She lives by the book—and is still searching for her happily ever after.
Darcy Wilde has tried hard not to live up to her last name. As a librarian in Atlanta she lives a fine life far away from the football-obsessed town of her childhood. But when her beloved Grandmother needs help, Darcy takes a leave of absence and heads back to the home and past she left behind.
He knows how to play the field—and is in no rush to settle down.
Robbie Dalton knows a thing or two about painful pasts. After bouncing around in foster care and the Army for years he is finally ready to move on and make a home for himself in Falcon, Alabama as the newest high school football coach. Sparks fly when the sexy new coach and the sharp-tongued librarian meet, but neither of them is looking to make ties.
But when it comes to love, sometimes you’ve gotta throw away the rule book to cross the finish line…
Everything changes when Darcy falls in love, not only with the gruff, protective, and smoking hot man who’s sharing her days and nights, but also with the complex tapestry of people who weave Falcon together. Could this be where she belongs – and who she belongs with?
Amazon/B&N
*EXCERPT*
Giving her waist a slight squeeze, Robbie concluded Darcy Wilde was sexy as all get out and didn’t even know it. He hadn’t been the only man to watch her twitching, slightly tipsy walk across the bar. Her red heels emphasized toned calves, and her dress molded to her curves.
Rick the Dick had tried to strong-arm her onto the dance floor— unwillingly if the table she’d dragged along was any indication. After maneuvering her out of Rick’s grasp, he’d pulled her to the dance floor himself and tried not to compare his motivations to Rick’s. She’d followed him willingly enough.
He could accept the fact he wanted her in his bed. Every man with a pulse at the bar probably wanted the same. What he hadn’t expected was the paralyzing shock from the pseudo kiss she’d laid on his injured arm. The simple gesture shouldn’t have resonated so deeply. But it had.
He’d planned to give her a much-deserved apology and then enjoy a couple of beers alone but surrounded by people. The three subjects he was qualified to discuss— math, football, war— weren’t suited for flirtatious small talk. She hadn’t seemed to mind. Although the veering of their conversation had nearly given him whiplash, he’d enjoyed himself, laughed even.
Anticipation at getting laid steamrolled through his body even as his conscience corralled the spiraling lust. She was Logan’s cousin, and she was drunk. If anything happened, Logan would kick him into next week, but even worse, Robbie might lose his friend— one of the few. Not to mention, Miss Ada might come after him with the rifle she stored in the hall closet, broken hips or not. Anyway, she wasn’t one-night-stand material, which scared him worse than getting beat up by Logan or shot by Miss Ada.
He helped her onto the leather seat of his black truck, and she swung her feet in to nestle among a half-dozen footballs and orange cones. She lay her hands lightly on his shoulders, and the same burn that had coursed through him during their dance reignited.
“Avery’s very lucky.” She sounded close to tears, but he’d checked and she’d barely gotten a strawberry on each knee.
“I’m the lucky one. He saved my life.” He snapped her seatbelt home, not sure she would find it in the dark. His bicep brushed against the fullness of her breasts, and goose bumps broke over his forearm.
“ You served together?”
He propped his hands on either side of her thighs, leaving their faces inches apart in the dim interior. “Of course. I thought about another tour, but after he was injured I didn’t want to leave him in the States without me.”
“That’s so sweet. I wish …” This time the tears were unmistakable. Maybe the alcohol drove her over-the-top emotional reaction.
“What?”
“For the impossible. Avery is waiting.” She pushed him back, but not after a telltale squeeze of his shoulders. His muscles twitched.
Did she want him to kiss her? Surely, he hadn’t lost all ability to read women. Although, this woman was written in a different language. One he wanted to study and learn— like Braille.
“How was he injured?” she asked after he’d cranked the engine.
The truck bucked backward. Usually reticent to reveal anything personal, the words flowed out roughly, but flowed nonetheless. “Bomb. Shrapnel ripped his leg to hell, and the doctors had to amputate. My shoulder … ”
His fingers traced the puckered scars crisscrossing his arm, the moment of detonation never buried deep enough in his memory. The knuckles of his other hand were white on the steering wheel. A deep, practiced breath unlocked his fingers.
He added, “Avery pushed me down and protected me from the worst of it. Doesn’t like me gone for too long, makes him nervous.”
“He sounds amazing,” she said, her voice thick.
“He is amazing.”
Wind buffeted the cabin from the half-opened windows. Chewing at his bottom lip, his gaze bounced from her to the road and back again.
Completely out of character, he broke the normally welcomed silence. “Is Darcy an author as well?”
Her head lolled toward him on the seatback. “I doubt my mother intended it as such, but I like to imagine I was named after Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice.”
