Monday, April 30, 2018

Be Swept Away with a Summer Affair in Italy #Romance #Mustread


Taking a glimpse inside In Between...a summer affair in Italy where lighthearted fun turns into something much more complicated...

From the back cover...

In between responsibilities and dreams...

Jessica Moriarty has always played by the rules, but for once in her life, she's doing exactly as she pleases. In between graduate school and 'real life', she's in Florence, Italy, indulging her love of art and abandoning inhibitions. 

Meeting Jacques Sinclair rocks her off center. Whereas rules and living up to expectations have dictated her life, he is the opposite. A rebel. A photographer. A man who lives for the moment. He sweeps her up into a riveting romance that makes her question all she's ever believed to be true. 

The drum of old commitments echo through her heart as time ticks away. Will the crush of 'real life' undermine the love she's found in between...? 

This is book one of the two part Dancing Barefoot series. 


A tantalizing excerpt (adult content)... 

They couldn't stop touching each other. All the way to their apartment building they'd take turns pulling each other into alleys or doorways for stolen kisses that promised so much more. 

Jacques lifted her off her feet and carried her up the narrow stairway, his lips creating havoc on her neck. 

"Careful. You wouldn't want to slip and fall," she teased against his ear. "A fall like that could kill a man."

"Dangerous." He lifted his head and smiled. "What am I going to do with you, Jessica Moriarty?"

In front of her apartment, she slid down his body until her feet were firmly on the floor. His hands were already on her ass beneath the hem of the dress. 

"I'm sure you know exactly what to do with me." She turned long enough to unlock the door, enjoying the way his hands moved beneath her dress and over her skin. 

Not only was she confident that he knew exactly what to do with her, she had a few things of her own that she wanted to do to him. All of them involved nudity and inhibition. 

He kissed the side of her neck, his hands already unsnapping her bra and sliding over her breasts while she locked the door behind them. Dress pushed up to just beneath her shoulders, she took the initiative and ripped it over her head. He moaned his approval while his fingers toyed with her nipples.


Nothing in life had prepared her for this complete surrender. She hadn't known she was capable of it. She pressed her hands against the back of the door and let him touch her as he pleased. Pushing her hair aside, he kissed the back of her neck before running his tongue toward her ear. One hand on her breast, the other moved over her abdomen and slipped beneath her panties. 

Smiling, she turned within the circle of his arms and unbuttoned his shirt. This wasn't going to be a one-sided affair. She craved his skin as much as he wanted hers. Tossing it over his shoulders, she pressed her mouth to the center of his chest and indulged in the salty sensation beneath her tongue.

He walked backward until falling on top of the discarded clothes on her bed. "You didn't get a chance to settle in yet."

"Oh, I'm settled." She reached for the zipper on his jeans. "This is how I settle into a new place, just shove it all onto the floor."

He raised an eyebrow, a laugh on his lips as he did as instructed.

Her hand cupped his erection beneath his jeans before bending over to kiss his abdomen. The promise of his hardness drove her to madness. 

His hands wrapped themselves in her hair as she yanked his jeans past his hips. Her mouth closed over the tip of his penis that was hard and throbbing against her lips. 

He had the body of a Roman God; the fact that he was Belgian meant nothing. Being in Italy, she preferred the Roman idea as she licked his length with deep appreciation for what it was about to do to her. 

"Jacques," she whispered against his abdomen, needing him inside her. Fast. Hard. Deep. 

Hands still in her hair, he pulled her up until their mouths fused with passion. In one move, he rolled her onto her back and slipped his hand between her thighs. 

Their gaze connected through the darkness as his finger moved inside her. He dipped his head to suck on her breast. His fingers moved in and out with a slow rhythm that drove her to the brink. Glancing up, he reached for his discarded jeans for a condom. 

"You came prepared," she whispered against his chin.

"I'm an optimist." He smiled in the dark while ripping open the package. 

No more words. He rocked into her with a force that pushed her deep into the mattress. She sank her teeth into his shoulder, grabbed his ass, and spread her legs wide. Harder and deeper he thrust into her, his hands propped over her head until he shouted with orgasm. 

She arched her back, body shuddering with ecstasy, eyes squeezing shut with the force of pleasure. 

