Cora Hawkes: Rocked Under (Rocked #1)

Available from Amazon's Kindle Store now.

Falling in love isn't always easy or pleasant. The intense and angst-filled story of Emma and Scott is a painful, gut-wrenching and exhausting portrayal of how hard it can be to let go...

Picking up the pieces and starting again in the US, Emma enrols in college with her cousin, Ashley. She is finally free to do what she wants and live how she chooses, and no man will ever rule her decisions or emotions again.

That is, until Scott Mason walks on stage...

Intense bad boy Scott is the lead singer of a popular local rock band. A ladies’ man and Ashley's long-time friend, Scott holds an instant fascination for Emma — she finds herself drawn to him, even though he represents everything she hates and needs to stay away from in a guy. He treats females like he does a cigarette — light it, use it, and lose it.

For her cousin's sake, Emma makes an effort to get along with Scott, but she soon discovers that there is more to him than first appears, making him even more dangerous in her eyes. Behind the façade of friendship, jealousy, obsession, fear and insecurity fester — an internal battle rages as she fights her attraction and does everything she can to stop history from repeating itself.

One thing she knows for sure is that if she breaks her rule, it may destroy her.

Warning: Contains mature content — recommended age 17+.

Scroll down for excerpt.

Excerpt

A single blue light lit the stage, its beam shining down and outwards towards the crowd. A man's silhouetted figure stood in its path. He stood there motionless, like a black phantom, while he looked out at the audience and the pack of screaming girls at his feet. My heart raced as the excitement that hummed through the atmosphere got under my skin, infecting me.

The drummer started a slow beat and Mr Silhouette started to sing deeply. My breath released slowly as his low voice penetrated, vibrating intimately through the floor to my feet and up my body, making me shudder, leaving me feeling as though I had been violated in the most sacred of places.

His voice was deep, hoarse. I couldn't wait to see all of him. I needed to see his face, because surely someone with that kind of presence and his kind of voice couldn't also be blessed with a face to match? I didn’t have to wait long. The rest of the lights came on when the guitarist came in and the girls at the front of the stage screamed even louder. I froze as I studied his form, greedily committing every detail to memory. Everything else faded into the background — my vision went dark around the edges until he was all I saw. I let my gaze take a leisurely stroll up his body, from his long, jean-clad legs to his lean hips. My eyes roved unashamedly over his chest, taking in the way his black T-shirt hugged his just-right muscles. He raised his tattooed arms and I watched in fascination as his biceps tensed when he gripped the microphone tightly and then flexed his fingers slowly.

My breath was rushing in and out as I bit my lip and continued to stare at what was surely God’s gift to women. Lastly, I looked at his face. I was blown away again by the beauty of him. Dark, silky, overgrown hair, which was a sexy mess, hung over his right eye and he swept it casually back. He had high cheekbones, and full lips that were almost making out with the mic. He was outstanding. I had never seen anyone like him, and yet he seemed familiar in a strange way. I wanted to get closer — to see the colour of his eyes, and if he had dimples when he smiled.

I sat there with my elbow on the bar, my chin resting on my fist, holding my mouth closed while I was mesmerised by him, by his presence — it filled and covered the room like a sensual, black, silken sheet. He looked to the left of the audience with a smile that lit his eyes and he waved. I followed his gaze and saw Ash and her friends waving back. My chin fell off my fist. That was Scott Mason?

My wide, surprised eyes looked back at the stage and collided with a dark, intense stare that was studying me intently. My breath hitched, or maybe I just stopped breathing altogether, as his intense, curious gaze trapped mine. I couldn't tear my eyes away. It was as though he was singing to me. My bottom lip said goodbye to my upper one as I struggled to get air in. Our eyes held for what seemed like endless minutes. I felt caught. Rabbits and headlights flitted stupidly in and out of my addled brain.

Feeling hot all of a sudden, I knew I was blushing and groaned aloud as I rolled my eyes at myself— and then I openly cringed at actually groaning out loud and rolling my eyes at myself. God, Girlie! Get a damn grip! His eyebrows drew together very faintly as he cocked his head to study me while keeping the ballad going beautifully. I looked away. My face felt warm. He must have thought I was crazy, sitting here pulling faces at myself. I told myself that he was probably used to girls making utter idiots of themselves over him.