NUDES: A Hollywood Romance (Exposed Book 1)

  The door was wide open with only a screen blocking the way, which Miles knew meant his father was out there like he was most evenings. The back porch connected around to the front, but was much higher off the ground due to the slope down to the lake. It had a great view of the lake, despite a few trees in the way, and had always been his father’s favorite place in the early evening.

  Miles walked over to the fridge, pulling it open, and found the homemade iced tea he had been craving. Pouring himself a glass, he tilted the cool liquid to his lips, letting it slide over his tongue—some of the dust from his tours overseas sliding away with it. He finished the entire glass in a few gulps and placed it in the sink, heading for the porch door next.

  Miles pushed the screen to the side, spotting his father exactly where he’d predicted. Walter was sitting at the patio table playing solitaire—one of his favorite pastimes.

  He paused for a moment, registering the extreme changes in his father’s appearance. Walter had lost at least thirty pounds since Miles had last been home to see him, and looked as if he’d aged twenty years since then. An oxygen tank rested on the wood deck beside him, a tube hooked around his father’s ears and tucked in his nostrils. The quiet whirring sound of the oxygen pushing its way into his father’s nose fit right in with the chattering night life in the surrounding woods.

  Miles struggled to fit the image before him with the father who had always exuded vitality. This man was different. This man was frail and breakable—two things Miles had never associated with his father before.

  Despite the shock, he did his best to push his worries away, plastering a forced smile on his face and stepping out of the doorway, closing the distance between them.

  “Dad!” Miles called out as he approached.

  His father’s face lit up as he turned to look at him, smiling ear to ear, and raising his arms in greeting. “Miles, my boy, you’re home! Come give your old man a hug!”

  Miles relaxed, glad to see the familiar twinkle still shining through his father’s eyes. “Good to see you, Pops.”

  “Me? Look at you.” Walter held him at a distance, hands on both of Miles’s arms as he looked him up and down. “You’re huge! They trained you hard over there, huh? Man, my little boy is long gone, isn’t he? Hiding somewhere under all that scruff.” A nostalgic smile crossed his father’s face.

  Miles chuckled, nodding in agreement. He rubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin, which he used to only need to shave once a week, sometimes less, when he’d first joined the service. Now he had a shadow by noon, and stubble by evening—not to mention his body sculpted by the Marines. “Oh yeah, people shooting at you is a proven motivator to get off your ass and run.”

  A momentary flash of worry crossed his father’s face, but was replaced quickly with pride. His father was a veteran of the Vietnam War, so Miles knew he’d been equally terrified and honored when his son had joined the military at eighteen.

  “We missed you around here, Kydd,” Walter said, using their last name as a nickname just as he always had.

  “Missed you too, Dad,” Miles said, patted his father on the back. “How have you been doing? I see they have you on oxygen now…and a wheelchair?”

  This was why he’d come home—no reason waiting to address the elephant in the room.

  “Lymphoma will do that to you,” Walter confirmed. “All this crap just makes it a little easier on me to get around for what time I have left.”

  “Dad—” Miles started.

  “It’s okay, Miles,” Walter interrupted, his eyes misting over slightly—a sure sign he was thinking of Miles’s mother, Violet. “I’ve lived a great life and I can’t wait to see your mother again.”

  Uncomfortable, Miles looked away. “Don’t talk like that, Pops. People survive cancer—you could be one of those people. Stay positive; fight it.”

  “I am being positive,” Walter replied, still smiling. “That doesn’t mean I want to fight it, though. I haven’t seen your mother in twenty-six years—she is still the love of my life, you know.”

  “You’ve only told me a million times.” Miles gently squeezed his father’s shoulder, loving hearing about his mother even if it was in this context.

  “And when are you going to find your Violet?” Walter didn’t pull any punches, shuffling the deck of cards in front of him.

  A laugh slipped out as Miles took the cards from his father and began cutting the deck between the two of them to start a game of war—one of their favorites. “That’s not happening any time soon, Pops.”

