Twice-buckled American Extreme Bull Riders tour world champion Kane Wilder is riding high at the top of his game, rolling in fame, adulation, women, and money. When he hits his hometown of Phoenix, he’s sure of another win. Nothing shakes his confidence and focus–until he comes face-to-face with his former friend and lover, Sky, holding the hand of a toddler with his eyes and trademarked dark curls and smile. Suddenly winning is about more than sticking his ride for eight seconds.

When one of her artworks is chosen for a world class hospital guild art auction, Sky Gordon thinks she’s finally going to make a name for herself artistically and cleanse her life and heart of Kane Wilder for good. But when Kane shows up at the gallery and learns the secret she’s kept, Sky realizes more’s at stake than just her pride and heart. Kane may be even more devastatingly sexy, but he doesn’t take no for an answer, and he plays to win at any cost.

Excerpt from ​​​KANE

Sculptor Sky Gordon teetered on the ridiculous electric blue sky-high heels and pretended to mingle with the wealthy clientele at the Scottsdale gallery in Old Town. She hated crowds.  Being in the limelight.  Being looked at and judged.  Expected to make small talk. The pop of champagne cork startled her and she automatically looked up and toward the door and freedom.

Her breath tangled in her throat.  Her heart jumped, flailed wildly. Mercury eyes slashed hers before he’d cleared the door.  Met.  Clashed.  Melded.

Four years of the past crashed around her unsteady feet, shattered.

Kane Wilder strode through the gallery door.  Past the men in tuxes.  The women in floor length sparkling gowns.  Black western style shirt fitted to his highly sculpted athletic form, black Wranglers that hugged his thighs and butt like he was in an ad, black, highly polished, hand tooled cowboy boots, black Stetson molded to perfectly frame his high-cut cheek bones and aggressive jut of his jaw, and a tuxedo jacket casually dangled from one finger over his shoulder. The collar of his shirt was open, two buttons undone revealing a strong, tanned neck and enough of his chest to remind her what he looked like and felt like naked.

A large, shiny belt buckle glinted---another slap in her face that this was not an ordinary cowboy.

Sky couldn’t swallow. Or move. Or tear her hungry gaze away. It was like watching a crash in slow motion, aware of every detail--- his appearance, the way he moved, his eyes that had always sucked her in way too deep, and of course, her reaction to him. Breath knotted uselessly making her dizzy. Her blood scorched her veins, her tummy tumbled sickly and her aching core heated and slicked as if he’d flicked a switch.  And he saw it all.  His pale blue almost silver eyes were those of a hunter, and she knew she was prey.  Fight or flight and she froze every time when that smoky pale gaze would pin her in its cross hairs.


It was completely unconscious, but Sky adjusted her body so that she was still facing Kane, aligned with him creating a clear path through the wandering art collectors, as if an invisible steel cable connected them, heart to heart, mind to mind, soul to soul and she’d be lying if she didn’t admit the rest. The sex. Kane Wilder had owned her.  And she’d loved every second of his possession. Still did, the bastard. Even after four years just the sight of him made her melt into a sensuous puddle of want and despair.  She could smell him, taste him, feel his skin so taut under her greedy, trembling fingers and he was still a floor length away.

God, she had lived to touch him, smooth his dark curls away from his forehead when they’d tumble in his eyes when they made love. 

God, she had loved to watch him walk towards her.  He made her melt.  He made her feel alive.  He made her feel like the only woman in a room.

Six foot one plus some of confident, masculinity cut through the crowd like he was a knife, everyone else butter tossing her back into the present. The way his legs ate up the ground, his body long, lean, fluid and so toned.  In her first anatomy and sketching class in college she learned why Kane moved so beautifully.  Symmetry and perfect alignment.  His pelvis and spine, head and shoulders were all on the same plane, and as he moved, they stayed there as if he were in his own dimension.  Science hadn’t diminished his magic.

And time away hadn’t dimmed his pull.

Her core wept, clamored as it remembered the feel of each velvet hard thrust, his hands hard at her hips controlling the angle and rhythm, his silver eyes searing, and she’d loved every millisecond of his possession and her obsession. She’d loved to drown in him.

Until the end.

Sky wanted to run towards him almost as much as she knew she needed to run away. The impulse scared her more than his sudden reappearance.  She was done with Kane Wilder.  She had to be done.  She’d kept her secret for four years and burned that bridge with a flame thrower. And then tossed a grenade. 

Sky continued to stare in lust and horror as Kane approached, his hot gaze never leaving her face as if they were the only two people in Scottsdale’s most prestigious gallery. Those long, honed legs used to straddling thrashing bulls ate up the floor until the last possible moment.  She could feel the heat from his body.  In one fluid move he swung his jacket around her bare shoulders enveloping her shivering frame. His knuckles brushed against her bare skin and then he pulled out the jeweled clip that she’d used to twist her long dark hair into some pretense of sophistication and tossed it over her shoulder where it pinged on the ground near some patron’s expensively shod feet.

Sky couldn’t look away from the churning emotion in his eyes.  They were turbulent, the silvery grey that darkened to the charcoal heralding a brewing storm.  No heat and light and amusement like she’d seen since in his mesmerizing eyes since her teen years.

Kane Wilder was angry.  She hadn’t seen him angry with her ever. He’d always protected her.  Soothed her.  Made her feel safe and desired.

Helplessly, she reached up and twirled her finger in one of his tousled dark curls.  She needed to touch as much as she wanted to soothe. He’d always worn his hair careless. Usually his curls had brushed his high angled cheekbones or he’d get a little edgier and let his hair grow almost to his jaw line, large fingers spearing it back from his face in a move so casually sexy that Sky would get slick just watching him finger comb his hair away from his face.

He looked raw and masculine and timeless and so beautiful her eyes stung.  Her heart ached.  Her blood burned.
He cupped one large, tanned hand on the back of her head, palming the back of her head and ruthlessly reeled her in for a kiss.

Her lips parted automatically, shocked and thrilled and remembering, and he caught her betraying gasp as if it were the price of admission to heaven.   His lips were firm and before Sky could even marvel that Kane had reappeared in her life after so many years, his tongue traced her inner lip, sending darts of heat arrowing low in her tummy and peaking her nipples beneath the thin blue material of her gown.  The way he stepped in closer, closing even the concept of distance between them, pebbled her nipples almost to the point of pain, and it took all her willpower to not rub against the smooth heat of his shirt.

Sky nearly hummed as she drowned in pleasure.  Her breasts had always been embarrassingly sensitive, and Kane clearly hadn’t forgotten, as he shifted against the thin material of her borrowed gown. His lips continued to move over hers, tongue stroking, every cell in her body rejoiced, and she couldn’t begin to muster the presence of mind to shut any of this down.


Kane paused the kiss, and Sky stood on tiptoe, chased his lips with hers. Pale grey deepened to silver, and he palmed her jaw.

“Hey, baby,” he said. “You’ve got something of mine.”