(The Game #3)
Publication date: March 27th 2014
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance
Publication date: March 27th 2014
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance
Synopsis:
Her past is wrought with demons.
His past is full of heartbreak.
Yet he’s the one person that can remind her what it means to live.
Abbi Jenkins never thought she would leave the walls of the mental institution that’s housed her for the last year. Now she has, but that doesn’t mean she’s forgotten everything Pearce put her through.
She knows there’s only one way to deal with the depression that claws at her mind each day, and ballet becomes more than a hobby, a dream. Ballet – and Julliard – becomes a reason to live. Something to hold on for.
Blake Smith left London for one reason and one reason only. Running from the heartbreak of his past was never something he wanted to do, but with constant reminders everywhere he turned, it became his only option. When he arrives in New York City, he vows he’ll keep the promise he made to his sister and get into Juilliard.
But he doesn’t expect to be paired with Abbi in class, the girl whose eyes show a world of pain he’s seen before. Pain he knows too well. As each hour they spend together pulls them closer, Blake can’t fight his need to save her from herself.
Lines blur as their pasts are wrenched into the open, and they have to ask themselves whether they’re too broken to ever to be fixed, or if they’re the healing the other needs.
His past is full of heartbreak.
Yet he’s the one person that can remind her what it means to live.
Abbi Jenkins never thought she would leave the walls of the mental institution that’s housed her for the last year. Now she has, but that doesn’t mean she’s forgotten everything Pearce put her through.
She knows there’s only one way to deal with the depression that claws at her mind each day, and ballet becomes more than a hobby, a dream. Ballet – and Julliard – becomes a reason to live. Something to hold on for.
Blake Smith left London for one reason and one reason only. Running from the heartbreak of his past was never something he wanted to do, but with constant reminders everywhere he turned, it became his only option. When he arrives in New York City, he vows he’ll keep the promise he made to his sister and get into Juilliard.
But he doesn’t expect to be paired with Abbi in class, the girl whose eyes show a world of pain he’s seen before. Pain he knows too well. As each hour they spend together pulls them closer, Blake can’t fight his need to save her from herself.
Lines blur as their pasts are wrenched into the open, and they have to ask themselves whether they’re too broken to ever to be fixed, or if they’re the healing the other needs.
Excerpts:
#1:
Blake:
I tap her on the
shoulder. “Do you want to …”
A pair of startlingly
light blue eyes crash into mine. Blue.
That’s what color they are. It’s the kind of blue that makes you stop dead
and instantly makes you think of a crisp summer’s day, complete with beer and a
barbecue. It’s also the kind of blue that shows everything – the hue too pale
to hide shadows lurking beneath – it’s the flicker of darkness that makes me
pause and stare at her.
I’ve seen those shadows
before.
I know how they linger,
barely scratching the surface before pulling you under. And I know the climb is
always harder than the fall … If you’re lucky enough to get a grip on the
climb.
“Do I …?” she questions
shyly, raising her hand to her face then dropping it again.
“Um.” I cough and
scratch the back of my neck. Her hesitant smile reminds me what I’ve actually
approached her for. “Do you want to dance together? Since we have to pair off.
You know. Yeah.”
Shit. I sound like an
awkward teen boy who has no idea how to speak to a girl.
Her smile stretches a
little and her eyes flit around the dance hall. Everyone is paired off and
talking to each other quietly.
“I … Sure,” she replies.
“Great. I’m Blake. Blake
Smith.”
“Abbi Jenkins.” Abbi’s
hand slips into my outstretched one. My fingers curl around her smaller ones,
but my focus isn’t on the silky smooth skin against mine; it’s on the
gentleness of her tone and the way her lips moved when she said her name.
“Abbi,” I repeat. “Have
you danced long?”
“Since I was eight.” She
takes her hand from mine and clasps both of hers in front of her stomach
protectively. “We all need a little something to escape in, right?”
Right. “Definitely.”
#2:
Blake:
I grin slowly, putting
one of my hands behind her, and lean back. I don’t take my eyes from hers, and
her tongue runs across her lips when the flush disappears from her cheeks.
“That’s because boys need the Karma
Sutra. They haven’t worked out there are more ways to make a woman happy than
just using your dick.”
