Chicago War: The Complete Seriesby Bethany-Kris Chicago War #1-4 Publication Date: August 8, 2016 Genres: Organized Crime, Erotic Romance, Suspense
Synopsis: The war began with the death of one person and would end with the killing of many more. Four families paint Chicago red as greed, hatred, secrets, and loyalties divide them to opposite ends of the city.But in the midst of the fighting and bloodshed, there are those who struggle between love and famiglia. They are the most dangerous of all. They have everything to lose. And no one will see them coming. Chicago War: The Complete Series features the full-length novels,Deathless & Divided, Reckless & Ruined, Scarless & Sacred, and Breathless & Bloodstained.
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ABOUT BETHANY-KRISBethany-Kris is a Canadian author, lover of much, and mother to three young sons, one cat, and two dogs. A small town in Eastern Canada where she was born and raised is where she has always called home. With her boys under her feet, snuggling cat, barking dogs, and a hubby calling over his shoulder, she is nearly always writing something … when she can find the time. To keep up-to-date with new releases from Bethany-Kris, sign up to her New Release Newsletter here: http://eepurl.com/bf9lzD
I’m a lonely man. I choose to be this way. I had true love with her. It didn’t matter how old we were, or how young; once you have it, you never let it go. You spend a lifetime together. And I pissed it away. Underlining painful memories have inflicted punishment on my tattered soul for years. Besides Rori and Muriel, those two things are the only constant impressions that have kept me going. If I didn’t feel the need to live with a constant dagger shoved through my heart, I would have let myself whittle away years ago. It’s distressing, to say the least, that the pain I’ve caused is the only thing I’ve let rule my life. I’m living in hell every day, repeatedly burning from the inside out since day one. I will never forget the first time I was rejected in New York, how badly I wanted to call her and beg her to forgive me. I couldn’t do it, and I knew it. I jumped in the shower instead, rinsed off the dirt and grime, then pressed my forehead to the yellow tiles. Hot water beat down my back. I vowed not to cry, even though my heart ached and my lungs felt like they were working overtime to help me breathe. I caved and fell to the shower floor, my fist pounding and beating the wall in front of me until I became numb to the shooting pain filtering from my hands all the way to my shoulders, twining up around my neck until I choked from the lump lodged in my throat. Nausea bubbled up, and I vomited the contents from earlier in the day. The rancid smell left me dry heaving and an oversized human slumped over in the small confinement that the pain from missing her had left me in. When the water ran cold, I lay there shivering, wishing for nothing but her. Once I composed myself, I crawled back up and cleaned and towel-dried off, only to climb into an empty, cold bed, tired and defeated, scared to close my eyes, because when I did, all I saw was her. Several nights I repeated the same thing until the real life nightmares struck me hard, leaving me in this worst shape of my life. For years, I’ve been honest with myself over and over again, saying I deserve every chip and break my heart feels when her birthday or Christmas come around. It’s like this infinite cloud that hangs dormant over my head: dark and gloomy, cold and wet. It will never go away. Now that I’ve seen her, and even though I’m walking back down The Strip with no idea where I’m going, the memories that were once happy become so unpleasant I could easily bleed my life dry. Desperation pools around me. Panic sets in. What if she’s gone and I never see her again?
The Drifter by Kathy Coopmans is a heartfelt romance you are going to want to one-click!
Releasing July 11th.
Add to your TBR at: http://bit.ly/1RWK7BH
To the outside world, Kray Brooks had it all growing up.
Wealth. The devoting parents.
The beautiful girlfriend.
All of it a lie, except her. The woman he left behind thirteen years ago to try and achieve his real dream... to become a musician.
Life doesn't always go according to the plan you set out for yourself.
Sometimes, you drift. Become lost, lose hope and crash.
For thirteen years he's been drifting wherever his guitar takes him, avoiding his past. Never thinking of his future.
Not once did he think it would all catch up to him. Until it did.
About the Author:
USA Today Best-Selling Author Kathy Coopmans, lives in Michigan with her husband Tony where they have two grown sons.
After raising her children she decided to publish her first book and retiring from being a hairstylist.
She now writes full time.
She's a huge sports fan with her favorite being Football and Tennis.
She's a giver and will do anything she can to help another person succeed!
Use whichever one of these you would like babe.
Stalk Her: Facebook | Twitter | Website | Goodreads | Newsletter signup
Title: Rounding Third
Author: Michelle Lynn
Genre: New Adult
Cover Design: Perfect Pear Creative Covers
Release Date: August 8, 2016
I was destined for stardom.
From the age of seven, I was an all-star.
Parent’s praised me, coaches worshipped me.
As I got older, girls begged for me.
I was Beltline’s baseball God, guaranteed to put this small town on the map.
Then, after one night, that future vanished.
The legend was laid to rest.
I gave up my scholarship.
I fled from Beltline.
I left behind the girl.
Now, I’m back.
Michelle moved around the Midwest most of her life, transferring from school to school before settling down in the outskirts of Chicago ten years ago, where she now resides with her husband and two kids. She developed a love of reading at a young age, which helped lay the foundation for her passion to write. With the encouragement of her family, she finally sat down and wrote one of the many stories that have been floating around in her head. When she isn’t reading or writing, she can be found playing with her kids, talking to her mom on the phone, or hanging out with her family and friends. But after chasing around two kindergarteners all day, she always cherishes her relaxation time after putting the kids to bed.
Re-Reveal! New Name! New covers!
Welcome to Briarwood Academy where love can be a little bad, a lot wicked, and sometimes twisted.
FOUR RED-HOT BOOKS about the BAD, WICKED and TWISTED characters of Briarwood Academy, featuring a dirty-talking gym owner, a football player, a sexy rock star, and a British bad boy.
ALL BOOKS ARE ON SALE and FREE ON Kindle Unlimited!
Very Bad Things (Book One)
ONLY $0.99 (Standalone)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/28XHrd6
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2928nc2
Leaving behind her mansion and Jimmy Choos, Nora Blakely becomes a girl hell-bent on pushing the limits with alcohol, drugs, and meaningless sex.
Then she meets her soulmate, but he doesn’t want her.
Sexy gym owner Leo Tate has one rule: never fall in love…until Nora shows up with her list of bad things. He resists the pull of their sizzling connection, hung up on their age difference.
