Title: You Are Always on My Mind

Author: Sable Hunter

Series: Hell Yeah / Cajun Style

Published by: Indie

Date published: June 15, 2015

Genres: Contemporary & paranormal

Book Length: 303 pages

Steam Rating: Steamy/Risque

Main Characters: Revel & Harper

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“You Are Always on My Mind was a heart clenching book that had me gasping and reaching for tissue as I ugly cried so hard I could barely see the words on my kindle.”~Becca

We all like to think we have a soulmate. Unfortunately for some of us, we miss them, passing unseen like two ships in the night. Revel and Harper were among the lucky ones, they knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were meant for one another. In a perfect world, they would’ve enjoyed a ‘happily ever after’. But this isn’t a perfect world.

Harper is haunted by her past, a past so tragic and so unthinkable that she can’t even imagine confessing it to Revel. And she knows from past experience, that when he learns the shameful truth about her – nothing will be the same. So to protect him, she walks away.

Harper underestimated Revel’s love for her. From the moment she disappeared, he set out to bring her home. Their journey to love is one fraught with ghosts from the past, both real and imagined, and a demon from their present who is intent on making sure she has no future. But those ghosts and demons have never met a hero like Revel Lee. He is determined to give Harper exactly what she needs…until Harper realizes that all she needs is him. 

***CONTENT WARNING: This book contains adult language and sexual situations. It is intended for audiences 18+ ONLY***

Like all of the Hell Yeah books by Sable Hunter, You Are Always on My Mind was a heart clenching book that had me gasping and reaching for tissue as I ugly cried so hard I could barely see the words on my kindle.

Sable Hunter has such a unique way of creating a story that gives us multiple perspectives from extremely well developed realistic and lovable characters. Needless to say it’s addicting and once I start reading I can never seem to put the books down.

This story was rough. I will warn that if you have triggers from abuse it may be a bit difficult to read. There aren’t a lot of in depth scenes of abuse but it’s talked about enough to matter.

Overall, this book was amazing! Everything flowed beautifully and the romance was one that I had been dying for since first meeting these characters earlier in this series. I am definitely ready to find out which love story we get next!

Want to hear my thoughts on the other books in this series? Check out the video below!

Sorry…I was so excited about finally talking about this series that I couldn’t sit still!

Sable’s hometown will always be New Orleans. She loves the culture of Louisiana and it permeates everything she does. Now, she lives in the big state of Texas and like most southern women, she loves to cook southern food – especially Cajun and Tex-Mex. She also loves to research the supernatural, but shhhh don’t tell anyone.

Sable writes Saucy Romance novels. She believes that her goal as a writer is to make her readers laugh with joy, cry in sympathy and fan themselves when they read the hot parts – ha!
The worlds she creates in her books are ones where right prevails, love conquers all and holding out for a hero is not an impossible dream.

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Do you like a little paranormal with your sexy love scenes? I sure do!

Title: Finding the Cure

Author: Cassandra Giovanni

Published by: Show n’ot Tell Publishing

Date published: June 18, 2015

Genres: NA Contemporary Romance

Book Length: 349 pages

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Author Cassandra Giovanni

Ellie Abela’s life has been anything but easy. Tragedy follows her where ever she goes, and she’s been a lot of places. At twenty she’s lived in over ten different states, all because of her dad’s career in medical research. His career is just another list of the causes of tragedies in El’s life. He’s dying, and with every breath he takes closer to Heaven, Ellie dies a little bit inside too.

At twelve she lost her mom in a drunk driving accident, and in a matter of months she fears she’ll lose the last person she has in the world to cancer.

While Ellie’s life has been rife with sadness, Trent Wentworth’s has been a challenge. A drug-addicted mom and a dead-beat dad meant at twenty three he was the adoptive father of his two year old sister. Now at twenty five he’s working his way up the corporate ladder and a struggling single parent.

Each is searching for a cure to the things in their lives dragging them down.

Not all cures are black and white; not all cures save us–and sometimes saving isn’t what we need. Sometimes we just need to realize how lucky we are to be alive, at least for this moment.

Conquering Fears Through Writing

Being an author is a challenging path to travel down, and sometimes I find myself wondering why exactly I am doing it, and sometimes I find myself wondering exactly why I am writing a particular piece. Over the past two years I’ve come to terms with exactly why I chose to be an author, because it was that, a choice. At the beginning of every year I force myself into a self-evaluation. I look at what I wanted to accomplish, what happened and what I want to accomplish this coming year. In 2014 I set wild goals, that didn’t seem so wild at the time and those goals set me up for failure as an author.

I felt my books I published in 2014 were failures.

I felt I was a failure as an author.

I was frustrated and mad at the whole process, until I sat down and forced myself to really think about why I was so angry. Low and behold it had nothing to do with writing, and it had everything to do with money.

I hate to say it, but my husband was correct when he warned me in vehemence that I needed to stop watching numbers and just be writing. He warned me if I kept down that path I would end hating writing like he did music. Thank goodness I have him to put me in my place. He reminded me of the seven year old me giddy from wining a writing contest holding my freshly won Samantha doll to my chest while reading my chapter in a live book and knowing I was born to be an author; of eighteen year old me who sat at a laptop and wrote because she wanted to (rewrite a popular novel *cough*); of the twenty three year old me that published because I was going to write it anyways and why not share it with the world?

So this year, I promised myself nothing. I told myself if I reached one reader that was enough, and I stopped thinking about the fear I felt about publishing tons of novel with no readers to read them.

