If I had known I’d have a hot architect balls deep inside of me before the end of the weekend, I’d have made time for a pedicure.
Lauren
It’s all the little things—the action plans, the long-kept promises—that started falling apart when my life slipped into controlled chaos.After I met Matthew Walsh.
I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to run screaming or rip his pants off, and most days I wanted a little of both. If I was being honest with myself, it was rip his pants off, ride him like a workhorse, and then run screaming.
Matthew
A rebellious streak ran through Lauren Halsted. It was fierce and unrelentingly beautiful, and woven through too many good girl layers to count, and she wasn’t letting anyone tell her what to do.Unless, of course, she was naked.
She wasn’t looking for me and I sure as shit wasn’t looking for her, but we found each other anyway and now we were locked in a battle of wills, waiting for the other to blink.
Sometimes the universe conspires to bring people together. Other times, it throws people down a flight of stairs and leaves them in a bruised and bloodied heap.
You have to check out the rest of the books in The Walshes Series! Right now Underneath it All is FREE! #EasyOneClick
Some lines are meant to be crossed.
Patrick
That hair. That fucking hair. It was everywhere, always, and I wanted to tangle my fingers in those dark curls and pull. And that would be fine if she wasn’t my apprentice.Andy Asani was nothing like I expected. She was exotic and scary-brilliant, and the slightest murmur from those lips sent hot, hungry lust swirling through my veins. Outside my siblings, she was the only person I could name who shared my obsession with preserving Boston’s crumbling buildings.
Andy
My wants were few: good eats, tall boots, hot yoga, interesting work. One incredibly hot architect with the most expressive hazel eyes I ever encountered and entirely too much talent in and out of the bedroom wasn’t part of the original plan. Apparently he was part of the package.Wine was my rabbi and vodka was my therapist, and I needed plenty of both to survive my apprenticeship. Especially with Patrick Walsh leaving love notes in the form of bite marks all over my body.
They liked to call me names. Manwhore. Slut. Player. But I make wrong look so right…
He’s a flawed perfectionist…
I can read women better than any blueprint. I understand their thoughts and feelings, their secret desires and insecurities, and I know how to get rid of them once I get off.But all bets are off when Tiel Desai slams into my life. She redefines what it means to be friends, and she makes it sound like the filthiest thing I’ve ever heard.
I can’t read the gorgeous conservatory-trained violinist, but she’s the only one keeping me from shattering by small degrees, and I can’t let her go.
She’s wildly independent…
My past—and New Jersey—are far behind me, and now my life is blissfully full of music: playing, teaching, and lecturing, and scouring Boston’s underground scene with an annoyingly beautiful, troubled, tattooed architect.I’m defenseless against his rooftop kisses, our nearly naked dance parties, the snuggletimes that turn into sexytimes, and his deep, demanding voice.
I have Sam Walsh stuck in my head like a song on repeat, and I’m happy pretending history won’t catch up with me.
The one thing they have in common is a rock-solid disregard for the rules.
They find more in each other than they ever realized they were missing, but they might have to fall apart before they can come together.It’s the wrongs that make the rights come to life.
A tough-as-nails businesswoman. An arrogant Navy SEAL. A power struggle with no end in sight.
Some people hook-up at weddings. Others break a hotel room bed (and a table, and a desk, and some complimentary bathrobe belts) and discover they’ve been surviving on bargain basement orgasms their entire lives.
The last one? Yeah. That’s all me.She’s driven and demanding…
I wasn’t always a bitch. There’s a dirty little trick to succeeding in business: the sweet and innocent rarely survive. I fought my way up from nothing, and I don’t bend for anyone.Until Will Halsted ties me to a headboard and makes me his…for now.
One wild, filthy night turns into another, and then…we can’t stop. Each time we’re together is more addictive than the last, but it’s nothing more than a sexy escape from reality.
Or is it?
He’s never walked away from a challenge…
I wasn’t always a warrior but now it’s in my bones and blood. That’s what years spent in the Special Forces does to a man. My entire life is classified: where I’ve been, what I’ve seen, what I’ve done, and there’s no mission too dangerous.Until I realize that falling for Shannon Walsh is like trying to swim against a riptide. She’s going to tear me up and toss me to the shore, and I’ll love every minute of it.
Every time I’m down range, I want her counting the hours until I’m back. Waiting for me. She’s done it before; she’ll do it again.
Or will she?
They’re wrong for each other in every possible way…
Or are they?
Matthews note is so amazing!
Keep reading to see the full Love Note!
For Lauren on Valentine’s Day –
I like numbers. That should come as no surprise to you. Today, there are a few numbers I want to tell you about.
953: Number of days we’ve been married. That’s two years, seven months, and twenty seven days.
1: I remember that first day like it was yesterday. I remember us sneaking away from the resort to get lunch (and shots of tequila) in town before the wedding, I remember getting under your dress ten minutes before the ceremony, and when you walked down that aisle, I remember hoping that you wouldn’t realize that I didn’t deserve you until after the vows.
4: You tripped down a mountain in Switzerland on our honeymoon. I should have expected that. What I didn’t expect were the dirty looks the innkeepers gave me when they noticed your bruised knees.
98: We drank tequila on that day, and congratulated ourselves on surviving our first three married months. I can’t remember why we doubted ourselves.
364: You brought home a mini-replica of our wedding cake on that day, and confessed to eating the anniversary slice that we saved in the freezer after a rough day at school. I really loved licking that frosting off you.
502: Three of your teachers went home with the stomach flu that day, and I taught first graders about triangles. It wasn’t until then that I realized I didn’t know nearly enough about geometry if I couldn’t explain it to six-year-olds. It was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done.
731: I watched you walking along the beach that day. I counted the freckles on your calves (I’ve always loved your freckles. Have I told you that?) We went back to Chatham for our second anniversary, and you were intent on finding some seashells for Judy’s new craft project, and I couldn’t remember what my life was about before you and your freckles.
899: That day was our third Christmas Eve together. There are many reasons why that day was memorable but it was then that I noticed how much you’d changed my family. You convinced Tiel that we’re all bark and no bite (well…maybe a little biting). Patrick and Andy are still Patrick and Andy because you wouldn’t let them walk away from each other. Erin likes you, and she doesn’t like anyone. You brought Will to Shannon, and that’s probably bad news for me, but my sister has never been this happy. None of this would have happened without you.
0: The number of times we’ve managed to celebrate Valentine’s Day without one of my siblings (or Nick) rearranging our plans. As you might have heard, you’re bossy as fuck. You’re adorable and perfect, and you’re bossy as fuck. Now, don’t misunderstand: I love your bossy ass. I also know you claimed you’d be helping Shannon pack her apartment this weekend, but I’m taking you to Vermont. We’re putting that obscene lingerie you have hiding in the closet to use and getting a legitimate Valentine’s holiday on the scoreboard. Get ready.
There are so many more days to come, sweetness.
– Matthew
Kate Canterbary doesn’t have it all figured out, but this is what she knows for sure: spicy-ass salsa and tequila solve most problems, living on the ocean–Pacific or Atlantic–is the closest place to perfection, and writing smart, smutty stories is a better than any amount of chocolate. She started out reporting for an indie arts and entertainment newspaper back when people still read newspapers, and she has been writing and surreptitiously interviewing people—be careful sitting down next to her on an airplane—ever since. Kate lives on the water in New England with Mr. Canterbary and the Little Baby Canterbary, and when she isn’t writing sexy architects, she’s scheduling her days around the region’s best food trucks.
To get in touch with Kate, please email (kcanterbary@gmail.com) or find her on Facebook or Twitter.
So sweet! Love this love letter! Love this couple!