  “You never know,” Walter said, his brows lifting.

  Miles divided the deck into two piles as the screen door slid open behind them and soft footsteps landed on the wood. The air left his lungs in a whoosh and his breathing became staggered as he jumped up, almost knocking the table. He swirled to face whoever was approaching. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, leaving him shaky. His muscles tensed as he pushed himself to his full height, spreading his arms and legs in a solid fighting stance, preparing for an attack.

  The young woman standing in front of him let out a shocked gasp as a look of fright overtook her features, her hand flying to her chest.

  Then she faded and Miles only saw fire.

  Flames that stung his eyes.

  The smell of burnt flesh.

  Fire.

  Keep Reading Not A Hero!

  Download this book, or purchase a paperback, by visiting Sarah’s website at http://booksbysarahrobinson.net/my-books/not-a-hero/

  Please Note: This is a Marine romance novel and will contain themes of violence and PTSD.

  Excerpt from Breaking a Legend

  A Kavanagh Legends Novel

  Now Live

  Purchase a copy at the author’s website:

  booksbysarahrobinson.net/my-books/kavanagh-legends/breaking-a-legend/

  Prologue

  Three!

  Two!

  One!

  Fight!

  The crowd roared around him as the bell sounded, vibrating through his entire body. Rory Kavanagh immediately moved into position, his head low and his fists in front of his face. His arms were tucked in, shielding his body as he advanced on his opponent. This was it. A lifetime of practice, sparring, training: It was all for this moment.

  It was all for this fight.

  He was bigger than his opponent; this would be a simple win. He had the strength, he had the power. He towered over him by several inches, his shoulders broader, and his muscles thicker. This fight was in the bag. Punch, block, jab, shield, kick, sidestep. His opponent was moving fast, but Rory practically danced around his attack. He rained down jab after jab, his opponent staggering backward with a bloody lip. The bell sounded and both men retreated to their respective corners.

  “Water,” Rory grunted, leaning against the cage side as his father handed him a water bottle, his brothers eagerly watching from outside the cage. He dumped a mouthful of water onto his tongue before swirling it around and spitting it out into a nearby bucket.

  “You’re doing great, Rory, but remember technique. You’re too heavy-handed on power, and you’re not focusing on skills. That’s how fighters get hurt.”

  “I’m fine. This is in the bag.” Rory tossed the bottle at him, strutting back toward the center of the ring as the ref began announcing the start of the second round.

  “Fight!” The ref backed up quickly as the men converged on one another. Rory landed the first hook, blocking the return. Breathe, focus.

  And that’s when it happened.

  He blinked in surprise as blinding pain coursed through him. He looked down for a second, just a second, and it was over. Rory hadn’t even seen it happen; his opponent had been too fast. He looked down at his leg, but it was entirely twisted at the knee and bent the wrong direction. Bones were protruding and blood trickled morbidly down his calf. Searing pain inexplicably mixed with tingling numbness shot through his body in pulsing currents as he wavered.

 
Then all he saw was black. He felt the cage floor hit the back of his head as he went down hard. He heard the screaming from audience members, his family included. The ref’s whistle was blaring and medics were asking if he was okay.

  Rory said nothing, and gave in to the black.

  Chapter One

  “I will tell you when I’ve had enough.” He spoke through clenched teeth, slowly raising his silver eyes to stare down the irritated bartender.

  “Rory, come on. Don’t make me throw you out.” The bartender peered sideways at him, clearly exasperated as he draped a dishrag over one shoulder.

  Rory Kavanagh narrowed his gaze, anger coursing through his blood as he contemplated reaching across and smashing the arrogant prick’s face right into the wooden bar. Instead, he stood and reached into the back pocket of his jeans, tightening his jaw in frustration. Separating a few bills from a rather thick wad of cash, he tossed them down next to his glass before turning and heading for the door.