But I didn’t stop fearing anything. In my opinion, fear is what makes an author a good one.

Consequently, when Breathless Ink approached me and gave me a few ideas for guest posts, she suggested I write about why I wrote Finding the Cure. I kind of laughed to myself, because there were a lot of times my husband asked me exactly that about this novel. Then I came upon it, fear.

As an author I write to conquer my fears, and to understand human nature. With this novel I spent a lot of time crying as I wrote it. I distinctly remember one night where my husband pulled the laptop away from me because I was sobbing so hard and I just lay in his arms for an hour crying. I was attempting to conquer and understand one of my biggest fears—losing a loved one in a very painful way. I start the novel by having the main character, Ellie saying this:

I used to wonder if it was harder to know you’re going to die, or just dying without the ability to say goodbye.

Ellie actually has to go through both, and I forced myself to really feel what Ellie felt. At the end of the novel, I felt not only had my character grown, but so did I.

I’m not quite sure I conquered my fears, because I’m pretty sure if the things that happened to Ellie happened to me I would probably melt down completely. I think I did them justice, though, and I cannot tell you how amazing it was to have someone who went through a struggle similar to Ellie tell me I did it justice.

Another fear conquered.

Cassandra doesn’t remember a time when she wasn’t writing. In fact, the first time she was published was when she was seven years old and won a contest to be published in an American Girl Doll novel. Since then Cassandra has write an essay for me more novels than she can count and put just as many in the circular bin. Her personal goal with her writing is to show the reader the character’s stories through their dialogue and actions instead of just telling the reader what is happening. Besides being a writer, Cassandra is a professional photographer known for her automotive, nature and architectural shots. She is happily married to the man of her dreams and they live in the rolling hills of New England with their dogs, Bubski and Kanga.

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Title: Up for Grabs

Author: Heather Young-Nichols

Series: Not yet…but I’m begging for it!

Published by: Swoon Romance

Date published: May 6, 2014

Genres: Contemporary

Book Length: 179 pages

Steam Rating: Steamy

Main Characters: Flannery & Cain

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“Up For Grabs is hot, sweet, romantic, hilarious and just a plain out perfect and fun read!” ~Becca

When Flannery Tate left home for a college halfway across the country in Michigan, she’d only planned on getting an education. But when Cain Dorsey walked into her life, she had no choice but to fall for him. However, what’s a girl to do when her scholarship well runs dry? Return home? Get a job?

Flannery gets creative. She decides to sell the most precious and valuable thing she can – her virginity – to the highest bidder. When Cain discovers her plan, their world crumbles. Will they be able to move past her betrayal and find a way back to each other? Or, is this the beginning of the end? UP FOR GRABS is a story of love, heartbreak and truth

This is a hard book to talk about without spoiling anything! I guess the basics that you need to know are this:

• 100% epic love story
• It’s hilarious!
• Well developed and addictive characters.
• A story line that held me hostage and wouldn’t let go!
• I WANT MORE!

Yep…that about covers it! Up For Grabs is hot, sweet, romantic, hilarious and just a plain out perfect and fun read! Head on over to Amazon and get your copy now!

If you want more check out my video review above!

Heather Young-Nichols was born and raised in Saginaw, Michigan and graduated from nearby Saginaw Valley State University with a degree in sociology. The only thing that rivals her love of reading and writing is her love of baseball. When not with her husband and three kids or the cat that likes to bite, she is working to bring the characters in her head to life.

Title: Playing House

Author: Mira Day

Published by: Inkwell International

Date published: Sept. 1 2015

Genres: Romantic Comedy

Book Length: 317 pages

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Sometimes you have to do things differently in order to be happy

When Hannah Bishop discovers that her boyfriend Connor is cheating on her, she has no idea that breaking up with him will lead her to the happiness she deserves—even when Caleb Matthews, the city’s most eligible bachelor and a regular at the café where Hannah works, steps up to help her. Hannah uncovers secrets about the man she’s running from and the man who has become her hero, realizing that not everything in life is black and white. Sometimes you have to do things differently in order to be happy.

Mira Day is a freelance writer, born in Wilmington, NC, and is now living in Charleston, SC. She’s currently a café manager, with 16 years of food service know-how. A voice over actress, she enjoys cooking, the outdoors, and Carolina Panther and Chicago Bear football.

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The Offer

She thinks he’s an arrogant playboy.

He thinks she’s an uptight prude.

But he’s about to make her an offer she can’t refuse.

by Karina Halle

Nicola Price used to have it all – a great career, the perfect boyfriend, an excessive shoe collection and an apartment in one of San Francisco’s best neighborhoods. But when she gets knocked up and her asshat boyfriend leaves her high and dry, Nicola’s perfectly crafted world comes tumbling down. And stays that way.

Now, Nicola is the proud single mom to a five-year old daughter and living a giant lie. She can barely afford their ghetto apartment and all the men she dates run when they hear she comes with a child. She’s struggling and scared – and nowhere near where she thought she’d be at age thirty-one.

Her saving grace comes in the form of a tall, handsome and wealthy Scotsman Bram McGregor, the older brother of her friend Linden. Bram understands a thing or two about pride, so when tragic circumstances place Nicola at rock bottom, he offers them a place to live in the apartment complex he owns. It’s pretty much the perfect deal, so as long as she doesn’t mind living beside Bram, a man that, despite his generosity, seems to antagonize her at every turn.

But nothing in life is free and as Nicola gets her feet back on the ground, she discovers that the enigmatic playboy may end up costing her more than she thought.

