Thursday, May 29, 2014

Is it love or lust at first sight? The characters of "Tropical Dreams" meet…you decide. #romance #mystery

Mmm...first encounters. I love it when characters in both movies and novels meet for the first time. It sets the tone for what's to come. Sometimes there's snap, crackle, sizzle...or maybe there's that slow burn of borderline contempt that you just know is gonna be fun to watch. 

We're checking out the first introduction between two characters in Kelly Cozzone's 'Tropical Dreams", a romantic suspense novel. I love a good murder mystery, especially when a steamy romance is thrown into the mix. Let's check it out! 
Blurb of the book…

Betrayal and death permeated Tiana Alexander’s past and threatens to rip apart her future. She can’t escape the devastation of anger and pain. Bringing Tropical Dreams to life is the culmination of facing all life has dealt to her. The same life that taught her trusting someone carried dire consequences. Until David Murphy walked into her club. He made her want to trust again, made her want to love again. What she didn’t know was someone wasn’t about to let that happen. They wanted her dead!

Can David keep her alive long enough to find out who is after her? Can he put aside his own demons for her? Can they overcome deceit, betrayal and more death? Or will life finally take its toll!

The first meeting…what's your verdict? Love or lust--or maybe a miss--at first sight?

"I'm sorry, I knocked but I guess you didn't hear me." David replied. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Can I help you?" Tiana questioned as the unfamiliar man moved into the office. Eyeing him closely, Tiana found herself staring into the most intriguing hazel eyes she had ever seen. What a beautiful shade, she thought. Shaking her head, she took a step back from her desk leaving her hand close to the phone. He's gorgeous, she thought. The most handsome man I've ever seen.

David was a tall man, well over six feet with a perfectly sculpted body. His sandy brown hair had a natural curl that just begged to have you run your fingers through it. Dressed in jeans that hugged in all the right places, he’d left his shirt open at the throat.

It was a look she’d seen on many men at the beach. At least he doesn’t have on a lot of gold chains like most of them, she thought.

"I'm looking for Tiana Alexander." David replied as he inspected Tiana wondering yet again about how much her appearance had changed since the photo he had was taken.


"Well you found her, is there something I can do for you?" As she glanced at him from under hooded eyes, the butterflies began dancing in her stomach. What in heaven’s name is wrong with me? I cannot believe this. You'd think I've never seen a man before. Refusing to acknowledge the attraction that hit her unexpectedly, she met him eye to eye.

I've never witnessed a woman with such changeable emotions or the ability to hide them so well, David thought as he noticed how rapidly interest turned into seriousness in Tiana's eyes. She thinks I didn’t notice. "I'm David Murphy. I believe we have an appointment."  Seeing Tiana was a shock to David, he hadn't expected her to be so beautiful in person. Her picture didn't do her justice, he thought.

I'm voting for lust, what about you? 
Buy it now to find out! It sounds like the perfect summer read.
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More about the author…
Kelly Cozzone was born in New Martinsville, WV. She spent 20 years in West Virginia before moving to Austin, Texas. After spending 15 years in Myrtle Beach, SC, she finally made it back to her adopted hometown of Austin, TX.
When Kelly isn't writing the mystery stories she loves, she is following her beloved Texas Longhorns. An avid football fan, she spends her fall months rooting on her favorite teams.
In addition to being an author, Kelly writes for Examiner.com and shares her thoughts and stories that strike a chord in her on her blog.
Kelly has been happily married to her husband for 20 years and has three children who are her life.

Friday, May 23, 2014

Memory and its impact on our lives #Alzheimer's #Asmsg #MustRead

I've personally lost both of my grandmothers to Alzheimers. It was devastating to see lively women become trapped within the walls of their minds'. Today I'm happy to feature Christoph Fischer and his new novel, "Letting Go," and his post on how memories define us. I welcome you to comment below. 
Memory
by 
Christoph Fischer

What makes Alzheimers’ so terrible? What is it that makes a memory so important to one’s life that people compare its horrors to pain-inflicting diseases like cancer? You are alive and physically well, you eat and function as a human, but as an Alzheimer patient you are bound to be suffering, frustrated, depressed and unhappy.

Of course it is ridiculous to compare the two diseases, but while a cancer patient has still their awareness and choices, the Alzheimer sufferer is losing the core of their being, everything they ever were. 

