“After an earthquake wreaks havoc, the earth is left disturbed and altered. Whatever remains in ruin is left shaken and in need of rebuilding.”
Scarlett Brooks doesn’t need love. The only men she can trust in her life are her twin brother and his two best friends, Logan and Caleb. Every other guy has only let her down, and she promises herself to never to experience heartbreak again.
Logan King can’t stand back and watch his best friend’s twin sister continue to spiral out of control. With random hookups, drunken nights, and reckless decisions, she is on the path to self-destruction. He sets out to slow her down and prove that she isn’t happy with her one-night stands.
The two come dangerously close to crossing lines. Is Scarlett capable of trusting and opening up to love again? Will it ruin their friendship if Logan is the one to teach her how?
This is part of a series but can be read as a standalone. Characters are introduced in Jolted and Impacted.
What a colossal waste of time, I thought as I slid my jeans back up and buttoned them. The room was dark as I searched the dingy carpet for my shirt. I knew I tossed it over this way. Finally finding the purple low-cut top I wore out tonight, I pulled it over my head and ran my fingers through my long, dark hair.
“Thanks, Mike,” I called over my shoulder. “That was great,” I lied.
“It’s Matt,” he panted.
I mumbled something that could have been an apology and looked over my shoulder at Matt. He was still on his back, trying to catch his breath. A thin coat of sweat covered his chest and his rock-hard abs glistened from the street lamp that shone through his blinds. He really was sexy, especially naked. It was a pity he didn’t live up to my expectations.
I gave him a flirty wave and grabbed my purse off the floor before leaving the half-naked guy alone in his room. He grunted a bye to me without bothering to move. At least someone was satisfied. I let myself out of his room, trying to avoid the roommates I knew were in the “party-room”, playing beer pong.
“Scarlett!” someone yelled. “Be on my team!”
“No, I’m good,” I hollered as I kept walking. I’d had enough to drink and I was sure my hand-eye coordination had decreased since my first few games. In fact, it was probably non-existent by this point.
I weaved through the house, keeping my hand on the wall for balance. I had no idea what I was thinking going to another college party. I knew from my short stint at the University of Cincinnati that the parties held around campus were always the same. There were drunk guys looking to get laid and even drunker girls to take advantage of.
I wasn’t one of those girls. No one took advantage of me anymore. I knew when I crawled into a boy’s bed that, after a whole twenty minutes of slurred conversation, they would not be calling the next day. In fact, that was the main reason I attended tonight. I had no false assumptions that the guy I bedded would be calling me ever again. This was sex, a release, and nothing more.
I stumbled down the hall and found the bathroom. I slipped inside, locking the door behind me. My reflection stared back at me. My long, dark hair was a tangled mess with streaks of brightly colored hair sticking out everywhere. My eyes were bloodshot and surrounded with heavy makeup and perfectly winged eyeliner. I had a hickey on my collarbone, and my cheeks were flushed pink. I was the definition of a hot mess.
I leaned over a sink that had seen better days and filled my cupped hands with cold water. I splashed my face, hoping to reverse the effects of the tequila shots I took when I first arrived. The walls continued to close in and my reflection stared back, judging.
“Shit,” I whispered to myself.
I couldn’t drive now, or any time soon for that matter. I pulled out my phone and dialed the one number I knew would save me. It went to voicemail twice before he finally picked up. I heard rustling and grunting before his gruff voice filled my ear.
“I need a ride,” I said in the sweetest voice I could muster.
“Where are you?” he asked without missing a beat.
“Off campus. I’ll text you the address.”
“Fuck, Scarlett,” he scolded. “That’s almost a half hour drive.”
“Thank you, Logan,” I said before ending the call.
Logan would come for me. He always did.
Alyne Roberts Bio:
Alyne lives in Ohio with her husband, dog and cat. Working full time in an office all day, she spends her nights reading, writing or watching an entire TV series in a night. She refuses to grow up, loves Disney movies and anything with owls. She couldn’t live without her coffee or her furry “children”.
Alyne is the author of “Light to the Darkness” and the “Conflicted Encounters” Series.
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Book One – Consensual
Until she meets HIM.
With the legal case hanging on a thread, can Braelynn ignore the relationship she has built with Peyton?
Or will she succumb to the man who has the power to throw away her future?
Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23122789-coherent
When Braelynn wakes up in a hospital bed with a week of her life missing, she turns to the darkness that she didn’t know she craved.
Addiction. Fear. A broken soul.
Peyton Haas is self–assertive, determined to get what he wants, and for the first time in his life—in love.But is he willing to face the demons that haunt Braelynn?
Their love was like no other—steamy, heart–stopping… Beautiful.
It was the first time the either of them had let someone in. But one week was all it took to change their lives forever
Will their love be enough to keep them together?
Coherent Purchase Links
Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23588687-contingent
Braelynn and Peyton are finally headed down a path without torment—until he allows someone else to come between them.
With the remnants of her broken heart scattered, Braelynn begins to piece herself back together, piece by ragged piece.
Peyton has dark secrets of his own. Secrets that leave him no choice but to walk away from the only woman he’s ever loved.
But his desire for Braelynn has him fighting between what he wants, and what he needs to do to keep her safe.
Love can only withstand so much. The connection between Braelynn and Peyton has been tested before—could this be their breaking point?
She lay naked on the white linen sheet, her golden blonde hair fanned out across her pillow. She had been my all, the one to come into my life, cause havoc, and claim my heart. She had been my everything. My greatest desire. The fuel that pumped through my veins.
The sun beamed down on her skin, glistening on her flawless fair body. Almost flawless anyway.
The marks from our recent times in the playroom were still visible, her wrists that were tucked under her chin revealing a crimson burn from her pulling on the restraints. Her plump breast scarred from the lashes of the flogger, and her upper thighs holding the same marks as her breast.
I was terrified at the pain I had caused her, but horrified that I wanted to cause more.
Braelynn had repeated over and over that she loved the marks and the pleasures they gave her. Since she had rejected my proposal, I began to feel that she was slipping away. The grasp I had over her was fading and my need for her had been replaced with rage and want. I needed to punish her for saying no, whip her flesh when I felt her slipping out of my hands. Though I was sickened once we were done, massaging the welts kissing them with my love, I reveled in her moans and her screams of pleasure made me hungry for more.
She had turned me into the monster I now was. Possessive, demanding, and hungrier for her than I had ever been. Her arousal when I slid deep inside her had me on the brink of losing myself. The way she came around me, choking my cock … it was indescribable. But when she bowed her head, her blonde hair covering her face as she submitted to me, that had my inner Dom crawling out of my body, wanting to take full reign over hers.
And I did.
For the past six weeks she’d spent every night with me, letting me have full possession of her weak body. But the nagging voice in my head kept saying that our time was limited.
“You’re doing it again,” she whispered, her voice filled with exhaustion. Her eyes peered open when she spoke.
I leaned forward, kissing the tip of her nose. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied.
“Yes, you do. You’re thinking so loud I can hear it in my sleep.”
“Stop it!” Her eyes flashed open, and a sea of green and brown specks pierced me. “You aren’t hurting me.”
I shook my head, completely disagreeing with her. “Look at the bruises on your skin.” I traced my hand over her soft breast.
“I have a safe word and I have yet to use it.” She pulled the cover over her blemished flesh and turned on her side.
She hadn’t used it yet…
But would she?
Livia Jamerlan is the author of Divided. She is also a hopeless romantic who is always looking for her next love story to pop in her head. Though Livia kept a journal throughout her early life, she never thought about pursuing a career in writing. She always used it as form of therapy, pouring her heart out into words. It wasn’t until a story developed in her head that she decided maybe she could write a book. At first it was just an escape from reality, but now she uses it as a power to put all her feelings, hopes, and fears on paper. Deciding it was time to tell her story, she began to write. With each passing day the story grew, characters were formed, and what seemed like a hobby at first has now become a passion for Livia.
Series: (The Life of Anna #4)
(Two Years Later)
Anna felt herself rising to a stark and brutal level of consciousness, only dimly aware that she lay flat on her back in her own bed at the Manor.
With lucidity came a dull, aching pain that grew with each breath she drew.
Devin had taken Anna’s baby. A child conceived out of love with Alex. The last vestige of Alex she had clung to. And Devin took it. Again.
No. It couldn’t be Alex’s baby. Alex was dead. He’d been dead for so long…she didn’t know how long. He was dead. But then why did Devin say it was Alex’s baby and get her so upset?
