On Hart's Boardwalk - Samantha Young

Also by Samantha Young

Hero

The On Dublin Street Series

On Dublin Street

Down London Road

Before Jamaica Lane

Fall from India Place

Echoes of Scotland Street

Moonlight on Nightingale Way

Castle Hill (novella)

Until Fountain Bridge (novella)

One King’s Way (novella)

On Hart’s Boardwalk (novella)

The Hart’s Boardwalk Series

The One Real Thing

Every Little Thing

On Hart’s Boardwalk

Samantha Young

INTERMIX

NEW YORK

INTERMIX

Published by Berkley

An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

© 2018 by Samantha Young

Excerpt from Fight or Flight © 2018 by Samantha Young

Penguin Random House supports . fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

INTERMIX and the “IM” design are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

: 9780451490186

First Edition: March 2018

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Version_1

Contents

Also by Samantha Young

Title Page

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Excerpt from Fight or Flight

About the Author

Prologue

This scene wasn’t me. If it had ever been me, it had been the me of yesteryear.

The trendy bar. The low lighting. The sexy dress.

Maybe six months ago I would have felt uncomfortable at Germaine’s, a bar I was visiting for the first time, because most people around me were in their twenties and early thirties. But, at that moment, it was difficult to feel anything but hot and needy.

The man across the bar was currently eye-fucking me.

Yes, eye-fucking me.

I could be ladylike and come up with a far sweeter descriptor, but really no other word could describe the heat in the stranger’s eyes as he looked at me.

I felt more than a pang of guilt that this stranger was the one making me feel this way: like the dress I was wearing was too tight, too everything, and I couldn’t wait to be naked. Naked and slick with sweat as my body writhed under the scrutiny of the man who was staring at me like I was the very embodiment of sex.

Staring at me in a way Nate hadn’t looked at me in so long.

At the reminder of the disconnect between me and my husband, I threw away my guilt and finally gave the stranger the small smile of encouragement he’d been waiting on.

He crossed the room with his drink in hand and gave me the sexiest smile as he settled on the stool next to me. Our fingers grazed as he put his glass on the little round table, and I felt the hair at the nape of my neck stand on end.

Our eyes met and locked.

Suddenly it felt difficult to breathe. There was so much tension coiling around my body. The only man who had ever made me feel this needy was my husband, and this stranger had the same magnetic, sexual ability.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” the stranger said, his eyes dipping to my mouth and then to my chest, visible in my low-cut dress.

When his gaze came back to mine, I raised an eyebrow as if to say, Are you done?

The stranger laughed softly, and the husky sound elicited tingles between my legs.

“I’m not from around here,” I replied.

He cocked his head to study me. “Your accent . . . it’s hard