Heart
of Rock
by Karyn Gerrard
Irishman
Brogan Byrne is at the pinnacle of 1974 rock-music success. Handsome,
charismatic, with a three-octave voice, you’d think he had it all. But Byrne
sinks to new depths of depravity with women, liquor, and drugs.
Carly
Montgomery is an ambitious record executive offered an opportunity to be
manager for the last leg of Byrne's tour. Though she’s detached and tough as
nails, Carly’s cool facade comes under attack. Somehow Byrne manages to slip by
her frosty defenses.
Brogan,
for his part, is broken inside. A past memory weighs on his soul, affecting his
actions. Is Carly the one woman to help him forget his guilt and heal his heart
of rock?
About
the Author:
Karyn lives in a small town in the western corner of
Ontario, Canada. She wiles away her spare time writing and reading romance
while drinking copious amounts of Earl Grey tea. Tortured heroes are a
favorite. A multi-published author with a few best sellers under her belt,
Karyn loves to write in different genres and time periods.
As long as she can avoid being hit by a runaway
moose in her wilderness paradise, she assumes everything is golden.
Karyn’s been happily married for a long time to her own hero. His encouragement keeps her moving forward.
Karyn’s been happily married for a long time to her own hero. His encouragement keeps her moving forward.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Heart of Rock:
Dear God, but the man
was stunning. Having him lean against her seared her skin. She couldn’t stop
touching him. One hand tunneled through his silky two-tone hair, and the other
stroked his bare chest. Did he sigh, or had she? She should be raging with
indignant anger; instead she consoled Byrne like a lost little boy. She would
feed him a bowl of damned chicken broth. All that was missing was the bedtime
story. She had told him the truth. He was a mess, and worse than she’d first
thought. What dramas were next—paternity suits? How surprising he didn’t have a
couple already. Every male rock star did, and considering how careless he
seemed to be sex-wise, it could only be a matter of time.
Her heart hitched
behind her ribs. He had come so close to dying. Yes, her original thoughts
might have been cold and calculating as she thought of the headlines and of Mr.
Winwood’s reaction. Deep down, however, her emotions were more complicated and
muddled. Holding him like this sparked a protective feeling she hadn’t even
known she possessed. Where had it come from? She wasn’t this compassionate
toward people, hadn’t been since her childhood. Her cool demeanor came in handy
for business purposes. A protection, she supposed. She’d built a solid wall,
one her heart and emotions stayed firmly hidden behind. So how in hell had
Byrne slipped through? She had to admit, in the physical sense he was
everything she could ever want in a man. Her interest had been sparked since
she’d seen him naked, facedown on a bed.
Carly continued to
caress his chest. Byrne’s body was muscled, tight, sculpted, and irresistible.
Don’t get her started on his voice. She’d read his file. He had an amazing
three-octave range, each note sounding crystal clear and pure. He could have
sung opera, his talent very obvious to anyone. At first, Mr. Winwood wanted him
to go glam rock, much like Bowie did with his Ziggy Stardust persona, but Byrne
had refused. After much discussion, he had agreed to dye his hair as Mr.
Winwood suggested. Carly had heard Byrne remained adamant that would be the
only concession he would give on the glam question. Probably because his vocal
range and depth were often compared to Bowie’s, or maybe wearing glitter eye
shadow and sequined jumpsuits didn’t appeal to him.
Carly had re-listened
to his debut record, Within the Flames,
not long ago. The heights to which his voice soared gave her goose bumps and
sent thrilling shivers down her spine. He was killing her softly with his song.
She smiled at her own music pun. If Byrne’s singing voice hadn’t been
mesmerizing enough, when he spoke, she swore hot liquid gushed from the deepest
parts of her. She took a deep breath. Byrne exuded a spicy aroma that went beyond
the generic hotel soap Gio had used on him. No way. She would not allow this
egotistical rock monster under her skin, no matter how much he appealed to her
Truth be told, she didn’t want to be involved with a man who hung on the
precipice of sobriety. She had witnessed enough of that growing up, with her
own father’s struggles to stay sober. Her dad wasn’t a mean drunk, or abusive
in a physical or verbal sense. He would withdraw. The coldness became a part of
life and a part of herself. She didn’t want Byrne clawing past her frosty
defenses.
No damned way.
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