How can you define yourself if you cannot remember? You have had children, but you won’t recognise them. You won awards, had a successful career, made people happy, but you don’t know any of it. Who are you and what are you doing on the planet? Who are the people around you? As the disease progresses, these things become more intense and you can live in a mental prison of fear and disorientation. Your brain won’t do as you want it to. The fear of losing ‘it’ altogether, for some is impossible to bear. You are about to lose everything that was ever precious to you.
That thought is frightening to all of us. It can happen to all of us. The worst stage seems to be when patients still notice that something is wrong. We all know how annoying it is when we just put something down and don’t remember where. 
Imagine that happening to you all the time, every day, and you get an idea of how it might feel.  The carers see their loved ones slowly drift away into a stranger.
Biddy’s husband Walter in my novel becomes obsessed with preserving memories – his own and others. He begins to write a family chronicle as a constructive outlet for his fears. He is an important character with his musings about preserving knowledge, memories and facts and he allowed me to bring in thoughts about the disease on a different and more reflective level.


I hope that I have managed to write about more than just the clinical side of the disease. I stuck to the early stages of Alzheimers’ in the story because it gave me the best opportunities to work these thoughts into the story. It allows me to look back at Biddy’s past but with still a lot of hope.

An excerpt of Letting Go…

For the next half hour he watched his wife as she was talking to and feeding the ducks in a pond in a nearby park. This was a very quiet time of day for the birds. School children were at class and mothers with young ones seemed to come out here a little later than this: the pond was all hers. It amazed him how much joy and entertainment his wife could gain from such a simple thing as feeding the ducks.
Her zest for life still showed frequently and sometimes even seemed completely unbroken by the disease. When she was first diagnosed with Alzheimers she had desperately tried to fight it and in the process she had suffered a lot. She had read all the books there were, taken supplements and tried to train her brain with exercises.
“Come to bed,” Walter had said to her one evening when she had spent several hours in the study with her brain teasers.
“But I must solve this puzzle,” Biddy shot back at him. “I can’t finish unless I get this right.”
“Do it tomorrow, love.”
“No,” Biddy hissed. “I need to do it now.”
“You are probably too tired to solve it tonight. You need sleep more than this exercise,” Walter tried again.
“Mind your own business,” she yelled and slammed her fist on the table.
Walter was so surprised at this uncharacteristic outburst; he stood frozen and had no reply ready. While he struggled to come up with a response to this unprecedented shouting over nothing Biddy doubled over on the desk and started to sob.
“I can’t do it, Walter,” she cried. “I just can’t do it.”
“You don’t need to do everything today. Do it tomorrow.”
“That’s not just it, Walter. I’ve forgotten something else but I can’t remember what it is. I know it is something really important that I must do. I should have written it down.”
Walter walked up to her and tried to hug her.
“Get off me,” she screamed and yanked his hand away. “You don’t know what it is like. Don’t patronise me!”
Walter wanted to shout back at her, to make her snap out of her mood, but he was just too surprised to think of what he could possibly say. His wife had never pushed him away before.
He left her in the study and went to bed. Biddy stayed up for hours turning the house upside down for clues as to what she had forgotten. He did not sleep a wink that night and many more to follow when his wife was on a mission to locate a misplaced item.
Fortunately, they eventually passed that very awkward period of her life and these days she no longer seemed to care and no longer wasted her time in agony over the spilled beans of her mind. He wondered if that was part of her complex drug regime. He suspected that the doctors had slipped her an anti-depressant or a sedative of sorts into her cocktail of daily pills. He would rather not know and so he never asked about it and only ever read the dosage instructions on the prescription sheet.
Biddy’s manners these days were innocent and childlike, just the way she had always been. Her optimism and her famous positive attitude had been the core of her character and she had helped many of her friends and family to overcome crisis after crisis with her unbreakable spirit.
Watching her being happy and joyful while feeding the stupid ducks he felt that for a moment everything was just as it always had been. He could see the young woman he had married underneath the wrinkles, the white hair and behind the blank stare she often had these days when she got confused.
Right now the bright light of her essence was visible and it warmed Walter on the inside. Such moments gave him the necessary strength to accept the things he was missing from his married life of late.
Book Blurb…
Time to Let Go is a contemporary family drama set in Britain.
Following a traumatic incident at work Stewardess Hanna Korhonen decides to take time off work and leaves her home in London to spend quality time with her elderly parents in rural England. There she finds that neither can she run away from her problems, nor does her family provide the easy getaway place that she has hoped for. Her mother suffers from Alzheimer’s disease and, while being confronted with the consequences of her issues at work, she and her entire family are forced to reassess their lives.
The book takes a close look at family dynamics and at human nature in a time of a crisis. Their challenges, individual and shared, take the Korhonens on a journey of self-discovery and redemption.
Book Links...

