#but yes building up suspense included me not talking. and being quiet. which is apparently something hard for me now

[2018shawn]

prohibited | th x oc

If you grab a dictionary and look up the word ‘inconvenience’,

 you’ll find Tom Holland’s name printed in huge, bold letters. 

a/n: yoooo I actually forgot I wrote this so I'm pretty nervous about posting it actually. this is obvs gonna be a multi-part fic, no idea how many parts lmao. any feedback appreciated 💓

warnings: none 

troupe: strangers → f.w.b → lovers (aka a rocky road)

word count: 1.7k

⌜intro⌟

One of Evie’s most annoying habits, and believe me, she’s been told more than enough times to know, is biting the end of her pen - or pencil - and twisting the plastic cap in-between her teeth. She’d done it since she could remember, it was just a way of releasing tension and nerves, but, considering it’s her boss’s pet hate and he picked up on it every time he entered the room, she really needed to nip it in the bud. 

Evie twirled the black biro in between her index finger and thumb, the lid rattling against her teeth as she sunk further into the chair. Her chair was almost central in the line, pulled up to the longest conference table she’d ever seen in what she believed to be the largest meeting room of the building, and boy is it a gigantic building. “Lindsay on sixth floor said we’re finding out some new big ass movie plot,” Evie’s colleague and friend, Paris, whispered whilst leaning over to her chair from her own. Evie and Paris had been tight ever since she’d started as an intern after leaving school, she almost took her under her wing, showed her the ropes - even went as far as showing her where the fancy coffee capsules were kept. Evie soon learnt that coffee was very much needed when you worked at Sony Picture Entertainment, fancy capsules or not. 

“Yeah well, Lindsay on sixth floor also said Tom Hardy tried to follow her into the ladies bathroom...” She rolled her eyes and turned to her friend, who simply shrugged and pulled away, sitting back straight in her chair. The door to the meeting room buzzed open, a key card access needed for entrance and everyone’s quiet muttering and speculations came to an immediate dead silence. 

Much like the rest of the room, Evie straightened her back, crossing her legs underneath the table in an attempt to sit as presentable and professional as possible. As quick as everyone poised themselves into business mode, they relaxed just as quick. Maria, the super cute food and drinks assistant, who always snuck Evie an extra piece of bacon in her Friday morning sandwich, rolled in her trolley, laughing at the unsubtle atmosphere from the participants in the room. Paris leant over to Everly again, her blonde hair falling in between them both. “Champagne?” Her aggressive whisper drew more attention than she’d wanted, resulting in everyone else concentrating on the huge and expensive looking bottles of fizz on Maria’s trolley. 

Evie’s mouth pulled to the side in confusion, knowing that Champagne only came out on the most appropriate of occasions. Maria set up her display, making sure the champagne flutes were crystal clear as she delicately placed them on the serving table. Another 5 or so minutes of muffled chat and theorising went by when the buzzer sounded again, only this time it wasn’t Maria and her trolley of tricks. 

The amount of nerves that filled the room were uncountable as Mr. Big Boss walked in, otherwise known as Michael Stud. Michael Stud had intimidated Evie, since way back when, but she wasn’t the only one who felt like that. It was normal to be scared of your boss, sure, but when he came storming down your office hallways just because someone from the floor had tweeted about a movie review - it was extra scary. Said twitter user was never seen in the offices again, FYI. 

Michael Stud wasn't alone. Behind him followed a small bundle of five individuals, talking and laughing amongst themselves, which made a nice contrast from the extremely silent room. Evie pulled the lapels of her spring coloured suit jacket together, trying to cover the stupid slogan tee-shirt and she suddenly wishes she picked the formal white shirt this morning. She also wishes she opted for a nice pair of heels instead of the white, canvas converse that she tucked under her chair, also in a bid to hide. Michael began with the formalities, introducing the crew behind him, some of who he offered to sit down, apart from the man with incredibly styled run-your-fingers-through hair who stay attentive at Stud’s side, eyes scanning the room as he admired all the faces in front of him.

Evie felt Paris’ presence yet again, Michael getting knee deep into the reason of why all senior department supervisors were bundled in the extremely warm room on a Thursday afternoon. “He’s been in... films n’ stuff,” she whispered, and Evie tried her hardest to remain professional, keeping eyes forward at all times. “I think maybe that tsunam...”

