Damaged Goods Read online Aria Cole

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors: ,
Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
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Read Online Books/Novels:

Damaged Goods

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Aria Cole

Language:
English
Book Information:

Keene Reynolds lives his best life in the boondocks, his rural existence lonely as he spends his days remodeling old motorcycles. Rylie Masterson grew up on the outskirts; desperate for an escape, she's spent the last few years taking every job she could to get her into the big city and far from the country life.
When most people see the reclusive Keene Reynolds, they cower in fear.
But Rylie doesn't.
She see's the big heart under the tough exterior. She see's the man--not the damaged goods that sent him into seclusion. But can she thaw his frozen heart before outside forces derail their chance at a future?
Note: Damaged Goods was originally published under the title Riding His Iron. New scenes and epilogues have been added to enhance the story.
Books by Author:

Aria Cole

Mila Crawford



ONE

Rylie

“Keene made a life-size cast of his dick once when we were kids. Ask him about it.” Rocco, my best friend’s husband and daddy to her cute-as-hell babies, saluted Keene from across the campfire.

“No!” The small crowd of what was left of us erupted into disbelief.

“You tattle-tailing motherfucker,” Keene called across the fire from his place at my shoulder. “He’s lying. I swear I don’t have the cast stashed in a box in my closet or anything.”

I erupted into a fit of laughter, my third—or fourth—spiked sweet tea making this trot down memory lane much more funny than it would have been normally.

Normally, I was so strung tight and busy with an overpacked schedule I didn’t have time for things like laughter.

“Is that what you country kids get up to when you’re not tipping cows?”

Keene nailed me with his eyes, drunken seriousness buzzing from him to me. I shifted in my chair, not used to being so damn close to a man, or anyone for that matter.

“Tipping cows? Maybe if you ventured out of the city a little more, you’d find out what us country boys can really do.” His eyes sparkled with something mischievous.

I didn’t know if I wanted to smack him or kiss him. Or something even worse.

“Maybe if the right country boy tempts me.” I laughed, tipping the rest of the spiked sweet tea to my lips.

“Consider it my new goal.” A cocky grin slid up one side of his lips.

Now I definitely wanted to smack him.

Instead, I stood from the hard wooden chair I’d been camped out in.

“Another one of these sweet teas, and I may be willing to show off pictures of the cast that doesn’t exist under my bed.” He met me, face to face, cocky grin to my own grumpy one.

“Ha!” I moved closer, flirting with the charged air between us. “Voyeur, hmm?”

He leaned right back at me, lips hovering just at the edge of mine. I sucked in a ragged breath, the warm spicy scent of his cologne curling through my insides like a snake. “Among other things.”

Flames hummed to life between my thighs, anger singeing my nerves as I ducked away, determined to get a breath of fresh air.

He followed me.

I forced a smile in the darkness, determined to be nice to the cocky bastard. “It’s been so great chatting with you the last few hours. I hate to say it, but it’s probably time for me to go to bed.”

“Bullshit.”

We reached the steps of the porch, and the smile plastered on my face started to fall.

“Excuse me?”

“I call bullshit.” He moved closer. “Didn’t peg you for a liar, Rylie.”

His words hit harder than Mike Tyson.

“You don’t even know me. What makes you think I’m a liar?”

His eyes narrowed and he moved in another inch. “The pretty ones always are.”

I bit down on my lip, eyes closing to slits. “Say again?”

“What?” He angled a hand over my head, leaning against the wood of the porch and pushing closer to me. “The pretty part, or the lyin’ part?”

I licked my lips, eyes focused on his full one hovering just out of reach of mine. When I didn’t reply, his grin tipped deeper to one side and the fingertips of his other hand flirted with the skin of my wrist.

“Think you’ve got a slick tongue?” I breathed fire against his lips.

A soft growl emanated from the wide expanse of his hard chest, moving with each of his gravelly breaths. “I know it.”

I nodded, tipping my head to the side, taking in the hard cut of his jaw, and gritting my teeth. “Bullshit.”

In one move, I stomped my foot on his booted one, grinning when he yowled with surprise before I spun and, with slow purposed strides, walked the length of the deck. Just as I heard him flying up the steps after me, I smiled to myself and then promptly tripped on the first uneven board that caught my espadrille.

So much for last laughs.

“Lord, Rylie!” Keene was rushing to me a second later, his hands hauling me off the floor and setting my ass in the first kitchen chair he could find, searching me for splinters and scrapes.

“Stop. I’m fine, I’m fine,” I grouched.

He paused, both his hands cradling my own. “You must be. Grumpy Smurf is back.”

I cracked a smile, feeling a slow ache come to life in my ankle.

“I think I sprained something.” I stood, testing my weight on my foot.

“Well, maybe it’s the fucking ridiculous things you call shoes.” He pushed me back in the chair, hands working at the straps at my ankles quickly.

My foot was liberated moments later.

His fingers moved along the underside of my arch, massaging softly before twisting my ankle gently.

“How’s that?”

“Terrible.”

“You think it’s broken?”

“Oh, you meant my foot. I thought you meant the massage.”

His eyes burned with fire, fire that probably matched my own.

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