He collapsed against her, face buried into the top of her head, and chest heaving with rapid breaths. 

She had no more strength, doubted her ability to move. From somewhere deep down in her soul, from the tip of her toes upward, a laugh rolled up and out until she quaked with joy. 

He propped himself up on his elbows, smoothed the hair from her face, and smiled. "Is the laughing a good thing?" 

"It's the best thing." She leaned up and kissed him, eyes wide open. "I want more wine, then more of you." 

"I can deliver both of those things." He winked before slipping himself from her, taking a minute to kiss each breast before pushing away from the bed and walking toward the kitchen counter. 

Lights from the street illuminated the room just enough for her to indulge in a beautiful view of his naked body. Hair a complete mess from her hands and muscles highlighted by streetlights and shadow, Jacques Sinclair was definitely gorgeous. 

Hugging her knees to her chest amidst the discarded clothes on the bare mattress, she grinned when he sat next to her and handed her the open bottle. 

"What are you smiling about?" He kissed her knee. 

"Ways to keep you naked."

"Maybe we should have a nudity policy whenever we are in your apartment." 

Her iPhone's ring broke through the silence of the room from where she'd dropped it beside the door. Laughter faded while she debated answering. She knew who it was and knew the right thing to do; she simply didn't want to do it.

Jacques looked toward the ringing. "Is that your boyfriend from the States? Are we having an illicit affair?" 

She looked at him then, wine bottle propped between them, and shook her head 'no.' Heart heavier than it had been moments ago, she touched his face with her fingertips. For the next four months this was home and nothing else mattered.  

"I picked the right apartment," she whispered.

He moved the wine bottle to the floor before pulling her onto his lap. "Have I sufficiently welcomed you to the neighborhood?" 

"I think I need more welcoming." 

He pushed her hair away from her face, eyes seeing more than she'd intended him to see in the moonlight, and kissed her with an intensity that set her heart on fire and drowned out the incessant ringing of the phone. 

The need to break free of the ties that bound her pushed her toward recklessness. She welcomed the rush. Senses on hypersensitive, she savored the freedom of being exactly who she wanted to be in this moment. The wine, the moonlight, the breeze from the window, the taste of him on her tongue, and the feel of his skin against hers obliterated everything else.




Wednesday, April 25, 2018

Trusting Imperfection #startingover #womenempowerment


I've developed an edge over the years, I am aware of it and acknowledge it. All the loss--not only deaths but the loss of people I trusted and loved and other painful losses--has hardened me to the point where I come out swinging when I shouldn't.

I used to be too soft in some ways. After college graduation, I left South Dakota to head to Europe alone. By this time in my life, I had travelled with my family to most of the 50 states in the US and considered myself to be pretty savvy. I wasn't. I was too soft. My kindness --or naivety-- invited not only mocking from some but also lured predators to me as well.

Over and over again, I rebounded, always with a smile and that attitude of generosity and openness.

Over and over again, I was kicked in the metaphorical teeth.

Now I am edgy. Elusive.

I want to find a balance between being strong and yielding, open yet protected.

I'm seeing that one of the challenges in this new chapter of my life is trusting other people enough to allow them close. In some ways, I miss being open to others. Right off the top of my head, though, I can think of former friends who hurt me so badly that I still get teary-eyed over their actions. People who I loved--and who obviously did not love me back despite years of friendship. It's easy to say, "shrug it off, move on, their loss" or whatever trivial response comes to mind, but it's much harder to forget those betrayals now when I'm meeting new people and starting a new chapter of my life.

Yes, I'm a survivor. I have been through a lot and am truly happy in this new place of mine. But when it comes to opening my heart to new friends or even new acquaintances, I can't quite lower the protective shields.

I have read that trusting others always comes back to how much you trust yourself. Is this true?

I know I can stand strong against the storm and am smart enough to think of solutions to just about any problem that is thrown at me, but I guess when it comes to personal connections I no longer trust my instinct.

I trusted that Sean would fight his addictions to save our family--he killed himself. 

I trusted my lifelong friends to stick with me through thick and thin--they just dropped off the face of the earth. 

I trusted my church to be my safety net--I was told to find another place to worship when I couldn't contribute enough on Sundays. 

I trusted my community where I had volunteered and donated both money and time for two decades to be there when times got tough--I was told they couldn't help me when I hit rock bottom, was told to give up and leave. 