Very Wicked Beginnings
(Dovey and Cuba--prequel novella)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/298pLcW
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/28VL91T
When wicked ballerina Dovey Beckham meets football star Cuba Hudson, she didn’t plan on having her heart shattered into a million pieces. He’s the bad boy with a dark past, and when he falls for Dovey, he knows she can’t be part of his future.
Very Wicked Things
(Dovey and Cuba)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/28YfFJ3
Amazon UK ONLY $0.99: http://amzn.to/28VMLsO
Dovey Beckham is a ballerina from the wrong side of the tracks. Cuba "Hollywood" Hudson is a wealthy football player with fast cars and even faster girlfriends.
Their passion is electric, their connection deep, but once in a lifetime kind of love doesn't come easy, especially when dirty money, past sins, and old flames come calling.
Very Twisted Things
(Standalone- Violet and Sebastian)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/28XK6Dy
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/28VNnOS
Violet St. Johns is a talented violinist hiding out in a Hollywood mansion, struggling to forget the devastation of her parent’s sudden death.
Vital Rejects front man Sebastian Tate sees the elusive girl in the mansion next door playing her violin nude, and they begin an erotic game of spying.
When they finally come face-to-face, sparks fly and clothes comes off. But giving his heart to a girl isn’t Sebastian’s plan; falling for a guy who craves attention isn’t Violet’s.
About the Author
Wall Street Journal best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.
She's addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, and Instagram.
She has a degree in English and a Master's in Education.
When she's not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest | Goodreads | Instagram
Order of her books and Amazon page
Amazon Page: http://amzn.to/28YqMm8
VERY BAD THINGS
Designer: Luminos Graphic House
Model: Leon Scott
VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS
VERY WICKED THINGS
Designer: Luminos Graphic House
Photography: Michael Stokes
Model: Attila Toth
VERY TWISTED THINGS
Designer: Luminos Graphic House
Photography: Michael Stokes
Model: Mike Thurstson
The British are HERE!
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1G7I4vq
Are you ready for Filthy English?
Add to your TBR for a July 11th release here: http://bit.ly/28MpTlk
$25 Amazon Gift Card
That First Kissby J.C. Valentine Night Calls #2 Publication Date: June 18, 2013 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Erotic, Romance Synopsis: Mercurial and charming, Tate Larson is a rising author and playboy who has a different woman on his arm every night of the week. Focused on his work, Tate has no plans to settle down any time soon. That is until he meets his pretty new assistant, Piper Donovan. Desperate to escape the promise of backwater living, Piper ditched her Alabama hometown and never looked back. That was almost two years ago. Now that she is out of a job and her bank account is running on fumes, she’s desperate to find a job, fast. She finds the break she is searching for when she lands a position at Bookish Temptations. A little dancing and a lot of drinks with the girls seem the perfect way to celebrate. After a brief but explosive encounter with a man she was never supposed to see again turns out to be the same man she will be bending over backwards to please, her every instinct tells her to run. But when running means leaving the life she has struggled so hard to create, Piper decides her only option is to continue working for the devastatingly sexy Tate Larson…even if it kills her. Unable to deny their growing attraction, they struggle to keep their distance in a relationship that requires anything but.
EXCERPT- THAT FIRST KISSWhere was his goddamn assistant? For the hundredth time, Tate Larson glanced to the door watching another suit enter and approach the counter to place his order. Checking his watch again, Tate gritted his teeth and dropped his eyes back to the screen before him. So help him God. Felix promised he had found a good one this time. He swore this was the one. Foolishly, Tate had believed the man, though why he did was beyond him. The last dozen or so certainly hadn’t worked out, so why should this one? Was it too much to ask for a person to be on time these days? Well, Felix was going to be pissed to hear that he fired this one on the spot. He didn’t tolerate incompetence well. The bell over the door chimed again, announcing another arrival. Pausing mid-sentence, his fingers hovering over the keys, Tate lifted his eyes to the door once more, pausing on the pretty little thing that stepped inside. Dressed as a professional in a nice buttercream blouse and fitted pencil skirt, he was unable to keep his eyes from wandering over her luscious curves. She wasn’t as tall or slim as the women he normally chose, but there was just something about her that drew the eye. Maybe it had something to do with the woman he had hooked up with at the club over the weekend—lush lips, curvy body and bedroom eyes. Exactly the type of woman he went for and actively avoided. He was still reliving that moment nightly, hell, daily. He never should have kissed her. It went against his personal code of never kissing a one-night stand. But kiss her he had and now he was suffering the memory of that kiss and the way the woman tasted endlessly. Glancing around, he noticed that half the men in the shop had paused what they were doing to take notice of the woman, too. He watched curiously, studying her form, the way the morning sunlight created a total body halo making her look positively heavenly, the way her eyes darted around the room nervously, landing on each man only long enough to disregard them and move on. Hmm, why only the men, he wondered as those innocent brown eyes snagged on him. Oh, hell no. Tate straightened from his slouched position and dropped his feet from the chair in front of him to the floor with a dull thud. It couldn’t be. This had to be some kind of trick. Some sick twist of fate. Two things occurred to him at once: He was looking at the object of his current fantasies—the woman he had screwed in a women’s bathroom and hadn’t been able to shake from his memory since—and he was pretty damn sure she was his new assistant. He knew she recognized him by the way her mouth dropped open in a small O and her brown eyes widened. She started toward him, her steps faltering only slightly before she visibly pulled herself together. His eyes narrowed as the woman stopped in front of his table and peered down at him. “Hey, fancy meeting you again.” She smiled, showing off pretty white teeth that weren’t exactly perfect but still managed to set off her smile. His gaze lingered on her full, pouty bottom lip, remembering how it had tasted against his tongue. “Yes, fancy that,” Tate replied tightly. “Piper was it?” Dressed the way she was, looking the way she did, he never would have figured her for the business type. Judging from their first encounter, he pegged her as easy, just some bimbo, good for taking to bed and not much more. Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. She seemed different from the women he normally screwed. Compelling him to kiss her was proof enough of that. Not that he would have minded taking this woman to bed, though. Hell, he already had her once bent over a bathroom sink, but he needed an assistant just now. What he didn’t need was the aggravation of working with a woman who he’d already slept with. Sitting back, he folded his arms over his chest and propped his foot up on the chair across from him. “Ah, you remembered.” “What can I say? I’m good with names, and I never forget a pretty face,” he replied smoothly. She blushed, which oddly pleased him. Too bad he was going to have to wipe that pretty look off her face. “So, what are you doing here?” “I’m supposed to be meeting my new assistant,” he said, looking up at her meaningfully, “but they’re late.” Brows pinching, Piper frowned at him. He knew the exact moment that she put two and two together. “You’re Tate Larson?” she screeched. He pursed his lips. “I am. Are you the assistant?” She swallowed, her hands twisting nervously in front of her. “Yes, that’s me.” “Good. You’re fired.”
