In the heart of San Francisco, an extraordinary journey begins when a young
woman steps into the realm of a charismatic billionaire, unearthing the
depths of his soul and discovering her own untapped desires…
Enter a world of wealth, power, and unpredictable desire… When
Stephanie, a driven and determined young woman, accepts the position as
billionaire Henry’s new assistant, she becomes an integral part of his
high-stakes world. Drawn to his charisma and success, she discovers that
there is much more to Henry than meets the eye.
As Stephanie delves deeper into her role, she witnesses Henry’s enigmatic
personality firsthand. The allure of his riches and handsomeness is
countered by moments of harshness and indifference, leaving Stephanie torn
between attraction and resentment. Yet, fate has plans in store for them
both.
When an unexpected business conference takes them to the vibrant city of
San Diego, Stephanie finds herself drawn into a world where secrets unravel
and hearts collide. In the midst of shared experiences, forgiveness takes
root, and Stephanie must confront her hidden feelings for Henry. But when
she discovers she carries a life-altering secret, the stakes are raised, and
their entangled lives are forever changed.
Will Stephanie and Henry’s journey lead them to embrace their undeniable
connection, or will the secrets they carry drive them apart?
Lose yourself in this captivating tale of a billionaire’s assistant,
ambition, and the secrets that bind them…
About the Author
Marie Ribarik, author of Falling In Love With An Obnoxious
Billionaire
My debut novel, “Falling in Love with an Obnoxious
Billionaire,” is a captivating read that has received high praise from
readers. Drawing inspiration from my love of reading, my contemporary
romance novels transport readers to new worlds filled with unforgettable
characters and unforgettable love stories.
With over 25 years of living in California and working as an Oncology
Registered Nurse, I now reside in the Palm Beach area with my family and
want to pursue my secondary dream which is to become a writer. I have always
been a passionate novelist, poet, and writer who believes that the
power to change one’s life lies in their thoughts and words.
Since I have more time available to me now, I decided to write. It is like
trading syringes for pens, paper, and a computer. Thanks to Amazon’s
KDP platform, I have self-published my work with less anxiety, allowing me
to focus on what I love most – writing. If you are looking for a
romance author who will take you on an unforgettable journey of love and
self-discovery, look no further than my Marie Ribarik. My next novel
is right around the corner.
Heather’s soul soars when she’s hang-gliding, skydiving,
kayaking, or piloting a helicopter during search and rescue missions.
She’s taken the term adrenaline junkie to a whole new level. However,
she’s never enjoyed sex and never had an orgasm.
Instead of giving up on her, Kyle, a long-time friend who convinces her to
be more, brings an experienced Dom in to help. Marcus explains she only
enjoys extreme sports, so she needs to try extreme sex since the normal kind
hasn’t worked. Marcus is all Dom, and helps Kyle bring Heather alive
sexually.
Just when Heather thinks she has everything figured out, she learns the
details of how it worked when the two men shared a girlfriend for years
while they were in college.
About the Author
Candace Blevins writes urban fantasy, paranormal romance, contemporary BDSM
romance, and two kick-ass motorcycle club series. With more than sixty
published novels, Candace continues to create stories with strong women, and
she pulls from her vast knowledge of mythologies, ancient religions, and
history to create a paranormal world that fits neatly into our real
one.
She lives with her husband of twenty-five years and their youngest
daughter. Their oldest daughter has flown the nest, but frequently comes
home for visits. The family’s beloved, goofy, retired racing
greyhounds are usually at her side as she writes, quietly keeping her
company. Or sometimes not so quietly.
You can visit Candace on the web at candaceblevins.com and feel free to
friend her on Facebook at facebook.com/candacesblevins, TikTok at
tiktok.com/@candaceblevins, and Goodreads at goodreads.com/CandaceBlevins.
You can also join facebook.com/groups/CandacesKinksters to get sneak peeks
into what she’s writing now, images that inspire her, and the
occasional juicy teaser.
A Plague of Mercies Adam Pelzman
Publication date: June 7th 2023
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Poetry, Romance
A lethal plague sweeps the globe. Millions have died. Survivors are confined to their homes.
