A breathless romantic thriller that doesn’t just toe the line between danger and desire—it burns it to the ground.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Taylor Hutton’s Strike and Burn, which is out January 28th 2025.
Honor Stone is all alone in this world. No family, no money, no future. So when she locks eyes with Strike Madden—in the morgue of all places—she’s not in the mood to be seduced. Sure, he’s drop-dead gorgeous, and the sizzle of attraction between them is undeniable, but she’s reeling from her identical twin sister’s murder. It’s the wrong time, wrong place, wrong everything.
Still, the enigmatic billionaire hires Honor as an artist to spearhead his carefully curated erotic animation studio—a job they soon find to be a dangerous mix of business and pleasure.
But when her twin’s obsessive killer targets Honor, the painful secrets of Honor’s traumatic past will finally be exposed with devastating consequences. Strike will stop at nothing to protect her, uncovering his own bone-chilling demons—a beautifully broken, dark side that doesn’t scare Honor…
It consumes her.
Shyly, I slip off the overcoat and hand it over. Strike takes it, then wraps it around me again.
“It’s freezing,” he says in answer to my questioning eyes. “You need it.”
“If you’re sure . . .” But I’m already sliding my arms inside, and he’s buttoning me in like I’m a small child about to head out to play in the snow. He’s so close I can hardly breathe as he places a hand on each of my shoulders and draws me in closer for a hug.
“You’re going to be okay,” he whispers in my ear.
I make the decision without even realizing it. Actually, it’s not even a decision at all. It’s like a reflex. I stand up on my tippy toes, and surprise myself by bringing my lips to his. He doesn’t kiss me back at first, but I’m beyond worrying about embarrassment tonight. I can feel he wants me and so I decide to screw every- thing else. I have nothing left.
And then he’s kissing me back, his mouth against mine, testing whether I will give him what he wants, and when I open my mouth, his tongue finds mine, and a match is lit between us; our chemistry is as fierce as a burst of flame, sharp and crackling. He pushes me up against the car and grips the back of my head. I moan into his mouth and grind myself against him. He trails a hand up my thigh and under my skirt and grips my hip. I feel the hard length of him against me, and I shiver. His touch feels cold and hot at the same time—my flesh sizzles—and all I want is more, more, more. To keep feeling him instead of the desperate sadness. This, whatever this is, is working.
More, more, more, I think, or maybe whisper—it’s all happening so fast.
I hear a click and realize the event’s photographer has turned his camera toward us.
Strike springs back, and then smooths down his clothes.
Shakes his head a few times as if to clear it.
“Goodbye, Honor Stone,” he says, an emotionless mask falling into place, as if we weren’t eating each other’s faces moments ago. “Stay safe.”
This feels like a warning. Of what, I’m not sure, but now my skin prickles in a very different way than it did when he had his hands on me. Our moment is over.
“Listen, I really appreciate your . . .” I don’t know how to finish. “My . . . ?” Strike prompts, a brow raised, that hint of smile again.
“Your kindness,” I say. “Five stars for your kindness.”
His laughter is more like a shout of surprise. A slow uneasiness moves through me. Who is this guy, for real? Is it safe for me to get into this car? Except that something about the way Strike is opening the SUV’s passenger-side door feels less like being abducted and more like being efficiently dismissed.
“Thanks for everything,” I say. “Really. I mean it.”
“It’s been an honor, Honor.” Immediately, he looks rueful. “Christ, did I say that out loud? Bet you’ve never heard that one before.”
“Never.” I shake my head. “Not even once.” The car’s interior is so cavernous that once I’m inside, it feels like it’s swallowed me whole.
“Well, I hope this gets you home safe to your loved ones.” “Home alone, actually,” I say.
“Good movie.”
“Home Alone Three is my favorite.” I bite my lip and then decide to go for it. He’s made no attempt to get my number. “Listen, can I get your info—to return the coat? It’s too beautiful to keep. Feels wrong.”
He sweeps away my words with a hand. “Consider it the kindness of strangers.”
I don’t argue—while this coat is probably as valuable as a mortgage payment to me, to him, it likely has the worth of a cup of coffee.
“Okay . . .” I buckle in and relax into the soft, prewarmed leather seats. I needed that reminder. We are strangers.
Strike keeps the door open as he grins mischievously. “Also, I have to respectfully disagree,” he says. “Home Alone: The Holiday Heist for the win. Better showdowns.”
“Who would have thought you’d have such strong holiday movie opinions?”
“Ah, I take my holiday movies very seriously, my friend,” he says. I can’t look away from the unfathomable darkness of his eyes.
“See you around this fucking world, Honor,” he says with a finality that knifes through my heart as he shuts my door.
I shiver again, but this time it’s not because I’m cold.
In my last sight of Strike, he’s crossing the street against traffic, head bowed and serious. I press my fingers to my cheeks, now burning-hot to the touch, as I try to steady myself. That was a crash-collision, and it’s over now.
Wrong place, wrong time, wrong everything.
Excerpted from STRIKE AND BURN by Taylor Hutton, published by Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright © 2025
