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Blog Tour: Just One Summer, by Lynn Stevens

Title: Just One Summer
Author: Lynn Stevens
Genre: New Adult Romance
Cover Designer: Ampersand Book Covers
Publication Date: May 21st, 2018
Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR
Blurb: 
One summer, no regrets
Carly Reynolds does not want to work at her father’s Branson theater over the summer, but she has no choice. After wrecking his prized Mercedes on Prom night, she’s got to pay him back somehow before she leaves for college. Now she’s stuck working as the personal assistant to twenty-year-old Gracin Ford, former member of one-hit-wonder boy band Accentuate.
Gracin is demanding, condescending, and an all-around jerk. Carly would rather eat glass than deal with a male diva who’s more famous for his stint in rehab than his music. Until she realizes that Gracin’s lonely. Once she welcomes him into her life, she starts to let him into her heart. Even though she knows it will end when she leaves for school, Carly doesn’t want to look back on her life and wonder what if. Even if it means a broken heart.
Lynn Stevens flunked out of college writing her first novel. Yes, she still has it and no, you can’t read it. Surprisingly, she graduated with honors at her third school. A former farm girl turned city slicker turned suburbanite, Lynn lives in the Midwest where she drinks coffee and sips tea when she’s out of coffee. She’s the author of Full Count and Game On..

Author Links:
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CHAPTER ONE
Nobody sane should ever be up at eight on a Saturday morning. Especially not when said person stayed up until three a.m. for a horror movie marathon with her best friends Ivy and Nena. So totally worth it though. 
What a waste of a Saturday. I could be sleeping, or bungee jumping, or sleeping, or ziplining, or sleeping instead of starting a job I didn’t want in the first place.
I bit back a yawn as I smoothed the wrinkled turquoise polo, the required uniform for Mountain View Resort employees. Taking a deep breath to steady the waves in my stomach, I knocked on the door to room four-oh-two three times, as instructed, and squeezed my clipboard against my chest.
What had my father been thinking bringing this guy to Branson? For the last few years, I’d overheard Dad lamenting to my brother about how the shows didn’t make enough money and the profits from the resort disappeared into the theater. If Dad wanted to revive that dump, he’d need someone to sell out every performance. I had serious doubts about his choice. Another reason I was in the doghouse.
I lifted my fist to hammer the door a second time when it flew open.
A wet torso greeted me, and a hint of the hotel’s jasmine soap drifted from the room. My gaze followed water dripping down tanned pecs and over the only real six-pack I’d ever seen as it disappeared into the thick hotel towel wrapped around his waist. Wow. My face burned hotter than the coffee I’d slammed earlier, and I forced my head up to meet the gaze of The Gracin Ford, celebrity bad boy and former member of Accentuate, a one-hit wonder boy band.
Gracin’s manscaped eyebrows arched as bright blue eyes took a circuit over my body. My skin tingled all over in response to his gaze.
Sadly, he had to open his mouth. “Not my type, but thanks.”
Then he slammed the door in my face.
What? That… that… that son of a bitch! I punched the door three times, fully prepared to give this egotistical asshole a piece of my mind. Meanwhile, my father’s lecture from half an hour ago echoed between my ears: “If you want to go to U of N in the fall, you work for me this summer to pay me back for the damage to the Mercedes. Don’t, and you can go to Southern Community like your brother did.” I counted to thirty, trying and failing to calm myself while I waited for his highness.
The door swung in. At least this time, he’d had the decency to put on a pair of khaki shorts and a t-shirt. His gaze shifted over me once more, and I tried not to squirm, but blue eyes gave me the creeps. And brought back memories I’d rather pretend didn’t exist.
“What now?” he asked. If he was even slightly miffed, he didn’t show it. The cool nonchalance in his voice didn’t stop my temper from shooting toward the atmosphere.
I dug my nails into the back of the clipboard and smiled my best smile. “Hi, Mr. Ford. I’m Carly Reynolds, your … personal assistant. Your father provided us with a detailed itinerary of your day-to-day–”
“Let me see it,” he said, leaning his shoulder against the door jam.
I handed it over, keeping the tremor in my hands at bay. Personal assistant my ass, more like his errand bitch. If he hadn’t fired his previous P.A., I could be lounging by the pool as a lifeguard or cleaning rooms or checking guests at the front desk. Instead, I had to spend my summer following every whim of a twenty-year-old has-been. As he took the itinerary, his eyebrows furrowed at something else. Before my hand could drop back to my side, he snatched it and tugged at the tie holding the leather cuff covering my wrist.
His eyebrows lifted again and amusement danced across his full lips. “Nice tat. Why hide it?”
 “Who says I’m hiding it?” He let go of my hand, and I quickly retied the cuff over the small trinity knot tattoo on my wrist. It had only been two weeks since I’d gotten inked, but Mom and Dad hadn’t noticed. Yet.  I crossed my arms and bit the inside of my upper lip. As much as I didn’t want to be here, I also didn’t want to go to Southern Community. Keeping my mouth shut was kind of required if I wanted to go to Nashville in the fall.
Gracin nodded and refocused on the itinerary. He flipped the paper, shaking his head. “According to this, you’re supposed to take me to breakfast every morning at eight so we can discuss the day’s schedule.” He handed the clipboard back to me. “I’m assuming that’s why you’re here now.”
“Yep.”
He sighed. “Let me get my shoes. No doubt the big kahuna will be expecting me.” He moved into the room and I reached out to hold the door open. “I’ll get a more realistic schedule to you.”
“Realistic?” I asked as he slipped on a pair of boat shoes and a Rolex that could pay for half a semester at U of N or the entire two years at Southern Community.
“Yeah, that’s clearly the schedule Dad wants me to keep. Not even close to reality.” Gracin stepped into the hallway, patting his pocket. He groaned and turned to stop the door from shutting completely, but it was too late. He fell forward, letting his forehead thunk against the thick wood. “You wouldn’t happen to have a key to my room, would you?”
“No, but we can get one from the front desk after breakfast. You’re moving into one of the cabins today anyway.” I shrugged because it wasn’t that big of a deal. “No worries.”
Gracin laughed, but there wasn’t any humor to it. “Do me a favor. Keep this key thing between us, okay? The last thing I need is to hear how irresponsible I am. Again.”
I held back the scoff and the sarcastic comment that would normally shoot from my mouth in record speed. Especially since I’d heard the same lecture more times than I could count. “Yeah, okay. But we have to go now, or you’re going to have to hear how irresponsible I am.” 
“Well, I won’t say anything about the tat in that case.” Gracin’s smile showed his Hollywood white teeth.
We were half way between his room and the elevator when his cell rang. I tried to ignore his half of the conversation, but when you’re alone with someone, it’s hard not to listen.
“Hey, babe.” Pause. “Yeah, I had a great time too.”
Another pause. Gracin laughed, clutching his hand against his chest.
“Probably best they didn’t catch us. Photographic evidence and all.”
Another pause when we got to the elevator. Gracin’s face turned from California tan to the shade of a bruised red pepper.
“You didn’t? Please tell me you didn’t.”
I wanted to lean closer to hear what the person on the other end had done. Celebrity drama and all. I didn’t seek it out, but that didn’t stop me from reading the headlines when they popped up on my computer.
After I pushed the button for the elevator, we stood side by side. Gracin’s fingers tightened around the phone. I could hear a female voice coming from his speaker but not what she said. Gracin slapped the mirrored doors.
Housekeeping’ll love that.
The doors dinged open as Gracin’s fist soared toward them, and he threw himself into the elevator. He managed not to fall, but it was so hard not to laugh.
“Next time you talk to that jackass, tell him you were just another one-night stand.”
Wow. I’d somehow managed to keep my expression neutral when he fell into the elevator, but my mortification couldn’t be hidden. 
He stared at me in the mirror. “There goes hiding my lack of responsibility today,” he said in a calm voice that didn’t match the fury from a moment ago.
I kept my mouth shut despite the thoughts running through my head and held his mirrored gaze. Both took supreme battles of will. I thought only one thing: U of N. Nothing was going to keep me from going to Nashville.
Gracin tilted his head. His eyebrows sagged as he opened his mouth. A beep sounded from his phone, distracting him from whatever he was about to say. He shook his head at the screen and then handed it to me. “Here. Fair warning before Hurricane Albert leashes his wrath on me.”
I wasn’t interested in getting caught up in his drama, but curiosity got the best of me and I glanced at the image on the screen. It wasn’t anything major. A beautiful girl with bright brown eyes and obviously dyed red hair kissed a smiling Gracin on the cheek. It was pretty clear they were in a bar when this was taken. Several empty beer bottles sat on the table in front of them.
“A hot chick took a photo of you guys in a bar?” I handed the phone back. “Big deal.”
 “The ‘deal’ is she sold it to a tabloid.” Gracin shoved the phone into his pocket. He didn’t spare me a glimpse, even in the mirror. “I can see the headlines already: ‘Gracin Ford Falls Off the Wagon.’ ” Finally, he faced me. “Except I didn’t. I’ve been sober for almost a year. None of those empties were mine. Not that anybody will believe me. Especially King Albert.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh.’”
I didn’t say anything, but the heat burning the tips of my ears was enough.
The elevator opened to the lobby. Gracin motioned me out first and followed me to the private dining room. Dad sat at the head of the table in the middle of the room. My mother sat to his right, and a gray-haired man with a stringy comb-over sat on his left. His extensive lack of hair didn’t stop Albert Ford from trying. My older brother, Luke, sat next to three empty seats for me, Gracin, and my little sister, Miranda. Quite the family affair.
“Carly, I’m glad you made it,” Dad said, adding a fake laugh at the end. To anyone else, it might’ve appeared teasing. I knew better. Dad was not happy we were a minute late. Of course, when it came to me, he wouldn’t have been happy had I been two minutes early either. My father was the consummate politician around here. He ruled more like a dictator, but was JFK when guests were around. “I thought you were going to be late.”
“That’s my fault, Mr. Reynolds,” Gracin said. He threw out a hundred-watt smile.
I fought to roll my eyes. At least he’s taking the hit for me.
“Carly rushed me out the door, then let it close before I remembered to grab my key.”
And under the bus I go. Thanks, asshat.
Dad stared through me with his laser pointer green eyes. “Well, Carly, I suggest you head to the front desk and get another. While you’re there, make sure housekeeping stays out of his room until this evening when the cabin is ready.”
“Yes, sir.” I let my head drop in good girl compliance, catching the laughing eyes of my brother. We both inherited Dad’s light brown hair, but Luke lucked out getting Dad’s eyes. Unfortunately, he used them to taunt me at every turn, which only served to remind me who was the chosen one in the Reynolds family. Hint, his name began with an L.
Gracin made his way toward the buffet spread. He piled fresh fruit on his plate, winking at me. I shuddered as I freed myself from the room. Guys who winked were just plain creepy.
My last summer before heading off to college was going to be the worst one of my life. All because of a little dent in a Mercedes. Smashing.

