Into Your Arms

Into Your Arms

by Chelsea M. Cameron

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Get fired up for Into Your Arms, the first book in the sexy new Squad Stories series from New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Chelsea M. Cameron!

Freya has secrets she doesn’t intend to share. Not with her new friends on the cheerleading squad at Maine State University, and certainly not with sexy lumberjack-look-alike Rhett. Just because sparks flew between them at a bar one night doesn’t mean he gets to know why she transferred to MSU. When Freya dares Rhett to come to cheerleading practice, she never expects to see the dark-haired lumberjack again.

Except Rhett is the last person to turn down a dare, especially when it comes from a pixie-sized blonde. When Rhett wows the squad and becomes Freya’s stunt partner, his hands come far too close for comfort. But as Freya and Rhett’s hot post-practice sessions bring them closer, she risks her secrets being revealed. Can Freya chance exposing who she really is to the guy who wasn’t supposed to win her heart?

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781250125187
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Publication date: 05/30/2017
Series: Squad Stories , #1
Sold by: Macmillan
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 304
File size: 1 MB

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Read an Excerpt

Into Your Arms

By Chelsea M. Cameron

St. Martin's Press

Copyright © 2017 Chelsea M. Cameron
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-250-12518-7



I happen to look up right when she walks in with her friends, but my eyes go immediately to her. She stands out like a lightning bolt in a dark sky. Hair so blond it's almost white, ice blue eyes, and the most perfectly shaped body, in my opinion. Enough on top and on the bottom with a sweet curve in the middle. Fucking perfect.

"Wow," my friend Jem says, noticing the group as well. My eyes are only on the cute blonde, but her friends aren't too shabby either. Normally I would have walked right up to her, bought her a drink, and worked my magic. Instead, I'm watching her from afar. Her friends are loud, they're having a good time, and damn, can they dance.

"Strippers?" Jem says, squinting and turning his head to the side as if he's trying to figure them out like a difficult equation as his floppy brown hair falls into his eyes.

I take a sip of beer and want to roll my eyes. "I don't think Maine State University would condone that many student-strippers." This entire bar is full of students, since it's close to campus and has a lax ID policy.

"You never know," he says, wiggling his eyebrows and taking a swig from his beer glass. Jem's real into craft brews right now, so he's pretty much insufferable whenever we go to a bar. Still, we've been friends since freshman year, and he's a good guy to have in your corner. He's gotten my ass out of a tight spot more than once.

The shitty lighting of the bar somehow works in her favor and makes her look ... well, luminous, for lack of another word. I like words. Especially long ones. Especially ones I can use for beautiful girls.

She throws her head back and laughs at something the tall brunette dancing next to her says.

Fuck me.

"What're you waiting for?" Jem asks. Good question. I have no idea.

I start to get up but then plant my ass back on the barstool.

"What's wrong with you?" Jem says. This is definitely not my normal modus operandi when it comes to women. I just can't seem to go up to this one. I ignore his staring and see my moment appear when she peels off from her group and comes toward the bar.

Score. Let her come to me.

She doesn't seem to notice me as she leans over the bar to ask for a glass of water. The position pushes her chest up, and I stop myself from trying to check out the view. I don't want her to think I'm just interested in her for her tits. Sure, those are definitely great, but it's the whole package that I want.

She's tiny, probably only about five feet, but I like that, even though she's over a foot shorter than me. Shorter girls are usually the spunkiest, and I have the feeling this one is no exception.

The bartender gets her drink, and as she picks it up she turns around but stops when she sees me, her lips wrapped around the straw.

Well, fuck me again.

"Hey," I say. Her eyes go wide, as if I've said something shocking. She coughs a few times and lowers the glass.

"Um, hey," she says. It sounds like a question.

"I bet you can't guess my name," I say. Her eyebrows lift and then draw together. I know this isn't a line she's heard before, which is why I said it.


"I said that I bet you can't guess my name. I'll give you five guesses, and if you don't get it, I buy you a drink." Her lips pull up on one side in a smirk. Well, shit, that's fucking sexy.

