Hard to Resist: Volume 2 (Hard to Resist #3-5), page 1
HARD TO RESIST
VOLUME II
S.L. SCOTT
S.L. SCOTT
Copyright © S. L. Scott 2022
ISBN: 979-8-9861994-4-3
The right of S.L. Scott to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Redemption Copyright © S. L. Scott 2014
The Redemption ISBN: 978-1-940071-25-1
Cover photographer: Kari Branch
Cover model: John Humphrey
Interior Design: Fictional Formats
Content Edits: Heather Maven
Marla Esposito of Proofing Style
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The Revolution Copyright © S. L. Scott 2016
The Revolution ISBN: 978-1-940071-42-8
Interior Design: Fictional Formats
Cover Image: Scott Hoover
Featured on the Front Cover: Richard Rocco
Editors: Making Manuscripts
Marla Esposito of Proofing Style
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The Rebellion Copyright © S. L. Scott 2017
The Rebellion ISBN: 978-1-940071-50-3
Cover Image: Scott Hoover
Editing: Evident Ink
Marion Making Manuscripts
Marla Esposito, Proofing Style
Virginia Carey, Proofreading
Kristen Johnson, Proofreader
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Hard to Resist Volume II Cover Design:
Mr. Scott
Cover Image: StudioThreeDots, istockphotos
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The Redemption, The Revolution, & The Reckoning Cover Designs: Okay Creations
CONTENTS
Dedication
FOLLOW ME
The Redemption
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
The Revolution
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
The Rebellion
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
Hard to Resist
About the Author
Also by S.L. SCOTT
These books are dedicated to the women who put their hearts on the line to fight for love and the soul mates that will do anything for them.
Audiobooks are available on major retailers - CLICK HERE
To keep up to date with her writing and more, visit S.L. Scott’s website: www.slscottauthor.com
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THE REDEMPTION
Three years ago, Rochelle Floros was living her dream come true... then lost it all. On the worst day of her life, the last person she expected to be there for her was a rock star and tabloid favorite. Dex Caggiano is everything she never wanted. Yet, she can't stop thinking about those soulful, amber eyes.
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While trying to rebuild her life after the tragedy that destroyed her fairytale, she's caught between the grief that shrouds her heart in the past and the charismatic man that makes it race in the present.
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Can what she wants really be what she needs? With his rhythm and her passion, can they make music together? Or will their harmony be lost forever?
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The Redemption is about finding the pulse of your soul in the most unlikely places and giving love a chance to grow.
PROLOGUE
Sadness surrounds me and I feel bad for not feeling worse.
I stand at the back, near a tree, separate from the families and friends that have gathered. I stay back here, away from the crowd, and watch her. She tries to hide her devastation and tears behind big sunglasses that she slipped down over her eyes minutes before.
Her hair is down, hanging over her shoulders and longer than I remember from the last time I saw her. It’s been too long since then. But even in the middle of a sea of black, she still stands out, strikingly beautiful and I’m drawn to her, wanting to be with her in ways I can’t.
With all of these people around, I’m finding it hard to swallow despite being outdoors. A lump formed in my throat earlier this week, making me wonder what caused it. Maybe guilt. Squeezing my hand tightly around the coin, I realize a tragedy has given me hope where none existed before. And despite one of my closest friends dying, an uncertain future, and the realization that with his death, my life has been forever changed, I can’t stop thinking about the woman he left behind.
1
ROCHELLE FLOROS
The funeral was… it was what it was. Johnny and Holli drove me and the kids home. There were too many people staring at me, waiting for my breakdown. I needed the silence of the ride to be able to face the waiting mourners at my house, and they gave that to me. Just after we park, Johnny turns to me and says, “The Resistance is a family. We take care of one another. I’ll always be here for you, Rochelle.”
I nod, not sure I can speak under the weight of my emotions. I want today to become a distant memory sooner than I should. I don’t want to remember Cory’s death. I want to remember his life, his life with me, his life with our four-year-old. It’s a life that our newborn will never get to experience and the significance of that drags me under. I rush out of the car right before the first tear slips down, but I wipe it away before anybody can see.
But he sees.
Antonio Dexter Caggiano sees right through the facade I put on for everyone else, but doesn’t move from Neil’s side. He knows where he’s needed without me saying. They sit on the tire swing together, spinning slowly, talking, bonding in a way that seems almost abnormal for the man I’ve always known Dex to be. A magic trick reveals a pair of drumsticks and Dex hands them to Neil. My oldest son starts banging on the tire and up the chains, happily distracted from the sadness of the day.
Staring across the lawn—faded black jeans, long, shaggy hair, bandana back in place after we left the cemetery—I find the most unlikely ally on such a depressing day. He’s just here, silently supportive without asking anything of me.
Dex is kind to spend time with the boys. He has a playful smile on his face, and assuming from Neil’s laughter, which I hear echoing across the yard, Dex is also funny. He left his ego at home, an anomaly from every other day. He’s fascinating to watch. Kids are genuine in their emotions and Neil seems to like Dex.
Neil deserves laughter and fun, but he also deserves his father. I get up and move to the side of the yard where I plant my small garden each year. My tears water the lettuce that is just starting to grow. Cory planted that. I wanted strawberries.
