Review: Combust by K. Bromberg
Combust, an all new sexy & emotional standalone by K. Bromberg is Available NOW!
From New York Times Bestselling author, K. Bromberg, comes the second standalone book in the Everyday Heroes series.
Just how hot will firefighter Grady Malone turn up the heat?
Lana's 5 Combustible Stars Review - Lana-White Hot Reads's review of Combust (Everyday Heroes, #2)
K. Bromberg delivers yet another scorching hot love story filled with loss, love, acceptance and understanding! - Lana @ White Hot Reads
Grady Malone is one smoking hot swoon worthy firefighter that feels like he doesn't deserve love. The guilt that he lives with forever haunts him.
My emotions were all over the place with Grady and Dylan. It's amazing how people tend to look at themselves so hard and don't realize what other people see. This story is about two people coming together and making each other realize that beauty is deep within yourself and not what's on the outside.
Grady and Dylan help each other out with this and in return they discover something wonderful between them.
Heather's 5 Star Review
K. Bromberg has done it again! Combust will set your heart aflame! ~ Heather, White Hot Reads
"Because love is rarely pretty. It's messy. It's complicated. It's often ugly, but that's how you know when it's right. Pretty doesn't always last. It's the things you have to work at that make the reward that much sweeter."
This book! AHHHHHH! I flipping loved it. It touched my heart, my soul and something deep in me that I can't name. It reminded me to live each day to the fullest. It reminded me that love is messy and dirty. That is is never perfect but it's perfect for us. It reminded me that even though we can't often see what's directly in front of us because of our fear or our heartbreak. It made me think and feel and be.
Kristy has a way with words and COMBUST is no different. She set my body, heart and soul ablaze with the love and emotion of Grady and Dylan's story.
Heather's Good Reads Review
Preoccupied with a text on my phone from my agent, I walk into the kitchen and suck in a breath when I come face to back with Grady. He’s standing with his hand on the refrigerator door, head leaned inside, and his back fully exposed to me. It’s broad and strong and scarred immeasurably.
I can’t help it. The marks are a dizzying array of dark and light and ridged and smooth. And they’re undeniably burns. Goosebumps chase over my skin as I imagine the pain he must have endured when he got those. I think of his habit of wearing unbuttoned shirts but never going shirtless and the hint of scars just visible above his collar that I never could have imagined led to this roadmap to hell on his back.
A part of me instinctively wants to reach out to touch them, bring some kind of comfort. It sounds ridiculous, even to me, but that doesn’t abate the urge.
“Not pretty, huh? Get a good look while you can.” His voice is gruff as his spine stiffens and body stills, emotion woven through the words.
“Thank God not all of you is pretty. I was beginning to feel majorly insecure having to live with perfection like you,” I say off the cuff, trying to make this situation less awkward. My attempt to settle the sudden tension sparking in the air around us.
“Perfection?” he asks as he turns to face me with a smile that masks the emotion swirling in his eyes.
“Yeah. You have scars. I have mermaid thighs.”
“Mermaid thighs?” He laughs. “What in the world are you talking about?”
“Thighs that touch from the top all the way to my knees.” I shrug as if it doesn’t bug me, as if I’m not highlighting one of the insults Tara threw at me. It’s a whole lot easier to make fun of myself so long as it puts him at ease.
“Do you ever give yourself a break?”
“Do you?” I ask the question, sparking a silent battle of wills as we stare at each other and wonder what to say next about the other’s insecurities. Coming up empty, I shift gears. “I think there is some type of rule about how many abs are fair for a guy to have when the rest of us are just struggling to find one of them.”
His smile rings more genuine as he steps toward me, and I step back, my hips leaning against the counter now.
“Is that so?” His voice lowers as his eyes flick to my lips and then back up. “I’m sure you have some under your shirt there.”
Why does the simple action make it seem so hard to swallow?
He takes another step.
“What are you building outside?”
A nervous chuckle falls from my lips as I think of all of the versions of playrooms I’ve read about in my romance books. My cheeks stain red as I imagine Grady with a flogger in one hand standing beside a St. Andrew’s Cross.
“Yeah.” He takes a step closer so we’re breathing the same air, his voice husky enough to cause every part of my body to grow alert. “A playroom. You know . . . a pool table. Foosball. A real man cave.”
I exhale a shaky sigh, suddenly more than aware that he’s so close, shirtless, sweaty, and smelling like sun and soap mixed together. But it’s his eyes that make my thoughts falter. There’s an intensity to them I don’t expect from the perpetually cheerful Grady Malone.
“Ah, that kind of playroom . . .” But my words trail off as he steps even closer and braces his hands on the counter on either side of me. I can hear his intake of breath. The music floating in from outside. The pound of my pulse in my ears.
“Yes?” Our eyes hold, my lips fall lax.
“I need you to open up.”
“What?” I question as his hand brushes against my hip and his fingers pull on the drawer handle I’m standing in front of.
“I need the bottle opener. You’re standing in front of the drawer it’s in.” His lips spread into a full-fledged grin as I scramble away from the counter and, of course, run smack dab into the hardness, all six foot plus of him.
And then I rebound off him again in a flustered state that has him laughing and me stuttering. “Sorry. I wasn’t—I didn’t . . .” His arms hold on to my biceps to steady me, which prompts me to look up and meet his eyes.
“We need to stop meeting like this,” he murmurs, the heat of his breath hitting my lips.
“We do.” Brilliant, Dylan. Freaking brilliant response. “I’ve gotta . . . I’ve gotta get back to . . . to writing.”
New York Times Bestselling author K. Bromberg writes contemporary novels that contain a mixture of sweet, emotional, a whole lot of sexy, and a little bit of real. She likes to write strong heroines, and damaged heroes who we love to hate and hate to love.
A mom of three, she plots her novels in between school runs and soccer practices, more often than not with her laptop in tow.
Since publishing her first book in 2013, Kristy has sold over one million copies of her books across sixteen different countries and has landed on the New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestsellers lists over twenty-five times. Her Driven trilogy (Driven, Fueled, and Crashed) is currently being adapted for film by Passionflix with the first movie slated to release in the summer of 2018.