She might just lose her heart.                        

With her USA Today Bestselling The Artists Trilogy published by Grand Central Publishing, numerous foreign publication deals, and self-publishing success with her Experiment in Terror series, Vancouver-born Karina Halle is a true example of the term “Hybrid Author.” Though her books showcase her love of all things dark, sexy and edgy, she’s a closet romantic at heart and strives to give her characters a HEA…whenever possible.

Karina holds a screenwriting degree from Vancouver Film School and a Bachelor of Journalism from TRU. Her travel writing, music reviews/interviews and photography have appeared in publications such as Consequence of Sound, Mxdwn and GoNomad Travel Guides. She currently lives on an island on the coast of British Columbia where she’s preparing for the zombie apocalypse with her fiancé and rescue pup.

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When reality starts to fade in a bit, I find myself being walked to the door of my apartment building, my arms draped over both Kayla and Steph. We go up the stairs and now I’m standing in front of my door, wobbling back and forth, trying my hardest to look as sober as possible.

Steph goes to knock on the door but it’s already open. I guess we are being loud, giggling, in the hallway.

Bram looks at the three of us and my God is he a sight for sore eyes.

“We brought her home,” Steph says, motioning with her hand for Bram to get out of the way, “your shift is over.”

“No,” I tell them as they shuffle me inside. “He can stay.”

I know the three of them are exchanging a look over my head.

“I’ll make sure she goes to bed,” Bram explains. “No funny business, I swear.”

“Pinky swear?” Steph says and I turn to see her holding out her pinky to him. “You know I don’t break those.”

Ugh, Steph and her damn pinky swears. She wouldn’t even be married to Linden if it weren’t for one.

But Bram does a pinky swear with her.

“No funny business,” Steph warns him.

“Good thing I’m not funny!” I yell as I flop down on the couch. The room is beginning to spin.

“Nic, that was, like, five minutes ago,” Steph says. She reaches over the couch and pats my head. “Do you want us to undress you because Bram’s not allowed.”

“No one undresses me but me!” I yell, throwing my fist up into the air.

“Have fun with her,” Steph says to Bram. “And remember, she’s untouchable. Don’t make me make your brother punch you in the junk or something.”

Bram makes a scoffing noise. “Last time he tried to do that, I got him back good. You just ask him what happened on January 16th, 2005 and why he’ll never eat pudding again.”

“I mean it,” Steph threatens and I hear her and Kayla leave and the door closing.

I close my eyes too. Drift away for a moment. The spinning has stopped and there’s a beautifully cool breeze wafting over my skin.

“I’m not supposed to touch you,” Bram’s gruff voice says and when I open my eyes, he’s crouched in front of me, a lock of dark hair over his forehead. His face is shadowy in the dark, the only light now being from my bedroom behind him.

“That’s okay,” I mumble into the couch. “You can touch me. I say it’s fine.”

“How about I bring you something to sleep in? Do you have a favorite nightshirt? I always see you in that top that your nipples try and poke right through.”

“No, not the nipple shirt.”

He goes to get up. With a lazy hand, I grip his shirt. “Don’t leave. I’m fine here.”

“I can’t imagine you being comfortable.”

“I’m drunk. Everything is comfortable. Except I wish I had a cheeseburger. I would eat it and use it as a pillow. Or maybe use it as a pillow and then eat it.”

“I see.”

I raise my brow at him. “You just want to go through my underwear.”

“Oh, I’ve already gone through your underwear.”

“Lies.”

“I wore them on my head and danced around your apartment.”

“Did you really?” I ask, totally serious.

“Come on,” he says grabbing my forearms. “If you want to sleep in your clothes, that’s fine. But I’m bringing you to your own bed and taking off your shoes.”

“Can you brush my teeth too? I need clean teeth.” I let him pull me to my feet and I pitch to the left, heading right for the coffee table. But I’m in his arms, his capable arms, and he’s holding me to him.

“You have capable arms.”

“You have an exquisite arse,” he responds and half leads me, half drags me out of the living area and into the bedroom.

“I like the way you say arse,” I say with a giggle, exaggerating his accent. “I like the way you say everything.”

“I’m glad, because I foresee a lot of arse talk in the future.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I try and swat him away. “All talk and no arse pinching.”

Oxley College Saga

by Stacey Nash

New Adult Contemporary

Shh! Book 1

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Olivia Dean has the perfect reputation, the perfect boyfriend, and an increasingly perfect CV. She has it all, until Christian breaks up with her in public, calling her out as a self-gratifying sexoholic: The kind that plays solo. But Olivia doesn’t masturbate all night — the only thing she does is sleep … right?

Now all the boys on campus seem to want her attention for the absolutely wrong reason — including resident hottie, Logan Hays. He’s pulling out his best moves to gain her attention, so resisting his sexy charm is hard work. With rapidly slipping grades, a disturbingly lurid reputation and demanding parents, Olivia must discover the truth behind.

At five p.m I was starving. After just the muesli bar for breakfast, I’d skipped lunch to avoid a potential repeat of this morning, which meant my stomach had jumped into full riot mode. Nervous about facing my fellow students, I pulled my big girl panties up and marched myself to the dining hall. It was early, so I wasn’t all that brave, if I were being totally honest with myself. The place should have been near empty.

There were half a dozen people in the common room, watching some crappy reality television show. I scooted around the back of the seats and up into the dining hall. Dinner smelled delicious—burgers—if my senses served me right.

