Best-selling romance author is releasing a contemporary romance novella series under a new pen name.
Ariel Adams is taking readers by storm with her exciting and fast paced romance, Naked Edge. This four-part season will make you laugh and cry and get tingly inside. For mature readers.
Buy both episodes today or read free from the Kindle Unlimited library.
An excerpt from Episode One:
Boone’s expression of pure terror is priceless. He’s a skilled climber, but he’s afraid of heights. Go figure. I fire off another series of shots. If I can get one of my photos on the cover of just one climbing magazine, I can justify pursuing an art degree instead of the more practical Business Administration. I don’t have the luxury of pursuing a ‘fun’ career unless I’m sure I can support myself with it.
“Sky, back off, now. This isn’t safe.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“Okay. Sorry.” I bend my knees and reach behind me so I can pull myself around with the rope. I realize it’s the wrong move, even as I do it. But it’s too late.
I slip on the loose gravel, lose my balance and tumble, headfirst, over the edge. My foot catches the side of Boone’s helmet as the rope flips me right side up with a bone-jarring jerk. I watch in horror as he pops a nut then pendulums to the right. He screams when he slams into the cliff.
“Boone! Are you okay?”
“My ankle. I think it’s broken.”
“Anything else?” I don’t see any blood, but he’s pressed against the wall, so I can’t really tell.
“No. Just my ankle. But it really hurts.”
“You’re okay. Try to stay calm.” I love Boone like a brother, but he tends to be a little overly dramatic. At least that last cam held.
Someone below yells, “Hang on. Help’s coming.”
I check my watch every few seconds, so even though it feels like it takes forever, I know it’s only been ten minutes when a sun-kissed, ruggedly handsome face peers over the ledge. It’s been over four years since I’ve seen Rusty Daletzki, but I’d recognize those ice-blue eyes even if it had been a hundred.
My stomach clenches as heat floods my cheeks. Damn. All I can see is his chiseled face and broad, muscular shoulders, but my imagination fills in the rest. His helmet hides his coal black waves but I’ll bet his hair is just as silky as it ever was. My fingers tingle with the desire to find out. It’s clear that Rusty’s even hotter at twenty-one than he was at seventeen. Much hotter.
“Are you injured?” Rusty’s voice is still smooth as velvet, but it’s deeper than I remember.
I blink and lick my lips as heat floods my body. It takes a few seconds for his words to cut through the haze of lust clouding my brain. Jesus, what’s wrong with me? What sort of a slut gets turned on during a rescue?
It’s obvious Rusty’s checking me out, but it’s purely clinical. He acts as if he doesn’t recognize me. Sure, my hair’s shorter now. It only reaches my shoulder blades instead of my waist. It’s darker too, more of a mahogany brown instead of a sun-bleached, chestnut red. I spent the last three years indoors with my sick mother instead of surfing with my friends in San Diego so the sun didn’t have a chance to lighten my hair. I’m a size six instead of a size two. My boobs are a solid C instead of barely a B. But I haven’t changed that much.
My eyes are still hazel and too big for my face. There’s still a cleft in my chin. I still have the same full lips Rusty could never get enough of. There’s no way he doesn’t know who I am. “I’m fine. But Boone thinks he’s hurt.”
Rusty’s gaze unlocks from mine. His brow furrows. “Boone? Are you okay?”
“I’ve been better.” His voice is soft, quiet. No longer frantic. And that scares me. Maybe he really is hurt.
I shouldn’t have pushed Boone to let me lead. I shouldn’t have gone off route. I should’ve tied Boone off into the anchor instead of keeping him on belay while I traversed back and forth trying to get the best shot. This is my fault.
Rusty presses a button on the two-way radio attached to his shoulder harness. “Base, this is Rusty Daletzki. We have one injured climber on the top third of the final pitch of The Bastille Crack. Male, twenty-one, conscious and responsive. We also have an uninjured female stranded near the summit.”
Rusty continues to talk into his radio as another helmeted face peers over the ledge. A gorgeous, feminine face. Crap. It’s Rusty’s stepsister, Anna. She was always trying to get Rusty to break up with me.
She appraises me with undisguised loathing then looks at Rusty with more than just sisterly affection in her gold-flecked, dark brown eyes. I want to claw them out of her head.
Rusty returns his gaze to me. He speaks with cool professionalism. “Okay, Skylar. Let’s get you out of here so we can get to Boone.”
I knew he recognized me. I want to say something to him, but my brain seems to have blown a fuse. All I can do is nod like an idiot as Anna slips over the edge to attach redundant gear to my harness. She glares at me the whole time. I’m tempted to ask, ‘just what the hell is your problem,’ but decide antagonizing the person who literally has my life in her hands is a bad idea.