Gabriel passes his time in a small New York apartment on the city’s Upper West Side. During the plodding solitude of the lockdown, he observes several strangers in their nearby apartments. As he watches them struggle to survive a world at risk of extinction, he wonders about their lives—where they’re from, what they value, how they’re coping with a deadly contagion. All alone, he develops a vague yet important connection to these people, an affection for those who are struggling to survive isolation, fear and looming death.
Told in powerful, spellbinding free verse, Gabriel’s observations grow deeper and more elaborate as the endless days pass. But when he and a woman from across the street begin to watch each other from afar, his imagination begins to collide with the bleak reality of the times.
There is a woman who lives in a building in New York City,
on the Upper West Side.
A man just a few years older lives in a building across the street.
These two people live at the same elevation,
the same height,
one hundred feet above the pavement,
above the crust of the earth.
They can see into each other’s apartments.
Every night before the woman gets into bed
she puts on a threadbare gray shirt.
The shirt is long and sleeveless and extends down to her knees.
She turns off the ceiling light
and then turns on a nightlight near her bed.
The light casts an amber glow reminiscent of a campfire.
The man in the other apartment wonders if the nightlight
is the woman’s response to a fear of the dark,
to a threat real or imagined,
an antidote of sorts.
After she turns on the nightlight
she looks briefly through her window.
Perhaps she is reflecting on another day passed.
Perhaps she is considering the quality of her life,
or the quantity that remains.
Perhaps she is scanning the dark street for signs of life,
for hope in any of its many forms.
Author Bio:
Adam Pelzman was born in Seattle, raised in northern New Jersey, and has spent most of his life in New York City. He studied Russian literature at the University of Pennsylvania and went to law school at UCLA. His first novel, Troika, was published by Penguin (Amy Einhorn Books) and later republished by Jackson Heights Press as A Cuban Russian American Love Story. He is also the author of The Papaya King (which Kirkus Reviews described as “entrancing” and “deeply memorable”) and The Boy and the Lake (which is set in New Jersey during the late 1960s). His newest novel is A Plague of Mercies.
Do you like your heroes to be a little more… anti-hero?
From MC’s to assassins, mafia bosses to mercenaries, and everything in between, we all love a dark hero. Dive into stories from your favorite authors as they create the villains you love to hate, the truly evil madmen, and the bad boy with the tough shell but a soft heart for those they care about.
Whether you prefer reading about captives or heroines who fight back, each story will take you on a wild ride of passion, danger, and heart-stopping romance. So get ready to indulge your wildest fantasies and fall in love with the bad boys who will steal your heart and leave you breathless.
Don’t miss your chance to own this exclusive, limited edition set.
We can’t wait to corrupt you…
Including Stories from:
Winter Travers – Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author S.L. Scott brings the charm and romance, smiles and laughs to Along Came Charlie. This friends-to-more novel is packed with heartfelt emotion reminiscent of the best of chick lit of the past with a modern twist for today’s readers.
I’ll be your date, and you’ll be mine.
Who says a funeral can’t be romantic? Okay, everyone. Including myself. That doesn’t stop the rumor mill from turning when I show up with a beautiful redhead on my arm.
That redhead also just happens to be a stranger, relatively speaking. Charlotte Barrow and I have run into each other a few times—on the subway, at a bar, and now on our way to separate funerals. Instead of the prodigal son who let his parents down showing up alone, I traded favors and brought a date. The deal made sense at the time.
You be my date, and I’ll be yours.
Who knew bringing a date to your ex-fiancé’s funeral would cause such a stir? Technically, I did. I invited him anyway for moral support. It didn’t hurt that he was handsome.
The cold-hearted stares that greeted us didn’t matter. We found comfort in each other and formed a friendship from there. Charles Adams was nothing like my ex. The pressure wasn’t there to be anyone other than who I was. He also loved my cupcakes as much as I enjoyed his company.
I always dreamed of finding my soul mate, and then along came Charlie. My perfect match was right here all along. Did I realize it too late?
Scott writes character driven, heart-racing, and swoony romances to suspense that will leave you glued to the page. Her stories are regarded as emotion-filled and soulful. With stories ranging from light and witty beach reads to heart wrenching and heart healing, Scott has a story for all readers. Her books are more than escapes for the voracious readers of today. They are journeys of the heart that always come with a happily ever after reward at the end.
