Tell Me You Crave Me

by Joya Ryan

Overview

Easton Ambrose has spent half his life protecting Natalie St. Clair from guys like himself. It’s not like he wants to interfere with her dating life, but what’s he supposed to do when she insists on going out with the wrong kind of guy? Kiss her, of course. But now she's pissed. And what starts as an apology turns to heated words...then just to heat.

Jumping East was the worst idea in the history of ideas. The guy is Natalie’s older brother’s best friend, the definition of off limits. But she’s tired of the safe guys who couldn’t light a fire with a flamethrower. Time for a little dangerous—even if dangerous always blows up in your face. Because even if they survive their bedroom antics, it’s only a matter of time before they’re caught…

Series order:
Search and Seduce Book 1: Tell Me You Need Me
Search and Seduce Book 2: Tell Me You Want Me
Search and Seduce Book 3: Tell Me You Crave Me

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781633756205
Publisher:	Entangled Publishing, LLC
Publication date:	04/04/2016
Series:	Search and Seduce , #3
Sold by:	Macmillan
Format:	eBook
Pages:	210
Sales rank:	106,821
File size:	2 MB

About the Author

National and international bestselling author Joya Ryan is the author of the Shattered series, which includes Break Me Slowly, Possess Me Slowly and Capture Me Slowly. She has also written the Sweet Torment series, which includes Breathe You In and Only You. She loves writing spicy Brazens which include The Chasing Love Series. Passionate about both cooking and dancing (despite not being too skilled at the latter), she loves spending time at home. She resides in California with her husband and her two sons.

Visit Joya Ryan online: www.JoyaRyan.com
www.twitter.com/JoyaRyanAuthor

Read an Excerpt

Tell Me You Crave Me

A Search and Seduce Novel

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By Joya Ryan, Stephen Morgan

Entangled Publishing, LLC

Copyright © 2016 Joya Ryan
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-63375-620-5

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CHAPTER 1

Holy God, this was painful to watch, Easton Ambrose thought, wincing at the pitiful display in front of him.

Honey's was the only bar/restaurant in town that boasted Southern hospitality, good food, and unique architecture, so it was the place to be on a Friday night. Hell, in his small town of Beaufort, North Carolina, it was where most of the ladies flocked, and East was nothing if not an avid hunter.

Seeing as how he "knew," aka "saw naked in some capacity," most of the women currently in the bar, he could spot a hot chick he didn't recognize immediately. Even if all he could see was her sweet ass sitting in the barstool with her back to him. Hourglass figure. Prominent hourglass, to be exact. With her perfect posture and all that thick, dark hair falling over her trim shoulders, the delicate curve of her back leading to some serious hips and ass, he knew right away he'd remember a frame like that if he'd felt it before. And he was certain he hadn't. Something he'd like to change tonight.

Not that he was a total playboy douche. Playboy maybe, but not a douche. No, he was upfront with women, cared about their needs, and was clear on his own. He wasn't a commitment type, and he had good reason for that. But he enjoyed being loved on and lovin' on someone — as long as it was one night at a time.

He took a swig of his beer and adjusted his Stetson back on his head just enough to get a better view of this mystery woman at the bar. Normally he'd be at the bar himself, tossing a few back with his buddies, likely all still in their search and rescue gear, but he'd taken tonight off. His buddies had handed in their man cards for "domestic bliss," and that left East alone on the prowl in a white T-shirt and his favorite hat.

He shuddered and had to take another drink of beer at the words "domestic bliss."

My ass ...

There was nothing blissful about being tied down. Granted, his buddies Dex and Gage were roped to some seriously awesome women, but still. It wasn't for East. It was a Friday night, and that meant the women from a few towns over always wandered in looking for the country boys and good times that Honey's promised whenever live music was playing. Which it was. And East played his part well — not the music, but the game — and had his sights set on his opponent for the night.

