Blog Tour: The Kingwood Series by S.L. Scott

 

This isn't your typical storybook fairy tale. This is emotional warfare.

The Kingwood, a modern day fairytale, suspenseful romance series from New York Times bestselling author S.L. Scott has a brand new look and is now available in audio!

About Savage, book 1 in The Kingwood Series: 

Alexander Kingwood IV is a dark prince who wants to be King. Sara Jane Grayson is the woman he wants as his queen. When it seems the world is against them, they will fight for their happily ever after.

She was my destiny.

I was her downfall.

We were a match made in hell.

When we were together, that hell was pure heaven.

This isn't your typical storybook fairy tale. This is emotional warfare.

Is love enough for these star-crossed lovers to survive their twisted fate? Find out NOW in this epic modern day romance that will have you on the edge of your seat.

Start reading today!

FREE in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon:  http://tinyurl.com/kingswd

Start listening today!

Audible: https://geni.us/SLSAudible

Savage, narrated by Aiden Snow and Meg Sylvan

Savior, narrated by Aiden Snow and Meg Sylvan

Sacred, narrated by Sophie Daniels and Teddy Hamilton

Finding Solace, narrated by Tyler Johnson and Vanessa Edwin

Keep reading for a look inside Savage!

The rain is so thick I can’t see beyond it. I grab my umbrella from my locker, swing my backpack onto my shoulder, and head out to go home.

I pop the button that sends my umbrella up but one step outside the building and my socks and shoes are instantly soaked. It’s not a long walk home, but in the rain it feels like miles more. Needing a quick reprieve, I stop inside the grocery store, grab a Payday candy bar, then head to checkout. I’ve seen the cashier a million times. Gray hair tangled into a low bun in the back. She smiles, and says, “Awful day to be outside.” 

“I like the rain.” Have I ever been convinced by my own words? 

She’s definitely not. Her glasses slide down her nose as she studies me. My white cotton shirt is sticking to me, my plaid skirt drenched and dripping on the store floor. “You need to borrow a raincoat?” 

I shrug. “Doesn’t matter now.” 

“Seventy-five cents. Head straight home. I’m sure your parents won’t want you sick.” 

My parents. I sigh louder than I intend. At seventeen, I still dream of a car one day, but my dad reminds me that being born is the only privilege I’ve deserved. I roll my eyes and set my dollar down. “Thanks.” 

Waiting at the corner of a busy intersection to cross the street, I take a bite. The rain lets up and the pedestrian crossing sign beeps, but I don’t move. Not one step. Not to chew. Not even to breathe. 

My heart balloons in my chest and despite the rain and humidity, my throat goes dry. Across the intersection rumbles a Harley-Davidson. I recognize the style of bike from watching TV, but it’s not the bike that holds my attention. It’s the man who rides it. His hair is darkened from the rain, but light enough for me to guess it’s probably medium brown when dry. A section has fallen over his forehead, resting on the tips of his eyelashes, probably to his dismay. Light, but angry eyes are directed at me, a hard stare that makes my heart race, fear coursing through my veins. The intensity invades my body in ways I’ve never felt before, confusing my thoughts and causing me to look away. I’m not scared of him, but I am frightened by the emotion welling inside me. 

The signal to cross the street stops beeping, and I’m stuck on the corner under a thieving glare. Parts of my soul I didn’t know existed are exposed, and I drag my hand down the front pleats of my skirt. My breath comes short when our eyes meet again, and the candy falls from my hand. I summon every ounce of bravery and give as good as I’m getting, glaring right back. But I can’t hold it. He’s not a boy. He’s the guy my parents warned me about. 

Turning away quickly, embarrassment comes as fast. I must look like a drowned rat and even worse, I’m stuck in my school uniform under the microscope of the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. Even though I’m not looking at him, I just know that nothing breaks his stare. I feel his gaze penetrating my body, touching me deep down in ways I barely know how to reach. My face heats as my body blooms, the petals of my innocence unfolding for him. “Hold on. Don’t lose yourself.” Licking my lips, I know I could. For him I would. 

A loud horn sounds, startling me. The toes of my shoes are off the edge, much like the thoughts of him possessing me in ways that would send me to confessional. 