I stomp on it. With both feet, I jump up and land down on the plant because he didn’t live to see it grow. “Damn you!” Picking it up, I rip it from the ground and throw it against the fence. “Damn you, Cory!”
A burning regret coats my insides as I panic and rush to pick it up. Through watery-vision, I drop to my knees and take it in hand, holding it to my chest. Suddenly strong arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me into his lap. Dex’s body against mine feels so foreign and yet, like the only place safe for me to grieve.
The sobs break free, the ones that I’ve been holding back all day, and my body is wracked with every emotion that I don’t want anyone else to see. My breakdown feels like a failure. I should be the one to comfort others today. Pressing my head against his shoulder, the light hum in his chest is soothing. “He left me, Dex. He left me here all by myself to raise the boys on my own. I can’t do it.”
“You can. You will. I’ll be here for you.”
He’s the least expected person to find comfort in, but he’s the only one that feels right. I nod. My head is tucked under his chin while his fingers gently but firmly open my fisted hand. He takes the lettuce that is destroyed and sad, just like me, and says, “It’s gonna be okay. Maybe not for the lettuce, but you’re gonna be okay.”
We sit there a few minutes, the slight breeze feeling good against my hot face. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I will be okay. It’s hard to tell right now. With a deep breath and even heavier exhale, I look up into his eyes and all that he said is repeated in his expression. I get up and start walking to the backyard again. He follows, but he stops and plants the lettuce back into the garden, and says, “It’s worth a shot.”
“Yeah, it’s worth a shot.”
We come from around the corner and Dex goes inside without another word and I join Neil on the swing. No one’s the wiser that I almost fell apart, or that Dex held me together. My strength is back on display for everyone else. His bad boy reputation as the drummer for one of the biggest bands in the world is back intact.
Six months later…
It’s hot in here. I need fresh air; the crowded party is steamy from all the bodies crammed into the living room. Looking out at the pool area, it’s not any better. “I’m gonna walk around,” I say, leaving the safety of Johnny’s side.
“I’ll be here,” he replies before taking a drink of his beer. Johnny Outlaw may be one of the most famous musicians in the world and the lead singer of The Resistance, but he’s also been a shoulder for me to cry on. He’s like the brother I never had. Along with that role, he’s become very protective of me in public settings and these types of situations. Holli, his wife, is usually here to keep me company, but she had a business trip and is out of town. So I’m here with the guys from the band. That’s a lot of testosterone to be around while drinking your sorrows away.
Remembering there’s a small balcony off the master bedroom, I head for the stairs. The balcony has a great vantage point overlooking the pool. Dex is the master of throwing awesome parties and he’s gone all out for his birthday. Everyone from Academy Award winning Directors to young starlets jumping at any casting couch opportunity that comes along is here. Current rock musicians are mingling with Pop Princesses, and I just spotted Tommy, the tour manager with some of our roadies at the bar. I used to be more of a free spirit, comfortable in social settings… when Cory was alive. But my happiness died when he did. I never imagined I would be expected to live in a world without my heart. I’d gotten good at hiding my sadness, but lately I’ve been struggling to put on a happy face for others.
Dex’s party is a sea of beautiful people and definitely intimidating. The heat and drinks making my mind blur into a mixture of emotions. I start walking faster, hoping to stave off the panic attack I feel coming on.
I pass some familiar faces, saying hi as I walk by. Seeing other people, the ones I don’t know, makes me want to lower my gaze to the floor and block out the stares. Sometimes the stares bother me. I was relatively unrecognizable before Cory’s death, but I made headlines as the ‘Poor Widow’ and my photo was everywhere. So I see the looks, the sideways glances, and feel the sympathy lying heavy from their curiosity. Nights like this usually help me escape the sadness of losing the only man I ever loved. Alcohol also helps, so I down a shot and slowly make my way upstairs, trying not to let the liquor knock me off-balance.
The double doors of the master bedroom are closed along with the other bedroom doors down the hall. Taking the knob in hand, I turn slowly. It opens and I’m greeted with darkness. I’m hoping no one is in here doing something I don’t want to see or hear, so I enter with caution. Although there is no light except for the moonlight coming in from the balcony doors, I walk in when I hear silence. Closing the door behind me, I don’t bother looking around. I just go to the French doors and open them wide. The night is clearer up here, the miles of LA lights laid out before me with a stunning view of the city. The area around the pool below is more crowded than I realized when I was in the mix of it.
A heavy exhale of smoke draws my gaze to the left. Dex sits forward resting his elbows on his knees and eyes me.
He doesn’t look bothered that I’m here, but I feel the need to explain anyway. “I wanted… I needed to get away.”
“From what?” he asks while stubbing his cigarette into an ashtray on the Spanish tile.
I lean against the doorframe, my head resting back, my eyes lulled closed by the voices carrying up from below. Over the last six months, we haven’t spent a lot of time together, but he’s stopped by a few times to talk, reminisce, or just sit with someone who knows what he’s going through, empathizing through moments of silent understanding. He makes it easy to just be, to be whatever I need to be. “Everything… from me.”