 

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Excerpt: Him & I, by Melody Eve

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Love is a risk.

Roman has never been willing to take those odds, until now.

A beautiful stranger, overheard telling the desk clerk she’s on her honeymoon alone, arouses something in him. Something primal. Something protective. He finds himself doing and saying things he swore he never would in an effort to understand the pain in Aria’s sensual eyes.

His scars are so deep, they may never heal.
His need for control is ingrained.
His desire for her is unparalleled.

The challenge of winning her may be the biggest risk of all.

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Excerpt

“Don’t think you can play me that easily, Ms. Savage. I’m the master, and you’re still learning the game.” He stands and slips his tie off folding it neatly. Then he leaves me there hot and bothered and disappointed beyond belief. How dare he!

What does he mean he’s the master? And what game is he referring to? I was just flirting hoping for a repeat of this morning out here on his patio, a little exhibitionism. I wasn’t playing at anything.

I wasn’t then, but I am now. He likes to control. I’ve witnessed it on multiple occasions. It’s time to take that away from him and see how he likes it.

I stand and strip off my tank top, step out of my skirt, and kick off my flip-flops. I round the table and push through the gate separating his patio from the sandy, sparsely inhabited beach. I’m still sporting a thong but absolutely nothing else. I don’t know if it’s a topless beach, and I don’t care.

I stretch my arms over my head scooping my hair into a fresh messy bun and wrap the rubber band from my wrist around it just as my feet touch the edge of the water.

“Aria!” Roman’s voice booms from behind me. I turn with a wicked smile and see him standing still in his suit pants and dress shirt holding up my top and skirt with fury in his eyes.

Bingo, now let’s see who’s the master and what game we’re playing. He catches my expression and lowers his gaze to my naked breasts. Right before my eyes, I watch him turn into a lunatic. Face red, veins bulging and pulsing from everywhere, he throws open the gate on the patio and storms through the sand in his thousand-dollar shoes and ten-thousand-dollar suit.

But I’m safe in the water, or at least I’m pretty sure I am. I wade out deeper feeling more secure but only for a moment. My eyes go wide when he storms into the ocean dressed from head to toe with the look of an enraged maniac on his face.

Nerves scramble my brain, and I laugh as I swim further away from him. My depth is of no concern to this man full of possessive insanity, in fact, it may be propelling him.

“Aria, come here this instant! This isn’t a nude beach. It’s not even a topless beach for Christ’s sake!” he yells before diving underwater in my direction. Oh my God, for the first time since I let spontaneity take over, I worry about the repercussions of my actions.

What will he do when he catches me? He will catch me of that I am sure. I can see crazy in his eyes. He’s angry, and I am wild. He is possessive, and I need to be free. He is controlling, and I am rebellious.