I endured. I made it. I thrived in other ways. I did it all alone--so I do trust myself.

Letting others in is something I want to do. I used to be social. When I bought this new house, I envisioned parties here and lots of laughter with new friends. Perhaps it will take time, more time than I envisioned, to be able to trust others again.

I want to. In some ways I'm still that naive 20-something from South Dakota who is looking at the world with hopeful and enthusiastic eyes; but in other ways, I'm a guarded 50 year old who knows what darkness lies in the shadows. I hope to find a balance between the two.

Romancing myself today means loving both my strength and my weakness and accepting that it's okay to be imperfect.

Peace to you!
Amber Lea Easton
http://www.amberleaeaston.com


Amber Lea Easton is a multi-published author of romantic thrillers, contemporary romance, women's fiction, and nonfiction. In addition, Easton also writes under two pen names--Dakota Skye (erotic paranormal romance thrillers) and Cassidy Springfield (new adult). She also works as a professional editor and creativity coach, takes road trips with her dogs whenever the mood strikes, and advocates for suicide awareness. To find out more about her books, please visit http://www.amberleaeaston.com

Friday, April 13, 2018

Delicious Lies in the #NewRelease Decadent Deception #PNR

Celebrating Dakota Skye's new sizzling erotic paranormal romance paired with a riveting suspense plot. Is he a good guy or a bad guy? Is she a witch or simply a baker? Santa Fe sets the scene in this electrifying erotic thriller. Take a glimpse inside--Adult Content Warning. 


From the back cover

The truth will set you free...or destroy you. That's the issue that psychic Lisa Vanderveen struggles with when she meets Blake Santore. A baker slash animal communicator, she is taken off-guard by the sexy man with the sad dog who has a past too terrible to fathom. Telling him the truth of what she sees could send him on a path of revenge and destruction, but keeping silent could be equally destructive in the long run. 

Blake Santore believes his family is dead. A man on the run from his past, he and his dog Greg settle in Santa Fe, New Mexico for some semblance of peace. Tempted by the smell of pastries and the eccentric blonde who runs the bakery, he takes up a daily sugar habit. When his veterinarian refers him to her for his dog's behavior issues, he is unprepared for the news she delivers that unravels his already fragile world. 

Is she telling the truth or is she a lunatic? Blake doesn't believe in psychics, but then again he hadn't believed he would ever take his dog to an animal communicator before now either. The story she suggests is an unbelievable act of betrayal. Has his ex-wife truly faked her death and the death of his children? If so, why? Where are they? If true, then he wants revenge. 

Is he a good guy or a bad guy? Lisa can't tell, but the chemistry between them is too hypnotic for either to ignore. Her visions open a door of treachery, danger, and intense erotic exploration as they navigate their way toward truth. Will the reality of the deception crush their love, get them killed, or ultimately set them both free? 

Adult content excerpt

He still had so many questions...the idea that his children could be out there, had been alive for two years, growing up who-knows-where with his bitch of an exeven though shehad'died'before signing the divorce papersdrove him insane. 

Yet here he stood, barely restraining himself from unleashing on her, drinking a beer on a patio overlooking Santa Fe as if he hadn'tjust received the second biggest shock of his lifetime. 

"I've handled this badly and I'm sorrynot just for blurting out the information on your family but for my attitude," she said after a long silence where they enjoyed their dinner and beer. "I thought you knew, that you were searching for them, maybe because I sensed that you have unsettled business, that you've been moving, but I shouldn't have been so direct." She glanced toward his face before looking toward the view. "I'm out of practice. There's a reason I prefer working with animals and alone in the kitchen of the bakery. That's no excuse for my hostility and premature judgment, though."

He nodded slowly, digesting the information with more tact than hehad done earlier. "It's not something I talk about."

"Understandable."

"I didn't realize I was messing up so muchGreg, my kids,all of it. I guess I'm a giant all-around fuck-up, Lisa. You'd better hope that premonition of us is wrong because I will ruin your peaceful life." He snorted with self-loathing and considered grabbing another beer. 

She stood abruptly and started clearing off the table. 

He grabbed her wrist when she reached for his plate. The zap of energy that leapt from her skin onto his caused him to drop it as fast as hehadgrabbed it and push back from the table. 