Anna felt the fog of confusion smothering her mind. She was always confused these days. Some days Devin said Alex was alive. Other days, Devin said Alex was dead. Why did he confuse her? It was hard enough keeping hold of reality as it was. But when Devin bothered to speak to her, it got even more confusing.
Focus, Anna. Her inner voice sounded as weak as she felt, but she tried to comply, vaguely remembering back to a time when she could focus, when she was much stronger than she was now.
They’d just returned home from another Spring Gathering—her third, she thought. She’d been pregnant before they left. She was not pregnant now. Devin had told her before they left that it was Alex’s baby, and she’d believed him. She’d fought tooth and nail to keep him from taking it, but now it just seemed foolish. Alex had been dead for a long, long time.
Alex! The pain in her heart began again. She ran to the bathroom and tore open her relief cabinet of drugs.
It was empty.
“No!” she cried. “No!” She’d been a good girl. She’d done everything Devin had asked her to do. Why was he withholding her relief?
She ran to her bedroom door and pounded on it, screaming Devin’s name. She didn’t care if he came to punish her. She just needed him to come. Screaming his name always made him come. And it made him mad.
But no one came. She pounded on the door until her fists were bruised and bleeding, and still no one came.
Devin always came when she screamed. Why not this time?
She curled up in a ball on her bed and sobbed. Where was everybody? She’d been a good girl. She’d tried very hard to be obedient. Why was he punishing her? What had she done wrong?
The only time Devin required her to be coherent was during the Spring Gatherings, and even then she wasn’t completely coherent. He didn’t take her to the Summer Gatherings anymore. He said she didn’t need to be there, so she stayed home and got high. He didn’t really need her at all, except for one thing: a baby in the spring. Anna didn’t understand why.
She didn’t remember much of the last two years, except avoiding thoughts of Alex. She hadn’t seen or spoken to anyone since she’d come home from Germany. Except Wilhelm. He came out every few months and visited with her. She didn’t like it when he came. He reminded her too much of Alex.
But when he left, she felt so lonely.
The drugs were seeping out of her system now and she couldn’t avoid thinking about Alex. She missed him. So much it hurt to breathe.
She looked at her right hand. Devin had made her take off her diamond rings, but made her wear her right hand wedding band. Every time she looked at it, pain stabbed her heart. She tried to take it off one time and Devin got so angry. It didn’t make any sense. Why would Devin want her to remember her dead husband?
Her hand was swollen from pounding on the door and it made the ring tight. Normally it was too loose; she’d lost a lot of weight over the last two years. She didn’t even like to look in the mirror now.
Tommy had been astonished when he saw her last week at the Gathering. She recalled the shock on his face and his concerned exclamation: “You’ve gotten so thin! I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” Anna had protested. She appreciated his concern, but she was fine.
Anna had been astounded to see Aaron at the Gathering. She couldn’t make herself speak to him, but saw him and Tommy talking a lot. Travis was there as well and the three of them seemed inseparable.
Life had changed a lot in the last two years. She rarely left her room, was rarely called upon to perform any sexual duties. Men just didn’t seem interested in her body without the curves; but Anna didn’t mind. Ian stayed with her several nights a week and that was all she needed. Devin only spent the night with her once in a while. If she’d been sober enough to care, she would have been hurt.
The door opened and she flipped over to see Maggie enter carrying a tray.
“Maggie!” she cried. “Where’s Devin?”
Maggie gave her a sympathetic look. “Master said that he would come see you after you ate.”
“Why is my cabinet empty?” Anna demanded.
Maggie’s eyes widened and she flinched at Anna’s sudden, mercurial demeanor. “Master said to take everything out while you were gone. I don’t know, Mistress.”
“I’m not hungry,” Anna huffed. If she couldn’t have her drugs, then she wouldn’t eat.
“Master said he wouldn’t come see you if you didn’t eat,” Maggie said quietly.
Anna narrowed her eyes at the tray of food. “Fine.”
She got up on shaky legs and walked to the table and began eating. Maggie left the room after watching her for a minute and Anna was left alone.
It was too quiet. She looked around for the remote for the TV and saw it on the nightstand. Anna sighed. She couldn’t reach it and didn’t have the energy to get up and get it. Maybe after she ate.