I dart to the right, but it’s too late. His hand closes around my ankle, and I take in a huge breath right before he pulls me under. I can’t see him, my eyes are closed because of the salty water, but his hands are around my waist hauling me to the surface.

“Are you out of your fucking mind, woman? Somebody could have seen you.”

I try to blink the water from my eyes since he has my arms pinned to my sides. “So?”

“So? You just finished telling me that you’re mine while we are here, and in case you haven’t noticed, we are still here!” he shouts, and I recoil. I’ve never been shouted at by a man, especially right in my face.

I roll my lips inward and hold my breath unsure of what to say or do next. It turns out I don’t have to say or do anything. He turns toward the shore and starts walking us in that direction pushing through the water with such force it leaves a wake behind us. I know, I looked!

He turns me in his arms so that my front is plastered to his hiding my breasts from onlookers’ eyes of which there are only two—an elderly man and his wife sunning in lounge chairs a couple of doors down. I wave at them, and the woman waves back smirking in solidarity.

Roman is overreacting. I’m naked, so what? Women all over the world sunbathe topless and nude. He’s acting like I committed a felony.

“Stop fraternizing with the neighbors,” he growls. How did he know I waved?

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Oh yeah? You’re not swimming naked anymore, are you?”

“Because you hauled me out of the water like a sack of potatoes!”

“A sack of potatoes has more sense than you right now.”

“I don’t think I like your tone.”

“I don’t like your defiance,” he says storming through the patio doors with his clothes dripping water all over the carpets. He doesn’t stop to put me down. Instead, he makes a bee-line for the bedroom. Goodie!

He tosses me on the bed, and I laugh. I can’t help it, he is being so absurd. “You’re a caveman, Roman Forrest. You know that, right?”

He closes the door to the bedroom.

“You act like I’m your wife.”

He shoves his hand through his silky black hair and unbuttons his wet shirt.

I pull a sheet over myself suddenly feeling exposed and nervous.

“You don’t own me, you know,” I say, but he says nothing and walks in his squishy shoes to the edge of the bed and yanks the sheet off the bed.

“Hey!”

“You wanted to be naked so bad, why the sudden modesty?” he snaps.

“Because it’s my body to do with as I please. I wanted to skinny dip out there, and now I want to cover myself in front of you. You’re acting like a loon.”

“I’m acting like a man who doesn’t want to share his woman with the whole fucking world!” He unzips his slacks and shoves them down along with his black boxer briefs. He kicks off his shoes and socks and crawls up the bed pushing me down to hover over me.

Unsure of how far to go, I lower my voice but stand my ground. “I’d hardly say that grandma and grandpa are the whole world, and since when am I your woman?”

“Since the first time I put my mouth on you,” he says and lowers himself down to take my mouth in a rough, demanding kiss. My toes curl, my belly flips, and I fight the urge to wrap my arms and legs around him for oh, maybe two seconds, tops.

Meet Melody

Melody EveMelody Eve is a Midwestern mother of five children and five fur babies. She is a contemporary romance author who loves writing sexy Alpha male heroes and smart, passionate heroines. Keep your eyes open for Melody’s new release, Him & I on Amazon in 2018.

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Sunny Shelly’s Review: Beginnings, by J.O Mantel

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Beginnings by J.O Mantel is LIVE!
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Beginnings FRONT

Ashford Tanner.

Handsome, and with a burgeoning career in law, Ash has the world at his feet and his relentless drive and ambition are finally paying off.

But, dealing with an overbearing and demanding employer can be challenging, even for a man like Ash, especially when trying to juggle work and a relationship.

When a multi-million dollar case forces Ash and his boss to Paris for an indefinite stay, his entire life is turned upside down.

Gabriela Devereaux.

In Paris, Ash finally meets his match. Gabriela is the epitome of grace and femininity and he is instantly awed by her unparalleled beauty.

A tragic accident and an unexpected encounter will bring shockwaves to Ash and his new love.

Will he get a second chance at happiness?

ADD TO GOODREADS: http://bit.ly/BeginningsTBR

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Sunny Shelly’s Review: 3.5 Stars

Beginnings is a beginning to what I can only assume is a serial because it ends on a cliffhanger.

When up-and-coming lawyer Ash is pretty much forced to either go to Paris on business or be fired, his long-term girlfriend, Laura, makes the decision a lot easier for him when she dumps him. So Ash arrives in Paris unattached, and soon falls for Gabriella, the sexy waitress at the cafe he’s been frequenting. And in an instalove instant, they are head over heels in love with one another. But an unexpected run-in with someone from Ash’s past threatens to destroy the future they are planning together.

 

Beginnings BT Teaser 2

This was an okay story; it’s only about 10 chapters, so it’s a quick read. I thought some of the dialog was clunky, and some of the conversations between characters didn’t seem to flow naturally. Ash’s boss is really a demanding jerk, but I was intrigued by what was happening with him and thier Parisian colleague, Courtney. Overall, Beginnings is an okay read… but I don’t know if I’m interested enough to see how this cliffhanger is resolved.
I received an advanced copy and voluntarily left a review for Sunny Shelly Reads book blog.

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MEET THE AUTHOR:
J.O Mantel was born and raised in Melbourne, Australia. As a child, J.O loved reading and his favourite authors included, Roald Dahl, Robin Klein, and Morris Gleitzman. J.O began writing in 2016 and released his first novel, First Crush in the Dark Falkon Series that same year. J.O lives a quiet life on a rural property in Melbourne’s Northern Suburbs.

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New Release: Cheat Codes, by Emily Goodwin

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Title: Cheat Codes
A Dawson Family Series Novel

Author: Emily Goodwin

Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: May 31, 2018

 

Blurb
Archer has always wanted what he can’t have—Quinn Dawson. Since the
moment he saw her, he’s been denying his feelings for her, ignoring the void in
his heart he knows only she can fill.
Everything about them was wrong, the kind of wrong that felt so right.
But none of it mattered. Not the terrible timing. And definitely not the mess
it would create if Archer made a move on his best friend’s baby sister.
It was supposed to be one night, but one night is all it takes to make
everything more complicated, and they only have nine short months to sort it
all out.
No, none of it mattered. Until it did.