"What are you?" The energy sizzling from her skin had felt like an electrical shock that had boiled his blood. Looking at her now, with the red glow of the setting sun reflecting on her skin, he felt as if he was encountering a being from another world. 

She stood frozen in place, face averted, and chest heaving with rapid breath. "You should go."

He stepped a few paces backward and waited. 

Waited for her to blurt out another revelation. 

Waited for his body to stop trembling with the need to get naked.

Waited for his brain to snap out of whatever spell shehadput him under. 

Waited for her to say somethinganythingthat would convince him to flee when he wanted nothing more than to stay. 

When she finally lifted her head and looked at him, the need in her eyes erased all hesitation or doubt. 

He strode to her, grabbed her face between his hands, and crushed his mouth against hers until she sank against him and clutched at his shoulders. 

He didn't want to think. 

He didn't give a shit about consequences. 

He didn't want to hide behind self-control and self-denial and self-delusion. 

He wanted to indulge in primal instinct. 

He peeled the tank top from her while she yanked the t-shirt from him. They were a tangle of hands and fingers and lips as they tripped their way to the lounge chair. Clothes fell aside until they were skin-on-skin. 

She bit his shoulder. 

He squeezed her breast. 

He had never wanted to fuck anyone like this beforepure fucking. Animalistic. Hot. No talking. No thinking. 

Mouths merged in a heated kiss while he rammed his cock into her without mercy. The tightness of her pussy urged him on, begged him to go harder and faster. He couldn't get enough. His hands were on her breasts, thumbs tormenting her nipples. His shaft plunged deep inside of her, hips grinding against hers. Tongues clashed inside each other's mouths, insistent, almost urgent in their dance. 

The heels of her feet dug into his ass, holding him tight against her as her soft body pressed against his with equal passion. She tugged at his hair until it felt like strands were being pulled from his skull. 

He wanted to come but tried to wait her out. He slid one hand between their bodies and moved his finger over her clit. 

She bit him again, sucked his neck, nipped his jawline. Her hot breath teased his skin when she moaned and her body lurched beneath his. 

He came with a shout into her open mouth. He hadn't given one thought to protectionand he hadn't given a damn. 

Chest heaving against hers, he buried his face in her hair and squeezed her breast one more time before sliding his hand to her back and pressing her close. He shut his eyes and indulged in the feeling of his penis firmly entrenched in her body with her legs and arms holding him tight. 

"Let's do that again," she whispered against his ear. 

He smiled, any fear of this being awkward erased by her simple suggestion. "I noticed you had a hot tub."

"Sex in the hot tub sounds like the perfect way to end the day." She pushed her hands through his hair and urged his head up to look him in the eye. "To think I couldn't even look at you this morning and now you're cock deep inside of me—strangehow the Universe works."

"Why couldn't you look at me?" He kissed her again, slowly, savoring her as he'd enjoyed her various baked goods. When he looked her in the eye, he noticed them deepening in color and felt her slight emotional withdrawal thanks to his question. "Are you a witch?" 

She laughed as an answer and smacked him in the shoulder. "I'm not a magical being of any kindjust a psychic slash animal communicator slash baker. Are you a witch?"

He widened his eyes and shifted his weight, conscious of the fact that they were still joined together. "Me? I don't do anything remotely magical."

"Oh, I don't know about that..." she slid her fingers down his back and cupped his ass. "You managed to get my clothes off after knowing me less than two hours. That's pretty magical."

"From my point of view, it was a mutual seduction." 

"Mine, too." She winked before wiggling free of him and scooting to her feet. With a sigh, she stretched her arms above her head toward the night sky and sauntered toward the hot tub. "Come on, Magic Man, I'm ready for round two."

Already hard at the idea of sinking into her again, he followed like a dog in heat. 

Keep reading! And leave a review--new releases need them! 




Wednesday, April 11, 2018

Believing in Magic Despite the Tragic #Startingover #emptynest


When I was a little kid, I dreamed of being a writer. Sometimes I would crawl out my bedroom window and sit on my parents' roof just staring at the horizon, wondering where I would roam. Other times I would ride my horse Tango as far as I could from the house to this towering cottonwood tree with twisted branches that sat alone between two corn fields under a gigantic blue South Dakota sky. I would tie Tango up and sit in the shade with a notebook, doodling stories and wishes.