When Devin took her for himself at the age of twelve, she had a vision of a man. A man who Devin was very interested in. But why? Why would Devin care about a little girl’s dreams?
Alex wants her to be free.
Devin demands her obedience.
As Anna takes her first steps into the world, into love, into friendship, she wonders if she will ever understand either of them.
As her Masters work around her, Anna must navigate a life she never wanted.
Marissa’s story of Anna began with a dream about being kidnapped with Adam Savage from Mythbusters (Yes, really). Over the next year and a half, it morphed into the story that is now known as “The Life of Anna.” She has several other stories in progress, one of which is based on her kidnapped dream.
Hosted by This girl loves books
Twenty-four-year-old Summer Johnson knows two things. The first is that due to a quickly worsening medical condition, she faces a risky surgery in three months’ time that may very well end in her death. The second is that she would like to fall in love before then.
As spring sinks into her namesake season on the Florida coastline, Summer plays the odds and downloads a new dating app – and after one intriguing message from a beautiful surfer named Cooper Nichols, it becomes clear that the story of what may be her last few months under the sun is about to be completely revised. All she has to do now is write something worth reading.
Tender, honest, devastating and triumphant, The Summer Remains explores a very human battle being waged in a very digital age: the search for a love that will outlast this temporary borrowing of bones. In an era when many feel compelled to share and re-share anything about everything, prepare to feel a love so special, you will want to hug it close and make it yours forever.
On a sunny Tuesday morning towards the end of March, a white-haired man walked into a cold room and told me I might die soon.
I fidgeted on the hospital bed as Dr. Steinberg entered, the late-spring sunlight mocking me as smiled onto the industrial tile floors. I’d known Steinberg since I was four. He’d handled almost all of my throat problems, and I trusted him. He was like a second father to me, and I knew he would always tell me the truth.
That’s why the look on his face scared the living shit out of me.
I listened for the next ten minutes as he gave me the gist of the story. It was all so surreal that my mind could only catch certain phrases before the sentence would run away from me again:
Your esophagus has ruptured again, for good this time…
Your stomach is leaking more and more…
Toxicity levels are through the roof…
Your body just isn’t getting the nutrients it needs from your feeding tube any longer…
And finally, terminal.
“Terminal?” I heard myself squeak, my throat filling up with that weird, shivery feeling you get when you know your life has just changed. Steinberg suddenly became very interested in a fraying string on the sleeve of his jacket.
“T-terminal,” he stuttered. “Summer, the thing is…I’m afraid this is a…well, nobody has ever…”
He finally cleared his throat and met my gaze, tears pooling in the corners of his cerulean eyes. “Sweetheart, I am so sorry to tell you this, but this mountain may be unclimbable for you.”
My mother let out a small, sharp sob in the corner and then clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Okay, unclimbable,” I swallowed, staring down at the floor as I tried to grasp just what that word now meant to me and my family and this weird little life I had created for myself. “Okay. Unclimbable. Okay.”
But Steinberg wasn’t done yet.
“Hold on. I said it may be unclimbable, not that it definitely will be. I want to prepare you, and I don’t want to give you any false hope, but there may be something we can do, Summer. It’s a small chance, but still, it’s a chance. A Hail Mary, if you will.”
I reached up to rub my temples. “Okay, well, survival sounds good. Better than death, I suppose. What is this Hail Mary?”
Steinberg crossed his arms, studied me for a moment, and then took out a chart and launched into a spiel about something called the Porter-Collins Procedure, an extremely major surgery that would perhaps be saving my life in three months’ time.
“Nobody has ever survived this particular operation,” he concluded a few minutes later, skipping all the medical jargon to keep from boring you to death, pardon my pun. “Nobody. It’s been attempted three times, but none of those were ultimately successful. One person survived for three months in intensive care, but she was fifty-one, and in frail health in general. We think you’re a much more viable candidate, but then again, there is no way to be sure. We can do it in two, maybe three months, after I assemble the specialists and create a game plan – considering your health doesn’t take another nosedive before then, that is. If we’re going to try this, we need you in tip-top shape – or as close to that as we can get you, anyway.”
“Okay,” I said again, sitting a little taller. “And what are the chances that this Hail Mary will even work, and that I won’t just die a few days later, anyway?”