 

Purchase Links
99c for a limited time
AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
Free in Kindle Unlimited
Playlist
Imagine
Dragons – Whatever It Takes
Campsite
Dream – Beautiful Mistake
Ariana
Grande – No Tears Left to Cry
David
Guetta/Sia – Flames
Selena
Gomez – Back To You
Zedd/Maren
Morris/Grey – The Middle
Bon
Jovi – Livin’ On A Prayer
Excerpt
Those
little bitty shorts ride up her tight ass as she walks. I want to put my hands
on it. Press my cock up against it as I kiss her neck, gathering her hair into
one hand and move it over her shoulder.
I swallow
hard. I can’t think like that. Not here. Not now.
Not ever.
“Are you
done?” Quinn puts one hand on her hip and for a split second I think she knows
what I’m thinking.
“Yeah,” I
say, picking up my last piece of bacon. I pop it in my mouth and stand,
bringing my plate over to the sink. Quinn takes it from me and bends over to
let the dogs lick the remnants of eggs. Her ass is in the air right in front of
me, and I wonder if she’s doing it on purpose to get a rise out of me.
Because she
is, and I have to change my stance thanks to my hardening cock.
“Quinn,” I
start, not sure what to say, but I have to say something. “We should talk.”
“About
what?” She straightens up and rounds on me, crossing her arms. Her eyes meet
mine, drilling in with an intensity I’ve never seen from her. She has little
flecks of blue in her brilliant green irises that I haven’t noticed before.
I move
closer, stepping over Boots. If I say it now, there will be no more wondering.
No more waiting. She’ll either take me or leave me, but at least I’ll know. I
can kiss her now or move on. Somehow, someway.
It’s not
hard. All I have to do is open my mouth and let the words come out, speaking
with unwavering vehemence as I tell her how I feel.
Yet, I
can’t.
Standing
here looking at Quinn, with her messy hair, thick sweater hiding her perfect
tits, and dogs circling around her feet in hopes of more food, I feel more
nervous that I did the first time I stood in front of a patient on the
operating table with a scalpel in my hand.
“Archer?”
“Your
wrist. How’s your wrist?”
“My wrist?”
she questions, nostrils flaring. She lets out a sigh and picks up the plate the
dogs licked clean. “Same as yesterday. I ordered a posture brace on Amazon to
help with my shoulder pain, not that you care.”
I’d offer
to massage her shoulders, but the moment my hands land on her back, all bets
are off.
Suddenly,
Quinn advances. She’s inches away, arms crossed tightly over her chest and head
tipped up to mine.
“That’s not
what you wanted to talk about.” She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and
cocks her head. “Is it?”
“Quinn.”
“Don’t Quinn
me, Archer Jones. You know as well as I do you weren’t going to talk to my
about my wrist.” She lets out a frustrated breath and lets her arms fall to the
sides. Her fingers brush against me, and my skin feels electric just from that small
touch.
Goddammit.
“But fine.
I’ll play that game. Here.” She holds up her hand. “Examine me, doctor.”
Her words
are meant to mock, but they do the opposite. I’ll examine every inch of her
body. Twice. Three times. Just to be certain nothing was missed.
I take her
wrist and tug her forward, knocking her off balance so she falls against me,
both her hands flat on my chest. I slip my other hand around her waist,
stopping at the small of her back. Quinn’s lips part and she gasps.
Instead of
struggling to get away, she relaxes in my arms, and nothing has ever felt more
right.
Even though
this is wrong.
Quinn is in
my arms, back arched and tits against my chest. My cock is hard, pulsing
against the confines of my jeans. Thunder booms above and Quinn shivers.
“Do you
still want to talk?” My voice is gruffer than I intend, but the harshness does
something for Quinn. She slides her hands up my chest and around my shoulders.
“There are
other things I’d rather do,” she says, voice breathy. Fuck. She’s killing me. She
brushes her hips against mine, feeling my erection through my pants. “And I
think you would too.”
I do. I so
fucking do and she knows it.
“Archer,”
she says softly and hearing her whisper my name is almost enough to make me
come right then and there. I slowly bring my face down to hers. I’m going to
kiss her. After all this time, it’s finally fucking happening.
Author Bio
Emily Goodwin is the New York Times and USA Today
Bestselling author of over a dozen of romantic titles. Emily writes the kind of
books she likes to read, and is a sucker for a swoon-worthy bad boys and
happily ever afters.
She lives in the midwest with her husband and two daughters.
When she’s not writing, you can find her riding her horses, hiking, reading, or
drinking wine with friends.
Emily is represented by Julie Gwinn of the Seymour Agency.

 

 

Author Links

 

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Release Blitz: Envelop Me, by Dana Arden

Title: Envelop Me 
Author: Dana Arden
Genre: Contemporary Romance 18+
Release Date: May 31, 2018
Angel
After the death of my parents, I learned life was way shorter than anyone could’ve predicted. I found myself lost in writing my dreams and fantasies down on paper until I published my first book.
Then reality smacked me in the face when I caught the one man I’d planned to spend my future with giving his secretary a cavity check. Cue in bat-sh*t crazy girlfriend.
When I thought my life was taking a turn, all it took was one phone call to put it in a different direction.

Carter
Living life to the fullest has always been our family’s motto. Cancer wore heavily for a few years, but we never let that dampen our spirits because my father would have never wanted that, but the bills that piled up sent me on a new path in my life…cover modeling.
At the beginning, it was an ego boost to be on so many authors’ covers. Eventually, it fizzled into wanting more out of my life.
I found more in Angel, but outside our bubble there was one person who didn’t want to see us succeed.

 

Dana Arden is a romance author and an avid reader, as well as a mom to four
children. She is originally from Virginia, but moved to North Carolina in 2009. Her children are her muses when it comes to her books that have children involved. Who funnier to get little snippets from than from the mouth of babes.

This has been an adventure and she hopes to continue it with more stories in the future.

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Available Now: Cross, by Adriana Locke

 

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Title: Cross
Series: The Gibson Boys #2.5

Author: Adriana Locke

Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: May 25, 2018
Blurb
Cross Jacobs was a screw-up.Everyone knew it, especially him, and the point was hammered home when Kallie
Welch drove herself right out of his life.

But, she’s back.

Seeing Cross wasn’t on Kallie’s to-do list. She didn’t think she could avoid
him forever but trying never hurt anyone. One minute she’s standing by herself
and the next she’s accosted by a rich, velvety scent that could only belong to
one man: Cross.

At face value, he’s divine. All rugged and confident with a smile that melts
her right where she’s standing. It doesn’t take long to find him to be
charming, witty, and the owner of a few legitimate businesses. Not at all like
the mischievous boy she left.

He laughs and her heart flutters. With a touch of his hand, she’s dizzy. She’s
fairly certain she’s going to die when he pulls her into an embrace and touches
his lips to her forehead.

It feels right. It feels so right.

But is it?

Note: This novella was originally released in
the Team Player Anthology last winter. It has been updated a bit with a few new
chapters to round out the story.