Twirling my meal card around my fingers, I strolled right up to the servery and stood in line. The girl in front of me turned and I tossed a confident smile her way. She smiled back. The line wasn’t moving yet as dinner hadn’t officially started, but people began flowing in, increasing the number of voices in the room. I swiped my clammy hands on my jeans. This was the first time in more than a year that I’d come down to dinner alone. Generally I came with Christian and being alone was a little daunting. It was all cool, though. Savvy should turn up soon, then I wouldn’t look like a loner. She never responded to this morning’s text and I hadn’t seen her since Saturday night, but that wasn’t uncommon if she’d hooked up with a guy. Especially with how busy I’d be this year. She knew my Sundays were reserved for study, so she didn’t usually bother me then, and today we’d been at classes. Still, it was a little weird. She could have at least called to chat about Christian, surely she knew like everyone else.

My tummy grumbled like a truck moving at high speed. I glanced at the clock; it read five-thirty p.m. The line started moving, thank the lord. I glanced over my shoulder, and surprisingly the line curled all the way around the edge of the hall. Everyone had to be famished tonight, not just me.

I kept my eyes to the front and walked through the servery where I built my own burger: meat, egg, tomato, beetroot, no lettuce, and a slathering of tomato sauce—perfect. As I emerged out the other side, my gaze slid over the line, looking for someone who might join me, and the weirdest thing happened. Not a soul met my gaze. It was like they all deliberately looked the other way, or were engrossed in such deep conversation that they didn’t see me.

I’d never had problems with friends. People just … well … they liked me. It had always been that way. I liked everyone, and they all liked me back.

My tummy churned for reasons not associated with hunger. What the heck had I done wrong? I walked over to one of the many empty tables and set my tray down, then flicked my phone out of my pocket and pretended to check my texts. Savvy had replied and I’d missed it.

Sorry I missed breakfast. Catch you at dinner.

A string of girls who I knew—we’d all been freshers together last year—walked right past me, talking softly as if they thought I couldn’t hear, but when people are talking about you, it’s not hard to tell. And those girls were most definitely doing just that. The glances my way every few seconds were a dead giveaway when everyone else in the room was deliberately avoiding my gaze.

I ducked my head, and studied my phone again. Whatever was going on, it was weird. I was the captain of Oxley’s hockey team, netball team, in the social committee, and even campaigning for the university’s student council. I had lots of friends.

Savannah’s giggle sounded like it came from somewhere behind me. Thank gosh. I really needed to talk to her and figure out what was happening. The whispers and stares, the fresher at uni this morning, Dane on Saturday night, sexploits—Oh my gosh. Christian. I glanced over my shoulder, raising my hand to call Savvy over, but my heart dropped into my stomach.

Savvy was attached to Dane’s hip. Her arm hung around his waist and his rested on her shoulders. Christian walked in step with them and the two guys wore massive grins. I hadn’t seen Christian that happy since … well, since I couldn’t remember. I suppose now that I thought about it, lately he’d been kind of cranky and tired. Always tired.

I swung back around in my seat, hoping they hadn’t seen me, and there someone had sat in the chair opposite me: the tool from this morning. He stared like I was some porn star he’d just paid to watch. And he smelled like a brewery; not to mention his eyes looked a little glassy.

Those same eyes locked on my mine and he placed his flattened palm on his chest like he was about to dive headfirst into a heartfelt apology. Which frankly, he owed me. His hand circled over his left pec, going for his heart, but then it moved to the other side and—ohmygod did he just tweak his nipple? My heart pounded a little faster and I glanced away. The entire dining hall looked at us. But he was like a train wreck. I couldn’t stop my gaze sliding back. His hand trailed down his chest and disappeared under the table in the general direction of his groin. He moaned, then his arm started moving slow at first and increasing in speed, all the while his dark eyes held my gaze. Then the crazy guy rolled his eyes back in his head and yelled, “Yes. Aaa—aa—ash. Yes!”

Someone clapped.

He arched his back. What in hell’s name was this freak doing? It was like that old nineties movie where the chick faked an orgasm in the middle of a café, except this was some dude in the centre of the Oxley College dining hall and I wasn’t entirely sure he was faking it.

Spent, he flopped in the seat, his arms hanging beside it, then snapped his head forward again and his face split in a stupid grin as he pushed his chair back, placed an arm across his waist, and freaking bowed.

Everyone laughed.

The whole room full of people thought this idiot was funny.

I couldn’t move. It was as if the air had frozen around me and I was a statue unable to even blink.

“My impersonation of the one and only Olivia Dean,” he shouted, loud enough for the whole room to hear.

Couldn’t the ground just open up and swallow me already? My cheeks burned so hot they should have caught fire. Blood rushed past my ears so loud that I couldn’t hear anything; my stomach lurched.

I was going to throw up.

I needed to get out of there, right now. Whatever held me in place snapped free. I shot to my feet and high-tailed it out of the dining hall, past a million staring faces. The common room was no more than fuzz at the edge of my periphery, Front Courtyard much the same. I cut across the back of block F and made a beeline for K, then darted up the stairs and into my room.

Whatever was going down, it looked like I was the centre of a joke I didn’t find funny or nice.

Wait, Book 2

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Jordan Hays knows just how precious life is; that’s why he has his own mapped out. He’ll work to pay his way through university while he studies hard, regardless of the constant distractions. Because when it comes to becoming a nurse, he’s deadly serious. He won’t fail to save someone again.