Hourglass hottie was clearly on a terrible date with a boring guy. That was obvious. Poor sap didn't stand a chance with a dime piece like this woman.

The boring guy was prattling on and on, and East couldn't help but do his own muffled voiceover:

"The accounting firm I work at is super duper, and the only thing that gets my dick harder than my calculator watch and tax season is reruns of Golden Girls." East's voice was quiet but had a nerdy twang, and to his credit he kept in time with the boring guy's mouth. Okay, it was kind of fun, so he went on. "Wanna come over to my mom's house where I live in the basement, and I can heat us up some pot pies and pretend I know how to unfasten a bra?"

East snickered again. Fuckin' boring guy. He just knew he wasn't too far off on his commentary. But still, East was no asshole. He was a prick. Big difference. And he was only a prick sometimes. Particularly when he was riled up, or he saw a woman not being treated right. And man, did this woman look like she needed to be treated right. He could tell by her body language that she was begging for it. And the idiot she was with wasn't getting the signals. Granted, now her shoulders were slumping, and the hair flick that should be flirty was more annoyed than it had been a minute ago. She knew the guy was lame and not her speed. East could show her what speed a pristine woman like her should be accelerated to.

Top gear, pedal to the metal, gasping for breath kind of speed.

And yeah ... he got all that from Miss Hourglass without her even having to face him. The deep cut of her dress and perfect slope of her back was enough for him to know that woman was capable of moving in ways he could only dream of.

East was an easy going guy, and he wasn't looking to cock block anyone. But when the boring guy did a double take at a woman walking by, East wasn't the only one who noticed. Hourglass noticed, too. Her date had just openly checked out another woman right in front of her.

Dick.

That annoyed East because clearly the woman Boring Guy was with was hot. But her shoulders slumped a little more, and he could tell by the shift in her body language she felt defeated. He kind of wanted to punch Boring Guy. Thankfully, the idiot got up to use the bathroom, and East was done sitting back and watching this mess.

He was going in. Part of his job as a search and rescue medic for the North Carolina area was to assess a situation and save damsels in distress. Okay, so it was more like assess the situation and save lives, but Hourglass definitely needed to be saved. All of his years learning and knowing women told him that.

East made his way toward her at the bar, weaving around the packed area, casually holding his beer with one finger around the longneck and tipping his hat down just enough to shadow his eyes so that when he approached her, all she'd be hit with was his trademark smile, dimple included.

Lucky for him, he did enjoy the hunt. And Honey's was a massive old Victorian mansion that had been renovated into a huge restaurant and bar. It even had a few shops hidden within what were once bedrooms. So he moved stealthy and finally closed in on his prey.

"Can I buy you a drink, darlin'?" he asked Hourglass as he came right up to her. All that long, chocolate hair smelled amazing, and damn, it looked thick and glossy. She clearly took care of herself. "Or maybe we can skip the drink and go straight for dessert," he finished.

He leaned in just as she turned to face him. Here it came ... he unleashed the smile just as she faced him, and he caught her scent of vanilla, spice and —

Oh shit ...

"East?" Hourglass's voice wasn't lyrical. It was penetrating and damn near shrieking. Mostly because that voice, which was tied to the hot bod of Hourglass, was none other than Natalie St. Claire, his childhood nemesis.

She hit him with a glare, and East tried real hard to hit her with one back, but the dress she wore showed way too much cleavage, and he had a difficult time remembering why they'd never liked each other.

"Did you just hit on me?" She spun in her stool to face him fully, and that glare turned to a scowl. "What the hell is the matter with you? Don't think you'll get my cupcakes for free just by tossing out any old line you use on all your other conquests."

Oh, right. Now he remembered. She was a mouthy pain in the ass. She'd treated him more like an older brother — one she hated — than she did her own actual brother, and that dynamic had never faded. It didn't help that she was now her own boss with her own cupcake bakery. She had nobody to talk any sense into her.