“Ms. Kershaw, is there something you’d like to add?” Michael asked, his eyes being the only pair that didn’t turn to face her because Michael could hear anything and anyone that would try talk over him. Evie winced, internally, lips pulling into a straight, thin line as she clicked eye contact with Miles who sat opposite. He slyly brought his hand up to his neck and mimicked running a knife across it, making it even harder for her to remain professional. 

Paris shuffled awkwardly in her seat, picking up her pen and looking at her notepad as if there was going to be some miracle excuse written down on there. “Sorry, Mr Stud. I was just speaking aloud really...” Her palms were sweaty, but once she started talking she could never stop. “I thought I recognised our new friend here, and I think, maybe it’s just clicked, from that tsunami... impossible?... film?” 

The handsome boy next to Michael beamed a wide smile, raising his eyebrows, “remind me to hit you up for the next pub quiz” was the first thing the young man had spoken since he’d entered the room and he even sounded attractive. Evie had dealt with her fair share of movie stars, she composed contracts for them for crying out loud, but never in her life had she come across someone who was so incredibly sexy and cute at the same time. 

Luckily, Michael seemed to be in a good mood - probably something to do with the champagne announcement - and laughed along with the guest and everyone else in the room, only making Paris sink further into her chair, wanting the ground to swallow her whole. The five minute introduction felt like five years, not just for Evie but for the entire room. No thanks to Michael’s long and in depth ramblings about the man stood at the front of the room, anyone who didn’t already know learnt his name, the movies he’s been in and yes, it did include the ‘tsunami... impossible... film’ - to which Paris hid her head in her hands as everyone joint in the laughter again - and finally that he was here because he was going to be involved in the remake of something incredibly exciting. “So, everyone, meet Spider-Man!”

Joyous cheers and claps filled the room, not one person in there ashamed to say they were huge fans. Evie was most definitely not ashamed to be fan-girlling, she loved the previous movies and had always been a fan of superhero’s but she pinned that down to the fact she grew up with brothers, and chick flicks were the last thing on the movie menu. The drinks were poured and passed around, Tom giving a small speech about the usual - how grateful and excited he was to be working with everyone, how he couldn’t wait to get started and put his take on the classic.

Tom was his usual, charming self as he made his way around the room to meet everyone and introduce himself; all the time keeping an eye on the girl in the yellow suit. He admired the way she looked smart and professional, but also how her converse and tee shirt brought her back down to normal level. He loved the way her caramel hair hung in loose curls from her pony tail, the shorter front parts of her curls framing around her face, apart from when she would reach up and took them behind her ears.

Evie kept her flute in her hand, not once taking a sip from the fizzy liquid in the glass. She wasnt one to mix business and pleasure, and considering she was head of contractual agreements, she figured she’d have to be drafting up a pretty quick signable paper for Tom to ensure he would not leak the news. Michael was big on secrets, he thought it added to the suspense of a film release. “This is our quiz buff and apparent movie researcher, Paris Kershaw,” Michael spoke, interrupting the conversation between Paris and Evie. Paris’ cheeks flushed red, once again, as Tom outstretched his hand, shaking hers firmly. He’d probably given more handshakes than he’d had hot dinners, so it was very strong and Evie couldn’t help but bite her lower lip as his bicep muscle flexed, the hem of his shirt sleeve stretched against his skin. “And this young lady, is here to make sure what happens at Sony, stays at Sony,” he smiled, holding his hand out to her to signal who he was talking about and she brought her own hand up, modestly waving and smiling. Tom outstretched his arm again and Evie reciprocated, taking his gentle offer. She thought she stopped breathing for a short second when they touched, his thumb wrapping around the back of her hand and gripping with power.

“Evie.” She smiled, realising she was yet to introduce herself, most probably embarassing herself in front of not only her boss and colleagues, but now a movie star.

Tom’s hand tugged at Evie’s arm, surprisingly to her, as she stumbled forwards, the front of her body crashing into his. “Tom.” he had smiled back in the process, as if he hadn’t been introduced a million times and was the sole reason everyone was there. His other hand snaked around Evie’s back, resting on the lower part and she became suddenly nervous, only continuing to hold onto the hand shake in the meantime. “Nice to meet you.” He added, face hovering next to hers and breath fanning against her ear. It was at that moment she got goosebumps, tensing up and only able to nod in return. 