Brent Riddick has been up to his armpits in work ever since he started his job as the Truman School’s manager. He admits he probably qualifies as a workaholic, although he doesn’t really care. He’s simply more comfortable standing in front of a board meeting than sitting in a cocktail lounge and has no desire to examine his lack of a social life. So it isn’t a big deal to him that he sorta forgets it’s his birthday.
Unfortunately his staff, led by the hotel’s sexiest troublemaker, Guthrie, remembers the occasion and Brent is begrudgingly forced to allow his co-workers to take him out for drinks. However, when all those birthday drinks go to Brent’s head and he ends up going home with an equally drunken Guthrie, things get a little more complicated.
Guthrie Walker is the kind of guy who always knows where the next party is happening. He also has a Plan B Party and a Plan C Party if his original party plans fall through. He’s still young and figures there’ll be plenty of time later to get serious about life. Drinking and dancing with his friends is definitely more fun than dealing with his messed up finances or dwelling on the festering rift with his family. So what if he occasionally drinks a little too much, does a few club drugs, comes in late to work a time or two, and suffers from an almost perpetual hangover? Everyone does it, right? Too bad the judge overseeing his case after Guthrie is arrested for drug possession doesn’t see things that way.
As if things weren’t messy enough, the court-ordered Diversion Plan requires Guthrie to enlist the help of his supervisor at work – who also happens to be one of Guthrie’s many one-night stands – if he wants to stay out of jail, retain his server’s license, and not lose his job. The hotel is already short-staffed and Brent is too much of a softie to say no to his desperate subordinate. Which is how Brent ends up vouching for Guthrie and agreeing to monitor his compliance with the court’s mandates. Now Brent just has to come up with a way to divert the party boy’s attention away from his club-scene past and himself away from lusting after his hot mess employee.
Excerpt
Chapter 1 – Brent
It’s not my fault that I’m so busy I sorta forget my own birthday.
The past six months, ever since I was hired as the manager of the Truman School, have been wild. I’ve been so busy that I rarely even remember what day of the week it is, let alone the actual date. Unless, of course, there’s some critically important work event I need to know the date of; those dates I remember because I’m paid well not to forget them. Personal stuff, though . . . Not so much.
The first three months leading up to the Grand Opening of the hotel were filled with hiring staff, overseeing the remodeling of the building, and working with the PR team to plan the opening. Most of that time I was working fourteen hour days, six or seven days a week. Things only slowed down incrementally following the opening. Being the manager, I end up being the one expected to handle all the problems and, for some reason, those problems always happen at the least opportune times. Primarily weekends and the middle of the night, it seems. I don’t think I’ve really taken a relaxed breath since starting this job.
Not that I really mind. I guess I probably qualify as a ‘work-a-holic’ but that’s fine with me. I’d rather be too busy than not busy enough. Work is good. I’m good at what I do. I like knowing that I’m appreciated. I like hearing the accolades from my bosses at McNally’s. I really like that I’ve already received one merit-based promotion despite being with the company less than a year. Plus, when I’m up to my armpits in work shit, I don’t have time to worry about anything else. So, generally speaking, I don’t complain about being too busy. Life is easier when you’ve got a purpose and, since I don’t have much of a life outside of work right now, that’s really my only purpose.
However, this weekend is proving especially hectic, what with it being Labor Day. The last official weekend of Summer is traditionally one of the busiest times of the year in the hospitality industry and, happily, the hotel is booked to capacity. It doesn’t help matters that our chef up and quit on me last week and the replacement, Easton, is not one hundred percent up to speed yet. Or that I’m immersed in marketing meetings with Ryan Zellers and the McNally’s PR team most of the weekend. Or that Ryan and his boyfriend – our ex-artist, Jayce – invited most of the staff to join them for dinner on Friday night. Or that the plumbing in the north wing backed up on Saturday afternoon. Or that any of the hundreds of other things that I’ve had to worry about this weekend have been taking up any spare brain capacity I might have left over.
Anyway, it’s no wonder I’m far too preoccupied with the daily crises of managing a full hotel to notice that this year September sixth – my birthday – falls on the first Monday of the month. I’m not sure whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that Logan, my assistant manager, remembers the occasion. I’m afraid that I probably look a little confused, though, when my team surprises me with an impromptu celebration just as soon as I give the okay to the restaurant staff to close up the Courtyard kitchen at nine-thirty that Monday evening.
