Blurb:
"I dare you."
Those words would change adrenaline junkie, Alice Harrison's life forever. She's a party girl that doesn't believe in love until she meets a man that only writes about it.
"I dare you."
Those words would change adrenaline junkie, Alice Harrison's life forever. She's a party girl that doesn't believe in love until she meets a man that only writes about it.
Seth James escaped his overbearing father and moved into one of the James family's vacant condos, hoping to create the music he loves in peace. But the fragile calm he's envisioned shatters when a tiny woman with a world full of energy bounces out of the elevator and nearly takes him out.
With the patience of a saint, Seth seeks the dark that keeps Alice from enjoying life. He challenges her to exorcise the demons in her past in order to discover the true meaning of love. But when the walls fall down, the hidden deceptions will bare the ugly truth about a woman drowning in sorrow and a man who may not know how to be her hero.
Excerpt:
Alice
I race to the elevator, stab the button and it pings open. We live in an eight level condo with all the finery you can ask for. My “father” dabbles in oil, and Molly and her mother reap the benefits. Although, if Row had her way about it, Molly would be in a home right now and I’d be on the streets.
The floor drops beneath my feet and my stomach hiccups with the fall. I love it. It’s the same feeling I get when I jump. Cliff diving, sky diving—when I could afford it—even that time I jumped off the Sampson Street bridge onto the train and rode it through town gave me the same hiccup, only bigger. Much bigger and way more satisfying.
I’m still riding the sensation when the elevator doors glide open, and without waiting for a clear view, I rush out and smack into a wall of solid muscle only to immediately fall back into the closing doors. One strong forearm wraps around my waist while another zips past my face to keep the doors from shutting on my head. A firm thigh, still in a lunge move, cradles my hip. We pant in a diagonal position. I glance at his wide chest, up to his neck where veins bulge, and on to his chiseled chin covered by a dark stubble surrounding a perfect bottom lip that twitches but doesn’t lift.
Holy damn, he’s fucking beautiful and I’m jumping again. Jumping or falling. Not sure which is scarier.
He glances down and I freeze under his intense blue eyes. They aren’t glacier, cobalt, or any other pretty color. Just intensely blue. His gaze roams over my face, landing on my pierced eyebrow and he frowns.
Well, what do I care if he doesn’t like it?
I squirm, twisting against the heat of his abdomen, trying to right myself and leave the awkward comfort of his grip. “Uh, thanks.”
The air whooshes out of my lungs when he pulls me closer and helps me stand. “You should watch where you’re going.”
Really? Maybe he shouldn’t be freaking gorgeous. Then my body wouldn’t want to stay pressed against his. “And maybe you shouldn’t stand that close to the elevator doors.”
One dark brow arches. “Is that so?”
I shrug and edge past him. I don’t have time for a lecture and sure as hell won’t take one from a stranger that doesn’t have the sense to move out of the way for exiting traffic. I cross the foyer with the weight of his gaze on my back.
Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around.
I want to so bad.
The shiny silver lockboxes have never looked better. I stab in the key and slip out the three small letters from our slot.
Bill. Bill. Something from my father addressed to me.
He never speaks to me anymore—it seemed that as soon as I’d found my own will to stand my ground, he didn’t like me near as much as he used to proclaim. I palm the short stack and head back to the elevator where he waits.
He’s reclining against the buttons, one foot kicked back resting on the wall like he doesn’t have a care in the world, and he’s watching me. A frown tips down the edges of his bottom lip. I stop and tilt my head, matching his scowl. He crosses his arms over his chest and it further defines the muscles in his forearms, bare beneath his short sleeved t-shirt.
I slam my hand on my hip. “What?” I think I’m more pissed with myself for letting him get to me.
“Are you going to apologize?”
Was he serious? “For what?”
“You ran into me.”
“You were in the way. Besides, you weren’t hurt.” I tap my toe, growing more restless under his stare—and growing hotter with each spark blazing in his gaze. “Are you going to move?”
“No.” His lips lift up at the corner, but not all the way into a grin. He is enjoying this power play. Well, news flash buddy, I don’t do those. Unless I’m on top.
http://www.goodreads.com/
Drowning has it's own page on my website:
http://www.rachelfirasek.com/#
Rachel Firasek spends her days daydreaming of stories and her nights putting the ideas to ink. She has spent a dull life following the rules, meeting deadlines, and toeing the line, but in her made up worlds, she can let the wild side loose. Her wonderful husband and three children support her love of the written word and only ask for the occasional American Idol or Swamp People quality hour.
She has a philosophy about love. It must devastate or it isn't truly worth loving. She hopes that you all find your devastating love and cling to it with all your heart!
You can meet her at:
https://www.facebook.com/
https://twitter.com/
http://www.rachelfirasek.com
http://www.rachelfirasek.
http://www.goodreads.com/
http://www.amazon.com/Rachel-
No comments:
Post a Comment