#tom holland #tom holland x oc #tom holland fanfic #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #th x oc

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

Naughty Stranger by Stacey Kennedy

Dangerous Love #1

Sometimes the perfect book comes my way just when I need it and today there could not have been a better book for me to read. I fell in love with the characters, supporting characters and town as they came together to welcome Peyton Kerr and then support and protect her when bad things began to happen. The dynamics between Peyton and Boone Knight sizzled and their chemistry was instantaneous and undeniable. They were perfect together and reading their story made me happy...in spite of all that happened to make it at times rather suspenseful.

Peyton was someone I could see myself being once in my life. I have been an RN and young and in love. I have not experienced the heartbreak that Peyton did but can empathize. And Boone...talk about a heartthrob and perfect book boyfriend! I loved that they truly saw and got to know one another, shared and cared and all the rest. I enjoyed the mystery of who was out to kill people and how the police followed the clues. I loved meeting Asher and Rhett – Boone’s friends and colleagues on the police force. Kinsley and Remy were great girl friends for Peyton and always there for her.

I think one thing that came through to me in this book is that we really should make the most of every moment we have because that is all any of us are sure of. Live and love and experience life even when it is dark because even in the dark there is usually a bit of light.

Did I enjoy this book? Definitely!

Would I  like to read more in this series? I can’t wait!

Thank you to NetGalley and Hachette-Forever (Grand Central Publishing) for the ARC – This is my honest review.

5 Stars

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/42365674-naughty-stranger

BLURB

From USA Today bestselling author Stacey Kennedy comes a thrilling, sexy romance about a woman in danger and a small-town police detective who will do anything to keep her safe. After a sudden tragedy blew her world apart, Peyton Kerr fled her big city career and started over in Stoney Creek, Maine. So far, she’s loving small-town life–no one knows about her past, and her easy flirtation with Boone Knight gives her a reason to smile. But then someone is murdered in Peyton’s store, and her quiet, anonymous existence is instantly destroyed. To make matters worse, Boone–a police detective–is assigned to the case, and Peyton knows she can’t keep him at arm’s length any longer. She’s resisted the simmering heat between them–but now this gorgeous man is promising to keep her safe–and satisfied… Boone Knight doesn’t want the complications of a relationship. But when he volunteers to protect his town’s newest–and sexiest–resident, he finally admits he’d like to explore their sizzling attraction. And after one incredible night, everything changes for Boone. Peyton is sweeter–and braver–than anyone he’s ever met, and with her in his arms, everything makes sense. He just needs to convince her to trust him enough to reveal her secrets, or risk losing her to a merciless killer who seems to grow bolder with each passing day.

EXCERPT

http://www.staceykennedy.com/naughty-stranger-sneak-peek/

The loud rumble of the baby blue Volkswagen Beetle quieted as Peyton Kerr pressed against the brake pedal. Stoney Creek’s Main Street was cute and quaint, with boutique shops lining the skinny road where cars were parked without much space in between them. Through her open window, she tasted the salt in the air coming off the Atlantic Ocean and drove by a young man packing large containers with live lobsters into the back of his old Chevy pickup. On the next corner was a ticket booth for the lighthouse boat tours. Stoney Creek was a far cry from the bright lights, skyscrapers, and pungent busy city aroma that Seattle carried, but it was also a most welcome change.

People came to Stoney Creek for the picturesque views of the coastline on the bay. They climbed the mountain that overlooked the town and the ocean. They ate fresh fish at the restaurants near the marina, walked the beaches, and sailed the open waters. Peyton came for those reasons too. Well, and a laundry list of others, including that Stoney Creek was the last vacation spot she visited with her late husband, Adam, just over a year ago. She’d been her happiest here. They swam the waters, ate too much, laughed hard enough to cry. That’s what brought her back to the small Maine town. She’d left Seattle a heartbroken twenty-six-year-old widow, and she returned to Stoney Creek determined to find happiness here again.

Her heart clenched at the reminder of all she’d lost, threatening to expose all the weak spots. She forced the emotion back with a deep swallow, refusing to go to the dark place again. The past was behind her. That’s where it’d stay.

Up ahead, Peyton recognized the dark-haired slender woman waiting beneath a withered store sign as Isabella, her real estate agent. Peyton squeezed her used—but new to her—car into one of the parking spots.

Before she could even get out, Isabella was already at the passenger-side door. “You made it.”

