New York Times bestselling author Sawyer Bennett goes for a hat trick with the latest romance in a sexy series about cool-as-ice hockey players and the women heating up their lives.
Zack By: Sawyer Bennett
Loveswept
Goodreads Link : Zack
Rising
star Zack Grantham has been stuck in a downward spiral of grief that
has put his career on hold. Back on the road with the Carolina Cold
Fury, still crippled by emotional baggage, and now a single dad, he’s
in need of some serious help with his son. But while the nerdy new
nanny wins his son’s heart, Zack isn’t sure he’s ready for a
woman’s touch—even after getting a glimpse of the killer curves
she’s hiding under those baggy clothes.
Kate
Francis usually keeps men like Zack at a distance. Though his
athlete’s body is honed to perfection, he refuses to move on with
his life—and besides, he’s her boss. Still, the sparks between
them are undeniable, tempting Kate to turn their professional
relationship into a personal one. But before she makes a power play
for Zack’s wounded heart, Kate will have to open him up again and
show him that love is worth the fight.
* * Warning: The following contains spoilers from a cliffhanger in Garrett. * *
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After the death of his ex-girlfriend Zack is learning to get past his injury, taking care of his son while trying to get back to work as a hockey star. With the support of his family and friends he eventualy gets himself a Nanny for his son while he is away. Kate is nothing he expect, first he pretty much imagined a older women with much more experience but then again he hasn't exactly checked references too stressed out to so much of anything. Kate has pretty much grown up with her father and money was always tight. Growing up she was fine with her upbringing taking in hand me downs that were a bit too revealing with a women's body she dealt with harassment that lead to to dress in ways that would make her unappealing to to the opposite sex. When the meets Zack shes a bit star struck being a fan of hockey and goes straight into a work. As they spend more time with each other the attraction grows deep where the lines of work and pleasure get blurred. Zack seems to get hot and cold giving her mixed messages as they fall for each other.
I loved that with each book you get a bit of each character from the previous books to play their part on this book. I loved that I got to see a part of their lives even their sort is over like Sutton playing her part as well as other characters. I loved how difference each story is, with each character having a unique set of stories, personalities, and backgrounds and this book is no different.
I loved watching the attraction grow. I loved Kate's character, shes funny, sarcastic I really had to stop myself from chuckling a bit too loudly or remain a neutral face when I really was trying a hide a big grin in public with the couple of banter then went on. I just thought she was a really great character. I loved watching her come out of her shell. She was fun and quirky with a great personality but hid it behind baggy clothing, once she learned that it was as okay to dress in a way that flatters her figure The story line, the romance and steamy scenes were great.
Overall I really loved the story, it really is a fantastic book that I would recommend to anyone over the age of 18 of course. Oh and if you get a chance check out the previous book those are just as great. They all are standalone but trust me when I say you are going to want to get your hands on those previous books!
The overhead lights go out, and the
club would be in total darkness if not for the recessed lights that
edge the perimeter of the stage. I slouch down in my seat, pulling my
ball cap lower over my forehead. This causes me to have to tilt my
head back a little bit farther to watch the show but keeps my face
better obscured. The beard I’d been growing for the past four
months I’m sure helps to hide my fame as well.
I don’t want to be recognized.
I don’t want anyone to see me and
realize just how low Zack Grantham has fallen from grace.
A sexy techno beat starts thrumming
low, gradually building in decibels. A few whistles pierce the air,
one redneck sounding a catcall. A rolling tide of mechanical fog
slithers across the black lacquered stage and then swirling
spotlights from the corners of the club start rotating. A slight
flutter at the pitch-black curtains that sit closed tight is the only
indication that something is about to happen.
A quick glance down at my phone that
sits on the table in front of me shows that the time is almost
midnight. Time for the grand finale of the evening. The moment all of
the drunk and horny patrons of The Golden Box have been waiting for.
I ignore the phone, but tip back the
tequila shot sitting in front of me, my eyes sliding up to the stage
as I set the glass back down. When the music reaches its apex, a slim
but toned bare leg sporting an obscenely high-heeled red shoe peeks
through the slit of the curtains, thigh parallel to the floor . . .
calf muscle taut, with toes pointing downward. The whistles and
catcalls increase, but I watch dispassionately.