He peered down at me from over his glasses. “I’m afraid to say that it would be stretching things to even tell you eighty/twenty.”
I steeled myself and took a breath. “Okay, well, that’s better than a hundred to zero. Let’s go out with a bang, then, Steinberg. Let’s do this.”
He threw up a fist, triumphant, but I could see the fear in his eyes. “It’s settled, then. Hail Mary it is.”
My mom rushed over to sit beside me and kind of hang onto my shoulder as some counselor woman came in who helped families handle these types of situations – “transitions,” she called them, and just hearing that word threatened to pull me under. Dr. Steinberg watched, an apology on his face, as she said things like “preparations” and “options” and “arrangements.” I tried to be polite and pay attention, but truthfully I didn’t give a damn about what she was saying. It was go time, and things were looking grim. I already knew that. The wet, metallic panic erupting in my stomach was due to an entirely different subject.
“And finally,” the counselor, Angie, said in a hushed, clipped, polite voice that spoke of years of having impossible conversations with worried families huddled in chilly waiting rooms, “I work very closely with Last Great Hope, a wonderful organization that specializes in situations like this, and if there is anything you want before the surgery, Summer – a trip to Tahiti, a cabin in the mountains, whatever – we can do it. Or if-”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I said, making her stop short.
“Wh – excuse me?”
“Save the Disney trips for the twelve-year-olds,” I told her. “Spend all that money on a cancer kid or something; I know the truth about those fairy tales now. Make someone else happy – I’ve got everything I need. Or almost everything.” I paused as everyone leaned in. “I do have one request, actually. First of all, all of you are forgetting something vital.”
“Oh no, did we forget your milk?” my mom asked as she reached for her purse. “I thought I put some-”
“No, Shelly, we did not forget the baby milk I pump into my stomach tube every day to keep myself alive because my throat doesn’t work, but that does have something to do with it.”
As she pouted in my general direction I realized what a complete bitch I was being, and then I realized just as quickly that I probably wouldn’t be able to stop myself anyway.
“What is it, then?” my mom asked, stung, and I took a breath and then pushed it back out.
“Frankly, I need all of you to chill the fuck out.”
My mom dropped her purse onto her lap. Dr. Steinberg looked at me like I’d just tried to jump out of the third story window. Angie held her pen in midair and stared at me, the sun turning her brownish eyes ocher.
“Excuse me, young lady?” my mother asked. “We need to what?”
“Chill the eff out,” I said, editing my language the second time around. “Sorry, but all this emotion and drama and doom and gloom crap is already making me freak out. You’re all forgetting I’ve had a broken throat and a tube in my abdomen since I was in diapers, and that I can handle this. I’ve dealt with health scares before, and I will do it again, no matter how much scarier this Scare is than all the other Scares. Like, I know you’re trying to help and stuff, and I love you, but having meltdowns in front of me is not going to help me deal with all this, so please, I beg you, everyone take a deep breath, close your eyes, and get your panties out of a bunch.”
“We’re sorry,” my mom said after an impossibly long and awkward moment. “It’s just that we need to prepare you for…for what will happen, and-”
“Prepare me to die?” I asked. “Guess what, Shelly, I’m going to die one day, be it in three months or sixty years, and wasting all my time crying over it isn’t going to help. Here’s what I want, my one last wish – or my maybe-not-last wish, or whatever the hell this is.” A tear appeared in my mom’s eye, and I softened my voice as I reached up to wipe her cheek. “Okay. Before the surgery, I want to have a normal summer by the beach,” I began as I cleared her eye and shook the water from my finger. “I want to go to the sea and go to work and read my books and go about my business like usual without everyone breathing down my neck and treating me like A Broken Person, because if I am treated like A Broken Person for one more month of my life I will break some faces, no offense. Shelly, if you so much as make one special meal – I mean, not that I can eat or anything, because I can’t – anyway, I’m burning down the house. There will literally be a pile of smoldering ashes where your kitchen used to be, I promise.” Shelly pouted again, but I trudged through. “I’m serious, no special treatment. No Christmases in July, no excessive hugging, not even a midnight run to Target for some trinkets from the dollar section. And most of all…”
I looked around and, seeing sympathy in everyone’s eyes and knowing this request would be completely futile, said – “No sympathy. Please. The sympathy is what breaks me and makes me feel broken. If this is gonna be my last chance to live and have fun and be normal, then I’m going to need to feel as normal as possible, and that means absolutely no pity, because that separates me from everyone else and makes me Different with a capital D. And if I don’t stay in a good headspace I’m gonna spend the next three months in a fetal position in my closet having an endless anxiety attack about the surgery, so please work with me here and keep the pity locked up.”