Thank God for small miracles. The light turns green, and his bike is revved before he takes off, leaving a trail of rain water behind him. 

How is it possible that every last warning of what to heed embodies that man? I’ve never so desperately wanted to break every rule in the book until now. I could swear his middle name is Danger, and I’m intrigued enough to need to know his first. 

I don’t look back over my shoulder. I don’t follow the sound of his bike as it drives into the distance. I don’t allow myself to fall any further than I have already. I cross the street, not noticing the clouds have cleared or that the sun is peeking out. I walk like the last few minutes haven’t changed my whole life, the makeup of my thoughts, and twisted my chemistry to match a man’s I’ll never meet. 

At the next street, I turn the corner and stop. The motorcycle is there, but I barely notice it behind the man standing in front. His smile makes my knees weak and his eyes make my heart speed up again. 

Fear. 

Fear of what I already know I’m willing to do for him. 

Fear of what lies ahead when I find out that first name. Fear of the trouble that’s wrapped as tightly as the leather across his shoulders. 

Fear of everything he possesses. 

Fear of never getting this chance again. 

Without fear, I walk right into his life, hands shaking and starting to sweat. When I get closer, the other guy rolls his eyes and jumps, starting his bike. As he drives away, I’m left alone. The air is sucked from around us and filled with his presence. He’s cocky and powerful, owning every muscle in his body as he stands tall before me. 

“Hey.” Husky, deep, and confident.

 “Hey.” I stop, keeping five or so feet between us. 

“I saw you back there.” 

I nod, but don’t add to the conversation. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Sara Jane,” I confess before I have a chance to think otherwise. 

His smirk turns into a genuine smile as he holds eye contact. That was the first time I saw the smile that would make me reject all others. “Hi, Sara Jane. Pretty name for a pretty girl.” He steps closer and I step back, making him chuckle. His feet stay planted when he says, “I’m Alexander.” 

Alexander. The name becomes a melody as it plays over in my mind. I didn’t expect that name, but I love it all the same. Alexander. Alexander. Alexander. 

He reaches out for me, his hand an open palm in front of me. Knowing I should go, that I should have never stopped in the first place, I shift. 

“I can see the fight in your eyes. The decision to stay or leave wages a war. I won’t hurt you, Sara Jane.” When I don’t take his hand, something in his eyes—a kindness, sincerity—fills the grayish blue coloring, making me believe he’ll keep that promise. 

With the compliment given, I reach out and our hands touch. A silent deal is struck, my heart now his, our fates sealed. Is it his smile or confidence, the attention, or touch? In the moment it’s everything. 

I wonder if I’ll regret this handshake later. If I’ll regret stopping and talking to him, giving him my real name. I could have lied, but I didn’t. 

The noise of his friend’s bike rounding the corner is heard in the distance before I see him. He pulls up and parks next to Alexander. Losing patience, he whines, “C’mon, man. Let’s go.” 

Alexander remains, our eyes locked in a silent standoff as our hands remained joined together. I may be young, inexperienced, but I know I don’t stand a chance against his wicked ways. I’m smart, but he’s clever. “How old are you, Sara Jane?” 

I like the way my name rolls off his tongue, and savor it before answering, “Eighteen next week.” 

A smile crosses his lips, one that causes me to bite my lower one. “Seventeen, huh?” 

“She’s jailbait, King,” his friend calls from atop his bike, looking bored. “Let’s move on.” 

With his gaze still firmly attached to me, he calls over his shoulder, “I can wait a week. She sure is pretty.” As if he’s speaking to himself, I hear him add, “And so very tempting.” 

I’ve never been called tempting before and the word itself evokes illicit thoughts. His leather jacket is worn, scuffed at the cuffs, the T-shirt underneath is some brand I’ve never heard of, and his jeans are faded, nicely worn in. He needs to shave and his hair is close to violating school code, but I have a feeling it’s not the first time he’s broken a rule. He’s a bad boy in the flesh, a devil in disguise of a fractured soul that’s almost too handsome to look at.

For more information about S.L. Scott and her books, visit her website: 

https://www.slscottauthor.com