“I’m so glad to finally be here.” Peyton smiled, turning off the car and exiting. She’d done a nine-hour flight with a layover in Philadelphia, then landed at the Portland International Jetport. That’s where she found her new car, which she thought suited small-town living. After a good night’s sleep in Portland, she drove three hours, taking the scenic drive along the coast to her fresh start. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“It’s no problem. I’ve got your keys here for both your house and your shop.” Isabella reached into her purse, then handed Peyton two sets of keys. “You’re all set to move in and open shop.” She handed her a slew of business cards. “I’ve given you some names of handymen around town if you want to give the store a makeover.”

Peyton glanced up at the old sign again and took in the cracked windowpane and peeling white paint on the exterior. Both the shop and her new lake house needed work, but so did she. “Great,” Peyton said, feeling like a fish out of water. “Thank you so much for everything. You’ve been so helpful.”

“Call if you need anything.” Isabella smiled and, shocking Peyton, threw her arms around her like they were friends. “You’re going to love it here.” With a final wave, she was off, practically skipping her way down the sidewalk.

Okay, so the people were the nice, touchy-feely sort.

Peyton turned back to her new shop and exhaled the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. Set in a historic redbrick building, in between Whiskey Blues, a jazz club on the right, and an empty store on the left, was her little lingerie shop with the French-style storefront. Two large display windows hugged the dark maple door with the original brass handle. The store might not be much in size, but the charm of the shop made up for it.

It was also 100 percent hers. Paid for with the insurance money from Adam’s death. Two weeks ago, in her lowest of lows, a Facebook ad for the Stoney Creek B&B, where she and Adam had stayed at when they’d vacationed there, had popped up on her screen. After that, she’d fallen down the Internet hole until she discovered the local lingerie shop was for sale. Everything from there happened so fast; she’d up and bought the shop on a total whim. Because if anything could make her feel happy again, it would be found in the place she felt the happiest. She also kept thinking that if she could make other women feel beautiful, then she’d feel that way again too.

This past year, she had no reason to wear gorgeous lingerie, let alone find a reason to get out of bed. She wore cotton bras and underwear for comfort. But she’d had a blast selling lingerie during her nursing school days. She couldn’t help but think that buying a lingerie shop was a good step forward to finding the fun parts of herself that had disappeared with Adam’s death.

Sure, she knew her mental state was hanging in the balance of her new life and her new shop. She couldn’t fail. Not because of the money. Adam had left her in good shape financially. But she couldn’t fail because this was all she had. There was nothing else giving her a purpose. And she was done playing the victim. She was also done simply surviving. She’d already been doing that in spades in Seattle. She wanted to breathe. To live.

And that’s why she’d left Seattle and her parents. She’d given up her nursing career in the ER at Seattle’s General Hospital, and she’d dumped every cent she received from Adam’s insurance money into this shop and her little house on the lake.

Was she crazy?

Oh, yeah, she was totally batshit nuts.

She glanced down at the house keys in her hand. All of her belongings would be shipped tomorrow, so tonight she planned to stay at the Stoney Creek B&B a couple blocks down Main Street.

“Are you the new owner?”

Peyton turned around, finding an older couple smiling at her. “Yes, I am.”

“Oh, so lovely to hear,” the woman said, her arm wrapped in her husband’s. “We need more young business owners coming in and keeping our downtown alive.” She offered her hand. “I’m Marjorie, and this is Joe.”

Peyton returned Marjorie’s handshake and then shook Joe’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Peyton.” When she drew her hand away, her stomach suddenly rumbled loudly. “I’m sorry about that. Apparently, I’m starving.”

Joe’s amber eyes crinkled with his warm smile. “The bar next door has one of the best fish sandwiches in town.”

“That sounds delicious.” Peyton returned the smile, feeling the tightness in her chest begin to dissolve. “I’ll be sure to check it out. Thanks.”

“Enjoy your evening, Peyton,” Marjorie said. With a final wave, they continued on their walk.

When Peyton’s stomach growled again, she headed for the bar, thinking a drink along with food sounded like the next best step forward. She didn’t see any parking signs, figuring she could leave her car there for the night.

She grabbed her purse from the car, locked the doors and entered the bar. From its original flagstone walls and restored burgundy velvet chairs to the gold accents, the bar was pure class. Four large crystal chandeliers gave the space a warm, inviting feel, and round tables surrounded the black shiny stage, where a man had his head bowed over the piano he played.

Peyton headed for the bar that had three men drinking beers. She hastily moved to the other side, keeping her distance from anyone of the opposite sex. Even the hot guy with the dark hair and muscular biceps who held her gaze, the side of his mouth curving sensually. Actually, especially because of that. She needed to find herself again, not find herself in anyone’s bed.