 

 

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Excerpt
Chapter One
Cross
“Where have
you been in that thing?” Machlan shouts.
The roar of
his muscle car’s engine winds down and he clicks the transmission into park.
The purplish-black paint shines in the early afternoon sun.
Having just
backed out of a parking spot onto Main Street, I check my rearview mirror. No one
is coming. “Bluebird Hill,” I tell him. “After all that rain last night, I
figured I’d test the new tires Walker put on my truck last week.”
“You’re a
fuckin’ kid.” He laughs.
“Says the
man driving that,” I tease, pointing at his ride.
“I’m not
sure what your point is. This car is the baddest thing in town.” He punches the
gas, the motor roaring like a banshee.
Glancing
around at Doc Burns’ office with two cars in the parking lot and the Linton
County History Museum across the street that only opens for the Water Festival
once a year, I grin. “That’s not saying much.”
“Go to
Hell.” His hand slips through his dark hair and over his chin. The amusement in
his features evaporates as I watch … and cringe.
I know this
look. I know all of his looks, actually, a by-product of being his best friend
as long as I can remember. Many of them concern me and a lot of them worry me.
But this one? It’s a flashing red sign with Vegas-inspired lights.
The thing
is, I can’t just ignore it. When this look comes, so does the topic of my
sister and, even though I love the both of them, I wouldn’t mind seeing them in
a padded room until they fix whatever it is between them that is so broken.
With a
sigh, I jam my truck into park too. “Yes,” I say, answering the question he’s
yet to ask. “Hadley called and isn’t coming home this weekend. She said maybe
next week.”
His jaw
works back and forth as he stares down the street. “Why?”
That single
word is spit with a lifetime of emotion. Machlan has loved my sister since the
day she moved to Linton with our father and me when our mother died. She was
fourteen and innocent and he was fifteen and infatuated. Through the years,
they were off and on and together and not—at least officially. Everyone knew
Machlan and Hadley were one and the same.
I’m not
sure why she moved away from here. Being both her brother and his best
friend precluded me from certain information, which is for the best. They both
drive me nuts without having the
details.
“Not sure,”
I reply. “She left a voicemail last night saying she wouldn’t be home today.
She didn’t pick up when I called her back.”
He flips
his gaze to me. “You didn’t talk to her after that?”
“She’s a
big girl, Mach,” I mock. “I’m sure she had shit to do.”
“Yeah.” His
fingers regrip the steering wheel as his jaw goes back to work again.
“I’m gonna
go wash this before I head back to the gym—”
“She’s all
right, though. Right?” he interrupts. His face is stone-cold sober. “I mean …”
“She’s
fine.”
He waits.
Blinks. Re-grips the wheel again. “That’s it?”
Popping my
truck into drive, I blow out a breath. “Yeah, that’s it. You want to know more?
Call her. What a fucking amazing concept.”
“Yeah. I’ll
get right on that,” he snips back.
“You
should. Then you could quit this whole thing.”
“Got
nothin’ to quit, man. Just being a decent guy.”
A decent guy. It’s my turn to turn my knuckles white on the
steering wheel.
Machlan
isn’t a decent guy. He’s a fucking great one … much better than the guy Hadley
is seeing now. A guy I haven’t mentioned to Mach since I got home a couple of
weeks ago from visiting her. I’m not mentioning him, either. I’ll save the
boyfriend an ER bill and myself the bail money.
I can’t
blame him. It has to be hard to see Hadley with another guy when, in Machlan’s
mind, she’s his girl.
My stomach
twists like it always does when my mind goes down this road. At least my girl
didn’t bring other guys back with her. Hell, she didn’t even come back at all.
“Here comes
Kip,” Machlan says, bringing me out of my reverie. Nodding toward the road in
front of him, he laughs. “I’m not moving.”
I twist in
my seat to see the sheriff coming toward us. He blares the siren twice as if to
get us to move. We don’t.
Machlan
pokes his head out of the window. “Need somethin’?” he shouts.
Laughing, I
watch Kip’s car slide carefully between Machlan’s and the curb on the other
side.
“You can’t
park in the street!” Kip yells.
“What are
ya gonna do about it?” I holler.
“Take ya
both in.”
“Don’t you
have somewhere to be?” Machlan asks. “Someone to protect and serve? Or service, if I know you?”
Kip shakes
his head as Machlan flips him the bird. The sirens come on again before Kip
hits the gas and speeds off down the street and vanishes over the hill.
When I look
back at Machlan, his attention is on his phone.
“What?” I
ask, curious about the smile on his face.
He looks at
me and laughs. Sticking the phone in the cup holder, he shrugs. “Nothing. But
can you do me a favor?”
“No.”
“I need
help moving a couple of things at Crave. Come help me. Just for a few.”
“What’s in
it for me?” I ask.
“A beer?”
Throwing
the truck in neutral, I rev the engine. It barely sounds before his is
screaming over top of mine and we jet off in opposite directions. I get to a
stop sign at the end of the street and do a quick one-eighty to head to Crave.
Also Available

 

 

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ALSO AVAILABLE IN AUDIO

 

Author Bio
USA Today
Bestselling author Adriana Locke lives and breathes books. After years of
slightly obsessive relationships with the flawed bad boys created by other
authors, Adriana has created her own.
She resides
in the Midwest with her husband, sons, and two dogs. She spends a large amount
of time playing with her kids, drinking coffee, and cooking. You can find her
outside if the weather’s nice and there’s always a piece of candy in her
pocket.
For sneak peeks, giveaways, and more, please
join Adriana’s Facebook Group, Books by Adriana Locke, or her Goodreads group,
All Locked Up.

 

Author Links
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Excerpt Reveal: Breezy, by Kelsie Rae

She knows what she wants. But is he ready?

Breezy by Kelsie Rae will be here June 7!
Keep reading for an excerpt!!!

PRE-ORDER NOW!
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BLURB:

Breezy comes from a place without hurricanes, but that never stopped her from blowing in and causing chaos wherever she goes. She’s feisty, energetic, and unafraid of speaking her mind. She’s also a hot mess in need of a job.

Derrick’s used to dealing with all types of people. After all, he owns his own business. But when he meets Breezy, she impacts him harder than any storm ever could. Too bad even the gorgeous new girl in HR can’t make him break his one rule: no dating employees. Ever.

There’s just one problem. Breezy’s never been good at following directions, and her boss isn’t the only one with a serious office crush. Can the new girl convince him to throw caution to the wind?

CHECK OUT THIS EXCERPT!

“Come on, Hurricane. We have lots to discuss.”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that today, Mr. McKinley. Any reason why?” I ask, popping out my hip and folding my arms over my chest.

“Hurricanes can be unpredictable, Breezy. They can be dangerous and are impossible to control. But they can also bring life to dying lands, giving essential water to an area that wouldn’t survive without it.”

Feeling absolutely confused, I can’t help but ask, “Have you been Googling random crap again?”

Derrick merely pushes the elevator button in answer, as I come stand beside him. He keeps glancing down at me, a secret smile firmly in place on his chiseled face.

Feeling like a fish out of water, I’m unsure how I should act right now. We left things in really murky territory, and for once, I’m letting him take the lead. His totally random pet name for me didn’t help clear anything up, either.