“Never read it.”
“It’s one of my favorites. What do you read?”
“Popular Mechanics. Scientific American. Sports Illustrated.” He turned onto the washed-out lane and concentrated on smoothing the ride as much as possible in the dark. After parking in front of Miss Ada’s timeworn house, he came to her side and opened the door. The truck’s interior light underscored her pasty face.
“Let me help you inside.” He took her forearm as she climbed out of the high cab. Her ankle rolled, but she righted herself immediately. He scooped her into a cradle hold, ignoring her yelp.
“Dang it, I can walk.”
“Not without doing some damage to yourself on all this gravel and in those heels.”
“I’m not a damsel in distress, Robbie Dalton,” she said, but one of her arms looped around his shoulders. No one called him Robbie anymore, and he liked the way it drawled off her tongue.
Shivers skittered down his spine and chased away the logical reasons he shouldn’t kiss her. Only the thought of Logan and Miss Ada dented the impulse. Under a weak finger of porch light, he maneuvered the front door open. “Might as well deposit you in your room. Is it upstairs?”
“Upstairs, end of the hall.” Her eyes closed, and her warm breath on his neck invaded his body.
Their combined weight creaked the wooden stairs. Squeaking shoes signaled company. Ms. Evelyn stood at the bottom, wearing rumpled scrubs and a dazed expression, her mouth forming a perfect circle.
He backed into Darcy’s room but left the door open for propriety’s sake. Slowly and with maximum body contact, he set her on her feet and gripped her hips. The curves of her body pressed into him, her soft pliancy a perfect foil for his tensed muscles.
He took a calming breath and looked around. Her room was a time capsule. A ten-year-old hard-rock band poster, the corners peeling, was taped beside an oval mirror. A yellow comforter and green body pillow covered a brass bed. The girlish furniture was painted white with pink flowers. A jammed bookcase ran along one corner. Overflow books were stacked in towers of various heights. Suitcases stood along the wall.
“Thanks for driving me home.”
He stared at her full bottom lip. Having her in the same room as a bed played havoc with his good intentions. He glanced toward the open door.
“Avery’s waiting, don’t forget.” She pushed his arms away. He stepped back. His thighs bumped into her dresser and rattled the mirror against the wall. His dog was so well trained, he would experience pain rather than have an accident indoors. “ Yep, he needs me.”
“You can see yourself out, I’m sure.” She flapped both hands, shooing him away.
Keeping her in his sights like an enemy combatant, he shuffled backward toward the door. Was he imagining the attraction, or was it all one-sided?
Usually, women were obvious and straightforward. For the most part, he brushed them off, but sometimes the nights got lonely, so he took them home. That hadn’t happened since he’d moved to Falcon.
Maybe it was the small-town atmosphere, maybe it was his deepening friendships with Logan and Miss Ada, maybe it was his players, but the constant aching hollowness in his chest hadn’t bothered him so much here.
As he pulled the door closed, she turned like a wobble toy, kicked off her heels, and collapsed on the bed. Her leg hiked up and exposed a pair of black lace panties.
A one-night stand with Darcy Wilde was out of the question. What were his options? He could ask her out on a date. And then what? The couple of times he’d tried a relationship, the women had ended up hating him. The safest, smartest option would be to keep the ill-advised attraction to himself and ignore her.
If he stared though the crack in the door longer than he should, he forgave his momentary weakness. The picture of Darcy Wilde he’d created from her letters had been shattered by the real thing. And the real thing put his imagination to shame.
About the Author:
Laura Trentham is an award-winning author of contemporary and historical romance. She is a member of RWA, and has finaled multiple times in the Golden Heart competition. A chemical engineer by training and a lover of books by nature, she lives in South Carolina.
Website/Twitter/Facebook
Jennifer’s Review of Slow And Steady Rush
Review (4 Stars): I enjoyed Darcy and Robbie together and Slow and Steady Rush was a sweet small town romance that is sure to delight readers. Darcy was such a firecracker and was all ready to head home once her grandmother recovered from her hip injury until she met Robbie. He was the epitome of sexy and I could definitely see why all the ladies were vying for his attention. Robbie reminded Darcy what it felt like to finally have a place to call home and that our past doesn’t define who you are or your future. That was exactly what she needed in her life and the chemistry between these two characters was very hot. This was a great romance and I’m looking forward to reading more from Ms. Trentham.
TITLE: Tamed
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Fran Stewart is the author of the Biscuit McKee Mysteries – GRAY AS ASHES is the seventh book in that series – as well as a standalone mystery – A SLAYING SONG TONIGHT. Her new ScotShop Mystery Series from Berkley Press begins with A WEE MURDER IN MY SHOP.
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