DON'T MISS STRANDED, THE FIRST BOOK IN THE NIGHT CALLS SERIES, #FREE ON ALL PLATFORMS!Synopsis: Burned, Felix Sinclair has all but vowed never to get seriously involved with another woman as long as he lives. After a long day's work, Felix Sinclair is looking forward to getting back to his luxury apartment in the city. When he detours onto a road less traveled in order to shave off some travel time, the last thing he expects is to wind up stranded in a roadside ditch in the middle of a downpour--or to fall into the arms of a beautiful woman. Recently divorced, jobless, friendless and utterly alone, Poppy Montgomery is struggling to convince herself that single life is what she wants--needs. Then a handsome stranger staggers into her life and sparks fly. Riding out the storm together is bound to stir up heat, but once it passes, will they be able to walk away? AUTHOR’S NOTE: STRANDED is the first in an interconnected series of erotic romance. Each book can be read as a stand alone, but you will find that each new character has been previously introduced in some way. As an introduction to the series, STRANDED is a novella, but rest assured each new addition will be a full length novel worth sinking your teeth into.
ABOUT J.C. VALENTINEJ.C. Valentine is the USA Today and International bestselling author of the Night Calls and Wayward Fighters Series and the Forbidden Series. Her vivid imagination and love of words and romance had her penning her own romance stories from an early age, which, despite being poorly edited and written longhand, she forced friends and family members to read. No, she isn’t sorry. J.C. earned her own happily ever after when she married her high school sweetheart. Living in the Northwest, they have three amazing children and far too many pets and spend much of their free time together enjoying movies or the outdoors. Among the many hats she wears, J.C. is an entrepreneur. Having graduated with honors, she holds a Bachelor’s in English and when she isn’t writing, you can find her editing for fellow authors. Sign up for J.C.’s newsletter and never miss a thing! http://bit.ly/1KxXWWB
Author: Amy K. McClung
Title: For the Love of Gracie
Series: The Southern Devotion series, Book 1
Genre: Adult Contemporary Romance
Release Date: July 8, 2016
Publisher: Hot Tree Publishing
Designer: Claire Smith
Always falling for the wrong guy, Gracie Walker hasn't had much luck finding Prince Charming. She's reached a point where it's easier to forget about romance and focus on what's important: college, clubbing and her friends.
But the best-laid plans don't always pan out as hoped.
Caught up in a web of relationships that threaten nothing but pain, Gracie has to decide who she can trust and who can help keep her safe.
What lengths will the man of her dreams go to… for the Love of Gracie?
Amy McClung was born in Nashville, TN. She is the second oldest of four girls and occasionally suffers from middle-child syndrome. She met the love of her life online in August of 2004, on his birthday of all days, and married him in September 2005.
Currently they have no human children, only the room full of colourful robots that transform into vehicles and the large headed Pop Funkos who represent their favorite characters. Collecting movies, shot glasses, Pop Funkos, and dust bunnies are some of her favourite pastimes.
Amy began writing in September of 2011 and independently published her first YA novel, Cascades of Moonlight, Book one of the Parker Harris series the following May. Her first book was a means of therapy for her, enabling her to escape reality for a while during a difficult transition in her life.
We just couldn't wait for June 28th - we wanted to share a sneak peek of Ryan Michele's CONQUERING now! You can read the first chapter below - make sure to preorder before the June 28th release for a special preorder price!
About CONQUERINGWes ‘Stiff’ Collins lived life on the wild side. He worked from the moment he knew what the word meant, always making the best of every situation. There was nothing about his past he would change. Without a real family except his brother Xander, Stiff joined the Vipers Creed Motorcycle Club, and they taught him what it was to have people he could depend on. When his past crashed into his present, he vowed to protect the club that had always been his steady, even if it meant turning his back on the woman who had given him life. Chelsea Miller’s life was simple: work, take care of her family, and save for the future. Everything was about having a goal and a plan. However, when her sister ended up battered and bruised on a diner floor, everything she thought was in her past suddenly threatened her future. In a moment, she had a new goal, everything else be damned. She would protect her family … at all costs. Stiff and Chelsea’s worlds collide in an explosion of determination, strength, and lust. Will they give in to temptation, or will conquering each other be too steep a price? Two people not afraid to put in the work will either overcome everything in their paths or finally crumble under life’s troubles they can’t escape, all in the name of family. **Due to content, mature audiences only.**
Add CONQUERING to Goodreads here!
Preorder CONQUERING now for just $2.99, a preorder special price:
CHALLENGED is on sale for a limited time - grab it now!