"And what if I can guess your name?" she says, leaning closer. Her voice is deeper than I would have thought, given her stature. I'm in so much trouble.

"Then I buy you a drink," I say, giving her a wink. Instead of smacking me, which I thought she might, she laughs just a little. I'll take it.

"I'm game." I lead her over to an empty corner of the bar. Jem gives me a thumbs-up, and I shoot him a dirty look.

"Okay, Mystery Man. My first guess is that your name is Chad," she says, leaning against the bar. I make a disgusted face.

"Are you serious? You really think my name is Chad? That's the most common name for assholes." I've had plenty of experience with Chads. One in particular beat my ass more than once in elementary school. She chuckles again and drinks from her water. I've never wanted to be a straw so much in my entire life.

"Well ..." she says, shrugging one shoulder. I cross my arms and narrow my eyes.

"Fine, fine. How about ... Robert? Or some variation of that?" Ugh, no.

I shake my head. She bites her bottom lip as she considers me, assessing me from head to toe. I hope I'm not found wanting.

"How about something unusual? Fitzwilliam?" Well, that's flattering. It also signifies that she's read or at least seen Pride and Prejudice. She racks up another point in the sexy category. Bookish girls are the best.

"Can I get a hint?" she says. She stirs her water with the straw.


Her eyes narrow. "You're kind of a jerk, you know that?" Now it's my turn to shrug. She's only just met me, but the assessment is more accurate than she knows.

"Okay ... something even weirder? Slade?" That one makes me laugh.

"One guess left," I say with a triumphant smile, holding up one finger.

She shakes her head. "I have to give you credit, this has been less pathetic than the normal pickup lines," she says, and I can tell that even though I'm irritating her, underneath it all, she likes it too. I hope.

"I do what I can to be original," I say.

"Fine, your name is ... Nick?" Ugh, so boring.

"Nope, I win." I slam my hand on the bar to get the bartender's attention.

"Two Jack and gingers," I say, and he goes to make the drinks. I turn back to find her looking like she wants to toss her water in my face. Winding her up is fun as hell, and we've only been talking for a few minutes.

"You might be buying me a drink, but that doesn't mean I'm going to consume it," she says. "I might just give it to someone else. Or pour it down the drain in the bathroom."

"Whatever gets you off," I say as the drinks arrive and I push one toward her.

She rolls her eyes, but she puts down her water and picks up the glass.

"You're not going to get me wasted and then take me home. If that's what your game is," she says before she sips. "I'm not that easy."

"That's not my style. I like a girl to be completely aware of everything I do to her. Every touch, every kiss, everything." She freezes, and I think her drink is headed for my face, but she just snorts and turns her head a fraction to the side.

"You're also pretty confident."

I sip my drink slowly.

"Not denying it."

Before I realize what's happening, she's downed the drink and slammed the empty glass down on the bar, ice rattling around.

"So, what is your name, Mystery Man?" she asks, raising one blond eyebrow.

I'm doomed.

I lean in and speak in her ear.

"What's yours?" She inhales through her nose, and I can't tell if she wants me to move away or not. What I really want to do is nip at her earlobe. She smells incredible up close.

"I asked you first," she says.

Before I can answer, someone speaks.

"This is very cozy." I look up and see one of her friends glaring at me and standing with her hand on her hip. Clearly not impressed.

"Oh, hey, I was just, um ..." she acts like she's been caught doing something bad. Very, very bad.

"Yeah, I thought the rule was no dicks tonight?" her friend says. She has short brown choppy hair and is much taller than her blond friend. I keep waiting for someone to use her name. I'm dying to know what it is. Even though I haven't told her mine.

The cute blonde turns and looks me up and down again.

"You're right. No dicks. Bye, Mystery Man!" They flounce back to the dance floor, and I head back to Jem, just a tiny bit rejected.