But Hex Penton is way too similar to the sister he lost, and even though the only thing more fun than stupid dares is the crazy girl who sets them, Jordan needs to make a choice. Hex believes every moment is important; every opportunity must be taken, because you never know when the world will be yanked out from underneath you. With the foundations he’s based his life on shaken, Jordan must discover what’s more important: making sure Hex’s life isn’t wasted, or remembering how to live his.

Stacey Nash writes adventure filled stories for Young Adults in the Science Fiction and Fantasy genres. She loves to read and write books that have a lot of adventure, a good dose of danger, a smattering of romance, and KISSING! Hailing from the Hunter Valley in New South Wales, she loves nothing more than immersing herself in the beauty and culture of the local area.

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Title: Not Looking for Love Serial

Author: Lena Bourne

Published by: By the Pond Pub.

Date published: Oct. 20, 2014

Genres: NA Contemporary

Book Length: 190 pages total

Steam Rating: Steamy

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A no-strings fling is what she wants…but is that what she needs?

Sometimes, what you want is not really what you need.

Gail is only twenty-two years old and she is about to lose her mom, if the doctors are to be trusted. After a run in with Scott, the hot gardener from next door, Gail begins to see him as the perfect distraction from her unbearable life. She just wants to feel good with someone who makes her forget, if only for a little while, and Scott fits that description perfectly.

Scott just got back into town and he’s still trying to get his life back together. He already has more problems and regrets than he can ever hope to live with, and the last thing he needs is to get tangled up with a rich girl who is clearly a little unsettled, if not downright insane. But the fact that Gail is very attractive and keeps throwing herself at him makes it impossible to send her away. Which he should, for Gail’s sake more than his own.

Lena Bourne is a young writer, but she has seen her fair share of the world, of love and loss, and all that happens in between. Now she’s here telling the stories you might otherwise have missed, which are made up, of course, but could very well be real and true.

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CHAPTER ONE

Mom’s coughs, raspy and urgent, wake me. Her room is at the far end of the hall, five doors down, yet the sound rips through my chest like she’s lying right next to me. Leaving me, saying goodbye. The too many cocktails I drank at Kate’s party no longer make my thoughts fuzzy, instead they buzz around in my stomach, churning, making me sick. The coughing doesn’t stop, changes pitch until it sounds like she’s screaming. I bolt out of bed and run to the door, the sudden movement making the room spin around me. Dad’s footsteps pound down the hallway as he rushes to my mom’s room, so I sit on the chair by my makeup desk and turn on the sidelights, willing the room to stop spinning.

I’d only be in the way now, if I go to my mom. Then my dad will think he has to take care of us both: comfort my mom and keep me safe. Only he can’t, because my mom is dying, and there is no one who can change that. Twenty-two years old is too young to lose a mom. Cancer. Such a whimsical word for such a terrible disease. My birth sign. Bile rises in my throat as I struggle to chase the thought away, thinking of anything but that. That my birth sign is killing my mom, that I’m killing my mom. It’s childish, and it’s stupid to think it, but the idea still feels like I’ve swallowed broken glass.

I grab my wrist, hoping to clutch the charm bracelet she gave me on my 21st birthday just over a year ago. She gave me all of her jewelry for my birthday this year. Tiny charms dangle from the bracelet: a little princess, a colorful egg, and a golden coin. But all I feel is my racing pulse, a tiny ball bouncing in my vein that might break free at any moment, making me bleed out. The bracelet is gone.

I had worn it to Kate’s party, since I never take it off. I’d only gone to the party for a little distraction, and because Kate’s house is just next door, I could be back with my mom in a few minutes if she needed me. It was a total disaster. Brandon wouldn’t stop pestering me, and he ended up throwing me in the pool for a laugh. After that, I ran home, very nearly crying.

Digging through my makeup table, I send creams and blushes, hairpins and lipsticks toppling to the ground, searching frantically for the bracelet, even though I don’t remember taking it off. I run back to the bed, throwing the sheets, the pillows on the ground, checking the nightstand. The bracelet isn’t anywhere.

I’m outside on the patio before I can think.

Mornings are chilly this late in August, and dawn has hardly broken. All I’m wearing is a white tank top and the silk boxers I sleep in. I run across the lawn barefoot, not thinking of what I may be stepping on. I have to find the bracelet; I have no time to put on shoes.

I crawl through the hole in the fence that separates my garden from Kate’s. It’s a tight fit, now that I’m no longer five years old. Chairs and towels, empty glasses and discarded clothes are still strewn across the lawn, but, thankfully, no one is around. Likely, the cold dawn chased the last of the party away. I glance up at the house to make sure no one is watching. All the windows are dark. A light reflects in the first floor windows, and I drop into a crouch reflexively, but it’s just a passing car.

I find my dress near the pool where I took it off to take a dip. Right before Brandon tossed me in. I just left it lying there when I ran home. Everyone must think I’m completely mental now. I hope Brandon does too. Why won’t he just take a hint? Brandon is Kate’s brother, and since she’s like a sister to me, he’s like a brother to me. I can’t be dating my brother. Besides he’s the love ’em and leave ’em type, and all he can give me is a broken heart. Like he did with his last five girlfriends. As if my heart could take any more breaking.

I look around, tossing things aside, not caring where they land, hoping to find the bracelet. It’s not anywhere. The sun’s not up yet, but birds are chirping something awful all around me, and the sky is more white than grey now. Dawn is my favorite time of day. I love watching the colors of the sky change from inky black to grey to lilac blue and finally yellow, the new day being born, bringing new hope. Today, I just wish the sun would come up.