About the Author...
Christoph Fischer was born in Germany, near the Austrian border, as the son of a Sudeten-German father and a Bavarian mother. Not a full local in the eyes and ears of his peers he developed an ambiguous sense of belonging and home in Bavaria. He moved to Hamburg in pursuit of his studies and to lead a life of literary indulgence. After a few years he moved on to the UK where he is still resident today. ‘The Luck of The Weissensteiners’ was published in November 2012; 'Sebastian' in May 2013 and The Black Eagle Inn in October 2013. He has written several other novels which are in the later stages of editing and finalisation.


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Thursday, May 8, 2014

Is it love or lust--or much more complicated--at first sight? BLURRED LINES #EroticRomance #asmsg #paranormal

Mmm...first encounters. I love it when characters in both movies and novels meet for the first time. It sets the tone for what's to come. Sometimes there's snap, crackle, sizzle...or maybe there's that slow burn of borderline contempt that you just know is gonna be fun to watch. 

We're checking out the first introduction between two characters in Dakota Skye's paranormal erotic romance, Blurred Lines…what would you do if your lover returned as ghost and you suddenly found yourself in a complicated love triangle? 
The blurb…
Letting go is like a death. Sierra never thought she would be caught in a love triangle between her writing partner, Alex, and the love of her life, Shane—especially because her ex-fiancĂ© is now a ghost. Tormented with both guilt for moving on with someone else and a desire to be free to live her life, she's pulled between both men. Shane struggles with accepting his death and seeing the woman he loves with someone else. Alex is determined to free Sierra from limbo and change their relationship from casual to serious, but the bond she has with Shane transcends death. One of the three needs to let go.

Only the good die young. When Shane Weston is murdered before prosecuting a key member of the Mexican drug cartel, he can't accept the idea that all of the plans he had had for his life will never come true. More than that, he can't let go of the love he has for his fiancée.

Love never dies. Sierra Daniels is crushed after Shane's death. Head writer on a successful television series, she can't get back into the groove of life. All enthusiasm for work is gone. Ready to quit everything, she travels to her cabin in Lake Tahoe in hopes of escaping everyone's expectations and disappearing for awhile.

The lines between right and wrong often blur. Alexander Blaine has risked his future on a career change from DEA agent to lead consultant and writer on hit television series. Sierra's grief has shadowed everyone around her, including him, and jeopardizes both of their careers. Unwilling to accept defeat, he follows her to Lake Tahoe determined to break through the barrier enveloping her and make her see that life is still worth living. 

Excerpt of first encounter between Alex and Sierra when he shows up unexpectedly at the cabin where she'd gone to escape the world. 