Her eyes widen and her
lips part as blood rushes to her cheeks again. She pushes hair away from her
face and drops her eyes for a second. Only a second. Before I can say another
thing, those baby blues are focused back on mine and holding me trapped.
“I’m guessing you
consider yourself more than a boy?”
“I know I’m not a boy. I
can probably use my hands better than boys can use their tool.”
She coughs and looks
away. “Point taken.”
I watch her, still
smiling. “I’m guessing you’ve only ever been with a boy.”
“Who said I’ve been with
anyone?” she asks quietly.
“No one can look the way
you do and be a virgin.”
Her lips twitch. “This
conversation is getting real personal, y’know.”
“We’re here to get to
know each other.” I grin. “And I maintain my last statement. There’s no way
you’re a virgin.”
“I think I’m taking that
as a compliment.”
“Good. It’s meant to be.
But, uh …” I nudge her and she looks at me. “If you are a virgin …”
Her lips twist upward,
and she shoves me off the boulder before I can finish my sentence. I laugh as I
try to steady myself on the small pebbles underfoot.
“Idiot,” she mutters,
smiling.
I take a step but get my
footing wrong and fall backward. Pebbles dig into my butt and Abbi doubles over
with laughter. Hell no. I put my shoes on the boulder next to me and crawl
across the small but strong stream of water toward her. My hands find her bare
ankles and tug on them.
“Blake!” she cries,
sliding down the rock. I laugh at the shocked look on her face as she falls
into the water. It splashes as she lands in front of me. I grin.
“Not so funny now, huh?”
I tease.
“I’ll give you funny!”
She shoves me again and I fall sideways. My hand grabs hers at the last minute
and I pull her with me, both of us laughing. She lands half on me and half in
the water, and freezes.
Her body and her eyes
tell different stories. Her body is frozen and the only part of her that’s
moving is the rapid rising and falling of her chest. Her hand, pressed against
my chest, trembles in something akin to fear. But her eyes aren’t wide and
scared. They’re hooded and full of laughter. They’re focused on mine, intense,
unrelenting, unwavering. They’re beautiful. She’s
beautiful.
#3:
Abbi:
Blake steps up to my
side and places a hand on my stomach. The fingers of his other hand slide
across my back and curl around my waist, raising with me as I move back en pointe. I try to hide the tensing of
my body at his touch, try to hide the irrational sliver of fear snaking through
my body.
Slowly, he begins to
walk around me, moving me to the music, performing our opening promenade. As we spin, I move my arms
into third position and extend my right foot into the attitude position. My eyes are forward, away from Blake, but I know
his steps are precise and at exact intervals. I also know he’s doing it as
easily as he breathes. We’re the same in that dancing is almost unconscious for
us both. It just happens.
We move into the rest of
our entrée, dancing together as if
we’ve done so our whole lives. The familiar feeling of letting go comes over
me, and I close my eyes, losing myself in our movements both seperately and
together. Now, Blake’s touch is no longer threatening. It doesn’t scare me, not
when the moves are all I can feel.
The moment ends too
soon, and I come crashing back down to reality. My ankle throbs, as if to
remind me what life really is, and my chest tightens. I take a long, deep
breath and try to remember that I’m safe. That this is ballet. That Blake won’t
hurt me – that he can’t hurt me here. That no-one can.
But it doesn’t work. The
panic rises in my chest, a tiny ball of it swelling and pulsing until it
consumes my core, twisting and turning in my stomach. My deep breaths become
short and sharp, my eyes burn with tears and my hands shake uncontrollably.
Blood pounds through my body, strengthening the throb at my ankle, rushing to
every part of my body scarred by my past.
Each scar burns.
#4:
Blake:
“Let me go,” she begs.
“Please, Blake.”
I shake my head. “No.
Not until you talk to me.”
She tries harder to
throw me off her. “There’s nothing to talk about!”
“That’s bullshit, and
you know it.”
“It doesn’t matter. It
doesn’t matter anymore. None of them matter a single damn bit!”
“It matters to me.”
She stops moving. Her
eyes crash into mine as she snaps her head up, and her lips purse. “Well it
shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter to me anymore.”