Now I am turning 50 and I can't help but think of that little girl. In some ways, I have let her down, but in other ways I've done her proud. I still believe in fairy tales and magic, even though some of my life has been tragic.

Rebuilding my life after having the very foundation of it crumble beneath me has been hard. My confidence eroded. My heart took a beating. I developed an edge born out of needing to defend myself and my family and fight, fight, fight for over a decade.

What to do when the fight is over? That's the question.

Romancing myself in this new era is uncovering glimpses of that little girl I used to be. The more I learn to indulge curiosity, to play with my passions, and to encourage myself, the closer I become to that woman I always wanted to be.

Why is it that we are able to encourage others but have a hard time doing that for ourselves? Why is it that we can easily be compassionate toward a friend or our children but not ourselves?

A year ago I couldn't look myself in the eye because the sorrow I saw in them shamed me. How could I let this happen, I would ask. When did I deviate from my path?

Decade birthdays are significant, wouldn't you say? I'm talking about the birthdays like 20, 30, 40, 50...the birthdays that are mile markers on our journey through life.

My 20s were spent proving myself to the world, discovering who I was as a new adult. I was still pretty wild then--maybe I still am. I traveled the world, had some great jobs and some shitty ones, loved a few great guys and a few shitty ones...and married the blue-eyed boy with the quick smile.

My 30s were filled with big moments--bought my first house on my thirtieth birthday, quit my bigshot job to be a full-time mom of toddlers. My life became solely focused on my family and I loved it. Playdates. Tumbletots. School plays. Swim lessons. Soccer games. Lots of friends. Lots of laughter.

I became a widow at age 37.

My 40s were hectic. Single mom trying to rebuild a career. Daughter with anxiety issues. Teaching the kids to drive. Teenage hormone-fueled dramas. Highschool graduations. College. Selling the family home. Moving to a new state alone. Lots of huge life changes and upheavals. Chaos.

Now here I am staring the 50's decade in the face. I think of that little girl all the time now, not only her but the Amber I was in my 20s. For some reason, those two images come to mind often. I now know I have the power to create the life I want. I get to choose. I'm at no one's mercy anymore. I'm no longer a wife--haven't been for a long, long time. I'm still a mom but my kids are adults with busy lives of their own, which is a good thing. I am content. I am happy. I'm still edgy--but I've earned a bit of grit so am good with it.

What will this next decade bring? What do I do now that the fight is over? Why is it hard for me to show my joy?

I can look myself in the eye these days. No more flinching away, no more hiding. I devote myself to my writing, my editing, my reading, my self-discovery. A few years ago I wouldn't have been able to say I believed in much. I felt like I was living in hell, trapped, flailing about like a fish struggling to breathe on land. Yet here I am--looking myself in the eye again and smiling 'just because." I can honestly say now that I believe in magic, in faith, in miracles, and in me.

Decade birthdays are significant. They give us a chance to look back with reflection while embracing the hope of a clean slate--a fresh decade to become the best version of ourselves. It's sort of fun for me to think of life in ten year increments. Perhaps it's the writer in me that likes to think of them as chapters with twists and turns and heroes and villains. Now the 40s are done, the page has turned, and I am eager to see what happens next.

My romance with myself continues. As with any date, I am asking the hard questions, peeling back the layers, and learning to love both the dark and the light in the person staring back at me.

I leave you with wise old Jimmy Buffet who sang, "Some of it's magic, some of it's tragic, but I've had a good life all the way."



Peace.


Amber Lea Easton is a multi-published author of romantic thrillers, contemporary romance, women's fiction, and nonfiction. In addition, Easton also writes under two pen names--Dakota Skye (erotic paranormal romance thrillers) and Cassidy Springfield (new adult). She also works as a professional editor and creativity coach, takes road trips with her dogs whenever the mood strikes, and advocates for suicide awareness. To find out more about her books, please visit http://www.amberleaeaston.com



Sunday, April 8, 2018

Love as a Liability #RomanticSuspense #MustRead

Starting the week off right with a sexy feature from Amber Lea Easton's romantic suspense novel, Reckless Endangerment. This book has it all--a wounded US Marine, a relentless investigative reporter, betrayal, human trafficking, and a scintillating love story. Check out the feature below! 