Normally he had no problem accepting that they were natural enemies, except that tonight there was nothing normal about Miss Natalie. She was smoking hot. She'd ditched her messy pile of hair for sleek waves, and her oversize flour-covered apron for a sexy little dress. Which again, he shouldn't be appreciating as much as he was, because she was Natalie Fucking St. Clair. Her last name was a damn legacy in the town, and her family was the only one he'd ever had.

They'd taken him in when he was a young teenager. His dad had never been around, and his mom had barely been there, either. And then, when his mom had taken off and overdosed on her final drug bender, the St. Clairs had become his legal guardians. Lemon-Anne St. Clair was the only woman he really knew as a mom. She'd raised him. Nurtured him. He knew he was trash, as wrong a match for their high class as oil was for water, but they'd loved him anyway. He'd already been best friends with Matt at school, but after that, Matt had been like a brother, Natalie like his sister. Their parents like his parents. He owed everything to the St. Clairs, even if Lemon-Anne St. Clair sometimes liked to remind him of the fact a little too much.

And when Waylon St. Claire passed away three years ago, they all grieved together as a family at losing their patriarch, the only father East had known.

Which was why, even after he'd lain awake at night for years, unable to stop thinking about Natalie and how much he wanted her, he'd never pursued her. To the St. Clairs they were brother and sister. Hell, that was how East thought of them, too. It just wouldn't be right.

So yeah, little Natalie needed to get out of that little dress really damn quick before his not-so-little dick started hurting.

And not in the way he wanted her out of it ...

"Sorry, darlin'. Never expected you to clean up so well."

And damn had she cleaned up well. He took another look. Couldn't help himself. He was used to seeing Natalie in baggy jeans and an apron covered in some kind of mess, and thank god for that. He could see her as simply Nat, nothing else and nothing more. The cute little girl grown up into the cute town cupcake baker.

But today? Tonight? Wearing that dress? Every ounce of desire he'd tamped down threatened to rise up.

Get a hold of yourself!

What the hell was wrong with him? The way she pushed his buttons, and the way he felt watching her go out with idiots from her teenage years to now had always come with the territory.

Territory ... like the uncharted territory that trailed right between some serious creamy cleavage —

"Get out of that dress," he muttered.

"Excuse me?" she said and folded her arms over her chest.

Great, that made the "territory" way more enticing to explore. Which was fine for him. But if it attracted more idiots like the one she'd been talking to, he'd never forgive himself.

"I just don't know why you're dressed like that."

She glanced down at herself. "Um, because I'm a twenty-five-year-old woman and can dress myself in whatever I want, that's why."

And there was that attitude. But he'd always dealt with her snark in fine fashion, and he'd deal with it now. No matter how much she delighted in pushing his buttons — She. Would. Not. Win.

"Why are you staring at me?" she said.

'Cause you look like a fuckin' bombshell.

Then her green eyes went wide. "Oh God, is there something in my teeth?" She grabbed the butter knife next to her and examined her reflection.

"Jesus, Natalie, this is date behavior?" he asked. And no, there was nothing in her perfectly straight white teeth. In fact, she had pristinely lined red lipstick. A very good look. But not on her, he reminded himself.

She put the knife down. "Like you have room to critique — the one man in history who's never been on an actual date," those red lips shot back at him.

"Hey, I've taken women to —"

"Your truck?"

She had a point there. "My truck is very nice. And besides, I'm sure I've taken a woman out for a meal before."

Though he couldn't recall who or when. But surely he must have. Nevertheless, he wasn't one to lead anyone on. The women he saw always knew upfront that he was a casual, one night at a time, no strings kind of guy. And if that one night happened in his truck, well then, who was he to deny a lady? Besides, he never treated them poorly. Ever. In fact, he took pride in being so direct with them from the get-go that a relationship was never on the table.

He leaned his elbow on the bar and took another swig of his beer. "Why would you care anyway, Nat? You're not even enjoying yourself."

She frowned at him. "How would you know?"

"Because I saw you."