The owner of that bare leg raises
her knee up higher, then stretches it out fully . . . gracefully, and
holds it there, just as the music lulls to a slow grind.
She holds it for just a second.
Just a moment, where everyone waits
to see what comes next.
The curtains fly apart just as the
bass thump of music crashes through the club and a stunning
woman with glorious curly
blond hair bursts through. My brain processes a starched white
button-down shirt and a black fedora on her head, then just as
quickly processes the fact that she reaches to the dipping gap at her
chest and rips the shirt open. Beautiful, round, and by the looks of
them, real, boobs pop forth . . . spectacularly bare and bouncing.
A hundred horny men start cheering
and I’m sure the majority of dicks go to full mast.
The stripper, who I happen to know
goes by the name Candi Apple—and yeah, that’s Candi with an
i—struts
confidently up to the silver pole lodged firmly at the edge of the
stage.
Hips swaying, tongue licking at her
full bottom lip, hair wild and blowing from some kind of cheesy wind
machine built into the stage flooring.
Her right hand reaches out, grabs
the pole, and she bends her knees . . . squatting way down until her
ass is almost on the floor. Her legs are spread wide and the rotating
strobe lights cause sparkles to bounce off the silver sequins that
cover the scrap of material between her legs. Candi gyrates her hips,
fucking the pole . . . right in front of me. Her dark eyes scan the
men surrounding the stage, calculating who might be the biggest
tipper. Her gaze passes right over me because I don’t have green
clutched in my fingertips waving back and forth with zeal to stuff
them in her G-string.
The show goes on and I watch it all
. . . willing for my body to feel something. I’d hoped for a
hard-on to prove I wasn’t dead, but even a slight fluttering of
lust deep in my groin would have been welcomed. Hell, I’d probably
kill for a gurgle of indigestion—just fucking something— anything
to show I could react.
I come up fucking empty.
The slight ache in my right wrist
pulls my attention away from the tits and ass, and I open and close
my fist several times to ease the cramp, finally giving it a hearty
shake. Overall, my wrist has healed well over the last four months.
The plates and screws have been removed, physical therapy has been
completed, and I’m feeling physically strong. Yeah . . . my wrist
is aching right now, but only because I’ve been gripping the
armrests of my chair too tightly while I
waited to see if Candi Apple
might be the one to bring me back to life.
Luckily, it’s just an ache and
certainly not something that gives me any pause. I’ve been
cleared by the team
orthopedist, Mark Godson, and cleared by Coach Pretore as well.
Starting next week, I’ll resume practice with the team, and if I’m
lucky, it won’t be long before I’m back in the game . . . a
starting second-line left winger for the Cold Fury.
My insides feel dead, my capacity to
care for much of anything seems lost, but there are two things that
still keep me functioning. It’s the prospect of playing hockey
again, and, more important, my son, Ben.
A flare of light catches my eye and
I see my phone screen glare brightly. I grab it and wince at the
angry text from my sister, Delaney.
WTF Zack? You leave an hour ago
to get some milk and you’re not back. Where are you?
Guilt suffuses through me, and it’s
not lost on me that I’m actually feeling an
emotion. But then again .
. . the acknowledgment of guilt has not been hard for me the past
four months.
I wonder what Delaney would say if I
texted her back I’m at a
strip club. Hoping Candi Apple turns me on.
She’d shit a brick, that’s for
sure.
USA Today and New York Times Best-Selling Author, Sawyer Bennett is a snarky southern woman and reformed trial lawyer who decided to finally start putting on paper all of the stories that were floating in her head. Her husband works for a Fortune 100 company which lets him fly all over the world while she stays at home with their daughter and three big, furry dogs who hog the bed. Sawyer would like to report she doesn’t have many weaknesses but can be bribed with a nominal amount of milk chocolate.
Sawyer is the author of several contemporary romances including the popular Off Series, the Legal Affairs Series and the Last Call Series. She will be releasing her third book in the Cold Fury Hockey Series with Random House Loveswept, June 2015.
Thank you for hosting ZACK!
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