The elevator doors open, and we step inside. After Derrick selects the first floor button the doors slide shut, and he immediately pushes me up against the wall, his rough hands sliding into my silky tresses. Using his large frame, he advances on me until my back is firmly pressed against the mirrored walls. The reflections let me see all the different angles of our current position. I’m not going to lie, it’s a huge freaking turn on.

Before I have a chance to mutter a single syllable, Derrick’s mouth hungrily claims my own. This kiss is the exact opposite of our innocent peck in my parents’ kitchen. What had been a mere taste before is the opposite of how he’s kissing me now. Derrick devours me with his lips. Biting. Licking. Sucking. Consuming me from the outside in. I’m breathless by the time he pulls away and rests his forehead against my own. I breathe heavily as I attempt to catch my breath, my chest brushing against Derrick’s due to our close proximity. It’s as if he’s sucked all the oxygen from the tiny space, holding it hostage.

“What the hell was that?” I ask, laughing dryly.

“That was me finally growing a pair, as you so eloquently like to say.” He smirks, his blue eyes smoldering. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since Sunday. I was in meetings all day yesterday and didn’t have a chance to catch up with you until today. As soon as I saw you, I couldn’t help myself.” The elevator dings, announcing our arrival on the first floor, bringing me crashing back to reality.

ADD BREEZY TO YOUR TBR → http://bit.ly/2whxMKo

About Kelsie

Kelsie prides herself on writing straight from her own heart, which is how she fell into sweet contemporary romance. She’s a sucker for a love story with all the feels. When she’s not chasing words for her next book, you will probably find her reading or, more likely, playing with her “monsters”.

She adores chocolate, photography, baking, chick flicks, and running. And now that she’s actively pursuing her writing dreams, she’s set her sights on someday finding the self-discipline to not eat an entire batch of cookies in one sitting.

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Available Now: Afternoon Delight, by Piper Rayne

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Afternoon Delight, the next standalone in the romantic and hilarious Charity Case Series by Piper Rayne is LIVE!

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The perfect man for me is the one who broke my heart.

#thanksbutnothanks

Once bitten.

Twice shy.

Yeah, I wish.

I’m on a mission to find myself a nice, solid, respectable man. The only problem is nice, solid, and respectable comes in a meh package and is B-O-R-I-N-G as hell.

It’s been established. I have one type. Bad Boy. I tried the other flavors, I really did. But there’s nothing like the allure of a man who takes what he wants without apology.

As if my love life isn’t dramatic enough, Dean Bennett walks into my life again thinking he’s going to win me back with his charm and charisma. He might come in a different package, but under that expensive suit he’s still the same cocky, arrogant, pompous prick who only cares about numero uno.

I’m not that naïve young girl anymore so I have to ignore the fact that the way he looks at me practically sets my panties on fire.

Everyone deserves a second chance to right a wrong. The problem? He’s not just an ex-boyfriend…

He’s my ex-husband.

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Start the Series Today with Manic Monday!

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Grab the prequel, Clean Slate, FREE!

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About Piper Rayne:

Piper Rayne, or Piper and Rayne, whichever you prefer because we’re not one author, we’re two. Yep, you get two USA Today Bestselling authors for the price of one. Our goal is to bring you romance stories that have “Heartwarming Humor With a Side of Sizzle” (okay…you caught us, that’s our tagline). A little about us… We both have kindle’s full of one-clickable books. We’re both married to husbands who drive us to drink. We’re both chauffeurs to our kids. Most of all, we love hot heroes and quirky heroines that make us laugh, and we hope you do, too.
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Connect with Piper Rayne:

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www.piperrayne.com

 

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Now Live: Mogul, by Katy Evans

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Mogul by Katy Evans
Publication Date: May 31, 2018
Genre: Contemporary Romance

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A brand new contemporary romance from New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author Katy Evans is AVAILABLE NOW!

He’s my most delicious secret.

The hot Suit I had a one-night stand with one evening.

I didn’t know anything about him, not even his name.

Only that we shared a taxi, and he was staying at the hotel where I worked.

We met in room 301. Where he commanded not only my body but my soul.

The next day he was gone and I only had a memory of him.

I could still taste his kisses, feel his demanding touch.

I searched for him for months. Daydreaming about him. Wondering if I’d ever find him.

Until the day I find myself staring face to face with his jeweled black eyes again.

He says lets keep it casual, and my heart knows that falling for this workaholic in a three-thousand-dollar suit is off the table.

Because he has a secret. One that’s a deal breaker for me.

My Suit has a name.

Ian Ford.

And this is our story.

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Read Mogul Today!

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About the Author:

Katy Evans is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author. Her debut REAL shot to the top of the bestselling lists in 2013 and since then 9 of her titles have been New York Times bestsellers. Her books have been translated into nearly a dozen languages across the world.

Connect with the Author:

Email: katyevansauthor@gmail.com

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Twitter @authorkatyevans

 

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Chapter Reveal: A Wish For Us, by Tillie Cole

 

 

 

 

 


From the author who brought you A Thousand Boy Kisses comes the new emotional novel, A Wish For Us.
A story of music. A story of healing. A story of love conquering all.

Nineteen-year-old Cromwell Dean is the rising star of electronic dance music. Thousands of people adore him. But no one knows him. No one sees the color of his heart.

Until the girl in the purple dress. She sees through the walls he has built to the empty darkness within.

When Cromwell leaves behind the gray skies of England to study music in the South Carolina heat, the last thing he expects is to see her again. And he certainly doesn’t expect that she’ll stay in his head like a song on repeat.

Bonnie Farraday lives for music. She lets every note into her heart, and she doesn’t understand how someone as talented as Cromwell can avoid doing the same. He’s hiding from his past, and she knows it. She tries to stay away from him, but something keeps calling her back.

Bonnie is the burst of color in Cromwell’s darkness. He’s the beat that makes her heart skip.

But when a shadow falls over Bonnie, it’s up to Cromwell to be her light, in the only way he knows how. He must help her find the lost song in her fragile heart. He must keep her strong with a symphony only he can compose.

A symphony of hope.
A symphony of love.
A symphony of them.

