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    Reckless
    Reckless
    Reckless
    Ebook89 pages1 hour

    Reckless

    By Cali Mann and Mia Harlan

    ()

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    About this ebook

    A tropical island. A hot band. And a stowaway?

     

    Hiding out, alone, in the dark is what Elle does best. An orphan who taught herself computers and electronics, Elle can make any bunch of zeros and ones mind their manners though she's not so good on the people side. So when an awkward night out with her colleagues leaves her hungover and stowed away on a boat, she finds herself stranded on an island for a week. 

     

    Reckless Beggars might fight like brothers, but these four guys are as thick as thieves. When they get a chance to play IslandFest, a week-long music event on a tropical island, they've finally made the big time. But when they find a sexy stowaway on this ship, their priorities get rearranged and they need to learn to share more than their music. 

     

    If you love rock stars, nerdy girls, and reverse harem romance, you're going to love this steamy story. 

     

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherThornfire Publishing Co
    Release dateJun 7, 2023
    ISBN9798223996101
    Reckless

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      Book preview

      Reckless - Cali Mann

      Chapter 1

      Elle

      I wish rock music didn’t exist, I complain as I wobble along the dock. At least I’m wearing my bedazzled sneakers instead of high heels.

      The gentle swaying of the boats makes my stomach revolt and the salty air seems to magnify my dizziness.

      I never drink, unless I’m forced to attend a mandatory work event at a banquet hall packed with a thousand rowdy computer programmers and an obnoxiously loud live rock band.

      I look at my phone. It’s conked out and no use to me in my escape. I’ll ask someone to call me a cab. Like whoever owns the yacht bobbing at the end of the dock. It’s the only one that’s lit up, and I stumble onto the deck. It’s huge and pristine, made of gleaming white wood and decorated with elegant furniture.

      There’s a burly guy asleep in a folding chair; his snores are louder than the beautiful mechanical keyboard used for a grand total of two weeks. It kept waking my neighbors whenever I’d work late, and they started pounding their ceiling with a broom.

      Stumbling below deck, I call out, Hello? Anyone here? A giggle slips past my lips. If I hadn’t been drinking, I’d never do this.

      The floor sways beneath my feet, making me want to hurl. I open a door, but it only leads to a closet—a cool, dark closet. I think I’ll just sit here, on this tile floor. Just for a minute, until I feel better.

      When I wake up, I reach for my phone, then remember it’s dead. I stumble up but crash into a mop bucket, and then into the door. Where am I?

      Then I remember . . . the drinks, the yacht—oh shit! It takes me forever to get up the stairs, and I let out a pained groan when I step out into the bright sunlight.

      Who the fuck are you? a deep voice startles me.

      I jump. Then I groan and clutch my head, willing it to stop pounding.

      There are four incredibly hot men lounging on the super expensive furniture on deck, beer bottles in hand.

      I am never drinking again, I tell them as the sun beats down on me.

      Not what I asked, says the man who’d demanded who I was.

      I don’t usually notice a guy’s looks straight off, but he’s so good looking, he makes my mouth water. His muscular frame is tanned, tattooed, and all he’s wearing are swim shorts. His blond hair curls ridiculously along his neck, and I wonder what it would be like to bury my hands in it. Would it be soft?

      Then I realize I’ve been gaping. I’m Elle. I try to smile, which is the polite thing to do when introducing yourself, but it comes out like more of a grimace. My hangover apparently doesn’t care how my hormones feel.

      Lucas. He grins, gesturing at his companions. And this is Aster, Phoenix, and Zion. He gestures at each man in turn. But you already knew that.

      I shake my head, which makes it pound mercilessly. I’d definitely remember if I’d met them before. They’re too hot to forget.

      Shit, another groupie, Aster says, taking a swig of his beer. He’s as handsome as Lucas, with striking red hair tied back in a ponytail. His booted feet are stretched out in front of him, like he’s not aware that it’s a gazillion degrees out here in Miami, and a leather jacket is tossed next to him on the lounge.

      Is Phoenix actually your real name? I ask the third man, who’s identical to Aster, except for his shortly cropped hair and smirk.

      Trying to convince us you’re not a groupie? he chuckles, not answering my question.

      Zion grunts. Not quite sure what to make of that, but his dark eyes bore into me, like he thinks I’m a groupie, too.

      Groupie . . . I silently mull over the word. Please tell me you aren’t rock stars, I mutter under my breath. There are plenty of other musicians who have groupies. Maybe they play classical music.

      Zion grunts again. The other three men fix their gazes on me, and Aster narrows his eyes in obvious annoyance.

      I’m really not a groupie, I tell them. I just came here to use a phone. Mine’s out of battery. After a full day of being glued to it so no one would approach me with dreaded small talk . . . a fact I decide not to mention to the guys.

      Aster raises an eyebrow. On our yacht . . .

      Likely story. Phoenix grins at his twin, then turns to me. This isn’t the first time a crazed fan has thrown herself at us.

      I cross my arms in front of my chest, already damp with sweat from the blazing hot sun. Hey. I’m not throwing myself at anyone.

      Phoenix completely ignores my protest. It’s actually kind of flattering.

      Thank you for supporting our band, Aster says in a bored tone, like he’s reading off some PR script. It’s because of fans like you that we can keep doing what we’re doing. And that we get to perform at a place like IslandFest.

      Zion nods in agreement.

      You’ve got this all wrong. I don’t know who you guys are, and I’m definitely not a fan. Not that there’s anything wrong with your music. I’m sure you’re good at—I wave my arm vaguely—whatever it is you play.

      Lucas slowly rises off his couch. Just admit you’re a fan, gorgeous, and I’ll sign your tits. Win-win.

      I take a step back, eyes wide. You’re not coming anywhere near my tits.

      I give her five minutes, Aster says, pulling off his tee shirt and giving me a luscious view of his rippling chest.

      My nipples tighten and I suddenly understand why these guys have groupies. I don’t see how anyone can resist their good looks, even if their attitudes could use some adjustments. But I’m not going to throw myself at them, and it’s not like they have any interest in a geek like me anyway.

      It’s also way too hot to be out on the deck. The moment I’m back at my hotel, I’m taking an ice-cold shower. I’m leaving.

      Feel free, Aster says, gesturing behind me.

      I turn around and stare out over

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