He's tall and rugged and looks like he should be posing in an L.L. Bean catalog while chopping wood or something. Between the dark hair, the beard, and the flannel shirt, he's got the look down. He's also so tall that it kind of throws me off at first. That and the fact that he's speaking to me. Usually my friend Tobi is the one picking up that kind of attention.

Then there's the line about his name. At least it's original. I let him buy me a drink, but then Tobi drags me away, reminding me of our "no dicks" rule for the night. It's purely a girls' night, which totally works out for two of my friends, Willow and Carrie, because they're a couple. Whatever. The point is still made. For the rest of us straight girls, we're not dealing with guys tonight.

I go back to the dance floor, thinking that's the end of it, but then I feel him watching me. It's somewhat unnerving. Every time I look through the gloom of the bar, I find his blue eyes staring right back at me.

As a result, I drink to forget about the Mystery Man. And since I'm on the small side, the booze goes right to my head, and I'm feeling pretty sloshy. It's great.

"I think we need to get you home," Tobi says when I trip over my normally steady feet for the fourth time.

"I'm fine," I say, even though I know that I'm not really. The floor is moving in waves.

"Leaving already?" a voice says and even though I just met him, I know his voice already, and my face is hot to the touch.

I pivot around slowly. Mostly so I don't tip over and make a fool of myself.

"Yes, now go away. I don't want to guess your name and I don't want to tell you mine and I just want you to go away." I point my finger at him, and he just sort of smirks, which makes me madder. I've had a shitty few months and he's not helping. Sometimes I have an even shorter fuse when I drink, and this guy is pushing my buttons for some reason.

"You looked great out there. You a dancer?" he says, completely ignoring what I just said. Tobi appears to want to see how this goes down more than she wants to leave. Traitor.

"Cheerleader," I say, as if it's any of his business. Of course, when I say I'm a cheerleader, I watch his reaction. Guys are almost always thrilled when they find out you're a cheerleader. Like you said you're a porn star or something. Yeah, those two things are exactly the same. Fucking perverts. I'm no one's spank bank material.


"Yeah, I am. And stop ogling me like I'm a sexual object. Cheerleaders are athletes, not porn fetishes. I've busted my ass my entire life to be able to do what I do. I bet you wouldn't even last one practice." I have no idea where that came from. I'm blaming the alcohol.

"Yeah?" he says, raising one dark eyebrow. "Is that a dare?"

"Sure, why the hell not?" I'm probably not going to remember this tomorrow, or see him again, so what does it matter?

"Okay, then. Challenge accepted." He smiles and then I think tips an imaginary hat. Before I can figure out what the crap that means, he's gone.

"Fucking weird," I say.

"Amen," Tobi says, taking my arm and helping me get out to her car.



I'd almost forgotten (yeah, right) about Mystery Man until the following Monday night when he just waltzes into the gym like he owns the place. My jaw pretty much hits the floor.

Tryouts happened at the end of last year, but they had a second round for anyone who missed the first. I'd gotten on the squad with no problem, since the talent level is several notches below what I'm used to. On my old squad (hate calling it that) at Texas University, the whole team had a standing back tuck, but here it's less than a third. It's been a lot to adjust to.

I came here for a reason. I just keep repeating that to myself. I came here for a reason.

"Wow, I can't believe he showed up," Tobi says as we stretch out on the mats. He's wearing a tight black shirt and loose black pants that swish when he walks. His arms are on full display, and I definitely didn't see all those tattoos on Saturday night since his arms had been covered. I have a serious weakness when it comes to tattoos. Yum.

He strides right up to Coach and shakes her hand as if they're old friends. Tobi and I both lean closer to hear what they're saying. His back is to us, so I can't hear what he says, but he makes Coach laugh. She pats him on his ample shoulder and says, "Let's see what you've got."

And then he executes (of course) a beautiful standing tumbling pass, ending with a full twist, landing with his feet perfectly together. What the actual fuck? He stands up and looks right at me, grinning like he's won the lottery.

My mouth gapes open, and Coach claps her hands. Jesus Christ, it's like real live Bring it On.