When she slid onto the stool, a friendly voice said, “You’re new here.”

Peyton glanced up, finding a slim, long-haired brunette wearing a black T-shirt that read whiskey blues across her chest. The bright pink lipstick she wore made her big blue eyes pop.

“Yup, I’m brand spanking new.” Peyton smiled, offering her hand. “I bought the store next door.”

“Did you?” The woman returned the handshake. “Well, that makes us friends already, then.”

Peyton laughed. “And here I was thinking making new friends was going to be hard.” She placed her hands back onto her purse. “I’m Peyton.”

“Kinsley,” the woman said, grabbing a martini glass. “Lucky for you, I own this place, which means I can call it a night and celebrate us being neighbors.” She gestured at the glass. “Chocolate martinis sound okay?”

“Sounds divine,” Peyton said, her mouth watering. She definitely wanted a fish sandwich, but a little liquid love first didn’t hurt. Besides, she hoped the drink would help dissolve the lump in her throat. She questioned her sanity, uprooting her life and leaving her family behind. But she couldn’t have stayed in Seattle another day. Seattle belonged to her and Adam. She needed to belong without him. Adam was gone. He wasn’t coming back.

Kinsley finished pouring two glasses, then held hers up. “To new friendships and new beginnings.”

Peyton lifted her glass. “Cheers to that!”

Before long, one glass turned into two glasses, and Peyton’s belly felt warm, her smile easy, the fish sandwich long forgotten. She spoke of Seattle, leaving out all the personal parts, keeping those secrets locked up tight. And Kinsley shared life in Stoney Creek, the fun places to go, the sights to see.

“I make a damn fine martini,” Kinsley said, licking the chocolate flakes off her upper lip. She placed her empty glass behind the bar. “Give me a couple minutes, then we’ll Uber it to this new house of yours on the lake and grab some takeout on the way. I gotta see this place. It sounds amazing.”

Sure, Kinsley was a stranger, but something about her laidback way put Peyton at ease. “Deal.” Peyton took another sip of her drink, watching Kinsley leave the bar and move into the back room, feeling happier than she’d felt in an entire year.

Something warm suddenly brushed against Peyton’s arm, making her shiver. She turned as Mr. Crooked Smile sat on the stool next to her. He was tall—around six foot two, pure muscle, an all-around fine specimen of a man. His intense blue eyes that appeared nearly gray in the low lighting held hers, and his five-o’clock shadow brought her attention to his totally kissable lips. He wore a navy-blue T-shirt that stretched across his chest, showcasing hard biceps, and jeans that hugged his thick thighs.

“Hi.” He grinned, voice as smooth as melted chocolate. And she really liked chocolate. A lot.

She took in the hard masculine lines of his face, softened a little by the strands of dark hair falling across his forehead. “I’m new here, opening the shop next door,” she babbled.

“Ah, the lingerie shop,” he said, his eyes dancing at whatever was crossing her expression. “Tonight’s a celebration, then?”

God, she must have looked like she wanted to eat him. Well, she did, so whatever. Obviously, the martinis without food had been a terrible idea. “That’s right,” she said, lifting her chin, trying not to look as rattled by this guy or as tipsy as she felt.

His arm brushed against hers again—clearly intentional this time—and she shivered, hearing her own hitching breath. His gaze went red hot, those deep eyes turning darker, examining her deeper. She swallowed, trying to calm her puckering nipples and the building heat between her thighs.

What. The. Hell?

“Um, excuse me.” She slid off the stool and stumbled in the process. After she laughed at herself and hid her gaze from him, she beelined it toward the bathroom across the bar. Once inside, she turned on the water and placed her hands underneath to cool off. She looked into the mirror, finding her cheeks flushed, her eyes glossy and full of heat. Maybe those chocolate martinis had an aphrodisiac effect. Because . . . holy hell!

She stayed in the bathroom probably longer than necessary. When she came out, she nearly walked into Mr. Crooked Smile. He caught her by the waist to steady her, and when his hands tightened on her hips something overcame her, an emotion she could not control. His touch was warm and strong, and his potent stare pulled her in until she looked into his eyes intimately.

He arched an eyebrow. “All right?”

“Why are you waiting here for me?” she managed.

His smile was gentle and sweet, and on a big tough guy looked mouthwateringly delicious. “You’ve been in there a while. Feeling okay?”