Cromwell
Brighton, England
The club pulsed as the beat I was pouring into the crowd took over their bodies. Arms in the air, hips swaying, eyes wide and glazed as my music slammed into their ears, the rhythmic beats controlling their every move. The air was thick and sticky, clothes slick to people’s skins as they crammed into the full club to hear me.
I watched them light up with color. Watched them get lost to the sound. Watched them shed whoever they’d been that day—an office worker, a student, a copper, a call-center worker—what the hell ever. Right now, in this club, most probably high off their faces, they were slaves to my tunes. Right here, in this moment, my music was their life. It was all that mattered as their heads flew back and they chased the high, the near nirvana I gave them from my place on the podium.
I, however, felt nothing. Nothing but the numbness the booze beside me was gifting me.
Two arms slipped around my waist. Hot breath blew past my ear as full lips kissed my neck. Spinning my final beat, I grabbed the Jack Daniels beside me and took a shot straight from the bottle. I slammed the bottle down and moved back to my laptop to mix in the next tune. Hands with sharp fingernails ran through my hair, pulling on the black strands. I tapped on the keys, bringing the music down low, slowing the beat.
My breaths lengthened as the crowd waited, lungs frozen as I brought them to a slow sway, readying for the crescendo. The epic surge of beats and drums, the insanity of the mix that I would deliver. I looked up from my laptop and scanned the crowd, smirking at seeing them on the precipice, waiting . . . waiting . . . just waiting . . .
Now.
I slammed my hand down, holding my headphones to my left ear. A surge, a thundercloud of electronic dance music plowed into the crowd. Bursts of neon colors filled the air. Greens and blues and reds filled my eyes as they clung to each person like neon shields.
The hands around my waist tightened, but I ignored them, instead listening to the bottle of Jack as it called my name. I took another shot, my muscles starting to loosen. My hands danced over the laptop’s keys, over my mix boards.
I looked up, the crowd still in the palm of my hand.
They always were.
A girl in the center of the club drew my attention. Long brown hair pulled back off her face. Purple dress, high necked—she was dressed nothing like everyone else. The color surrounding her was different to the other clubbers—pale pink and lavender. Calmer. More serene. My eyebrows pulled down as I watched her. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t moving. She was still, and she looked to be completely alone as people crashed and pushed around her. Her head was tipped up, a look of concentration on her face.
I built up the pace, pushing the rhythm and the crowd as far as they could go. But the girl didn’t move. That wasn’t normal for me. I always had these clubbers wrapped around my finger. I controlled them, in every place I spun. In this arena, I was the puppet master. They were the dolls.
Another shot of Jack burned down my throat. And through another five songs, she stayed there, on the spot, just drinking in the beats like water. But her face never changed. No smile. No euphoric high. Just . . . eyes closed, that damn pinched look on her face.
And that pink and lavender still surrounding her like a shield.
“Cromwell,” the blonde who was all over me like a rash said into my ear. Her fingers lifted up my shirt and tucked into the waistband of my jeans. Her long nails dipped low. But I refused to tear my eyes away from the girl in the purple dress.
Her brown hair was starting to curl, sweat from being sandwiched by clubbers taking its effect. The blonde who was one step from wanking me off in full view of the club snapped my fly. I keyed in my next mix, then grabbed her hand and threw it away from me, snapping my fly closed. I groaned when her hands slid back into my hair. I looked at my mate who had spun before me. “Nick!” I pointed to my decks. “Watch this. And don’t mess it up.”
Nick frowned in confusion, then saw the girl behind me and smiled. He took my headphones from me and moved to make sure the playlist I’d set up played on cue. Steve, the club’s owner, always let a few girls backstage. I never asked for it, but I never turned them down either. Why would I refuse a hot bird who was up for anything?
I swiped my Jack off my podium as the blonde smashed her lips to mine, pulling me back by my sleeveless Creamfields shirt. I wrenched my mouth from hers, replacing it with the Jack bottle. The blonde dragged me into a dark spot backstage. She dropped to her knees and started again on my fly. I closed my eyes as she went to work.
I sucked on the Jack as my head hit the wall behind me. I forced myself to feel something. I glanced down, watching blond hair bounce below me. But the numbness I lived with every damn day made me feel virtually nothing inside. Pressure built at the base of my spine. My thighs tightened, and then it was over.
The blonde got up. I could see the stars in her eyes as she looked at me. “Your eyes.” She reached out a finger to trace around my eye. “The strangest color. Such dark blue.”
They were. Coupled with my black hair, they always drew attention. That and the fact that I was one of the hottest new DJs in Europe, of course. Okay, maybe it was less to do with my eyes and more to do with my name, Cromwell Dean, gracing the headline spot on most of the biggest music festivals and clubs this summer.
I zipped up my fly and turned to see Nick spinning my next mix. I cringed when he failed to transition the beats like I would have. Navy blue was the backdrop to the smoke on the dancefloor.
I never hit navy blue.
I brushed past the girl with a “Thanks, love,” ignoring her hiss of “Prick” in response. I took my headphones off Nick’s head and put them on my own. A few taps of the keyboard later, the crowd was back in the palm of my hand.
Without conscious thought, my eyes found their way to the spot where the girl in the purple dress had stood.
But she’d gone. So had the pale pink and lavender.
I threw back another shot of Jack. Mixed another tune. Then zoned the fuck out.
*****
The sand was cold under my feet. It may well have been the start of summer here in the UK, but that didn’t mean the night wind didn’t freeze your balls off the minute you stepped outside. Clutching my bottle of booze and my cigarettes, I dropped down to the sand. I lit up and stared at the dark sky. My phone buzzed in my pocket . . . again. It’d been going off all night.
Pissed off that I actually had to move my arm, I pulled out my mobile. I had three missed calls from Professor Lewis. Two from my mum, and finally, a couple of texts.
Mum: Professor Lewis has been trying to get hold of you again. What are you going to do? Please just call me. I know you’re upset, but this is your future. You have a gift, son. Maybe it’s time for a fresh start this year. Don’t waste it because you’re angry at me.
Red-hot fury shot through me. I wanted to throw my phone in the damn sea and watch it sink to the bottom along with all this messed-up shit in my head, but I saw Professor Lewis had texted too.
Lewis: The offer still stands but I need an answer by next week. I have all I need for the transfer except your answer. You have an exceptional talent, Cromwell. Don’t waste it. I can help.
This time I did drop my phone beside me and sank back into the sand. I let the rush of nicotine fill my lungs and closed my eyes. As my eyelids shut, I heard quiet music playing somewhere nearby. Classical. Mozart.
My drunken mind immediately drifted off to when I was a little kid . . .
“What do you hear, Cromwell?” my father asked.
I closed my eyes and listened to the piece of music. Colors danced before my eyes. “Piano. Violins. Cellos . . .” I took a deep breath. “I can hear reds and greens and pinks.”
I opened my eyes and looked up at my father as he sat on my bed. He was staring down at me. There was a funny expression on his face. “You hear colors?” he said. But he didn’t sound surprised. My face set on fire. I ducked my head under my duvet. My father pulled it down from my eyes. He stroked my hair. “That’s good,” he said, his voice kind of deep. “That’s very good . . .”