  As the infamous oldest Kavanagh brother stalked in their direction, the bouncers securing the entrance straightened, giving him a wide berth as he shoved his way out into the cold night air. Rory stumbled slightly as he turned right and slumped his shoulders, shoving his fists into his jacket pockets to keep warm. The alcohol warmed his insides, but still wasn’t a match for the winter chill as he made his way north on Kepler Avenue in the Bronx.

  Rory slid one hand out from its warm haven to shove back his messy long brown locks with a quick sweep of his fingers. Glancing around, he was a bit surprised not to see more people roaming about the Woodlawn neighborhood on a Saturday night. Taking advantage of the momentary privacy, he pulled out an orange pill bottle from his pocket, shaking a few white pills onto his palm. He closed the container and stuck it back in his coat before dropping the pills onto his tongue and swallowing them dry. He was used to the sensation as well as eager to feel the numbing he knew would soon follow.

  Yawning slightly, he slid his phone out of his pocket and turned on the screen, revealing that it was already one in the morning. He was feeling tired, but he wasn’t ready to call it a night just yet. Turning at the next intersection, he made a beeline east to Katonah Avenue, eager to get to O’Leary’s Pub before their last call in an hour.

  “Well, if it isn’t our long-lost brother,” a familiar voice said a few minutes later, as he meandered into the neighborhood bar that everyone he knew frequented. A hand clasped his shoulder. “Shit, Rory, where the hell have you been?”

  Rory inwardly groaned as he turned to face his younger brother, Quinn Kavanagh. Rory wanted to wipe Quinn’s smug smirk off with his fist. He had been sporting that same cocky attitude since the moment he popped into this world, a trait that Rory found uniquely irritating.

  Now I remember why I’ve been avoiding this bar, Rory thought as he forced a smile at his brother.

  “Just stopping in for a quick drink, Quinn,” Rory said, attempting to make clear that he wasn’t interested in socializing.

  He headed over to the long wooden bar that wrapped around two sides of the small pub and stood before walls of liquor bottles and televisions. Several bartenders moved around swiftly, filling drink orders and talking with the full crowd that O’Leary’s always attracted on weekend nights. Rory found an empty stool down at one end, far away from the door, and quickly staked his claim.

  He saw Cian, who had worked at O’Leary’s for as long as he could remember, and nodded his head to him. Cian nodded back and put up his hand, indicating he would be over in a minute, as he finished serving the group of college-aged kids at that end of the bar. The door to the kitchen swung open and a short, petite blonde ambled through, carrying a large bucket of ice that seemed much too heavy for her small frame to manage.

  Rory smiled slightly as he lifted one eyebrow, watching her with interest while she carefully poured the ice over the liquor bottles that sat in a metal bin below the bar’s surface. She huffed and her face was slightly red at the task, but she still managed to completely empty the bucket’s contents evenly around each of the glass bottles.

  He took advantage of her being distracted by her task to stare at her shapely legs, which disappeared under a short skirt barely longer than her small apron. Her skin was delicately pale and smooth, and he wondered what it would feel like to slide his fingers up the length of those legs. His eyes traveled up her body, disappointed that the thick, blond ringlets dangling halfway down her back were also hiding most of her face as she leaned over the bar. He wanted to see her perfectly sloped nose, catch her eyes with his, and see what her small pink lips would look like when they smiled.

  Something about this woman was intriguing him, although he couldn’t pinpoint what.

  Her work completed, she exhaled loudly and plopped the empty bucket at her feet, taking a breather. Rory chuckled lightly, finally grabbing her attention.

  “You laughing at me?” She put her hands on her hips, daring him to make fun of her.

  Her eyes narrowed as she spoke, but he was still able to catch a glimpse of the dazzling emerald color that contrasted against her light skin and golden hair so perfectly.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, mhuirnín.” A smile spread across his face as he watched her saunter over to him, her full, pink lips tightly pressed together in irritation.

  “What’s that mean?” she asked when she reached him, standing across the bar with her arms folded across her chest and one hip tilted higher than the other. Her tone was defiant and he loved the feisty spirit she exuded.