She stared at him. For some reason she was immensely touched by his kindness, and she suddenly couldn’t remember all the reasons she didn’t want a man in her life. “God, you’re so hot.” She grabbed his face and kissed him. Passionately. With tongue.

A low masculine sound that tickled her in the best places rose from deep in his chest. Then her back hit the wall. Hard. Shock and desire flooded her as he threaded one hand into her hair, then claimed her mouth. Owned it, with every hard press of his lips and swirl of his tongue.

When she began nearly climbing up his body, a moment of clarity hit her, and she broke away with a gasp. “What in the hell are we doing?” she asked, staring at his mouth, and wanting desperately to have more of it. “You’re a stranger.” A naughty stranger.

“I believe you kissed me,” he said in a voice so low goose bumps rose on her arms, and a smile so sexy it should come with a warning label. “And were doing a fine job of it.”

“Ahem.”

Still in the man’s arms, Peyton turned, finding Kinsley staring at them with her arms folded.

“So,” Kinsley said with a sly smile. “I see you’ve met my brother, Boone.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Stacey Kennedy is an outdoorsy, wine-drinking, nap-loving, animal-cuddling, USA Today bestselling romance author with a chocolate problem. She writes sexy contemporary romance full of heat and heart, including titles in her wildly hot Kinky Spurs, Club Sin, and Dirty Little Secrets. She lives in southwestern Ontario with her family and does most of her writing surrounded by lazy dogs. To keep in touch with Stacey, get updates right to your inbox at staceykennedy.com/newsletter/.

#Stacey Kennedy #Hachette #Forever Yours #Forever Grand Publishing #NetGalley #angerous Love 1 #Romantic Suspense #Small Town Romance

[buildercar]

New Post has been published on http://www.buildercar.com/first-drive-east-coast-defender-90-and-110/

First Drive: East Coast Defender 90 and 110

MALIBU, California—For a brief moment I imagine I’m in a Bond film. Two sinister-looking Land Rover Defenders flank me but, instead of henchmen, two delightful chaps—Tom and Elliot Humble — exit the vehicles. The proprietors of East Coast Defender walk to me excitedly, ready to show off their latest creations.

The rigs, a street-tuned Land Rover Defender 90 and a more opulent but nonetheless off-road capable 110, make the Porsche Cayenne S I arrived in look impotent. These Land Rovers are almost three decades older than the Cayenne but have presence and modernity that compete against the Porsche as if each was designed yesterday.

The Humbles—brothers and British expats—began East Coast Defender in a small shop in Florida, tinkering and ruminating on an idea. Since those initial late-night, warm-beer-fueled brainstorming sessions five years ago, East Coast Defender has expanded to an 11,000-square-foot workspace. Its 15 full-time employees are passionate about a single make and model: the Land Rover Defender. The Humbles wanted to propagate the Defender’s cult status while building only enough so as not to dilute their devotion to precision.

Depending on its specs—and the depths of your bank account—an East Coast Defender can be almost anything, from mild to serving up your every want and need. The ragtop Defender 90 rides on a stock chassis and maintains the lines of the Solihull-produced body with street-tuned suspension, a set of 18-inch Kahn Design wheels shipped from the U.K., and a set of light-duty off-road tires. The 110, however, is another story.

Nicknamed The Beast, it features a new subframe, differentials, upgraded off-road suspension, a Kahn Design wide-body kit with a full exterior roll-cage, Warn Winch, Kahn Design wheels, BFGoodrich tires, upgraded interior including Corbeau racing seats, a new dash and instrument panel, and a host of other modifications. The Beast has been through one of East Coast Defender’s most extensive and extreme builds to date, and has a price tag—apparently still climbing as of this writing—of $210,000.

Both the 90 and 110 feature a Chevrolet Performance E-Rod LS3 crate motor. While East Coast Defender is more than happy to sell you upgraded and updated engines from the originals’ lineup, according to Elliot, “The original Land Rover motors aren’t that great. The power, torque, and easy and cheap maintenance a GM crate engine offers was a no-brainer.” You probably won’t be stuck on the side of the road in these Defenders. The Humbles also hinted the company is looking into other engine swaps, including a dry-sump LS7 and Chevrolet’s 650-horsepower LT4 supercharged V-8 found in the C7 Corvette Z06 and Cadillac CTS-V.

