By: Kylie Scott


Stay up all night with sexy rockers in Stage Dive, the epic rockstar romance series from New York Times bestselling author Kylie Scott, author of Lick, Play and Lead.

In the city of sin, you have to go big or go home …

Ben Nicholson is the only man that has ever made ordinary girl Lizzy Rollins feel both completely safe and crazy with desire. The problem is, Ben is the irresistibly sexy bass player for Stage Dive, and, no matter how much Lizzy may wish otherwise, he’s only looking for a good time. Besides, Lizzy doesn’t stand a chance – not unless she can get him to see beyond the fact that she’s his bandmate’s little sister.

When Lizzy finds herself in trouble in Las Vegas, Ben is there to bail her out. But after one big mistake, the two quickly learn that what happens in Vegas, doesn’t always stay there. Now Lizzy and Ben are connected in the deepest way possible … but will it lead to something more?

As always, for Hugh


With thanks to all of the readers, reviewers, bloggers, crit-partners, beta readers, friends, family, publishers, editors, assistant editors, copy editors, formatters, artists, models, photographers, promotions people, receptionists, booksellers, sales assistants, mail workers, librarians, and any assorted pets any of you might have, for taking the Stage Dive journey with me. I couldn’t have done it without you. You rock.



I reread the instructions, doing my best to flatten out the creases in the piece of paper one-handed. Two lines meant positive. Two lines sat on the test. No, not possible. My gaze darted back and forth between the two, willing one of them to change. I shook the test and turned it this way and that. I stared and stared, but just like with the first one sitting rejected beside the sink, the answer remained the same.


I was pregnant.


The word echoed around and around the small bathroom, bouncing off the white-tiled walls and beating at my head. This shit shouldn’t be happening to me. I didn’t break laws or do drugs. Not since that blip after Dad left. I was studying hard for my degree in psychology and I behaved. Mostly. But those definite neat pink lines stood loud and proud in the pregnancy test’s little window, taunting me, the evidence irrefutable even when I squinted or crossed my eyes.


Me as someone’s mom. No.

What the hell was I going to do?

I sat on the edge of the bathtub in my plain black underwear, covered in goose bumps. Outside, a barren limb swayed in and out of view, buffeted by the wind. Beyond it lay the endless gray of a February Portland sky. Screw it all. All of my plans and dreams, my whole life, changed at the say of a stupid plastic stick. I was only twenty-one, for goodness sake, not even in a relationship.


Ah, man. We’d barely talked in months, what with me doing my best to avoid any situation where he might be present. Things had been a little awkward ever since I threw him out of my hotel room in Vegas minus his pants. I’d been done with him. Finished. Kaput.

My uterus apparently did not agree.

We’d had sex once. Once. A secret that I’d long since decided to take to my grave. Him never telling anyone was a given. But still, his penis went in my vagina one time only, and I’d watched him roll the condom on, god damn it. Me lying spread out on the California king–size, trembling with excitement, and he’d just kind of smiled. There’d been this warmth in his eyes, a gentleness. Given the obvious tension running through his big body, it’d seemed so strange and yet wondrous. No one had ever looked at me that way, as if I meant everything.

An unwelcome warmth filled my chest at the memory. It’d been so long since I’d thought of him with anything other than ugh.

At any rate, apparently someone had diddled away their shift at the prophylactics factory and here we were. Pregnant. I stared unseeing at my skinny jeans, lying discarded on the floor. Sure, they’d fit. As in, I could wiggle up the zip halfway and the button was out of the question. The pressure they inflicted upon my belly was a definite no go.

Things were changing so fast. I was changing.

Normally, I had more going on in the back than up front. But for the first time in my life, I actually had the makings of a rack. Not enough boobage to get me a job at Hooters or anything, but still. And as much as I’d like to believe that god had finally answered my teenage prayers, when you added up all the evidence, it wasn’t likely. I had a person growing inside of me. A little baby bean-shaped thing made from equal parts of me and him.

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