Torn Hart by Whitley Cox

Title: Torn Hart
Series: The Harty Boys #3
Author: Whitley Cox
Genre: Steamy, contemporary romance, romantic suspense, romantic thriller, neighbors to lovers, friends to lovers, military, alpha male
Release Date: May 15, 2021






A torn Hart can only be mended by the right woman.

Fired from her dream job, Lydia Sullivan loses hope. How else do you drown your sorrows than in a cheap bottle of rum? Seems like a good plan until she runs smack into the hard chest of her dreamy neighbor Rex. Despite her not-so-adorable drunkenness, they strike up a friendship that quickly turns into more. But just when Lydia’s life is starting to look up—she’s got the job, the great guy with deep dimples, and the sun is shining—weird things begin to happen that make her question whether she’s losing her mind … or someone is out to get her.

Retired special operative and now security specialist Rex Hart normally falls in love with a new woman every night, but not this time. His neighbor with the hazel eyes and thin filter has him under her spell. He’d like to think she’s the one, but the way she’s acting has him torn between his heart and his head. He wants to believe she’s innocent, but instinct has him questioning everything—including his feelings.

Is Lydia who she claims to be? Is she the one … or the one he needs to turn loose?






“So what’s your name?” she slurred, appearing to be bored or perhaps just too upset to want to continue talking about her job or lack thereof. “I’ve seen you around the building a bit. You have the big black truck and the pit bull puppy, right?”

He nodded. “My name is Rex. What’s your name?”

“Lydia.” She yawned. “Rex, eh? Like T. rex.”

He rolled his eyes. “I suppose.”

“Is it short for anything? Like Rexworth, Rexwell or Rexington … Rexthalomew?”

“Rexthalomew?”

She shrugged again. “Rexly?”

He simply snorted and smiled, ignoring the grumble of his belly. Man, she was drunk. “It’s not short for anything.”

She shrugged again. “Do you have any siblings?”

“Three brothers.”

“And do they all have weird names too?”

“I personally don’t think Rex is weird, but no, they don’t. We all have one-syllable names, though. Brock, Chase, and Heath. And our dad was Zane, and our mother is Joy.”

She made an interested pout. “And what’s your middle name?”

“You looking to steal my identity? Want my social insurance number next?”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

He grinned. “My middle name is Barry.”

That had her nose wrinkling like a cute little bunny. “Why Barry?”

“What’s wrong with Barry?”

She shrugged, and her eyes lost focus for a moment, reminding him of her inebriation. “Nothing. But why? Is it like a family name or something?”

He exhaled through his nose. “My parents—in their infinite wisdom—thought it would be fun to give my brothers and I the middle name corresponding to the artist they were listening to while we were conceived.”

“Gross.”

“Indeed.”

“So you’re Rex Barry after … Manilow?”

“White. You know, ‘Let’s Get It On …’” He made sure to drop his voice to baritone level when he sang that little bit.

She nodded in understanding. “And your brothers?”

“Brock Lionel, Chase Marvin and Heath Leppard.”

“Leppard?”

“‘Pour Some—’”

“‘Sugar On Me’!” she finished with a wide smile. “That’s hilarious.”

“At least it’s our middle names and not our first names.”

“True enough. What’s your last name?”

“Hart.”

She rolled his name around on her little pink tongue like foreplay. “Rex Hart … Rex Barry Hart,” she murmured, cocking her head to the side and giving him a once-over. “I like it.” He continued to watch her, wondering when the bottle of whatever spirit she’d chosen to numb the pain was going to hit her like the freight train it inevitably was and send her rushing to the bathroom to go and vomit.

“What’s your full name?” he asked. “Fair is fair, right?”

“Lydia Andréa Sullivan.” She tipped back her booze bottle, then frowned when she realized it was empty. She set it down on her coffee table, and her eyes darted to his case of beer. “So … sexy Rexy, how are you going to make me forget about my jobless woes?”






 







A Canadian West Coast baby born and raised, Whitley is married to her high school sweetheart, and together they have two beautiful daughters and a fluffy dog. She spends her days making food that gets thrown on the floor, vacuuming Cheerios out from under the couch and making sure that the dog food doesn’t end up in the air conditioner. But when nap time comes, and it’s not quite wine o’clock, Whitley sits down, avoids the pile of laundry on the couch, and writes.

A lover of all things decadent; wine, cheese, chocolate and spicy erotic romance, Whitley brings the humorous side of sex, the ridiculous side of relationships and the suspense of everyday life into her stories. With single dads, firefighters, Navy SEALs, mommy wars, body issues, threesomes, bondage and role-playing, Whitley’s books have all the funny and fabulously filthy words you could hope for.



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