A sigh and a smile. Shelly put her hand on mine. “I would never pity you, Summer. You’re the strongest person I know, and you always have been. You know that. We all know that. That’s not what this is about.”
I tried to smile back. “Thanks, Shelly.”
“Anytime. And can you please call me Mom, like a normal twenty-four-year-old?”
“Not a chance, Shelly.”
“Okay, fine. So, then…a Jax Beach summer? Is that really all you want?”
I paused as her words hung in the overly sanitized air. It wasn’t all, and I knew it. As I sat there I thought of the one thing I didn’t have, the one thing I’d never had, the one thing that screamed at me from the silence and jumped out at me from the shadows – and now that this upcoming summer had perhaps just become Summer’s Last Stand, my desire was suddenly more urgent than ever. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop the longing from rising to my face, and as I felt the blood burn my cheeks I caught Steinberg’s eyes again, which just embarrassed me even more.
“Well, I mean, since you’re asking, there is one thing…”
“Anything!” Shelly and Dr. Steinberg said at exactly the same time, and I stared out of the window as my eyes got all weird and watery.
“Okay, well, I know something so sentimental is going to sound crazy coming from someone so…well, you know how I am…”
“Honest?” Steinberg offered, trying to be polite.
“Opinionated?” Shelly said.
“Brash?” Angie asked, even though she’d just met me ten minutes ago and it was literally beyond embarrassing that she already held that opinion of me.
“Headstrong and stubborn and annoying,” I finally said, shoving it out of the way, and they all nodded. “Anyway, here goes. Since you’re asking, the thing is…well, I’d like to fall in love.”
I looked down at the ground again as everyone in the room broke my most important rule already: I could feel their pity descending on me, smothering me just like it had my entire life, snuffing out any chance I had at being treated like a normal, living, breathing human, who deserved to love and be loved just like anyone else, as they say in the Hallmark cards.
“Oh, honey…” Steinberg sighed.
“It just wouldn’t be fair to someone…” my mother chimed in, just as Angie the counselor lady threw in her two cents, too.
“Sweetie, you have to understand, your situation is very serious. People get irrational during times like these, and if you get involved with someone and the worst happened, well-”
I crossed my fingers behind my back and shook my head. I’d known they’d react like this – why had I even tried in the first place? Some things, I knew, were just better left unshared.
“Yeah,” I said. “Okay, yeah, you guys are right. I’ll try to…put that off, I guess. For now. God knows I have tons of time to think about it – it’s not like I’m dying or anything.”
Everyone forced quick, fake laughs and then got back to business. Unbeknownst to them, however, my mind was quickly leaving the room, flying past the barren oak branches outside the window and soaring above the clouds to someplace only I knew. My desires could not be contained by the circumstances in this room, or by sickness, or even by reality in general, really. I wanted love more than anything – this was true, as much as it humiliated me to admit it. I’d wanted love ever since I was a cookie-cutter little girl being brainwashed by cookie-cutter Disney movies about cookie-cutter princes and princesses falling into cookie-cutter love and then prancing off to their cookie-cutter castles to live out their cookie-cutter lives. And strangely enough, this desire had only deepened after the fairy tale fantasies faded away and melted into a more grown up, real-world entity known as relationship FOMO, when my condition had rendered me an observer from the social media sidelines as everyone my age paired up and got engaged and married and pregnant and then shouted about it from the Facebook treetops as loud as their keyboards would let them while I sat there single as a nun with the flu. But I didn’t want that cookie cutter love from the Disney movies and my social media feeds. I didn’t want some run of the mill summer romance that would fizzle out as soon as the sunrays slanted in the fall and the Facebook Official status went to shit.
Because I, Summer Johnson, Purveyor of Pragmatism, Lover of Logic, Ultimate Believer in the Rational, and Person Who Was Maybe Going To Die Soon, wanted to drown in someone.
Seth King is a twenty-five-year-old author and artist.