Screw Sierra Daniels and her diva attitude. They needed to rewrite more than a scene, they needed to fix this entire script or they would be out on their asses before the season finale aired. What didn't she understand about that? For a so-called professional, she acted like an amateur hell bent on self-sabotage.
Alexander Blaine squinted through the blinding snow and cursed his fate. When he'd decided to retire from law enforcement to write for a living, he'd envisioned a life far more glamorous than eating take-out in front of his laptop every night. At first, he'd been excited at the opportunity to work alongside one of the most talented writers in television, but enthusiasm soon gave way to disappointment because of the defensive, moody woman he had spent six out of seven nights a week with for the past year.
It only seemed right that his pursuit of her had been met with a freak spring snowstorm. He hated snow, avoided it at all costs. Lake Tahoe had been beautiful as he'd passed it, that he couldn't deny. The blue surrounded by peaks of white had been breathtaking at sunset, but now that he stomped up the road in blinding snow, he seriously hated the mountains. 
His rental car had gone off the road about a mile back, but the navigator on his cell phone assured him he neared the cabin. He adjusted his bag across his back and glanced at the screen. Yep, almost there...unless he managed to freeze to death in the remaining fifty feet.
Snow came down harder than he'd ever seen. He'd grown up in Arizona, had spent a decade working as an agent for the Drug Enforcement Agency in Central America, and, although he'd taken a few ski vacations, storms like these were foreign to him.
The glow of the cabin windows coupled with the smoke curling from the chimney looked like heaven shimmering through the darkness. He slipped the phone into his pocket, locked his gaze on the light, and forced one foot in front of the other.
He couldn't get fired, not from his first major job in a new career. Unlike her, he didn't have Emmy's and an Oscar nomination on his resume. And, for reasons he never spoke about, he couldn't return to law enforcement either. He needed her, even if she was the most difficult woman on earth, and he intended to get through to her one way or another.
After what felt like eternity, he stumbled onto the front porch and knocked on the door. His hand ached with the force of the blows. He banged again, harder, and winced at the pain shooting through his knuckles.
She opened it with a flourish and a muttered curse. Standing in a flood of light with her long blonde hair a mess around her shoulders, sweater on inside out, face flushed, and blue eyes sleepy, she looked like a woman who'd been well fucked. Recently. 
He wondered if maybe she wasn't alone.
"What are you doing here?" She propped her hand against the doorframe, effectively blocking his view of the interior.
"Freezing to death. Let me in." He pushed his way inside and looked around. He didn't see anyone, not that he cared about intruding when his jeans were frozen to his skin.
She slammed the door closed before taking in his appearance. "What were you doing walking around in a snow storm?"
"The weather is so n-n-nice I thought I'd take a s-s-stroll." He shook so badly he couldn't remove the gloves that seemed adhered to his skin.
"Damn it, Alex, let me do it." She pulled at his hands and shook her head. "Leave it to you to fuck up my getaway. Do you know they're predicting several feet of snow? You're stuck here."
"It's always about you." He forced the words from between numb lips. "In case you didn't n-n-notice, I'm a human icicle."
With a muttered curse, she grabbed for his bag and pulled at his hands. "Take off all of your clothes. I have a blanket there, wrap yourself in it, and sit by the fire. I'll get you something warm to drink."
"Always so damn b-b-bossy." Teeth chattering, he couldn't argue anymore. He welcomed her assistance at ripping his clothes off, making a mental note that he'd fantasized about that very thing too many times to count despite her aloof attitude.
Her eyes widened at the sight of the scars crisscrossing his chest, but she quickly averted her gaze. He grabbed the blanket and turned his back. Despite being nearly frozen to death, he still hated the shock that had transformed her face at the brutal sight of the scars and burns marring his naked chest. They had screwed each other blind once about six months ago, but it had been in the back of a limousine and neither had been completely naked—or coherent for that matter. It had been more of a push-this-here-and-move-that-there-stick-it-in-and-screw-me-blind kind of moment.
"I can take it from here," he muttered, hating that he felt so vulnerable when he'd come here to raise some hell.
"I'll put everything in the dryer." She gathered his discarded clothes before stomping away.
Naked, he wrapped the faux fur blanket around himself and scooted as close to the fire as he dared. The last thing he needed was to burst into flames in her living room. She'd probably sue him if he lived or go after his family if he didn't.
When she returned with a steaming cup of apple cider, he took it without comment.
"You followed me to Lake Tahoe," she said while looking at him as a scientist would study a specimen. "Please tell me you're staying somewhere else."
"I'm fine, thanks for your concern. I think all of my limbs will survive." He sipped the cider and slid her a glance over the rim of the cup.
"You don't have another place to stay, do you?" She crossed her arms over her chest and glanced at his bag.