If the bracelet is not in the grass, it might be in the pool. The thought of going back in the water makes me shiver, but my desperation to get the bracelet back right away is stronger.

I ease myself off the side of the pool in roughly the spot where I went in before, feet first, trying not to make any sound that could wake Kate’s family. It’s like slow torture to do it that way, and my whole body cramps up, but the last thing I need is to cause a panic. I could just go back home and come back once the sun is up, but I can’t. I need that bracelet, or else I won’t sleep.

The cold water grips my body like a vice and I take shallow breaths until the worst of the pain passes. The lights in the pool are off already, they’re connected to the porch lights, and someone thoughtfully turned them all off after the party ended. Too thoughtfully. I could really use those lights right now.

After a final deep breath, I submerge my head, fighting the overwhelming urge to gasp as the cold water goes straight to my brain, which is what it feels like. I can almost see the steam coming off, but at least my heart is no longer pounding. I let myself float on the surface, scanning the floor of the pool. Lucky really, that Kate’s pool is saltwater. I can float, eliminating the need to tread water to keep myself on the surface.

Shadows play upon the mosaic floor of the pool, all blues, whites, yellows, and pinks. I turn slightly to adjust my angle of view. No silver gleams against the tiles anywhere. I only come up for air once my lungs start burning and dip my face back in immediately. Grey is giving way to white in the sky now, so the visibility should soon improve. I’m enjoying the silence, the serenity of floating in the water, with my long hair plastered down my ears, blocking out the chirping birds.

The eerie silence is almost like diving, only without the crushing weight of the water pressing against me. But I can’t see my bracelet anywhere, and no doubt the servants will be out cleaning up soon. I adjust my angle again and am just about to come up for more air when something grabs my waist and flips me over in the water.

I scream and flail, gulp water instead of air, with visions of a shark attacking vivid in my mind. Beating and kicking, I paddle hard to get out of the water, my hair obscuring my vision.

Whatever grabbed me is no longer touching me, but I kick back to the side of the pool frantically anyway, still coughing, still seeing nothing. My knuckles collide with the wall of the pool, but I ignore the pain, scraping my knees as I struggle out of the water. My arms are shaking so badly I can’t lift myself up to get out of the pool.

“Calm the fuck down!” a man yells behind me. “You’ll hurt yourself. It’s alright.”

He places his hands on my hips and lifts me from the water.

I’m panting now, but at least I’m not swallowing water anymore. I brush my hair from my eyes and stand up, though my legs are shaking so hard I’ll probably just topple back down even if I succeed.

The guy is still in the water, eyeing me like I’m insane. “Are you alright?”

I nod as I finally manage to stand.

He hoists himself from the water in one fluid motion. His white t-shirt is plastered against his chest, and his grey pants hug his legs tightly. He’s all muscle, from his biceps, to his shoulders, chest, and stomach that ripples in a neat six-pack. And not those chiseled for-show muscles that otherwise thin guys have. He’s bulky, twice as wide as any guy I know. Even his legs. No wonder he had no problem tossing me out of the pool.

“Are you alright?” he asks again, standing right in front of me now.

I quickly look up into his face, hoping he didn’t notice me checking him out before. He can’t be much older than me, I see now. His short blond hair looks black near his scalp, but stands up in light colored spikes all over his head. His eyes are either blue or grey—the kind of eyes that change color according to the light. And deep. I could stare at his eyes all day long just to see what I could see.

“Are you high?” he asks. I shake my head a little too sharply and feel my boobs bounce around under my tank. My wet white tank, which isn’t covering me up at all right now if the state of his shirt is anything to go by. A thought to cover myself up flitters through my mind, but it’s distant and sounds ridiculous.

His eyes leave my face and travel down, taking me in. He likes what he sees, and I can feel it. It’s like his gaze is fire, and whatever he’s thinking is bringing my blood to a boil, warming me.

His eyes return to my face, my parted lips. His are slightly parted too, like he’s breathing hard, but I don’t hear it.

“What were you doing in the pool? You scared me to death,” he says, his eyes soft now, and his lips curl into a sheepish grin. “I thought you were dead.”

I shake my head again, this time catching my boobs under my arm. “I thought I lost something in the pool. My bracelet… but I can’t find it.”

He turns back to the pool. The ripples from my flight have still not died down completely, and the surface is an opaque white now, reflecting the sky.

“I doubt you’ll find it in there, not now at least. Wait ’til the sun comes up, maybe,” he says and shrugs like he doesn’t think I’ll ever find it.

“I have to find the bracelet,” I say too loudly, too shrilly.

He holds his hands up like he’s wading me off. “Alright, alright, I’m just saying, wait ’til the sun comes up.”

I look up at the sky, checking to see if the sun is anywhere near up. “Everyone will be up by then.”

He smiles at me again. “I can help you look, I guess.”

I let my arms fall to my sides and turn to the pool. My boobs bounce and that hungry look is back in his eyes. They look brown now, almost black. It’s like he’s touching me with his look, and my nipples, erect and clearly visible through my tank prickle like he’d just run his fingers over them. A ball of heat erupts between my legs, heavy and urgent. Somehow, all I can think of are his arms around my hips, and his cock, so plainly outlined by his wet pants, pressing into me. I really want to go for another dip in the pool with him. I can’t remember any other guy ever turning me on so fast, so hard.