Blurb from the back cover

Coming home again isn't always easy. Colonel Michael Cedars and reporter Hope Shane fell in love in a warzone, but then the world blew up and splintered their lives in two.  

Sometimes heroes fall and take the ones they love down with them. A Marine accustomed to giving orders, Michael struggles to find his role in civilian life. Wounded, he faces new battles as he learns to walk again, struggles with wartime ghosts, and questions his abilities as a husband. 

But theirs is a love worth fighting for—and Hope Shane doesn't surrender. An investigative reporter, she's hot on the trail of a human trafficking ring. Danger intensifies as she gets closer to the truth, but the human traffickers know her weakness. 

Will Michael become her Achilles Heel? Will her reckless disregard for rules shatter the fragile bonds of their marriage once and for all? Is he still the hero she married or has he become a liability that could get them both killed?

Smashwords (all formats, including Kobo)


Excerpt

“None of us are who we were.  Do you think I’m the same person I was before seeing my best friend killed?  Before stepping over Marishka’s body and the bodies of her murdered children?  Before seeing you face down in the dirt?  Do you think I don’t see corpses in my sleep? Do you think that hasn’t changed me?” she asked. 

“You look the same.”  His gaze flicked over her before sliding toward the window.  

  “Maybe I’m still walking on both of my feet, but that doesn’t mean other parts of me aren’t paralyzed.” She scrubbed her fists against the tears and hated herself for being weak.  “I’m pissed at you for denying me access to you in Frankfurt.  You have no idea—none—how much I needed to be with you when you were hurt and you made me out to be a liar.  I’m your wife, for God’s sake.”

“Stop saying that word.”  

“You’re a selfish bastard.”  She shoved her hands through her hair and counted silently to twenty.  “Say what you want, I don’t care because I’d rather fight with you than mourn you. I’d rather you hate me than feel nothing.”

“I do hate you.”

Blowing a strand of hair from her face, she grabbed the ouzo bottle, opened it and slammed cabinet doors looking for a glass. 

“I know you’re lying,” she said.

“Get the hell out of here,” he yelled.

“Where are your goddamn glasses?” she asked between clenched teeth.

“How would I know?  I’ve been here less than six hours.”   

“Who needs a glass, right?”  She took a long swig of the liquor. The alcohol burned her throat but felt damn good. She took another swig before meeting his gaze.  

“Is that how you’re dealing with your guilt? Drinking it away?” he asked.

She held the bottle out toward him. “Want a taste?”

He looked at her through narrowed eyes, muscle working overtime in his jaw.

“C’mon, babe, look at it this way…maybe a taste will kill you,” she said.  

For the first time since entering the room, a flicker of humor shot through his eyes.  With a shrug, he grabbed the bottle and drank without breaking eye contact. 

“I’m still alive,” he said.

“Sorry to disappoint you…again.”  Needing to touch him, she reached for the scar that zigzagged across his forehead. 

He flinched away from her touch.

“You need to leave. You don’t owe me anything,” he said without looking at her face.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth and studied his bent head before answering.  “This isn’t about owing you anything.”

He met her gaze then, annoyance flashing in the brown depths.  But there was something else there, too...pain so intense she took a step back. 

“What is wrong with you?” he asked. “Just because I’m in this chair doesn’t mean that you can bully me.”


“Am I bullying you?” She grinned at the idea of bullying him.  He’d always been the badass Marine with more arrogance than necessary.  Her independence clashed with his attitude more often than not, but that had been a good thing.  Maybe...just maybe...he’d missed it.  “I brought you fast food and alcohol.  We even had a fight.  I think you like that I’m here.  I’m livening things up.  You looked pretty bored when I walked in.”

He grabbed her hand before she could snag another fry.  He squeezed her fingers so hard she thought her bones would snap.  “Look at me.  I’m not the man you married.  I’m not even a Marine anymore.  Look at me.”

She only saw the man she loved who stared back with desperation in his eyes. She saw his hair thicker and longer than she’d ever seen it before and liked it. She saw his teeth sink into his lower lip and wanted them sinking into her skin.  She only saw Michael.  

“You’re still the sexiest man on the planet,” she said.

