(#1 of The Beat and the Pulse)
Author: Amity Cross
Genre: Contemporary Romance
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Renee "Ren" Miller was five when her Dad left to go to the shops and never came back.
Left to grow up with a cancer riddled mother, things have never been easy for a teenager who had to be wise beyond her years. Then one day they lose the battle and she’s all alone.
Now twenty-two, Ren reluctantly goes to find her estranged father. He owns the down and out boxing studio, Beat, and Ren finds herself drawn to the ring. She thrives on learning a new way of fighting a life that kept kicking her down…instead of struggling against the current, she kicks it right between the legs.
Then one day, Ash Fuller, her Dad's star fighter comes back to town. Mysterious, handsome… Dangerous… Everything Ren doesn't need.
But he's got other ideas…
…and so does she.
Excerpt . . .
The only light was from the back row of fluorescents I’d switched on over the ring. It was dark, murky and helped me pretend I was someplace else. The drama from the daylight hours was gone and it was just me and the darkness. Exactly the way I liked it.
I began another set of punches, hair sticking to the sweat beading across the back of my neck. Structure. This was the only thing that was predictable in my life and I needed predictable.
Stance. Guard. Punch. Guard. Repeat.
There was a loud cough behind me and I spun on my heel, heart thumping in my chest, and my gaze collided with Ash’s.
“Fuck,” I exclaimed, holding a hand over my heart. “Don’t fucking do that, Ash.” Typical. The creeper was being all creeper again.
“What are you doing?” He stared at me, his gaze hovering a little too long on my bare midriff.
I steadied the bag with one hand, taking deep breaths. “What does it look like?”
“I’ve never seen…” He trailed off and I wondered if I’d finally made the Golden Boy lost for words.
I turned my back so I didn’t have to look at him. “What? A woman in a sports bra? Highly doubt it.” I rolled my eyes and wiped my forehead with the back of my arm. Even though I couldn’t see, I felt his gaze burning into my skin and I suppressed the urge to squeeze my thighs together. Infuriating, self-absorbed, arrogant…
Giveaway . . .
About the Author . . .
I didn’t want my Mum and my workplace to find out I wrote about doodles and tongue-in-cheek sexual innuendo.
I live in a leafy suburb of Melbourne writing about screwed up relationships and kick ass female leads that don’t take s**t lying down.
Insert more pretentious c**p here.
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