My eyes snapped open. My hand started to ache. I looked at the bottle in my hand; my fingers were white as they gripped the neck. I sat up, my head spinning from the mass of whiskey in my body. My temples throbbed. I realized it wasn’t from the Jack, but from the music coming from further down the beach. I pushed my hair back from my face then looked to my right.
Someone was only a few feet away. I squinted into the lightening night, summer’s early rising sun making it possible to make out the features of whoever the hell it was. It was a girl. A girl wrapped in a blanket. Her phone sat beside her, a Mozart piano concerto drifting quietly from the speaker.
She must have felt me looking at her, because she turned her head. I frowned, wondering why I knew her face, but then—
“You’re the DJ,” she said.
Recognition dawned. It was the girl in the purple dress.
She clutched her blanket closer around her as I replayed her accent in my head. American. Bible Belt was my guess, by her thick twang.
She sounded like my mum.
A smile tugged at her lips as I stayed mute. I wasn’t much of a talker. Especially when my gut was full of Jack and I had zero interest in making small talk with some girl I didn’t know at four in the morning on a cold beach in Brighton.
“I’d heard of you,” she said. I stared back out over the sea. Ships sailed in the distance, their lights like tiny fireflies, bobbing up and down. I huffed a humorless laugh. Great. Another girl who wanted to screw the DJ.
“Good for you,” I muttered and took a drink of my Jack, feeling the addictive burn slide down my throat. I hoped she’d piss off, or at least stop trying to talk to me. My head couldn’t take any more noise.
“Not really,” she shot back. I looked over at her, eyebrows pulled down in confusion. She was looking out over the sea, her chin resting on her folded arms that lay over her bent knees. The blanket had fallen off her shoulders, revealing the purple dress I’d noticed from the podium. She turned to face me, cheek now on her arms. Heat zipped through me. She was pretty. “I’ve heard of you, Cromwell Dean.” She shrugged. “Decided to get a ticket to see you before I left for home tomorrow.”
I lit up another cigarette. Her nose wrinkled. She clearly didn’t like the smell.
Tough luck. She could move. Last time I checked, England was a free country. She went quiet.
I caught her looking at me. Her brown eyes were narrowed, like she was scrutinizing me. Reading something in me that I didn’t want anyone to see.
No one ever looked at me closely. I never gave them the chance. I thrived on the podium at clubs because it kept everyone far away, down on the dancefloor where no one ever saw the real me. The way she was looking at me now made nervous shivers break out over my skin.
I didn’t need this kind of crap.
“Already had my dick sucked tonight, love. Not looking for a second round.”
She blinked, and even in the rising sun, I could see her cheeks redden.
“Your music has no soul,” she blurted. My cigarette paused halfway to my mouth. Something managed to stab through my stomach at her words. I shoved it back down until I felt my usual sensation of numbness.
I sucked on my cigarette. “Yeah? Well, them’s the breaks.”
“I’d heard you were some messiah or something on that podium. But all your music comprised was synthetic beats and forced repetitive bursts of unoriginal tempo.”
I laughed and shook my head. The girl met my eyes head-on. “It’s called electronic dance music. Not a fifty-piece orchestra.” I held out my arms. “You’ve heard of me. Said so yourself. You know what tunes I spin. What were you expecting? Mozart?” I glared at her phone, which was still playing that damn concerto.
I sat back, surprised at myself. I hadn’t talked that much to anyone in . . . I didn’t know how long. I took in a drag, breathing out the smoke that was trapped in my chest. “And turn that thing off, will you? Who the hell goes to hear a dance DJ spin, then comes to a beach to listen to classical music?”
The girl frowned but turned off the music. I lay back on the cold sand, closing my eyes. I heard the soft waves lapping the shore. My head filled with pale green. I heard the girl moving. I prayed she was leaving. But I felt her drop beside me. My world darkened as the whiskey and the usual lack of sleep started to pull me under.
“What do you feel when you mix your music?” she asked. How the hell she thought her little interview was a good idea right now was beyond me.
Yet, surprisingly, I found myself answering her question. “I don’t feel.” I cracked one eye open when she didn’t say anything. She was looking down at me. She had the biggest brown eyes I’d ever seen. Dark hair pulled off her face in a ponytail. Full lips and smooth skin.
“Then that’s the problem.” She smiled, but the smile looked nothing but sad. Pitying. “The best music must be felt. By the creator. By the listener. Every part of it from creation to ear must be wrapped in nothing but feelings.” Some weird expression crossed over her face, but hell if I knew what it meant.
Her words were a blade to my chest. I hadn’t expected her harsh comment. And I hadn’t expected the blunt trauma that she seemed to deliver right to my heart. Like she’d taken a butcher’s knife and sliced her way through my soul.
My body itched to get up and run. To pluck out her assessment of my music from my memory. But instead I forced a laugh, and spat, “Go back home, little Dorothy. Back to where music means something. Where it’s felt.”
“Dorothy was from Kansas.” She glanced away. “I’m not.”
“Then go back to wherever the hell you’re from,” I snapped. Crossing my arms over my chest, I hunkered down into the sand and shut my eyes, trying to block out the cold wind that was picking up and slapping my skin, and her words that were still stabbing at my heart.
I never let anything get to me like this. Not anymore. I just needed some sleep. I didn’t want to go back to my mum’s house here in Brighton, and my flat in London was too far away. So hopefully the cops wouldn’t find me here and kick me off the beach.
With my eyes closed, I said, “Thanks for the midnight critique, but as the fastest-rising DJ in Europe, with the best clubs in the world begging for me to spin at their decks—all at nineteen—I think I’ll ignore your extensive notes and just keep on living my sweet as fuck life.”
The girl sighed, but she didn’t say anything else.
The next thing I knew, the sun was burning its light into my eyes. I flinched when I opened them. The screech of swarming seagulls slammed into my head. I sat up, seeing an empty beach and the sun high in the sky. I ran my hands down my face and groaned at the hangover that was kicking in. My stomach growled, desperate for a full English breakfast with copious cups of black tea.
As I stood, something fell from my lap. A blanket lay on the sand at my feet. The blanket I’d seen beside the American girl in the purple dress.
The one she’d been wrapped in last night.
I picked it up, a light fragrance drifted into my nose. Sweet. Addictive. I glanced around me. The girl was gone.
She’d left her blanket. No. She’d covered me with it. “Your music has no soul.” A hard clenching feeling pulled in my stomach at the memory of her words. So I chased it away like I did anything that made me feel. Caging it deep inside.
Then I took my arse home.

Tillie Cole hails from a small town in the North-East of England. She grew up on a farm with her English mother, Scottish father and older sister and a multitude of rescue animals. As soon as she could, Tillie left her rural roots for the bright lights of the big city.

After graduating from Newcastle University with a BA Hons in Religious Studies, Tillie followed her Professional Rugby player husband around the world for a decade, becoming a teacher in between and thoroughly enjoyed teaching High School students Social Studies before putting pen to paper, and finishing her first novel.

Tillie has now settled in Austin, Texas, where she is finally able to sit down and write, throwing herself into fantasy worlds and the fabulous minds of her characters.

Tillie is both an independent and traditionally published author, and writes many genres including: Contemporary Romance, Dark Romance, Young Adult and New Adult novels.

When she is not writing, Tillie enjoys nothing more than curling up on her couch watching movies, drinking far too much coffee, while convincing herself that she really doesn’t need that extra square of chocolate.

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