Read the first chapter of CONQUERING:“Chelsea, order up,” Charlie called from the back, slapping a plate of grub up on the window ledge of the diner. I shook off my drowsiness, plastering on a smile and grabbing the food, never feeling the heat from the plate due to the calluses on my hands. They were rock hard, shielding my skin against any amount of heat. At twenty-nine, I’d worked at Charlie’s Diner for thirteen years. Thirteen years of serving people with mediocre tips that had given me feet that, by the end of the night, ached so badly nothing, including soaking them in warm water, helped soothe anymore. Twelve hours a day, five to seven days a week would do that to any woman. As my grams used to say, “Can’t get anywhere in this world if you don’t work hard.” So, work hard I did, always. I wasn’t complaining. I loved Charlie, the owner. He had taken me under his wing when I was a pitiful sixteen-year-old, and to this day was the only man in my life who had yet to let me down. I had clean clothes on my back, food in my belly, and a place to crash. I had my sister, my grams, and my mother. What more could a woman ask for? Me, I wasn’t asking for anything. I was happy where my life was going. I had a plan. It wasn’t some grand extravagant one, but I had it and clung to it because everyone needed to have goals in their lives. Those could be small or large, but people needed something to reach for, work for, and take a hold of. Of course, this all came from my grams, too, but being a really smart woman, I took everything she’d said to heart. I lived on the cheap and saved as much of my meager earnings as possible. I had a decent savings, but that did not stop me from working at every available opportunity. A dollar was a dollar, and no one knew how far a buck could take you. My ultimate goal was to own my own home. The American dream, some might say. For me, it was about having my own, doing my own, and it being my way. Hard work and sacrifice would eventually get me there. Paying rent every month on a beat to hell trailer when I could be making payments on something that would be mine didn’t sit right with me. Unfortunately, my credit was shot to hell by a no-good ass of a father. I shivered with anger at the thought of him and tried shaking it out, but it was impossible when it came to that man. When I was a teen, he decided to use me for a couple of credit cards. Okay, it was seven of them. No joke. He really did, to the tune of one hundred seventy-nine thousand dollars and forty-seven cents. He swiped and signed for debts he never intended to repay, all of it striking against my credit. I, of course, did not find this out until I was nineteen and was denied a credit card I had signed up for, which I’d thought was unusual yet passed it off as being young. Grams being Grams, however, immediately set me on a path to checking into it. When information came back leading to my father, I was crushed. We hadn’t been exceptionally close, but he was my dad, the man who was supposed to have my back. He should have protected me, not have done this to me. At least, that was what I had thought a father should do. I’d expected better of him, but I should have known. Prosecuting my father for the theft still weighed heavily on me to this day. I only had two choices, though: one, not say anything and pay back all the money stolen, or two, I could turn my father in, which had been the only way I could get it expunged from my record and have the debt extinguished. I hated doing it, but really, the choice was made the moment he’d taken out the cards in my name. I couldn’t live with that huge weight on my shoulders. I had to bear it for a while when the courts had to do their thing: having creditors call me, looking for their money. And that was enough. It took me some time, but the courts deemed him guilty, and my credit fell back in line. Thanks to a wise banker, I’d gotten a secured credit card with the little savings I had. Then, like clockwork, I made sure to pay it off. Never missing a bill, I now had a very decent score to the point that if I saved enough for a down payment, a bank might take a chance on me. And I was almost there. I could almost taste my victory. It was another step in the right direction. “Eye on the prize, always,” Grams would say, and my eye was firmly set on loan equals home. Unfortunately, that had been the end of my relationship with my father. I’d received a few not so nice calls from jail and a very nasty letter that I’d burned, never wanting to read it again. The little girl inside me, though, still yearned for a father, even if mine happened to be a douche. After everything I’d been through, I took the lesson my father taught me the hard way and kept my name, social security number, and other personal information close to heart. I protected it with everything I had, kept an eye on it, and did routine checks to make sure no credit cards or loans were taken out under my name. Luckily, that hadn’t happened beyond the initial time, but I always had that fear it would. Life was looking up, allowing me to tackle it and reach my goal. As I walked across the black and white tiled floor of the diner, old man Darren looked up, a wide smile on his wrinkled face. The man had been coming in for years, and we had developed a friendly relationship. “There’s my girl,” he cried out, pushing his coffee cup off to the side as I slid his food onto the table, the porcelain hitting the Formica table with a scratching sound. It was a sound I’d come to find comforting over time, though others said it hurt their ears. “It’s nice and hot,” I told him, brushing my hands on my apron, feeling like something was on them, which was a job hazard. “Anything else I can get ya?” He beamed up at me. “That smile of yours sure makes an old man’s day,” he remarked. Even though he’d told me that hundreds of times over the years, I felt the same heat creep into my cheeks. “You make mine by coming in here,” I responded, trying to shake off the blush. “You good?” “Some more coffee when you have a chance, sweetie?” “Of course.” I spun on my heel, grabbed the coffee pot, and then topped him off. The other tables in my section seemed good, so I began my prep for the next shift. I checked and filled the condiments, along with taking two more orders, delivering them, getting more drinks, and cashing out my tables. Everything at Charlie’s was second nature to me, reminding me a lot of home. It did not slip past me that I thought of my job as home, but when you spent so much time in one place, it happened. I counted myself lucky to have this constant in my life. Charlie’s was the hot spot in Dyersburg, Tennessee except for Tuesday through Thursday—those were blah. Hence, why tonight was blah, but a girl could use that every now and then. A rest from the go, go, go, even if it was almost a waste of time because the tips were scarce. Charlie was into cars and bikes, so the entire place was decorated as such. His old plates off his cars and even handlebars from an old bike hung on the walls. I didn’t think some of the stuff actually came from him. Rather, he bought it to go with the theme. Regardless, the walls were covered in a rustic automobile motif, and I loved it. With the night ticking away at a little past ten, Mitzi and I were the only ones working the floor. I’d worked with Mitzi for a couple of years. Our relationship was purely work-related since a lot of what I’d learned about Mitzi had turned out to be fake. I didn’t do fake; hated it. Therefore, working relationship only. The bell above the door chimed, and instinctively I looked up from wiping down ketchup bottles. My stomach clenched. Plastering on my wide smile, I greeted them. “Welcome, boys. Go ahead and have a seat anywhere you’d like.” The air in the diner changed—it always did when they came in, which was regularly. The space felt smaller, closed in by their presence alone. They commanded