The Limbo Series
Author: Andrea Smith
Book 1 – Silent Whisper
Book 2 – Clouds in My Coffee
Parrish Locke is 27 years old, a successful model with a gorgeous boyfriend, and a loft in Manhattan. Little does she know that during a photo shoot in Chester, West Virginia, an unfortunate car accident will change her life . . . forever. Parrish discovers she’s gifted in a very special way, and thus begins a suspense-filled journey that unravels secrets and mysteries from the past. Once her journey ends, it is just the beginning for Parrish, because only she holds the key that will bridge the past to the present, and allow wrongs to be righted from beyond. From mafia capos, to steamy romance, to solving the unsolved, her journey is one that provides the blueprint for her future–one she never imagined possible.
Clouds In My Coffee
When Parrish Locke, a 27 year-old fashion model, discovers she has a gift, she wishes it was the type that could be returned. That’s not the case. You see, under the right circumstances, Parrish can help “stalled souls” pass beyond the pearly gates. That’s right – she can communicate with their spirits. Well actually, she can do more than that, she can re-live the circumstances surrounding their untimely deaths, and as a result, right some wrongs along the way.
Clouds In My Coffee finds Parrish back in the 1970’s, in a small Wyoming town where a high school cheerleader died as a result of a car accident one snowy night. But Parrish knows that isn’t what really happened. After forty years, how will she convince authorities there is more to the story?
Enter Marco Trevani, Jr., a handsome, somewhat arrogant FBI agent that Parrish’s father calls in to assist his gifted daughter. The chemistry between them is undeniable. But there’s another surprise in store for Parrish.
One relationship fizzles, while another one sizzles!
From Silent Whisper
“Baby,” he said softly, “My life is what it is. I grew up knowing what I was and what I would always be, the same as my father, and his father before him in Sicily. It’s not a career choice; it’s simply a way of life that I was born into. But I can promise you that I will never allow you to become part of it. I will make sure that you are never at risk, and that you have no reason to be concerned about your safety or culpability in anything. Do you understand?”
His dark brown eyes were studying me, wanting to make sure that I knew he was my protector in all of this.
I swallowed nervously under his perusal, and nodded.
And that night, Dominic loved me with a passion that had been absent before, though I never would’ve guessed that he had been holding anything back. It was different that night. Haunting yet exciting at the same time and it felt dangerous.
It might’ve been because of our earlier mutual declaration of love; or it might’ve been because I now knew the extent of this man’s power, along with his promise to be my protector. So let’s face it, his power, along with his passion for me was a potent aphrodisiac for this girl from Chester, West Virginia.
But it also might’ve been because Dominic didn’t permit me to put my diaphragm in before we hit the sheets that night.
“No Karlie,” he said, pulling me gently back to him as I started for the bathroom to do what I always did before sex. His fingers tilted my chin, forcing me to gaze into his dark eyes.
“Not tonight. Not anymore.”
And I didn’t argue because it would’ve been pointless. Dominic had made up his mind as to what he wanted, and it was something that apparently he wanted from me.
He had never gone into detail as to the specifics, but I’d gotten the impression that having children was important to Dominic. He had never elaborated as to why they had no children, and I didn’t think it was my place to ask.
After that night, I knew it was a conversation that we needed to have. Bringing Dominic Castellano’s child into this world was something I wasn’t sure that I could ever do.
And it had nothing to do with the fact that he was married. It was because having his child meant that he or she would be born into the same life that he had been born into, and his ancestors before him.
While I loved this man, I couldn’t fathom allowing a child of mine to follow in those kinds of footsteps, and I wasn’t all that sure that I’d have a choice in the matter.
USA Today and Amazon Bestselling author Andrea Smith has a wicked sense of humor. No matter the genre, she is able to infuse laughter throughout.
Andrea is an Ohio native, currently residing in southern Ohio. She is the mother of two sons, and through the years has always held on to her dream of publishing fiction.
Andrea Smith is the author of “Past Tense Future Perfect” (formerly published as the Baby series), The G-Man series (Diamond Girl, Love Plus One, Night Moves, G-Men Holiday Wrap, and Taz) “These Men” (Novella that was part of an 8-author Erotica Consortium compilation entitled Bend).
Ms. Smith writes contemporary romance with suspense, mystery and an erotic tone.
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