That's when he noticed she wasn't wearing a bra. The sweater accentuated her breasts in sensuous and intoxicating ways. He slid his gaze down to her jeans before resting on her bare feet. Damn, she looked good. 
"I can't have you here," she whispered more to herself than to him, her gaze locked on the sofa.
"Too bad. I'm here and there's a raging storm outside. I'm lucky I made it as far as I did before the rental slid into the ditch." His cock hardened at the sight of her nipples poking against the cashmere. He pulled his gaze from her and focused on the cider.
"Don't badass DEA agents learn defensive driving skills?" Her foot tapped madly against the hard wood floor. She glanced over her shoulder, as if expecting someone else to appear at any minute.
"Are you alone?" he asked, needing to know.
"Of course I'm alone," she said, unable to hide the sadness that clouded her face.
He hugged the blanket tighter around his body and ignored the urge to erase the sorrow he'd seen in her eyes too many times to count. The staff whispered about how much she'd changed, how she'd retreated, and grown distant. He couldn't blame her, but he wished he'd known her before the tragedy. From all accounts, she had been one prone to easy laughter and spontaneous adventures.
He glanced at her now and could envision her that way. With her hair down, bare breasts soft beneath the sweater, and bare feet peeking out from the frayed hem of faded jeans, she looked approachable...almost.
"Why are you here anyway?" she asked.
He grinned at her hostile tone. "If you'd bothered answering your phone and actually listening to me, you'd know why."
"How'd you know where I was going? I didn't tell anyone."
"I have my ways." He curled and uncurled his fingers and toes to make sure they still functioned. He couldn't get warm, not that his hostess cared about his wellbeing.
"Your ways...your DEA and other law enforcement connections, right?" She leaned back onto the sofa, gaze locked on the fire. "Maybe I don't feel like working, did you think of that? Maybe I no longer give a damn about the show."
Yeah, he had thought about that every step of the way here. He'd needed to follow her, though, for reasons he couldn't explain. He liked her straightforward, genuine approach to life, even if it wasn't exactly politically correct. She had a gift, too, a true talent. After she'd tossed a coffee mug at their boss's head and told him to go to hell, he had thought it best to follow her. If not for the show's sake or his future's sake, then for her own.
He gripped the ends of the blanket tighter and shifted closer to the flames. He didn't want to over-analyze his desire to make sure she was okay.
"Are you hurt? Was the accident bad?" she finally asked.
"Thanks for asking." He looked up at her before glancing around the cabin. Simple. Cozy. Completely unlike the high-maintenance Sierra Daniels he had come to know. "I couldn't tell where the road ended and the ditch began."
"Spring storms are nasty." She stood abruptly, gathered a wet towel and an empty wine bottle from where they'd been stashed in a corner, and walked toward the kitchen again.
"Tell me why you're here, Alex. The real reason, not some crap about writing. Did Charlie send you to find me?" She loomed in the doorway of what he assumed was the laundry room because she'd disappeared there twice now with wet clothes and towels. Hands on her hips, she looked more than a little edgy.  "Why are you here?"
"Because I'm here." He shrugged, the answer obvious to him.
She chewed her lower lip, again looking over her shoulder as if expecting someone to burst into the room. With a long sigh, she stalked back to the living room, sat on the sofa, and turned her gaze toward the fire.
"Am I fired? Is that why you're here? Do you want to gloat?" she asked after a long silence.
"I could gloat in Los Angeles from the warmth of my condo." He frowned at the sadness emanating from her. He'd come expecting a fight, maybe even hoping for one. "No, I came to write. We need to figure this out if we don't want to be replaced for next season."
"The show's been picked up," she said.
"Barely. They're talking about revamping the writers. You heard Sylvia hasn't been offered a contract renewal. If they're letting the star go—"
"I'm not an idiot, you don't need to spell it out for me." She shoved her hands through her hair and closed her eyes.
He couldn't stop looking at the long tresses that snaked through her fingertips. Normally, she kept it in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. A few times he'd seen it loose and flowing down her back, but only when she'd left the building and headed toward her car.
"I'm not your enemy," he whispered because he felt he needed to say it.
She dragged her gaze toward his. "You shouldn't be here."
"You don't trust me, I get it. You were head writer for years and then suddenly I appear out of nowhere. But we need to work together, Sierra. I'm not going anywhere in this storm so, like it or not, we're going to hash this out and create a script that will blow their minds."
He stared at her face, saw the conflict in her eyes and felt she wanted to confess something. His former DEA agent instincts told him that she was hiding something, and despite himself, he wanted to find out what.
"I'm not exactly a mountain man." Shivers rippled over his skin. He'd never felt so cold in his life.
"I can tell." She hugged her knees to her chest and grinned. "What kind of man are you? I haven't been able to figure that out. I know the facts...the badass former federal agent facts...but you've never struck me as overly...I don't know...masculine."