the room just from stepping over the threshold. The farther they stepped in, their boots hitting the tile, the denser the air became. For most people, waiting on a table full of four large men who were members of an exclusive motorcycle club would come off as a bit intimidating, but they tipped well. As a result, once they sat, I was thankful they were in my section. When the Vipers Creed MC rode in, my pockets usually went from decent to way off the charts. I’d gladly let my knees tremble for the next hour to have that extra padding in my pocket. Not to mention, they weren’t hard on the eyes, either. I steeled my spine, grabbed my order pad and pen, then strode over to the table. Since I tended to keep my section steady with the regulars, it was no surprise to find Mitzi giving me the stink eye as I made my way to their table. She hid it quickly, flying under the radar with her perfect smile. She was good at that. Four men sat at a six-person, speckled, white rectangular table. Each man took a post on the farthest corner. One was a man named Bosco who’d been coming here since I had started and knew nothing about how to wait tables. I even spilled a Coke on him once. I would have thought he’d blow up at me, but he laughed it off, and he’d been kind to me ever since. He had dark hair with some white scattered through it. His beard and mustache were so burly they covered up his mouth almost completely. Across from him was a man I knew as Ben back in school, but now he went by the name Boner. I mean, really? What kind of name was that? Being a senior, he’d had no idea who my freshman self was, but that was expected considering I didn’t socialize much. He had light brown hair that normally was tousled on top like he’d run his fingers through it a million times, but today, he had a dark stocking cap on, covering his locks. He was handsome yet rough looking. Next to him, one seat over, was a man they called Dawg. Yes, not Dog, but Dawg. My assumption was he played the field a lot. He had been several years older than me in school; therefore, he was unknown to me. He had dark brown hair that curved around his ears. A striking man who turned many a woman’s head. Across from him was Wes, now known in our town as Stiff. With him being three years older than me, we hadn’t associated in school, either. That wasn’t to say my eyes weren’t wide open to him, because they had been … and still were. Then, he’d had the lightest blond hair imaginable, almost white. Currently, he had nothing. Completely, utterly bald, but it wasn’t the freaky bald you saw sometimes on men. No, this worked for him in a major way. Sexy, check. Hot, check. His beard was lightly colored and trimmed. Even as kids, Stiff’s eyes were magnetic, and some things never changed. They weren’t blue nor green. No, they were both, creating a swirling ocean inside them, sucking you into their depths. Truth be told, the men were each their own brand of sexy, but not men a person should fuck around with. Stories had been told over the years about the Vipers Creed—hell, Charlie had some doozies. I didn’t need any of that in my life. I liked simple, and judging from the stories, they were anything but. I would be happy to take their tip money, though. A smile went a long way, so I put it in place as I reached their table. “Hey, boys. What can I get ya?” I asked, standing behind the empty chair between Bosco and Dawg. All conversation halted and their eyes turned to me. My insides shrank a bit from the combination of their penetrative stares, but no way would I show that on the outside. Nope, I was Chelsea Anne Miller, and no matter what was on the inside, it would never show. “Little Chelsea, how are ya doin’?” Bosco asked. He would consider me little. I was five-feet-six, but anyone next to Bosco would be considered small. Nevertheless, I gave him a genuine smile. I mean, come on! If a man like him forgave you for dumping a pop down his shirt, it was a must. “I’m good. Hanging in there.” “Good. Can I get a burger with the works, onion rings, and a Coke?” I wrote all of this down in my usual short script, nodding then turning my attention back to the table. “Who’s next?” I asked, switching my focus between the guys, not allowing myself to linger on Stiff. “I’ll have the tenderloin with onions, fries, and a Dr. Pepper,” Dawg answered, and I scribbled then looked up expectantly. “How long have you worked here?” Boner asked, shocking me a bit. We hadn’t ever really conversed casually, but like everything else that life threw at me, I rolled with it. “Thirteen years,” I replied then waited for him to tell me what he wanted. He didn’t. “And you still fill out that uniform so damn well.” Boner whistled low. I felt it coming, and then bam! Cue blushing cheeks. I had never been one to accept compliments easily. I felt a flutter, but it landed more on the shy side, not the hot and wet. Charlie didn’t make us wear a uniform, really. We wore black pants, comfortable shoes, and a white button-down shirt—long for the winter, short in the summer. To me, what I had on was unflattering as all get out, but to each their own. “Thanks,” I responded. “What do you wanna eat?” Boner chuckled. “I get it, not interested. It was worth a shot.” I kept quiet. Really, though? Not interested? While my interest in Boner was slim, that didn’t mean I was dead. I could see how attractive each of them were in their own right. Still, the thought of him even wondering if I was interested was strange. “I want one of those hamburger horseshoes with a Coke.” “Got it.” My eyes lifted to Stiff, and the air left my lungs in a whoosh. Damn, those eyes were like laser beams cutting into me, swirling like a tornado, sucking me down. My heart picked up, thumping like a jackhammer, and it took everything in my power to stop my hands from trembling. While I might not be interested in Boner, Stiff, well, he just did something to me; had for as long as I could remember. “What can I get ya?” I asked, hoping to God my voice wouldn’t give my rising temperature away. “You on the menu?” he asked calmly. I felt the blush slink back but ignored it. Stiff had always been a flirt—a huge flirt to anything in a skirt, that is. Even me. I knew he was just playing around, but over the years, there had been times I’d hoped he wasn’t. It was stupid and immature, not to mention utterly ridiculous. As my dad used to say, “You’ll never be anything. No man will ever want you.” Some things, no matter how hard you tried, you never got over them. This was one. Those words were like brands on my soul, never leaving. Instead of feeling the embarrassment or heat of the hot man flirting with me, I gave it back to him. As my grams said, “You have two choices: run away like an afraid, little rabbit or buck up, steel your spine, and hold your head up high.” Me, I held my head high. She also said, “Fake it till ya make it.” I lived by that motto every day. This situation was no different. My father might have branded me, but that was on the inside. No one could see it if I didn’t show them, which would never happen, so I faked it. Jutting out my hip and putting my hand there, I said, “Nah, Sugar, but thanks for askin’.” I gave him a playful wink that took every bit of my strength. “What can I get ya?” I asked, wishing I had some gum in my mouth, as it seemed to taste like cotton. He scanned my body, the heat from his gaze causing my panties to dampen, something that hadn’t happened in a very long time, mind you. And I continued to stare with an expectant look, even raising my brow in impatience. Instead of answering me, he took his time, and it became difficult to breathe. He caught it and smirked at me. I looked down, focusing on my order paper. Breathe in, breathe out, I reminded myself. A hot guy checking you out is not a reason for you to pass out on the floor, Chelsea. “Burger, tomato, waffle fries, and a Coke.” He paused, causing me to look up from