“Gail!” Brandon’s whiny voice rips through my fantasy of me and this pool boy entwined in the water. “What’s happening? Is he harassing you?”

Brandon’s footsteps thump through the grass toward us, and the pool boy takes a step away from me, crossing his arms over his chest. I mimic his motion, and face away from Brandon. Likely, his yells have awoken the whole house. A dark shadow passes over the pool boy’s eyes, and he’s staring at Brandon, but he stays quiet.

“I’m fine,” I say and turn to Brandon. He picks up a towel and wraps it around my shoulders, keeping his arm there too like he owns me.

“Your girlfriend lost something,” the pool boy says. “You should keep a better eye on her.”

I shake off Brandon’s arm. “I’m not his girlfriend.”

Somehow, it’s very important that the pool boy knows this. Softness flashes across his eyes but is gone again in an instant.

He turns and walks toward the gardening tools he tossed on the ground by the pool when he thought he had to save me.

I take a step after him, my arm stretched out like I want to pull him back. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I was warm before, when he was looking at me, and now I’m cold.

I cover the gesture by wrapping the towel tighter around myself. “Do you need some dry clothes? I can bring you something.”

He bends over and picks up a hoe off the ground. “Don’t worry about me. I have a change of clothes in my truck.”

Brandon’s next to me, trying to place his arm around me again. I step to the side, and his arm flails through the air. I could swear pool boy chuckles a little seeing it, but I’m not sure. Maybe it’s just what I want to see. I want him to want me.

The sun finally peeks over the fence, and something glimmers a few steps away from me in the grass.

I lunge for it, making both Brandon and the pool boy start.

“My bracelet!” I ‘m clutching it so tightly the charms dig painfully into my palm. I know my face is a mask of deranged glee, but I can’t help it.

The pool boy picks up the rest of his tools and shakes his head, muttering something that could be ‘crazy rich chick,’ but I may be wrong.

“Do you want to go inside? Get warmed up?” Brandon asks. He’s hovering next to me again, standing between the pool boy and me. Going in with him is the last thing I want to do. Pool boy is already at the far side of the garden.

I shake my head and run toward the hole in the fence, wishing Brandon never showed up and I was dipping in the pool with, well, pool boy. I need to find out his name. Pool boy is a dumb nickname. Especially since he’s obviously the gardener.

Dad is standing on the patio and sipping his coffee, his eyes glazed. I’m not even sure he sees me approach.

“How’s Mom?” I ask, forestalling any questions from him and making sure he knows I’m sober and ready for bed.

“She’s asleep now. Try not to wake her.”

I slip past him, not wanting to share his grief. It multiplies when we’re together, breeds, grows, and expands until it’s all there is, and I can’t breathe. A week or so is all Mommy has left. All the doctors agree. I hope they’re wrong. Every second of every minute, I hope they’re wrong. And right now, I’d rather loose myself in the fantasy of pool boy and me in the pool than hope for anything at all.

I fell asleep before I could get any kind of fantasy going, and by the time I wake up it’s almost one in the afternoon. Since, I ended up sleeping in my sweats, I just pull my damp hair into a messy bun and go in search of some coffee.

I stop by my mom’s room, cracking the door open just a little bit to see if she’s awake. All I hear is her raspy, shallow breathing. One of her hands is hanging off the side of the bed, and her cover and sheets are all crumbled up like she just woke from a nightmare. Only she’s still sleeping, each breath like stone grating against sandpaper.

I slip into the room and tiptoe to her bed. My heart is in my throat, beating against the hot, jagged ball of burning tears that’s always there when I see her. I can’t let her see me cry because I’m not a little girl anymore, even though that’s exactly how I feel most of the time now. Like I’m ten and my mommy is dying. She can’t know any of that; it would just make it all harder on her. But she’s asleep now, and a hot tear trickles down my cheek. Only I don’t whimper, don’t let any sound escape my clenched throat. She might wake up. I take her hand, tears rushing from my eyes now, and place it on the bed next to her. She doesn’t stir. The nurse is giving her the maximum amount of morphine she can now. It’s not always enough to dull the pain. And she’s sleeping now. I mustn’t wake her. Yet all I want to do is climb in bed with her. Like I did when I was little. Wake her, talk to her. Laugh. Instead, I’m crying, inching back out of the room silently because I can’t wake her.

I wipe my tears away as I walk down to the kitchen, concentrating hard on the cup of coffee I’m about to have, until it’s all I know and all I think about. I lean against the counter, waiting for the coffee to brew. The window has a partial view of Kate’s service driveway and the red pick-up parked there. A magnolia tree by the fence near it is shaking like someone’s cutting it. Pool boy or gardener. The memory of him, in his wet clothes this morning sends, tingles through my stomach. He’d be a better distraction than a cup of coffee and much better than one of Kate’s wild parties.

I run back up the stairs, untangling my hair as I go. I slip on a sundress with a deep v-cut that I’d normally only wear if it was really hot out. Back in the kitchen, I pour two cups of coffee and walk across the lawn to the fence, hoping pool boy is indeed trimming the magnolia tree.

I climb through the hole in the fence, sloshing hot coffee over my bare leg, but at least I don’t spill it all over my dress. Kate’s high-pitched laugh echoes from the pool, but the hedge from here to the magnolia tree is so thick she shouldn’t be able to see me.

The shrubbery hides me from the pool boy too. He’s wearing a pair of faded jeans now and no shirt. The sunlight makes his skin glisten, and all I really want to do is run my hand down his back, feeling those hard muscles. That desire surprises me. I’m not usually very forward with guys and definitely prefer them to take the lead. He’s got one of those electric cutters going, so he doesn’t hear me approach.