"Stalker," she mumbled.

"Observant," he corrected. "It's easy to see how awkward you are with that guy." And how the man she was with clearly didn't appreciate her the way he should. Why the hell would he look at another woman with Natalie in all her irritating beauty right in front of him?

She opened her mouth like she was ready to argue, but then they both caught sight of Boring Guy.

"Awkward," she repeated, and for some reason East's chest hurt for a second. It was the way she'd said that one word, like just the sound of the letters were distasteful. Her pretty, red-painted mouth turned down and her brows furrowed. She looked lost. Like she didn't know what to say. Like ... Jesus, like she was suddenly awkward with him. And he didn't like it.

But in true Natalie fashion, she shook off the expression and hustled off the bar stool.

"What the —" East said, but he didn't get any more words out, because the woman grabbed her purse and bolted around the back of the bar and toward the narrow hallway. She kept her head down to skirt past Boring Guy and make a beeline toward her cupcake shop.

East didn't know whether to call after her or chuckle at her discomfort. Natalie St. Clair had a stigma of being awkward and nervous, but somehow everyone's best friend. Hell, giving her shit for being so fidgety had been half the fun for East and Matt when they were all teenagers. She'd always taken it in good stride, though. Always laughed along.

Tonight she'd looked disappointed, though. Sad. And as much as he wanted to kick Boring Guy's throat in for caring so little about giving her what she needed, he couldn't forget that brief moment where she'd seemed at a loss for words with him. East and Natalie. No matter how much they'd gotten on each other's nerves, she'd never been awkward with him. But something was different tonight. Something that had sent her out the bar without another word. Something that made every protective instinct in his body light on fire.

He went after her.

Natalie darted inside the quiet space of her cupcake shop and shut the door. It was dark, thank God, since she was closed and far enough away from the main restaurant and the hustle and bustle of the bar patrons. Gotta love this old mansion. It gave her the privacy she needed without her having to go more than a winding hallway away.

The muffled sound of everyone talking off in the distance did little to calm her, so she busted open her secret stash of bourbon, reserved for her bourbon cupcakes, and took a few hefty swallows. She didn't even bother turning on the lights. The low-lit hallway cast enough of a glow for her to see. Besides, she knew her small shop by heart — little display case in the front next to the checkout counter, and the prepping table, stoves, and endless counter space in the back.

It was all hers. Not her family's. Definitely not her mother's idea of a "prestigious career path," but the little bakery was all Natalie's. And she loved it.

A buzz came from her phone. She glanced at the screen. Speaking of her mother ... She kept a tight grip on the bourbon bottle with one hand and held her phone with the other to read the text.

How's the date going? A suitable gentleman, I hope? You tweezed your eyebrows and are remembering your manners, correct?

Natalie sighed and took a big swig of bourbon. It wasn't so much the way her mother treated her like a child that bothered her; it was that she treated her like half a person. Like Natalie would never be a "whole" person unless she had a "suitable gentleman." A fact that had never bothered her — much — before. But come on, everyone she knew was getting hitched to the loves of their lives. And here she was, having a hard time just finding someone who didn't make her want to claw her eyes out.

She hit a few keys and responded to her mother.

Texting during a date is rude. And, yes, I have manners.

She smirked. She'd never be a pain in the ass to her mother on purpose, but she couldn't handle her right now. Because the truth was, while Natalie didn't "need" a man the way her mother wanted her to, she was getting fed up with the loneliness. And the constant berating from her mother about how she'd die a spinster.

It didn't help that she was the "local" girl and had been in the friend zone with most of the men in town since about second grade. But she loved her town, loved her shop, and wouldn't ever move. She'd find the kind of happiness she wanted, right here in Beaufort.

"Fuckin' friend zone," she muttered, and took another hefty swallow of alcohol.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Tell Me You Crave Me by Joya Ryan, Stephen Morgan. Copyright © 2016 Joya Ryan. Excerpted by permission of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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