my order pad. “Add you on there.” My skin practically burned from arousal, but I once again powered on. “Sugar, you couldn’t handle me.” His lip tipped up, and I swore time stopped for a brief moment, allowing me to plug that one movement into my memory bank. Holy shit, it was sexy. I hadn’t had much sexy in my life, but that was by choice, because men sucked. First, there was my no-good father. Then came the asshole who drugged me in high school and took my virginity. Yes, I knew who it was, but it couldn’t be proven. Therefore, nothing had been done. Then there was Steven, who turned out to be way into porn. Barry was next, and at the name, I should have put him in the “no” pile. I learned that one the hard way, too. So, you see, men sucked. I was better off keeping to myself and aiming for my goals. Stiff scratched his beard while he studied me appraisingly. “Baby, conquering you would be a fucking pleasure.” I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Did he really just say that? Holy shit, he did. Somehow, I snapped myself together and ignored his comment. How I did this, I had no idea. “Anything else?” “Nah,” Bosco replied, and I scooted away from the table right as I heard Bosco say, “Stop that shit, Stiff.” “What? She’s pretty.” My step faltered, but I regained it just in the nick of time. He said I was pretty. I gripped the countertop, needing something to hold on to in order to ground myself. This was surreal. Definitely surreal. Sure, he’d flirted—hell, he flirted with every woman he could when in here—but to have that intense look then to call me pretty, that was just bizarre. Totally unlike the other times. Regaining my composure, I put their order in and filled their drinks. Then I walked back to their table and began handing the drinks out. “Coke,” I called out, getting a grunt from Bosco. I continued calling out drinks and passing them around. “How’s that sister of yours?” Boner asked. This time, I smiled huge, and it wasn’t the one I plastered on my face every day. No, this one was genuine because I loved my sister more than anything in this world. Anyone honestly asking about her made me happy. “She’s good. Almost done with college. I’m damn proud of her.” My heart swelled with emotion. I’d never been so proud of anything in my life. Jennifer had always been so damn smart. Mom and I were lucky she had received scholarships, but even if she hadn’t, I would have taken on another job to get her through. Jenn wanted college so badly. It was one of her goals, and she deserved every chance in life. She worked her ass off up there, having a job besides school. I still sent her running money, which she continually returned, becoming our game. She was only a thirty-minute drive from here, but it seemed like a lifetime away. I missed her. It had been almost a month since I’d seen her last. Though we talked every day, it wasn’t the same. Bosco whistled. “College girl. Always knew she’d do good.” I nodded. “Yep, and she’s getting all A’s.” I knew I was beaming, because my cheeks began to have that twinge in them that bordered on pain from when you smile for too long. But you kept doing it, anyway, since you really felt it. I looked over at Stiff and saw his eyes dead focused on me. My smile wobbled a tad, but I held strong. Stiff had always had that something—call it charisma, charm, badassness, or anything along those lines. Then again, it might just be my hormones considering getting laid was up there with getting a hole in my head. I had no time for either. “I’ll be back with your food in a bit,” I told them, striding away. While filling the mustard containers, my eyes would drift over to their table whenever I heard the barks of laughter between the men. Stiff snagged me once, but I smiled then quickly looked away. I mean, I couldn’t have him thinking I was staring at him, right?
The rest of the night went without incident, and as expected, I got a hefty tip from the boys.
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About Ryan MicheleRyan Michele found her passion in making fictional characters come to life. She loves being in an imaginative world where anything is possible and has a knack for special twists readers don’t see coming. She writes MC, Contemporary, Erotic, Paranormal, New Adult, Inspirational, and many more romances. And whether it’s bikers, wolf shifters, mafia, or beyond, Ryan spends her time making sure her heroes are strong and her heroines match them at every turn. When she isn’t writing, Ryan is a mom and wife living in rural Illinois and reading by her pond in the warm sun.
The British are HERE!
Are you ready for Filthy English?
Add to your TBR for a July 11th release here: http://bit.ly/28MpTlk
Plain and simple, this night sucked.
Sadly, it was my honeymoon.
I sighed heavily and gazed around Masquerade, an intimately lit London nightclub where everyone wore black domino masks, some elaborate and some plain, to hide their identity. A few die-hards even sported dark clothing with long, loose cloaks. Not me though. I’d gone modern with a slinky little number and three-inch heels, putting my height at nearly six feet. Yep, I’m the giant in the blue dress, towering over every girl and some guys at the bar.
My top teeth dug into my bottom lip as I gazed around the smoky club, my eyes bouncing off random faces. Even in a room full of party people, music, and strobe lights, I was lonely.
My groom was missing.
That’s right. Hartford Wilcox, Jr., aka Mr. Nice Guy at Whitman University in North Carolina, had jilted me two weeks before the big wedding day as we had dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant, Mario’s.
And now here I was—on my honeymoon and getting trashed with my best friend Lulu who’d decided to skip her beach vacation and come with me at the last minute.
She poked me with her finger as we sat in front of the heavy wooden bar of the club. “Hey, Earth to Remi, get that glazed look out of your eyes and order a drink already. I’m thirsty.” She fluffed her pixie-cut pink hair and straightened her black tutu, eyes scoping out the club. “Dang, the men in here are hotter than a billy goat with a blow torch,” she said in her honeyed southern drawl.
I half-heartedly agreed, not really caring, more intent on scanning the bottles behind the bar. “I want tequila,” I murmured. “A whole bottle.”
Her face snapped back to me and her green eyes widened. “Uh-uh. No way. I know what happens when you drink that crap. You either eat a ton of tacos and puke, or you wrap yourself around some cocky bastard with a well-developed tush.”
True. I did love a tight muscular ass.
But I wouldn’t get one tonight.
A short laugh burst out of me, one of those I’m-miserable-but-pretending-to- be-okay-laughs that I’d been doing a lot of lately. For the past two weeks, I’d vacillated between a sobbing mess and an angry woman who became so incensed that “fuck” was the only word that seemed appropriate in any given situation. Going to the post office to mail he dumped me, but thank you anyway cards. Fuck. Going to the wedding venue and not getting the ten thousand dollar deposit back. Fuck. Realizing I was homeless fall semester—which was in two weeks—fuck. Listening to my mother tell me it was my fault. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The bartender delivered my bottle and poured me a shot. I sucked the tequila down while Lulu watched me warily. It tasted like bad decisions and gasoline, but tonight was about forgetting. The sooner the better.
A few minutes later, Lulu went out to dance with a British guy she’d been making eyes at. I sat glumly at the bar, fiddling with my diamond tennis bracelet, rubbing it like rosary beads. I needed to forget Hartford, and according to Lulu, that meant hooking up with someone.
Was she right?
Fate answered in the form of a beautiful man—and by beautiful I mean drop-dead sexy with a backside so delectable and muscular my mouth plopped open.