He gaped at her. Never in his life had anyone questioned his masculinity. Okay, so maybe at the moment he sat wrapped in a faux fur blanket whining about cold weather, but he'd once wielded machetes through jungles, for God's sake!
"I mean you're not Mr. Macho-Caveman-Grunt-For-Your-Supper Man." Her grin widened to a smile when he continued to stare. "You look so offended. I love it."
"You would." He pulled the blanket tighter around himself and focused on the wood snapping inches away from his thawing limbs. "I don't suppose there's any food here?"
"You show up uninvited, demand that we write together during our break from the madhouse, and now you expect me to make you dinner?"
"You suck at being a hostess. I can make it myself once I can walk again. I've never seen snow like that. Thank God the navigation worked in my phone. I could have died out there wandering around." He resumed drinking the apple cider and savored the warmth sliding down his throat.
"I suppose you could have...things like that happen. People die all the time." She walked to a closet at the back of the room where she pulled out an extra pillow and some more blankets. "There isn't another bedroom. You can sleep out here. When the storm breaks, you can leave."
He thought about arguing, but then looked at her face. She stared at the picture above the mantel, a look of confusion and loneliness replacing the sarcastic grin she'd worn minutes ago.
"I've slept in worse places than your sofa." He set the empty cup aside and watched her look around the room again before shoving her hair from her face.
In that one movement, he saw such sadness transform her face that he momentarily questioned his intrusion on her retreat. She'd obviously come here with a clear set of intentions; he only hoped that they hadn't involved hurting herself somehow. In that brief unguarded moment, she'd looked completely lost.
"Sierra...don't go. Stay here and talk to me for a while. We'll watch some television, critique all the poor scripts, have some fun mocking our competition."
She squatted in front of him with the quickness of a mountain lion and grabbed his face between her palms. "Are you really here? I'm not imagining this whole thing, am I? This isn't a dream, is it?"
The panic in her eyes made him think twice about his impulsive trip. Maybe she was some kind of lunatic who would chop him up with an axe in the middle of the night.
"Do you often dream about me appearing on your doorstep nearly frozen to death?" He squinted at her, wishing he could break through the walls that she'd constructed around herself. Even after a year of working six out of seven days together, he felt like they were strangers. He wanted inside those walls. "Are you okay, Sierra?"
She ground her lips against his. The force nearly knocking him backward. Her mouth was hot and desperate against his. He tasted the wine, felt the need. Despite the alarm bells screeching in his brain, he opened his mouth to hers and deepened the kiss, allowing her tongue access. He'd had a dream like this once or twice or a thousand times. All those late nights working together at the studio with their creativity feeding off of one another had stirred his desire into a frenzy.
Abruptly, she pulled away. Her breath tickled his skin. Her fingers splayed over his cheekbones. Her eyes mirrored his confusion. "You're real. I thought maybe I was hallucinating again."
"Again?"
"I'm so confused."
"You and me both." He tried to smile but his lips trembled from the need to resume their kiss.
"I think I'm losing my mind." She pressed her forehead against his for a minute, closed her eyes, and let out a long sigh.
The momentary show of weakness stirred his protective instinct. "Talk to me. We're partners. You can trust me." A tear slipped from beneath her closed eyes. He brushed it away with his thumb and grinned. "C'mon, Sierra. I risked my life to see you, doesn't that count for something? Trust me."
She shook her head and stood without saying a word.

He watched her exit, unable to stop himself from looking at the way her ass filled out her jeans and wondering why her sweater had been inside out. Their gaze connected when she turned at the threshold of the bedroom.
"You really shouldn't be here," she whispered again before closing the door.
He released the breath he'd been holding and looked up at the framed photograph on the mantle. She looked happy and in love with Shane. He knew more about the murder than he'd let on to her or anyone at the studio. He had met the assistant district attorney two weeks before his death. As a DEA agent, he had information on the cartel and had actively been pursuing leads in Central America linked directly to Shane's case.
He swallowed hard at the memory of the friendly and smart attorney. Ambitious had been the word he'd thought of first when they'd met. The man had had guts pursuing the case despite the death threats.
The irony of working with Sierra now wasn't lost on him. He hadn't actually known she'd been engaged to Shane until weeks after their partnership had formed, but he doubted she'd believe that. Trust wasn't exactly in her vocabulary.
He touched his fingertips to his lips and wondered what the kiss had been about. She'd mentioned hallucinations and muttered something about him being real. Her clothes were on inside out...maybe she danced closer to the edge than he'd realized.

I'm loving it! I'm thinking it's a lust with a good dose of resentment at first sight, what about you? What are you waiting for? Buy your copy today to see how this love triangle plays out. 

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