thick glasses, and belly protruding. “Man, it’s good to see you!” As I turn to shake his hand, I’m instantly pulled into his arms for a rough embrace.

He pulls back and cuffs the side of my cheek. “You okay?” It’s the same look that everyone has been giving me and it’s driving me fucking insane. Pity mixed with sadness. But Pauly is allowed to look at me like that since he was there before all the shit hit the fan. And coming back here, I feared this moment, meeting him face-to-face—as if he’d judge me, think it was my fault … but all I feel right now is relief.

It feels so damn good to be back here, with people who get me, who understand why I’d return to work when so many others think I should have given it up to stay home for good. They don’t get that once you’re a nomad, you’re always a nomad. Or that home isn’t where your house is necessarily; it’s where you feel comfortable. And, yes, that comfort can alter over time—your needs shift and your wants change—but I feel more like myself than I have since Stella’s death.

I pull my thoughts back to the here and now, to Pauly and the stale cigarette smoke that hangs in the air around me and the pungent scent of spices coming in through the open windows of the bar.

“I’m better now that I’m back here.” I motion for him to sit down on the barstool next to me.

“Thank God for that. Took Rafe long enough.”

“Almost four months.”

“Shit,” he says in sympathy, knowing what a big deal that is to someone like me.

“Yeah. Tell me about it. The first two months were a mandatory leave of absence, but then, once I threatened to go to CNN, he said he was speeding things up…. Then, fuck, they made me go take another Centurian course.” The Centurian course was a class for foreign correspondents about what to do in hostile environments and how to handle the multitude of things that can go wrong at any given time. “And then I was told they couldn’t find a photographer who wanted to travel to this paradise…. It was one damn thing after another.”