I snapped my lips shut and adjusted my velvet half-mask—the annoying feathery plumes on the sides kept sticking to my red lipstick—and turned ever so slightly to check him out, not wanting to appear obvious. He slid into the seat next to me, tall and broad with rippling shoulders and a massive frame.
I checked my appearance in a mirror behind the bar, mentally analyzing the odds of a girl like me snagging a hottie like him.
Although no one had ever called me beautiful, I did have two—okay, maybe three—things going for me in the looks department. My shiny, golden-brown hair that hung down in waves to my shoulders, my fluffy “pillow lips” as Lulu described them, and lastly, I had an itsy bitsy space between my two front teeth which were otherwise white and perfect. Lulu claimed the gap lent me an exotic look, like Madonna or Sookie Stackhouse. Whatever. I was a True Blood fan. I went with it.
He shifted on the stool, leaning closer to me. His cologne swirled in the air, the smell of expensive Scotch and musk mingling together to create a heady, slightly dangerous scent. I paused, goosebumps rising on my bare arms. The spicy whiff triggered a distant memory just out of reach.
As slyly as I could, I studied his profile from top to bottom. Like me he wore a black mask, although his was more masculine, not hiding his chiseled, movie star jawline. His lips were carnal and luscious, the bottom more plump than the top with a slight indentation in the middle. As I watched, his tongue swept out and caressed it, his top teeth biting it as if he were deep in thought. He raked a hand through his dark, longish messy hair, held it suspended above his head for a few seconds and then released it, letting it swish back into its tousled yet perfect place.
I tore my eyes away.
Something about him sent loud warning bells ringing in every atom of my body.
Danger, danger. Don’t touch that.
But my gaze would not be denied as I took in the tight black shirt and sculpted chest that was obviously used to the inside of a gym, right down to an arm that looked like it could snap a board in half—or me.
Nice biceps, Mr. Beautiful.
The pièce de résistance was the vivid blue and orange dragonfly tattoo displayed on his left arm. It was larger than my hand and took up most of his bicep. My eyes traced the contours of the design from the papery wings to the multi-faceted eyes. A bold black color outlined the insect, giving it a masculine feel.
True Religion jeans stretched down long legs and ended in a pair of black Converse without socks, giving him a boyish quality that was in direct contrast to the crazy-sexy-bad-boy vibe he had going on.
Maybe. He was the polar opposite of Hartford who was blond, lean, and tattoo-free.
I nibbled on my fingernail. How do I get him to notice little ol' me?
Just then a redhead with fluffy Farrah Fawcett hair strode up to his stool, bold as brass, wearing a tight, white mini-skirt that barely covered her booty. She brought with her the smell of sweet, cloying perfume, the kind I always got spritzed with at the mall.
She flicked her hair over her shoulder, casually rubbed her finger down his arm and struck up a conversation. Her fake, black lashes—which she’d somehow managed to get outside the eyeholes of her mask—batted. She puffed out her well-developed chest.
He smiled back at her with a wicked grin, his relaxed body language telling me he was confident when it came to women. She whispered in his ear, boobs right in his face, but whatever he said back wasn’t what she wanted to hear because a few ticks later, she crossed her arms, glared at me, and stalked away.
I blinked. What had I done?
Then he turned and pointed his devastating smile at me.
Shit, he’d made eye contact—as much as you could with a claustrophobic mask on.
Was he crazy?
Because if he’d turned down her flirtation, I didn’t have a shot.
I didn’t know how to do the fingers-tip-toeing-up-his-arm-thing and sexy hair flicking. I didn’t know a thing about applying fake eyelashes. I didn’t know how to make my breasts sit up that high. I looked away from him and took another shot, feeling anxious and strangely off-kilter.
Mr. Beautiful ordered a drink from the bartender, his British accent smooth as silk as it washed over me. I froze. I almost knew that voice—deep with soft rounded vowels that made you tingle in your lady parts.
What was it about this guy that had me all jacked up and hot for him?
Hello, tequila, my inner voice said. But it was more than that.
Getting brave, I pivoted on my barstool, and found Mr. Beautiful’s eyes on me once more, searching my face. As if he too recognized the pull between us.
My heart played hopscotch, jumping against my chest. My skin prickled. I shivered.
Did I know him?
It was his voice, the same deep quality, the kind of voice that made you want to hop into his bed and ride him like a cowgirl.
My breath hitched, and I swallowed down the emotion that zipped up my spine whenever I thought of him. He was my one mistake, the time I’d tossed inhibitions and carefully laid plans aside and went with my instincts, only to have them tossed back in my face.
But the man next to me wasn’t Dax. Thank God.
Last spring at the campus-wide end of the year fraternity party with Hartford, I’d seen Dax, and he’d had shorter hair, like always, and zero tattoos. Yeah. No way.
Plus, last I heard, he was in Raleigh where his father lived.
Dax was British. He could have family here. Maybe he got a tattoo?
Nah. I mean, what were the odds of us both being at the same club on the same night in a country where neither of us lived?
I tore my eyes off Mr. Beautiful and waved at a bartender for more limes, but somehow my tennis bracelet snagged on the bodice of my dress, leaving my wrist dangling like a wet dishrag in a most inappropriate place.
I wiggled my arm.
Even went so far as to jerk, but it wouldn’t separate.
Sweat popped out on my forehead. Holding my breath, I twisted and tugged the bracelet, forcing the delicate material in my bodice to stretch beyond normal limits.
“Well, hell,” I breathed, pausing to assess.
Skin-tight with a plunging neckline, the dress was mostly a stretchy fabric held together by sequined straps and a zipper on the side. Slated as part of my honeymoon wardrobe, it was a Tory Burch and had cost four hundred dollars, the most I’d ever paid for a fun outfit, and no way did I want to damage it. I might have to return it to rent an apartment at Whitman.
Lulu. I needed Lulu. She was a whiz with wardrobe malfunctions.
I spun around on the barstool and used my free hand to wave at her, but she was slinging herself around dancing, having a great time and completely oblivious. I resorted to flapping both hands at her, one high and one low. Several people waved back with baffled expressions, but Lulu didn’t notice. Dammit.
I groaned and slumped down in my seat, ready to scream. Now what? Go to the bathroom and repair it there? Good plan.
