You don’t know when…
You don’t get to choose if…
When it’s time to
join…you’ll know.
You might think you want to
be a member—but trust me this is one club you don’t want to join. It’s not a
place where people go to live out their deepest, darkest sexual desires—there
are no handcuffs or blindfolds.
The 27 Club only admits
those who die young and tragically. My brother was recently bestowed membership
and joined many of our ancestors before him. I know I’m next. This is my
destiny, and I was ready to yield.
But then I met Nate. He
awakened a sensuality in me that had never been explored, never satisfied. I
knew then I could no longer accept my destiny. Nate’s presence controls me. I’m
overwhelmed by his touch, his words; my every thought is consumed by desire. I
believe he was brought into my life for a reason.
Nate doesn’t believe in
destiny.
But I do.
And if there’s a way to
cheat it—I must.
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RELEASE DATE: March 3, 2015
View a book trailer here.
Excerpt
THE 27 CLUB
Kim Karr
New American Library
Coffee Beans Part II
Time to get down to
business.
I stomp out of the bedroom
and down the stairs. The TV is on and I can hear the weatherman announcing the
same info the driver relayed to me. “Tropical Storm Angela seemingly having
stalled out once it passed over Cuba is picking up wind speed as it makes its
way toward the Florida Keys.”
The rain is still beating
down, but there are no calls for evacuations so I can only assume I am fine
staying here.
Determined to get this
conversation over with, I’m stopped dead in my own tracks. Nate is standing in
front of a built-in coffee maker, waving his hand frantically up and down
cursing under his breath, “Motherfucking piece of shit.”
“What happened? Did the
Miele not do what you told her to do?”
He turns.
I feel like I’m watching
him in slow motion.
Without warning, the air
crackles.
He’s momentarily taken
aback, but then a look of amusement crosses his face. “Zoey Flowers, you are .
. .”
Words pop into my
head—sexy, beautiful, hot as hell, fuckable.
Where did those come from?
That grin lingers on his
mouth. “Your brother’s sister, without a fucking doubt.”
Tears prick my eyes. Not
the words I hoped to hear, but so much more meaningful.
His face contorts, the glow
of amusement gone from his eyes, shadowed by something darker. He sets two cups
of coffee on the counter that separates us. “Hey, I’m really not good at this
stuff. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
I swipe the drops away.
“No, really, it’s okay. I just miss him. That’s all.”
Nate’s hands grip the
counter and his head falls. “Yeah, me too.”
Silence sweeps the vastness
of the space, but strangely it’s not uncomfortable.
His gaze lifts. “Zoey, it’s
nice to finally meet you.”
I can’t help but be
charmed. “It’s nice to finally meet you too, Nate.”
He clears his throat and a
bit of shyness seems to cross his face.
I fear I might be staring,
so I avert my gaze to look down at the counter and it lands on the two cups.
“Are those lattés?”
His head lifts at the same
time mine does. The connection is immediate—a jolt of electricity travels
between us and I swear I see a little smile—not a smirk, but an actual smile on
his face.
The most adorable boyish
grin.
My belly flutters and I
can’t help but return the smile, feeling a little shy myself.
“Yeah, well that’s what
they’re supposed to be. I didn’t know what you drank, but thought I’d try
these.”
I move closer, close enough
that my hipbones nudge the edge of the counter. “Lucky for you, I’ll drink
anything made with coffee beans.”
Then it hits me, that his
hair is the color of the finest imported coffee beans.
“Yeah, lucky for me,” he
repeats.
Taking a seat on one of the
barstools, I blow on the top of the latté. The froth is not exactly froth-like,
more like big soap bubbles or maybe clumps of soured whipped cream.
“You’re a schoolteacher,
right?” he asks.
“Something like that,” I
say. “I’m employed by the University of Rochester. You’re a landlord, right?”
His lips tip up a fraction.
“Something like that.”
I laugh. “Just kidding. I
know all about you—big successful CEO of an up-and-coming development company,
who buys unprofitable businesses, turns them around, and then sells them.