"Now, you've never cheered before, correct?" Coach asks him as she adjusts her glasses. I look around the room and everyone else is paying attention. The Mystery Man shakes his head.

Coach writes something down on her clipboard and tries to hide a smile. She's excited, I can tell. My old squad had one head coach and five assistants. Here there's only one assistant who's a grad student and former squad member. Coach Simmons's claim to fame is coaching a few high school squads and working two years at another tiny college in the state. She's nice but just doesn't have the skills that someone with more experience in different places would. That's mean, but it's honest. I'm already plotting to see if I can help with choreography, since it's one of my strong suits.

Mystery Man towers over her and even though she's got at least fifteen years on him, somehow he's the one who looks older.

"Well, it's a lot more than just tumbling, but you've at least got that. How about you hang out with us this practice and we'll see how fast you learn?" What the hell is this shit? She'd never do that for anyone else. Granted, with that one pass he's cemented himself as the best male tumbler on the team. I can do the same pass, but my legs aren't quite as straight and my feet aren't as tight as his. Although, I will never, ever admit that to him. I'd rather eat glass.

"Sounds good," he says and jogs right over to me, plops down on the mat, and starts stretching.

This is not happening. I can't put my finger on why he pushes my buttons so much. He isn't that much of an asshole. Sure, he's cocky and confident, but that's tolerable. It's just ... the way he is drives me crazy.

Hot and bothered and crazy.

Hopefully he'll give up once the season gets started and then he'll go away, and I can go back to not fantasizing about what that beard would feel like scraping against my skin.

"I thought you were a figment of my drunk imagination," I say, as he drops into a middle split and proves that not only is he a talented tumbler, he's flexible too. I try not to stare and imagine all the ways he could twist himself up. So not relevant right now.

"No, Freya, I'm completely real." I start when he says my name. How the crap does he know my name?

I shoot Tobi a look, but she's just watching the two of us like you watch animals circling each other on a nature special, waiting to see which one will draw blood first.

"Are you stalking me now? Is that how you know my name?" He rolls his eyes and tips his neck from side to side to crack it.

"No, it was easy. I have my sources." Ugh, this guy is really annoying me. It's a shame he's so good looking. I do whatever I can to keep my eyes off his tattoos. They're bold and colorful, but I don't look closely enough to figure out what they are. I've never dated a guy with tattoos, but the appeal has always been there.

"Whatever. Do I get to know your name now?" I can just ask Coach, but I'm not going to give him the satisfaction.

"Nope, you've gotta guess." I'm about to tell him where he can stick his guesses when Coach starts practice. She beams at us all and rocks from foot to foot.

"Okay, everyone, we have a new face. This is Rhett, and he's going to be observing for the next week. I know we already had tryouts, but we're sorely in need of strong bases and tumblers, so I'm making an exception. If you don't like it, you can go and run laps. Got it?" I'm the only one who seems to consider running laps. And I seriously hate running.

"Okay, let's begin with conditioning." She gives us all an evil smile, and we groan.


Well, she knows my name, so that little game is over. I'll have to come up with another way to play with her now.

I try not to stare as she stretches in just a tank top and a pair of athletic shorts. I don't need much imagination to see that she has a rocking body. Curvy and toned at the same time.

And her name. Freya. After she'd the bar left with her friends, Jem figured out who they were. Jem's one of those people who can get information out of anyone, and you wouldn't even realize he'd gotten it until after you'd told him. I always tell him he should be a lawyer or something, but he scoffs. Jem has one ambition and that's to have a good time.

Of course, then I looked her up on Facebook, but I couldn't get much because we weren't friends. So then I searched for the meaning of her name and laughed so loudly when I found it that I'm pretty sure my neighbors heard me.

Freya. Fucking sexy name, and it suits her perfectly. It means "lady" and is the name of a Norse goddess of love, beauty, war, and death. So perfect. She looks just like a Norse goddess.


Excerpted from Into Your Arms by Chelsea M. Cameron. Copyright © 2017 Chelsea M. Cameron. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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