I hop into the 110’s leather-lined bucket racing seats—similar to the sport seats found in the Jaguar F-Type SVR and Range Rover Sport SVR—eager to play with the monstrous truck on the dirt roads of the lemon orchard we have use of. I turn the key to the sound of … silence. The engine doesn’t even crank. Ten minutes later, the battery and engine are separated, and I’m in the more street-prepped 90, instead ripping through some tight and sandy paved roads.

The 90 feels like an old truck. There are squeaks and rattles and all manner of common Land Rover Defender aches and pains. But unlike a normal Defender, I’m not worried about overheating or being stranded. The engine transplant makes it feel resilient enough to go another 400,000 miles, which isn’t what usually comes to my mind when I think of Land Rover.

The lowered suspension and big wheels and tires make the ride interesting, as the Defender lists left and right when you enter a turn. It doesn’t feel dangerous, but definitely more boat, thoughlike than modern Land Rovers. Coupled to this LS3 is a four-speed automatic transmission; while a relic from GM’s old parts bin, it doesn’t feel out of place in this application, shifting quietly and delivering torque and power smoothly. I also never really notice its lack of gears. If we took the 90 on the highway, I suspect I’d have a different opinion, but it’s perfectly adept puttering around the back-road maze.

I head into the lemon orchard’s tangled web of off-road trails that lead everywhere and nowhere. The squeaks and rattles are a little louder but no worse than any other true off-road vehicle. Drowning the noise is easy, though, with 430 horsepower available. Ripping the Defender through the tight maze, the sound of American displacement singing through the trees, this may as well be the Dakar rally. The knobby tires grab and hook the loose dirt, gravel, bark, and sand that make up the trails, sending rooster tails shooting into the air as the speedometer needle climbs. The racing seats now make perfect sense.

By now the 110 is back up and running. Its immobilizer turned out to be the problem. Immediately, I’m struck by just how quiet and insulated this model is versus the 90. I ask Elliot to explain the difference between the two. He says, “The 90 was a light restoration, the owner just wanted to keep it as stock as possible but update it so it works on a daily basis. This thing is just as its name suggests, a beast.” According to Elliot, the owner wanted pretty much everything East Coast Defender could do: new frame, new body kit, new interior bits, new pretty much everything. And it couldn’t squeak or behave like a normal Defender; it had to be solid, almost Bentley-esque no matter the terrain.

It’s hard to argue with the finished product as it barely makes a peep while hitting the rutted, rough trails at speeds that would’ve made the little 90 sound like a maraca. It bounds over berms, rolls over rocks, and cruises over cracks. It’s phenomenal.

Climbing through the miniature mountain range around the orchard, the LS3’s torque eats the trail with ferocity. We turn onto what appears to be a little-used trail, judging by overgrown brush and a lack of tread marks. A massive concrete slab the size of a small factory appears out of nowhere and sits adjacent to a nearly 60-degree hill. With a wry smile, I look at Elliot who shares my expression. The 110 advances nonplussed up the steep hill with no drama, all while coddling us in plush leather seats as we rock-out to a custom stereo.

Yes, you need a substantial amount of funds to access this experience. Even more basic builds start at around $90,000, and most projects take about three months to finish. Pictures and updates keep customers up to date throughout the process. For those who don’t want to wait, two East Coast Defender builds are available for immediate purchase. Both 110s, they feature a host of upgrades and options, including one powered by the General Motors’ LC9 V-8. The LC9 110 costs $169,995, while the Land Rover-powered 110 is $129,995.

When you talk about a truck boasting as much history and gravitas as the Defender does, price might be subjective. And with the attention to detail East Coast Defender offers, you get what you pay for. “Everything we do puts the customer and the vehicle at the center of our business, and our fantastic team simply makes it happen,” Tom says. “Good isn’t good enough.”

East Coast Defender 90 and 110 Specifications ON SALE Now PRICE $120,000-$300,000 (est) ENGINE 6.2L OHV 16-valve V-8/430 hp, 424 lb-ft (est) TRANSMISSION 4-speed automatic, 6-speed automatic LAYOUT 2-door, 4-passenger (90)/ 4-door, 6-passenger (110), front-engine, 4WD SUV EPA MILEAGE N/A L x W x H 157.0 x 71.0 x 80.0 in (90)/ 181.0 x 71.0 x 81.0 in (110) WHEELBASE 92.9 in (90)/110.0 in (110) 0-60 MPH  N/A TOP SPEED N/A

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