“For he’s a jolly good fellow . . .” They all sing as Malia emerges from the kitchen with a Jaciva chocolate cake festooned with three largish candles.
The fact that they aren’t singing the traditional birthday song adds to my confusion. “What’s this for?” I ask as the group circles round the table where the cake has been placed and I’m pushed down into a chair facing the confection. “Are you folks angling for promotions or something?”
“I told you he’d forget.” Logan gives a conspiratorial laugh. “Happy birthday, Brent!”
“Happy birthday, Boss!” the crowd echos.
I look around and see the faces of pretty much the entire hotel staff staring at me: Logan, Guthrie, Easton, Wyatt, Keshawn, Perry, Tasha, and all the rest. I note that even Mark has come by this evening, despite working out of corporate headquarters most of the time. I smile around at them lamely and try to look happy at being ambushed, even though I hate being made the center of attention like this. I’ve never been overly comfortable in social situations, especially when I haven’t had time to prepare something to say or figure out how I’m supposed to act. It’s different when I’m standing in a boardroom or in front of a staff meeting. Those I can handle. But random surprise parties where I’m the guest of honor are a whole ‘nother thing.
I can feel my skin heating up and I try to fight back the blush I feel creeping up from under the collar of my shirt. Being a redhead, I can’t control the fact that my ruddy skin usually gives me away any time I’m feeling embarrassed or put on the spot. I try not to let myself get caught out like this too often. I’m the fucking manager after all; I can’t be going around blushing like a school-girl in front of my staff. Apparently my body doesn’t understand the need to maintain a professional demeanor, though, and that stupid blush takes over, no doubt turning my cheeks almost as red as my beard. But I try to smile anyway as I laugh at myself along with the rest.
“Thank you. But you didn’t have to do this.” I gesture at the cake and try to bat away the hands attempting to pull the elastic strap of a paper birthday hat under my chin. “Really. You shouldn’t have . . .”
“Of course we should,” Logan insists, pulling out the chair across from me and smiling in an officious manner as they seat themselves. “Celebrating staff birthdays together is part of the fun of working here – or so it says in the McNally’s Team Policy Manual – but I knew you wouldn’t take the time to celebrate on your own, so I made the executive decision to ensure you at least sat down long enough to eat a piece of cake. And, after the ridiculously busy weekend we all just had, everyone deserves a party. Including you. Now, be a good boss and pretend to enjoy yourself.”
I know they’re only teasing so I try to play along. “Who has time for birthdays?” I respond, causing several of the party to chuckle.
“C’mon, Boss. You’d think someone born on ‘Labor Day’ would at least remember when to celebrate!” Someone in the back – I think it’s probably that smart-ass, Guthrie – calls out.
And, yes, I’m aware of the irony of the fact that the celebration of my birth is happening on ‘Labor Day’ this year. My poor mother, going into labor on ‘Labor Day’ thirty years ago, no doubt also thought it hilarious at the time. However, since my birthday and the holiday coincide about every six or seven years, I’ve definitely heard that joke more than a few times. It wasn’t funny the first four times I heard it, and I’m not really that amused now either. But I can’t be ungracious when they’re all trying to be nice by throwing me this party so I offer an awkward smile and fake a chuckle.
Did I mention how much I hate uncomfortable social situations?
Then another voice from the crowd – Guthrie again, I assume, because nobody else would dare to be that flippant with the boss – urges me to, “make a wish and blow already!” which, of course, leads to more teasing and joking.
What else can I do? I can’t just walk out of my own birthday party, so I play along, blowing out the candles and accepting a piece of cake. Malia pours beers for everyone who’s already off the clock, and maybe a few who are supposed to still be on the clock, but I turn a blind eye to that minor policy infraction since they’re ostensibly only doing it in my honor. The party carries on from there.
I’m not sure exactly when the party gets so out of control.
One minute we’re sitting around in the empty dining room, drinking beer and eating cake, chatting and laughing about work stuff and the crazy weekend we’d just lived through, and the next minute someone suggests we take the party on the road. I hear Guthrie, the eternal party boy, proposing we all go to Scandals. Several other voices concur. I try to demur, using the pile of administrative paperwork waiting on my desk as an excuse to get out of this little field trip, but I’m shouted down. After all, it’s my party, right? I’m the guest of honor. They all want to buy me more drinks. I might still have backed out, though, if Guthrie wasn’t teasing me so relentlessly.
