Chayse McCade learned along time ago that the only person she can depend on, both on and off the motocross track, is herself. Her parents disappointed her on more than one occasion and every relationship she’s ever had—platonic, professional, or romantic—has ended in disaster. When a sponsorship offer from Throttled Energy comes along she worries that it’s too good to be true. Especially when she meets the know-it-all riding coach they are insisting she work with.
Hoyt Travers is a lot of things. Level headed, discerning, intelligent, patient, or so he thought. That is until his new riding student rolled into his life. She’s wild, unpredictable, and gorgeous—all of which she uses to get under his skin in every possible way.
The two of them have undeniable, explosive chemistry that threatens to burn both of their dreams to the ground. Once Chayse let’s Hoyt in, she can’t seem to keep her protective walls up anymore. Too bad there’s a hard rule about them being anything more than colleagues. Hoyt never steps outside the lines but Chayse will push him in more ways than one. Lines will be irrevocably blurred in the final installment of the Wild Riders series.

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Excerpt

“I don’t know, Hoyt,” I replied, matching the asshole-ish tone he’d just used on me. “Maybe because I like taking the turns high. I feel more in control on the top.”

The second I said it, I imagined myself taking control of the wound-tight man sitting in front of me. His eyes widened as if he were picturing something similar to the sexy scenario playing out in my head. I wanted to step over to the chair he was sitting in and slip onto his lap. I’d take those glasses he wore when we were watching films and toss them across the room. Or, maybe I’d leave them on. I wanted to make sure he saw exactly how capable I was. Sure, Hoyt was attractive in that thinks-he-knows-what’s-best-for-you kind of way, but I honestly hadn’t thought much about it as of late. Now though, all I wanted to do was find out what it would be like to catch him off guard. I wanted to wrap my arms around his neck and shut him up with my tongue. I wanted to show him that I was capable of many things, on and off the track. “Is that really that big of a damn deal?” I asked, letting my eyes narrow in on his.

“You’re impossible,” he said, abruptly standing. “Why am I even here if you aren’t even going to try and make this work? You want to go ride your new bike… go,” he snapped, nodding his head toward the door. “I’m over it.”

This is exactly what happens when I try to do right. I’d been a model riding student. Working out all the time. Watching everything he turned on in front of me. Riding the track the way he wanted me to. Not to mention… no drinking. No bad food. No sex. That was where I went wrong. I’d given up all my vices at once, trying to prove that I wanted this sponsorship and now I was standing there contemplating jumping the one guy that seemed pissed off at me daily. I needed to get out of this place, get a drink, and get laid. In that order.

He was over it? Well that made two of us. He’d just forced me to watch a video with my father in it and stirred up a bunch of shit I’d buried long ago. Not to mention, all I wanted to do was get on my dirt bike and he was hell-bent on keeping me from it.

“I’m not sure exactly what has your panties in such a twist today,” I bit out, standing up to face him. “All I’ve done is exactly what you’ve told me to. The past week I’ve been on time, I’ve done every workout, I’ve watched every film. Even the ones of my deadbeat dad, thank you very fucking much for that, by the way. All I asked was how much longer you planned on making me watch other people ride when that’s exactly what I should be doing. Riding.”

I could see the remorse in his eyes but his stubborn stance remained. “Oh, you’re a coach now?”

“I don’t know. Are you?” I couldn’t stop the words if I’d wanted to. This guy had been pushing my buttons and I’d had enough. I felt my nails bite into my skin as my hands balled into fists at my side. “You helped your brother. Big deal. You’ve got about as much experience coaching as I do.”

He shook his head and huffed out a breath.

“If I was coaching a rider, I sure as shit wouldn’t expect the person I was hired to help to sit on her ass all afternoon and waste daylight. The whole point of a riding coach is to be a coach while riding. Why that’s such a hard concept for you to understand, I’m not sure.”

“Oh I understand the concept, sweetheart,” he assured me, pushing the chair that was separating us to the side. I felt my chest heave with the effort of taking in oxygen when he stepped toward me. His eyes looked like laser beams about to cut completely through me. “The problem is, the second you fire up your bike, you stop listening. You stop paying attention to the words that are coming out of my mouth. At least in here, sitting on your ass, you’re paying attention.” He reached up and tapped my forehead with his finger. “If you could get your brain to stop pretending that it knows everything then maybe I’d be more inclined to let you ride.”

I fought back a laugh. A laugh that was brought on by the fact that I was so utterly pissed at him that my only option was to laugh, cry, or punch him in the face. I never pretended to know it all. I never even pretended to know half of it.

“Well, maybe if you’d get this,” I reached up between us and tapped my finger against his forehead the same way he’d done to me. “Out of your ass and actually acted like a coach instead of a drill instructor, I’d be more inclined to listen.”

He didn’t move. He didn’t even flinch. He stood there with his jaw clenched and his eyes still locked on mine. I’d expected him to say something. To argue that I was wrong. Hell, a tiny little part of me actually even thought he might apologize. Instead, he did nothing.

Glaring and breathing—that was all we were both capable of at that particular moment.

About the Author:

 When I’m not writing or playing the part of wife and mom, you can find me dancing back-up for Beyonce, singing back-up for Miranda, or sunning myself on the beach with a drink in hand. Here’s the thing about being born and raised in a small town–you have a very vivid imagination! Now, I channel it all to create stories where the girl always ends up with the right guy, first kisses are magical, and a happy ending is just that!