Ethan Frost returns in the breathtaking conclusion to New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Tracy Wolff’s seductive novel Ruined—perfect for fans of Release Me and Bared to You.
Praise for RUINED:
“Tracy Wolff knows how to steam up the pages, and she proves it again in Ruined. If you’re looking for a hot read, curl up with Ethan Frost.” —New York Times and USA Today bestselling author J. Kenner
“Fans of Fifty Shades of Grey will love Tracy Wolff’s Ruined! Heat sizzles off the page and the oh-so-sexy Ethan Frost will make you swoon!”—USA Today bestselling author Stacey Kennedy
Want to get to know Tracy better? Check out this exclusive interview!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Tracy is giving away a $50 gift card to www.spafinder.com to celebrate the release of ADDICTED! Enter below:
Additionally, Random House is giving away two prize packs: a $25 gift card to Babeland and a copy of RUINED! Enter here!
Ethan Frost is everything a woman could want in a man. He’s rich, gorgeous, powerful, one of the most eligible bachelors in the world.
I love Ethan for all the things no one else gets to see: his innate kindness, his reckless spontaneity, his unwavering determination to use his brilliance for good. I love the way he looks at me, the way he touches me. The way he makes me forget the wreckage of my past and the twisted fear that still lives inside me.
But sometimes it terrifies me how much I crave him, how much I need him just to breathe. I always thought it would be my past that ruined us, but there’s a darkness in Ethan I never dreamed existed. Can we survive as his secrets surface—threatening to unravel us both?
Also in the Ethan Frost series: RUINED by Tracy Wolff!
About Tracy Wolff:
Tracy Wolff collects books, English degrees and lipsticks and has been known to forget where—and sometimes who—she is when immersed in a great novel. At six she wrote her first short story—something with a rainbow and a prince—and at seven she forayed into the wonderful world of girls lit with her first Judy Blume novel. By ten she’d read everything in the young adult and classics sections of her local bookstore, so in desperation her mom started her on romance novels. And from the first page of the first book, Tracy knew she’d found her life-long love. Now an English professor at her local community college, she writes romances that run the gamut from contemporary to paranormal to erotic suspense.
I haven’t cried since those moments yesterday, clutched in Tori’s arms after that horrendous walk home, but as I stand here I feel tears well up in my eyes all over again. Of course Ethan had my car fixed. Of course he had it brought back to me.
That’s just the kind of guy he is.
“Well, I guess he’s not a total asshole,” Tori drawls from her spot beside me.
“He’s not an asshole at all.”
“But I thought—”
“It’s complicated,” I tell her, walking the last few yards to my car.
“Isn’t it always?”
She really has no idea. I reach into my purse, pull out my spare set of keys. And then I’m in the driver’s seat, cranking the ignition. Sure enough, it starts right away. Not to mention the fact that it all but purrs. Something tells me the faulty starter isn’t the only thing Ethan had taken care of on my little Honda.
I want to be angry at his presumption, I really do. But it’s hard to be upset when he’s doing what he always does—and what up until yesterday, I always loved about him. He’s taking care of me in whatever way he can, whatever way I’ll let him. Besides, I took most of my anger out on the hapless Vitamix last night. I don’t have any rage left. At least not toward Ethan. Not right now.
“So, I guess I’m heading back upstairs,” Tori says after a minute. “Unless you need me for something?”
“No. I’m good. Thanks, Tor.”
“No problem. Knock him dead, Chlo.”
“I’m not even going to see him today,” I protest.
She smiles wryly. “Of course you’re not.”
“I’m not.” I can’t. Just the thought of seeing Ethan makes me shaky. I may not be angry at him, but that’s a far cry from wanting to see him. And I don’t. I really don’t. Not now, when all I can see is Brandon’s mocking grin. When all I can hear is him calling Ethan his brother. His brother.
Maybe it’s cowardly, maybe it’s self-preservation. To be honest, I don’t really care. All I want to do is get through the day without any more casualties.
Surely that’s not too much to ask.
Except obviously, it is. Because as I move to set my briefcase on the passenger seat, I see a thick, cream envelope on the passenger side floorboard.
It’s facedown, but I don’t need to see the Frost Industries return address to recognize Ethan’s stationery. He’s sent me so many letters and packages over the last few weeks—all on or accompanied by official company letterhead—that I’m pretty sure I’d recognize it in my sleep.
For a second, I’m tempted to take the coward’s way out. To leave the envelope where it lies and pretend I never saw it.
Except I’ve never been a coward. And though there’s a part of me that thinks there’s no excuse Ethan can make, no story he can tell, that will make what happened yesterday okay, there’s another part of me that wants him to try. That wants to see what he has to say.
It’s a double-edged sword, one I’m afraid I don’t have the skill—or the heart—to keep balanced on. And yet, even knowing how dangerous it is to my own mental health, I reach for the envelope.
For long seconds, I just hold it in my hands, watching it like I expect it to spontaneously combust. When it doesn’t, I eventually lift it to my nose and breathe in the elusive, barely there scent of it.
Like rain on a sunny, summer day.
Like blueberries and warm, sweet maple syrup.
It smells like Ethan and the truth of that nearly brings me to my knees.