“Come on, Boss!” The tall, bold blond waggles his eyebrows at me from behind those hipster horned-rimmed glasses of his. “Pull the stick out of your ass and live a little for once!”
I want to tell him to fuck off, and maybe even write him up for talking to his superior in such an improper manner, but that would make me look like an ungrateful jerk. This whole celebration is supposedly for my benefit, right? I’m expected to play along. Which is exactly why I hate social interaction. I feel so awkward; I never know how I’m supposed to react when put on the spot like this. So, despite feeling completely out of my element, I allow myself to be talked into relocating the party to one of Portland’s more well-known gay bars. What the hell, right? I suppose I can allow the diversion this once.
The debauchery progresses rapidly from that point.
I suppose it’s obvious fairly early on that I don’t routinely drink very heavily. I’d had a couple beers back at the Truman School, so I’m already feeling a bit loose when we arrive at Scandals. The team immediately insists that I drink something called a ‘Birthday Cake Shot’ to celebrate my special day. That’s followed up by a Jagerbomb. After that I completely lose track of the seemingly endless rounds of drinks that follow as everyone and their brother offers to buy the Birthday Boy a drink.
Although Scandals isn’t a dance club, per se, at some point during the night the entire Truman team ends up in the middle of the floor, jumping, twisting, gyrating, and dancing together in a big group. Surprisingly, I’m right in the middle of the roiling mess of them and, for once, I’m having a pretty good time, despite my introvert tendencies. The bartender cranks up the tunes. The music is decent and quite danceable. None of us are feeling any pain and the party moves into high gear.
I’m more than halfway sloshed by this point. I will readily admit that all the toasts I’ve been the recipient of have me flying pretty high. I’ve had enough to drink that my inhibitions are pretty nonexistent and I’m relaxed enough not to care how I look anymore. I even give up trying to remove the stupid party hat that my staff insists I keep wearing. I’m having a great time dancing, to be honest – something I usually avoid out of fear of looking like a juvenile red-headed moose having a seizure – which is, unfortunately, my go-to dance move. But I’m just tipsy enough tonight to not give a damn and it feels good to let go for a change.
So, when Guthrie comes up behind me at some point and starts grinding against me from behind I don’t sweat it. I merely laugh and wiggle my ass a little provocatively. Then I toss back the rest of the glowing, fruity blue drink that is currently in my hand and twirl around like some kind of drunken ballerina.
“Oh, so he can dance,” Guthrie says, taking advantage of the smooth tempo of the music to pull me back against him even closer.
I can feel his tall, lanky body pressed up against me from behind and then his hips do this swivel thing that causes his crotch to grind into the crack of my ass. I don’t even bother trying to stifle the groan that escapes from my lips at that move. It’s been a hella long time since I had anyone grinding up against me and I’m not about to waste the experience. Especially not when it’s a hot blond like Guthrie.
TAG has been living in Portland, Oregon, so long that it’s almost like being a native. They don’t even mind the rain that much anymore. TAG loves the city and the state with a passion. TAG has been writing for almost a decade, starting out with a hesitant toe in the realm of fanfiction before venturing into the scarier world of self-publishing original works. With an eclectic background as an attorney, microbiologist, all-around nerd, and adventurer, TAG brings to all their writing an off-kilter sense of humor, unbounded curiosity, a love of historical and contemporary details, and astonishing powers of research. If you are looking for a gripping story, with compelling characters that deal with real world issues, then you’re in the right place.
A Romance Anthology to Benefit Breast Cancer Research
From sizzle to spice, we’ve got all your romance needs covered! Dive into some amazing romance stories while supporting a very important cause! Included are 25 short stories of various romance genres including: contemporary romance, dark romance, romantic suspense and rom-com. Grab this limited time collection before it’s gone forever!
FIGHT LIKE A GIRLis a romance anthology to benefit Breast Cancer Research in the US and Canada. This collection of short romance stories cannot be read anywhere else. 100% of the royalties will be split equally and donated to the US Breast Cancer Research Foundation & the Canadian Cancer Society-CIBC Run for the Cure, both charitable organizations dedicated to funding breast cancer research.