  “Mhuirnín? You’re all questions today. I’ll answer your question, if you answer mine.” Rory concentrated on keeping his speech normal and not slurring his words. He might have had a bit more to drink tonight than he had intended.

  She turned away from him, looking back down the length of the bar and drumming her fingers on its surface.

  Rory could sense her nervousness. He already missed her green gaze and silently begged her to turn back to him. There was something about her that stirred a protective instinct in him, a feeling entirely foreign toward anyone that wasn’t family. She was smiling, but there was an undercurrent of pain breaking through her friendliness.

  He didn’t like it.

  “I guess that’s fair,” she relented, turning back to him and leaning against the wall.

  “I haven’t seen you here before. What’s your name?” His question was simple, but the desire in his eyes was not as he licked his bottom lip and admired how perfectly her uniform hugged her curves, even on her small figure.

  “Clare Ivers. I’m new in town. Needed a job.” She shrugged, not divulging much, but he felt a sliver of hope when he saw that the smile on her face had yet to disappear.

  He knew that she could feel his attraction toward her when he saw the blush creep up her cheeks. The smile she couldn’t push away told him she was enjoying their banter as much as he was.

  Despite her clear interest, there was a hint of disapproval as he watched her eyes roam over his torso. It was a look he was way too familiar with from the last year. Rory worried he might be slurring his words or sounding more drunk than he felt.

  Wouldn’t be the first time, he thought.

  “Your turn.” She pointed at him, biting the corner of her lip in an attempt to hide her smile.

  “Mhuirnín means sweetheart. If you’re going to work in Woodlawn, Clare, you gotta learn some Irish.”

  “Is that right? I guess I’ll have to find a good tutor then,” she taunted, before turning on her heels and sauntering off.

  Rory felt his jaw drop slightly as he watched her, his interest piqued. He wasn’t normally one to let a girl walk away without snagging her phone number, but something about her told him that she wasn’t the type to give that away so easily.

  “Already hitting the latest talent?” Quinn came up beside his older brother and handed him a beer.

  “Fuck off, Quinn,” Rory ribbed, surprised at how light he felt at the moment. It had been some time since he
had laughed at all, he realized, as he downed the beer Quinn gave him.

  A third brother, Kane, appeared behind Quinn a few seconds later, nodding at Rory. No one would know those three were related if it wasn’t for the famous Kavanagh name.

  Quinn was the odd man out in the group of brothers, with his straight black hair, clean-shaven face, and snakelike black eyes. Quinn had even added to his differences by covering his arms and chest with tattoos that peeked out from under his sleeves and shirt collar, along with piercings on both ears and several other places.

  “You coming to Ma’s tomorrow?” Kane asked Rory, leaning his back against the bar.

  His body was turned to face Rory, but he was obviously scoping out the bar as his dark blue eyes peered around the room. Rory followed Kane’s stare, noticing more than a few heads turned in their direction. He didn’t bother rushing to answer his brother, since Kane’s attention was clearly elsewhere.

  The Kavanagh brothers were well known in the Bronx, especially Woodlawn, but even if they weren’t, the group of athletic men was hard not to stare at. Several women on the other side of the bar were giggling, batting eyelashes, and attempting flirty glances as they openly gawked at the three men.

  Rory knew Kane was a notorious ladies’ man; he watched him smile eagerly at a woman passing by. Everyone had always told him that Kane resembled Rory the most out of all the Kavanagh brothers, which was ironic since Kane was one in a set of twins. Rory wasn’t as close to Kane’s twin, Kieran, who was currently serving time in prison. They had had a falling-out before Kieran landed up in jail and not gotten around to resolving things between them yet.

  Considering their similar dark brown hair, scruffy beards, and muscular build, the biggest difference Rory could see between himself and Kane, aside from their eye color, was that Rory liked to let his hair grow to chin length, leaving the wavy locks down to frame his face. He liked his longer style versus Kane’s short hair, and most of the women he found himself around seemed to share that opinion.