Hey there, it’s Scarlett.
I am so excited because ELLIOTT REDEEMED, the second standalone in my PRELOAD rock star romance series, is out this week. I love these boys so hard, growing from their humble roots as children in a Toronto group home to the ultimate rockstars of their generation. I also love them because they are all broken. The inspiration for the series came from Bruce Perry’s book, The Boy Who Was Raised as a Dog. Perry is a child psychiatrist who was involved in some hugely traumatic events involving children, such as treating the child survivors of the Waco siege.
I hope you’ll give these boys a read. The first book in the series, JORDAN RECLAIMED, is on sale this week to celebrate Elliott’s release so now is the perfect time to pick it up.
A single mom and tortured musician find common ground in Scarlett Cole’s Elliott Redeemed, the second standalone romance about the band Preload.
Elliott “Pyro” Dawson burns up the lead guitar like a legend. But the nickname Pyro isn’t just a clever play on words. It’s much darker. A past he’s fought like hell to overcome.
Grocery store cashier Kendalee Walker is at her wits end and homeless. She’s watched her fourteen-year-old son, Daniel, go so far off the rails, he can no longer see the tracks.
When the two are brought together, attraction flares, but can Elliott find the family he never had with the sexy woman and her son, or will he fall back on dangerous habits?
They hurried through the lobby and to his room. The entire elevator ride was a lesson in patience . . . he couldn’t wait to get her naked. His cock ached. He threw his guitar down on the bed, then turned and pushed her up against the wall. Kendalee groaned as he slid his hands down her ribs to the hem of her dress before peeling it off over her head. Unable to wait, he slid his hand down her stomach, under the waistband of her underwear.
“Christ, you are wet,” he whispered against her neck.
“It’s you, Elliott. You do that to me.”
He stepped back from her. “You really want the rock star tonight? Not me?”
“They’re the same, right?” she asked, teasing him by sliding her own fingers into her underwear.
“Well, the rock star does stupid shit all the time.”
Elliott grabbed the bottle of champagne he’d arranged to be delivered on ice. Carefully, he removed the foil. “Well,” he said, as he removed the wire and pressed his thumb under the cork, which let out a long pop as it opened, “hotel room damage has been known.” He took a sip straight from the bottle. It was dry, fizzy. But he was already drunk on her.
Kendalee laughed. “Should I ask how?”
“Because,” he said as he placed his thumb over the top of the bottle, “I’m going to show you.” With a wink, he shook the bottle as hard as he could, then allowed it to spray in all directions and soak the two of them.
“Elliott!” she squealed as champagne poured over her breasts.
He leaned forward and sucked a nipple, which tasted fucking amazing. “Want some?” he said, offering the neck of the bottle to her lips.
“Sure,” she said, placing her lips to it. At first he was gentle, allowing her to swallow some, but then he tipped it further and laughed as she spluttered and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh my God,” she coughed. “You’re crazy.”
“Quite possibly. Want to see something else?” He took her hand and led her to the bed, where he picked up his guitar and guided her to lie down. Quickly he stripped off the rest of their clothes. At the bottom of the bed, he picked up the guitar.
Completely naked, he put the guitar strap over his head. Half soaked with sweat, champagne, and a burning desperation to just climb over the bed and fuck her, he strummed the unmistakable chords to the Eric Clapton song “Layla.”
“Elliott,” she squealed again, and he loved the way she said his name. “Play it quietly,” she instructed.
He shook his head. “You wanted the rock star, honey. Well, here I am.”
And when Kendalee fell back on the bed in fits of laughter, he silently prayed that she’d always want him exactly the way he was.