Authors included in this anthology: Anna B. Doe, B.L Olson, Brighton Walsh, Cassidy London, CM Albert, Crystal St-Clair, Daisy St. James, Dakota Willink, Diana Hicks, E.M Shue, Ellie Masters, Erin Cristofoli, Gabrielle G, Heather Slade, Jami Davenport, Kat Mizura, Lydia Michaels, M.L Broome, Maddy Lowe, Michelle Windsor, Mimi Flood, Patricia D. Eddy, Pepper North, Remy Reigns, Samantha A. Cole, Zoe York.
Darien Francis and Richard Li meet during a bank robbery, but she’s afraid to love again.
Shane Kenniston and Beth Parker are reacquainted years after she had a crush on him, but she is a recent widow, and Shane’s life was upended by a false accusation.
David Early and Kate Howard meet in the laundromat, but her life is consumed by the needs of her disabled child, and David isn’t ready for the responsibility.
Realtor Frank Ellison meets Kayla Barnes at an open house, but a mistaken first impression derails any chance of romance.
Can they all overcome the obstacles to love?
Excerpt
When she finally stopped crying, he asked, “Do you want to tell me about him?”
“No.” She backed away from him and searched her pockets for a tissue, but of course at this moment, of all times, she didn’t have one. He did, though—a whole box stood on the coffee table—and he gave her one, and she blew her nose. Her mascara was running, and her face must be blotchy and red. “This is so humiliating,” she said. “I never do this. I feel like such an idiot.”
“Why? It’s perfectly natural. I’m glad to know you’re not so tough.”
“It’s unprofessional, and it makes me feel ugly. It’s a good thing you’re not attracted to me.”
“What?”
She peered at him, sniffling, and dabbed at her eyes. “You’re not, are you?”
“Which answer will get me in the least trouble?” he asked.
She laughed shakily. She felt a lot better. “If you were before, you wouldn’t be now.” He gave her another tissue, and she managed to get most of the mascara off. He rubbed away a stray smudge with his thumb, and his fingers brushed her cheek. The soft touch was even more comforting than being held in his arms. She closed her eyes.
He kissed her. It was the briefest pressure of his lips against hers, gentle and sweet, but she felt it deep inside. She opened her eyes. His were wide with surprise. “I think we just went off the clock,” she said.
About the Author
Linda Griffin is a native of San Diego and has a BA in English from San Diego State University and an MLS from UCLA. She retired as fiction librarian for the San Diego Public Library in order to spend more time on her writing. Her stories have been published in numerous journals including,
Eclectica, Thema Literary Review, and The Avalon Literary Review. Reluctant Hearts is her sixth romance book from the Wild Rose Press, after Seventeen Days (2018), The Rebound Effect (2019), Guilty Knowledge (2020), Love, Death, and the Art of Cooking (2021), and Bridges (2022). In addition to the three R’s—reading, writing, and research—she enjoys movies, Scrabble, and travel.
Maybe it’s the beer or the stifling heat, but his eyes seem to follow as I make my way around the room. Caught staring back, it’s as if he sees my thoughts when the corner of his lip tugs into a knowing smile. It’s impossible for him to know that I’m imagining what kind of lover he would be – selfish or generous, relentless or fleeting, but his smile says otherwise. That smile could knock a girl right out of her panties. Maybe for one night I can be someone else, and that makes the prospects endless.
Slipping between the crowd, I find myself on the street. A gust of wind travels down the long strip mall. Everything is dark, all the other stores closed for the night. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply and smell the rain.
It’s coming.
The city hibernates all year waiting for the rain to penetrate the hard-shelled soil, breaking it open, and once it does, everything comes to life.
A lightning bolt stretches across the sky just as the wind picks up, blowing the hair from my neck and cooling it. I start to walk down the block on the way back to my car, passing a darkened record store when I hear a voice call out behind me. “Hey.”
Without even turning around, I know it’s him, the singer with the velvet voice and the kissable lips. The wind continues to blow like a freight train down the block, picking up the edges of my shirt and blowing my hair across my face. Turning around, I see he’s standing on the sidewalk, looking every bit as delicious as he did on stage. Waiting for him to look around me, to the person whose attention he was really trying to get, but he just stares at me the same way he did in the bar, like he’s trying to unearth my secrets.