But the club tilted when I stood, the strobe lights making me squint as they flashed in my face. I wobbled in my leopard print heels—that Lulu had insisted I wear—and grabbed the stool to keep my balance. `
I sucked in a breath to gather myself, but I couldn’t think straight. The room spun, and I was suddenly queasy, and why did I slam all that tequila, and oh my god, my wrist is currently attached to my tit like a T. rex arm.
I had to get out of here before someone noticed what an idiot I was.
Trying to be stealth like, I reached across the bar to get my beaded clutch, but because it was my left hand and not my right that I used most of the time, I got off balance and stumbled—and my ankle folded in on itself. I yelped as my shoe catapulted off my foot and vaulted off toward the dance floor, while I fell forward, straight into Mr. Beautiful’s lap.
Filthy English (unedited excerpt)
Copyright Ilsa Madden-Mills
A smokin’ hot British player…
A jilted girl…
One night of mistaken identity…
Two weeks before her wedding, Remi Montague’s fiancé drops her faster than a drunken sorority girl in stilettos. Armed with her best friend and a bottle of tequila, she hops a plane to London to drown her sorrows before fall semester begins at Whitman University.
She didn't plan on attending a masquerade party.
She sure didn’t plan on waking up next to the British bad boy who broke her heart three years ago—the devastatingly handsome and naked Dax Blay. Furthermore, she has no clue how they acquired matching tattoos.
Once back at Whitman together, they endeavor to pretend they never had their night of unbridled passion in London.
But that’s damn hard to do when you live in the same house…
One night. Two damaged hearts. The passion of a lifetime.
*A modern love story inspired by Romeo and Juliet*
**no one dies in the writing of this novel**
About the Author
New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.
She's addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she's a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.
She has a degree in English and a Master's in Education.
When she's not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.
SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:
You can stalk her on her website as well as get signed books: http://www.ilsamaddenmills.com
Ilsa Madden-Mills’ other books:
VERY BAD THINGS
VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS
VERY WICKED THINGS
VERY TWISTED THINGS
The first book in a Montgomery Ink spin-off series, LOVE RESTORED by Carrie Ann Ryan, was announced on USA Today HEA yesterday, and we're so thrilled to bring you a first look at LOVE RESTORED today!
About LOVE RESTORED
In the first of a Montgomery Ink spin-off series from NYT Bestselling Author Carrie Ann Ryan, a broken man uncovers the truth of what it means to take a second chance with the most unexpected woman…
Graham Gallagher has seen it all. And when tragedy struck, lost it all. He’s been the backbone of his brothers, the one they all rely on in their lives and business. And when it comes to falling in love and creating a life, he knows what it’s like to have it all and watch it crumble. He’s done with looking for another person to warm his bed, but apparently he didn’t learn his lesson because the new piercer at Montgomery Ink tempts him like no other.
Blake Brennen may have been born a trust fund baby, but she’s created a whole new life for herself in the world of ink, piercings, and freedom. Only the ties she’d thought she’d cut long ago aren’t as severed as she’d believed. When she finds Graham constantly in her path, she knows from first glance that he’s the wrong kind of guy for her. Except that Blake excels at making the wrong choice and Graham might be the ultimate temptation for the bad girl she’d thought long buried.
Add it to your Goodreads list here!
LOVE RESTORED releases September 13th - preorder now!
Get a sneak peek at LOVE RESTORED:
Graham Gallagher had never craved a cigarette as much as he did just then. It didn’t matter that he’d quit smoking over fifteen years ago cold turkey and hadn’t picked one up since then. He just wanted a damn smoke.
He wanted a fucking cigarette, a beer, and a willing woman underneath him as he fucked her until they were both spent.
And not necessarily in that order.
Not that he’d get any of that any time soon. Between this new job, the old one they hadn’t fully completed yet, and the rest of the crap in his life, he wasn’t sure he’d even have time for a beer.
And considering it had been a long six months since he’d had a woman under him, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be getting laid any time soon. Him and his right hand had a perfectly nice relationship for now and when he got downright dangerous, he got to know his left.
Jesus, he needed coffee or something at this point if he was thinking about how his left hand would be something different in his life.
He ran a hand through his dark hair and grimaced as he caught some tangles as he pulled it out of the rubber band. He wasn’t sure he’d brushed it that morning, instead just throwing it up in a tie at the back of his head as soon as he’d gotten out of the shower. At least he’d showered, he thought. Considering he’d slept for shit the night before, a shower after sweat-slick dreams had been the only recourse. He quickly ran his hand through it a few more times, getting out most of the rat’s nest and pulled it back up before the owner of their new project showed up and called him a heathen.
Graham sighed, sliding his hand over his beard to straighten it out. Since it had grown past his chin and almost touched his chest if he lowered his head just right, he already looked the part of a heathen to some. Add in the ink covering his body and the piercings only those in his bed could see, he didn’t fit the ideal image of a business man that someone of this caliber would want to work with.
And that was just find with him.
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About Carrie Ann RyanNew York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Carrie Ann Ryan never thought she’d be a writer. Not really. No, she loved math and science and even went on to graduate school in chemistry. Yes, she read as a kid and devoured teen fiction and Harry Potter, but it wasn’t until someone handed her a romance book in her late teens that she realized that there was something out there just for her. When another author suggested she use the voices in her head for good and not evil, The Redwood Pack and all her other stories were born. Carrie Ann is a bestselling author of over twenty novels and novellas and has so much more on her mind (and on her spreadsheets *grins*) that she isn’t planning on giving up her dream anytime soon.
“A rock star without rhythm is a man with no soul.”
– Stone Lockhart
Stoned releases on July 13th!
Add it to your TBR:http://bit.ly/28Mw59S
As the lead singer of one of the hottest bands to hit the rock scene, fucks are free, drugs come easy, and music is life.
For as long as Stone can remember, Willow has been his music – the notes that weave his soul together.
Until he threw her away.
All he has left is a handful of pills and a few lines of powder to make him forget her.
And he tries, over and over.
Clean and ready to make things right, he’s faced with the fact that Willow’s moved on. She’s not the same girl he cast aside. Willow’s a woman sure about her purpose in life. Sure about who she’s meant to love.
Stone may be lost without his rhythm, but Willow has found so much more.
About the Author