I clear my throat once I reach him. “Excuse me.”

The saw sputters, and the noise dies out. He turns toward me, surprise evident in the way his face hovers between a smile and a frown. I wouldn’t mind touching his lips either.

“I thought you might like some coffee,” I say, holding one of the cups toward him, sloshing more of it across my arm in the process.

He just stares at me like he can’t figure out what I’m doing there.

“Thank you for saving me,” I explain, belatedly adding, “or, you know, trying to.”

He puts the saw down, wipes sweat off his face with the back of his hand, and finally takes the coffee.

“I put milk and sugar in. I don’t know how you like it,” I say rather stupidly.

His eyes, the color of a cloudless blue sky now with just a hint of sunlight dip down to the v of my dress. With the push-up I’m wearing, the dress reveals more than it hides.

“Thanks. I like milk and sugar just fine.”

His gaze warms me again, heat shooting through my stomach. Somehow, I don’t think he’s really talking about the milk and sugar.

What I’m feeling must be showing on my face because he chuckles a little and gulps down the coffee.

“Thank you, Miss…?” he says, holding the empty cup toward me.

“Gail,” I manage.

“Miss Gail,” he says and chuckles again.

“No, just Gail,” I explain too seriously. His eyes are still taking me in, sizing me up, and sending tingles across all the places I wish he’d touch. “And what’s your name?”

“Scott,” he says and shakes the empty cup at me. “And you’re welcome. Anytime. I’m just glad you’re not dead.”

Dead, I hate that word. That word used to be scary, now it’s terrifying. Dead is what my mom will be. Her two-month sentence will be done in one week. An image of her laughing face flashes through my mind, as she bought me the bracelet in Rome, and as she listened to me telling her of that boy I was so helplessly in love with back in sixth grade. She doesn’t laugh like that anymore. Soon she never will. Because she will be dead.

Scott’s eyes narrow and pull together. He bends down and places the cup on the ground. “I should get back to work. Thanks for the coffee. Have a nice day.”

“I’d like to thank you properly,” I hear myself saying, with no idea where the words are coming from or where they’re going. “Do you have time for a proper drink later, after work?”

I’ve never asked a guy out so pointedly before. Never had the nerve. Not in sixth grade, not at any time since. So, I don’t know why I’m doing it now. I must be crazy.

He lifts his eyes up to mine again, stopping just a little too long at my boobs.

My mouth is hanging open, and my eyes must be too wide. I know all this, but can’t stop it. I wish I had Kate’s easygoing manner with guys, but I don’t. And now he’ll say no, thinking I’m just a crazy rich chick, and this is the second time I’m making a total fool of myself in front of him.

He gives me a lopsided grin, and locks his eyes on mine. “I’d love to; I really would, but…”

I hate that ‘but’. At least he’s being nice about it.

I want to wipe the expectant look off my face, but it’s stuck there.

“… that guy, Brandon… he likes you. He’s my boss, sort of, and I need this job, kind of, but I’d love to.”

I know I’m wearing a confused, unattractive grimace on my face right now.

“So is it a yes or a no?” I ask.

A cloud of annoyance covers his eyes, and I look away, down to his chest at his dark red nipples. I wonder what they’d feel like between my teeth. Oh my God, I’ve never ever wanted to suck a guy’s nipples before. What’s wrong with me?

“It’s a no,” he says. It feels more like a slap.

I’m going insane; it’s the only explanation. I’m asking a gardener out on a date. And he said no.

“Fine, fine, whatever,” I mutter, pick up his empty cup, and twirl around, sloshing my own, untouched coffee all over my dress this time.

It’s too much. My mom is dying, I’ve barely slept, I’m not acting like myself at all, and now this guy is rejecting me. Tears blind me.

“I’m sorry.” I think I hear him yell after me, but I’m already climbing back through the fence, sloshing more coffee all over myself. What was I thinking? I’m a mess. I should be with my mom, not chasing guys and wondering what their nipples taste like. Not asking gardeners out on dates.

Title: Black Horse

Author: Addison Kline

Series: Breaking Black Series

Published by: Booktrope

Date published: May 21, 2015

Genres: Romantic Suspense

Book Length: 195 pages

Steam Rating:

Main Characters: Colt & Averi

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“What would you do if the only man you ever loved was the son of the man that murdered your parents?”

In Addison Kline’s fiery romantic suspense novel, Averi Ford’s future collides with her past with ferocious intensity. Averi Ford and Colt McClain have loved each other since they were children. They both come from a broken past. Colt’s mother died when he was young, and Averi’s parents were taken from her at the tender age of five. The same man is responsible for both of their broken childhoods: Tom “Black Horse” McClain. He also happens to be Colt’s father. Now twenty years after the crimes that fractured both of their hearts, Black Horse is getting out of jail and he’s coming after the girl who testified against him: Averi, herself. Colt wants to hide her, but Averi refuses to run.

Addison Kline is an International Best-Selling Author who resides in Philadelphia with her husband, their children and their two dogs. When she is not writing, she enjoys watching reruns of Downton Abbey, The Walking Dead and Sons on Anarchy, traveling with her family and reading to her heart’s content.

Addison is a member of the International Thriller Writers Association and while she loves to write in a variety of genres, Addison always says “mystery is her game.” Her favorite genres to write include romantic suspense, psychological thrillers, mystery and thrillers.

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