“You’re delusional.”  He dropped her hand as if the mere touch of her skin sickened him.

“Maybe I am.” 

“What are you getting out of this?”

“A headache.”

“I can’t…I’m changed.  We’ll never be able to be like we were.”  He looked at his legs.  “Not like how you remember me anyway. I’m different now.”

“So am I.  We’re all different.”

“It’s more than that and you know it.  You and me...sex...there will be...expectations.” 

“I see, so I should pretend you don’t exist because you feel awkward about sex? You must not think much of me, Colonel.” She bit out his rank between clenched teeth.  

“When I see you that’s what I want, are you satisfied now?  Right now I would like to throw you up against that counter, rip those jeans from you and fuck you.  I remember how we were together.  That’s what I want.  I can’t do that.  Do you hear me?  I can’t have what I want and seeing you is torture for me.  I can’t have you.”

Silence quaked in the room.

She put both of her hands on his knees, conscious that he couldn’t feel her touch. “You keep talking about what you’ve lost, but you haven’t lost me.  Don’t you see that?  You may not be a Marine anymore and you may not be able to walk anymore, but you have me. I love you.  I need you.  Can’t that be enough? And you have your son. What about him? He needs you, too.  You haven’t lost him.”  

“I wish you hadn’t come here.”

“Too bad, I’m here. Deal with it.”  She moved onto his lap and moved her hands over his shoulders. “What’s the problem?”

“Stop this,” he whispered. 

“You want me to kiss you. You want to kiss me back.” She could see it in his eyes, the need, the desire, the question.  “Is that what you want, Michael?”

“What would that prove?”

“Does it have to prove something?  Can’t a kiss be a kiss?”

“No.”

“Typical man.”  She leaned within a fraction of his lips.  “Don’t you remember high school?  Don’t you remember when a kiss meant everything?”

In a sudden move, he grabbed the back of her head and ground his mouth against hers.  She knew the intensity was meant to shock her so she matched it with her own. She sat on his lap and plunged her tongue into the recesses of his mouth until he moaned.  His free hand squeezed her breast through the thin material of her blouse but, instead of hurting, it ignited her blood. 

The Michael she knew still lived inside this man. She felt him in the warmth of his mouth, the strength of his hands on her body, the restrained power of his touch.  

She couldn’t stop touching him, hands moved through his hair, over his face, along his shoulders.  Alive.  Here. She fought back a Hallelujah. 
Smashwords (all formats, including Kobo)


A few reviews
5 stars Extremely talented
By 
ChristophFischerBooks "Chris"
(TOP 500 REVIEWER)
  
Although this book is marketed as romantic suspense it also covers some serious issues, such as people trafficking and post-traumatic stress disorder, adding further depth to a book that is rich in plot and personal conflict already. Nothing prepared me for the literary quality of this novel. Regular romance and suspense fans get more than enough here to be satisfied by the great chemistry between the main characters and the intriguing story lines. However, if you - like myself - want a little bit more out of a book than you will find it in the well-handled and insightful passages about trafficking and PSD, issues that are handled with care rather than in an exploitative or decorative manner.
Easton clearly cares about what she writes and it pays dividends, her book is surprisingly impressive and certainly recommended. 

5.0 out of 5 stars
Gritty At Times, Realistic, With An Immensely Satisfying Romance and MysteryBy 
J. Faltys "Joder"

By the end of Reckless Endangerment I can sum it up by saying it's Triple-H......heartbreaking, heartwarming, and heartpounding. It's full of likable and fully fleshed-out characters, realistically depicted issues related to the aftermath of war, and it presented a fast-paced mystery surrounding human trafficking that kept me on the edge of my seat. It shows that atrocities not only occur in faraway lands but outside our front door as well. As two people deal both mentally and physically with the hand war dealt them it's only through love and acceptance that true healing can begin and a HEA can be fully achieved. 

5.0 out of 5 stars
Great read
By 
Sglas

I love this book! The author did a great job of writing a contempary novel with all the twists and turns that make it impossible for you to put the book down!! I am really impressed with the author's use of hard hitting problems facing today's society and intergrating them into the story line. This is not just another cookie cutter, predictable romance!! I highly recommend this book for all who looking for a novel with a little something extra! 
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