Caught in the spider’s web of his soulful eyes, I’m unable to move.
The silence is broken when the sky opens and dumps heavy sheets of rain, plastering my hair to my face and my shirt against my body in less than a minute. Moving towards me, with each step closing the distance between us, the bashful smile on his face causes my pulse to quicken, and the blood rushing in my ears becomes the only sound I can hear. When he reaches me, I can see the pulse in his neck as his hand grips my waist, guiding me into the alcove of the darkened record store, taking us out of the rain. With his hand still on my waist, the heat from it makes me shiver.
His close proximity takes the breath out of me, and I watch as the water drips from his hair onto his full lips, leaving a trail down his chin. In the dim light of the alcove with only the streetlamp to illuminate his face, I see the green flecks in his brown eyes as he searches mine. They pull me in like a magnet; intense and beautiful. My palms press against his chest slowly gathering his shirt between my fingers, all while my heart pounds in my chest because this stranger drew me in the minute I laid eyes on him in the bar. It’s as if he is a tiny piece of my past buried long ago now being unearthed.
Maybe it’s the wind, the way it wraps itself around us, pushing us together rather than pulling us apart, I feel as though this is a chance I need to take. How many times in the last eighteen years had I truly taken something just for myself? And how many more times in my lifetime will I get a chance to choose something for myself?
In the small space between us, a question lingers in the air.
Can I kiss you?
Wanting it and doing it are two different things, because once I cross that line, will I be taking a step backwards? Looking at his beautiful rain-soaked face, I know the answer.
Author Bio:
Paula Dombrowiak grew up in the suburbs of Chicago, Illinois but currently lives in Arizona. She is the author of Blood and Bone, her first adult romance novel which combines her love of music and imperfect relationships. Paula is a lifelong music junkie, whose wardrobe consists of band T-shirts and leggings which are perpetually covered in pet hair. She is a sucker for a redeemable villain, bad boys, and the tragically flawed. Music inspires her storytelling.
The woman that’d been hounding my every step since the day she was born. From the moment we first comforted each other in the hospital, to the day that I left her to follow her dreams, I knew that she was my one.
Through marriage, divorce, and a prison sentence, I had low expectations when it came to her ever coming around to my way of life. What kind of woman wanted a man that’d been to prison, had a child that disliked him and everything he stood for, and had zero prospects in life?
But then she popped into my life again, and that feeling of suffocation slacked off for the first time since I let her go.
***
The first time I tried to come back to Aodhan, I found him married with a kid on the way.
The second time I tried, he was heading to jail.
As one would say, the third time is the charm, right? Wrong.
The third time, he was divorced, fresh from prison, had a kid, and was again with his ex-wife.
That was the final nail in my coffin. I decided to give up.
I would do anything and everything I could to avoid him. Hiding wasn’t beneath me.
I only wish he’d stuck with my plan, because the moment he sees me again, it’s like he’s seen the light. Avoiding him is impossible when he goes out of his way to insinuate himself into every aspect of my life.
If only life was as perfect as my dreams.
My Review – 5 stars
The Voices Are Back was an enjoyable read that hooked me from the beginning. For me, this seemed a little lighter on suspense and action than of Ms. Vale’s books, and heavier on the dramatic. It didn’t detract from the story in any way. In fact, it’s what worked best for these particular characters.
We once again have a perfectly imperfect heroine with health issues. It’s a common theme with Ms. Vale’s books, and one that works for her. I like that her characters have issues more complex than the usual things you find in romances. Despite Morr’s POTS, she doesn’t let it hold her back. Sure, there are things she can’t do without harming herself or others, but she finds a “new” normal and keeps moving forward.
I thought the romance between her and Aodan was so sweet! There was heat, but there was so much more to their love story than just sex. They’d had a connection all their lives. I cheered them on from the very beginning, anxious to see how their happily ever after would unfold.
If you’re looking for a dramatic romance, with a timeless love, and secondary characters that will add to the comedy and theatrics, then you can’t go wrong with The Voices Are Back!
*Disclaimer: I received an ARC and am voluntarily leaving a review. The review above is only my opinion.
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