Zach said you are very
business savvy.”
This is true, but what I
fail to mention is Zach told me so much more about him.
He raises one brow in the
sexiest way. “You’re going to make me blush if you keep talking like that. But
it sounds to me like you’re leaving some crucial things out. I’m sure your
brother must have given you some dirt on me.”
How does he know Zach told
me all about his inability to commit, his obsession with work, and his need to
always be in control? He never spoke of him in a demeaning way though. No,
rather Zach seemed to idolize this man. The words integrity, hard working, and
respectful always followed anything that might have been construed as negative.
Zach once mentioned that he thought something must have happened that triggered
Nate’s extreme behavior.
He could understand that.
Honestly, so could I.
“Z never could give a
compliment without making sure to put a little bite in it. My guess is he would
have said something like this: “Big shot asshole of some rising development company.”
I shrug. He did have my
brother pegged. “Maybe it did go more like that.”
He smirks, and God help me.
I have to look away.
I try to tuck my emotion
aside by sipping on my latté. It tastes more like water, but the coffee lover
in me is distracted by the trouble that’s watching me.
His eyes seem to darken as
they follow the liquid into my mouth and then down my throat.
His breath seemingly goes
shallow as if he’s picturing my mouth on something else.
My imagination must be in
overdrive. I shake it off and point to my cup. “Not bad.”
He takes a sip of his and
practically spits it out. “Not bad! It tastes like shit.”
I can feel my lips turning
upward again. I swear I haven’t smiled in so long that I snap and just let the
laughter roll through me—my body quaking, my hair bouncing like a lion’s mane.
Nate stares flabbergasted,
and I can see his body tensing.
Once I’m finally able to
speak, I manage to say, “Really, it doesn’t taste terrible. You just have your
timing and ratios off, that’s all. Steam the milk a little longer, and add more
beans.”
He sets his cup down and
gives me a skeptical look.
“I used to work at a coffee
shop when I was in college. I can show you if you like?”
Our gazes lock.
When he doesn’t respond,
reality crashes down around me. I can’t let this become flirtatious.
I clear my throat. “Well,
anyway, can we get back to why you’re here in the middle of the night? You can
be honest with me—have you been staying here?”
A muscle twitches along
Nate’s jaw, but he doesn’t answer me. Instead, he picks up his cup and turns to
the sink, dumps his full latté down the drain, and then walks to the back of
the house in the darkness.
My head twists so my eyes
can track him.
He flicks a light switch on
and twists his own head.
I know he must have caught
my stare, and God knows what possessed look I might have had on my face. I
quickly turn back.
“Zoey, I think we need to
talk.”
“I know we do. And Nate,
it’s okay. Really. I don’t mind that you’ve been staying here,” I reassure him
as I turn back around.
He opens one of the many
sliding glass doors and the sound of the storm gets louder. “Come over here. I
want to show you something.”
Something draws me toward
him.
He’s a man of authority. I
can tell he’s used to getting his way, but I’m not usually one to submit to
dominance. I’ve been around it enough at work—male professors are the poster
children for authoritative personalities.
But still I move forward,
approaching him with caution.
The sound of the waves
crashing against the shore is beautiful. With the door open the smell in the
air is pungent in the most delicious way, or maybe that’s Nate—clean, fresh,
manly.
Without realizing it, I’m
standing right in front of him. I get lost in the wind, the air, the sound—and
him. I tilt my head back to look at him. I’m tall, but he’s almost a head
taller than I am—he must be six-two. Something about his proximity makes my
body feel possessed.
It’s nothing like I’ve felt
before.
He steps out the door and
onto a covered deck, scrubbing his stubbled jaw. “I told you I’m shit at this
kind of stuff so I’m just going to get this over with.”
Relief takes over.
Here it comes.
Finally!
I live in Florida with my husband and four kids. I've always had a love for reading books and writing. Being an English major in college, I wanted to teach at the college level but that was not to be. I went on to receive an MBA and became a project manager until quitting to raise my family. I currently work part-time with my husband and full-time embracing one of my biggest passions—writing.