“Then why are you hiding
them?”
“Because I hate them!”
She finally knocks my hands off and turns, walking a few paces before stopping.
“I hate them and everything they are. Everything they mean. Everything they
remind me of. I hate them.”
Her voice is thick with
tears both falling and unshed and her shoulders rise and fall with each heavy
breath she takes. Standing in the middle of this huge studio, she looks tiny.
And with her shoulders falling forward, her head hanging and her arms tucked
around her, she looks completely and utterly broken.
She looks exactly how my
heart feels.
Silence lingers between
us. No words are spoken, and I’m waiting for her to say something. Anything.
Even if she just tells me to piss off, that’ll do, even if it’s not what I
want.
“They remind me of how
things were,” she whispers, her voice barely there yet seems to echo off the walls.
“They’re everything my life was. Everything I don’t want it to be again.
They’re hideous. They’re the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen, and I can’t believe
I ever thought what caused them was beautiful. They taint my skin in the worst
way, and I’m ashamed of them. If I knew I’d be stuck with them for the rest of
my life I would never have done it or I would have cut even deeper.” Her voice
trails off at the end.
My stomach rolls. “Don’t
say that. Ever.”
“It’s true.”
I press my chest against
her shuddering back, pull her into me, and rest my cheek against the side of
her head. My hands take her arm and I ease the material of her leotard up to
her elbows. She breathes in sharply and squeezes her eyes shut when I touch my
thumb to her wrist.
The scars stretch up the
inside of her arm, crossing each other and disappearing under her sleeve. I can
barely believe what I’m looking at – each one of them is perfectly healed, some
of them barely visible to my eyes. I know we see different things when we look
at her arms.
“How many?” I whisper,
my voice thick. “How many are there?”
“I don’t know. Hundreds,
maybe. Everywhere. They’re everywhere.”
#5:
Abbi:
“Come dance,” he
repeats, spinning suddenly.
“You’re insane.” I shake
my head. “I’ll get soaked.”
Blake grins. “Isn’t that
the point of dancing in the rain?”
“It’s getting crazy out
there. I’m getting wet even standing here because of the damn windows!” I move
into the center of the shelter. “Freakin’ hell.”
“So what’s the problem?
Come on.” He holds a hand out, his long fingers begging me to grasp them. I
look from his hand to his eyes, his twitching lips, his wet hair dripping down
his face.
“I … No.”
“Trust me.” He’s not
asking me. “Trust me, Abbi. Just two minutes. That’s all you have to do. Just
take my hand and dance in the rain with me for two short minutes.”
“Why are you so
determined to get me out there? If you want to dance, we can do that here.”
He steps back under the
shelter and takes my hovering hand. He’s wet but heat radiates off him and
wraps around me. Our faces are inches apart as I look up at him and he down at
me.
“Because I see the way
you lose yourself when you dance and I want you to lose yourself like that with
me. I want you to get lost in me.
It’s selfish but I don’t care.”
I breathe in sharply and
try to ignore the way his grip on my hand tightens. “I don’t … I don’t know if
I can let myself,” I whisper.
“Sure you can. You just
admitted you don’t have to pretend with me. And you don’t.” Blake takes my
other hand and slowly pulls me forward. “All you have to do is close your eyes.
I promise you, you won’t get lost alone.”
----
By day, New York Times and USA Today bestselling New Adult author Emma Hart dons a cape and calls herself Super Mum to a terrible two year old and growing bump, due September 2013. By night, she drops the cape, pours a glass of juice and writes books.
She likes to write about magic, kisses and whatever else she can fit into the story. Sarcastic, witty characters are a must. As are hot guys. Emma is currently working too many books to even count - including Playing for Keeps, the companion book to the New York Times and USA Today bestselling novel, The Love Game. She likes to be busy - unless busy involves doing the dishes, but that seems to when all the ideas come to life.
She likes to write about magic, kisses and whatever else she can fit into the story. Sarcastic, witty characters are a must. As are hot guys. Emma is currently working too many books to even count - including Playing for Keeps, the companion book to the New York Times and USA Today bestselling novel, The Love Game. She likes to be busy - unless busy involves doing the dishes, but that seems to when all the ideas come to life.
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