Cover Reveal, Uncategorized

As You Were by Lee Piper

Title: As You Were
Series: A Rising Star Novel Book 2
Author: Lee Piper
Genre: Contemporary Rocker Romance
Release Date: December 7, 2018
Cover Design: Hang Le
They say love is beautiful.
They lie.
Love is a dark, broken man with whiskey-colored eyes. Love is knowing he will never return my feelings. It is the final chord of a guitar riff as it bleeds into silence.
Love is Zeke Danton.
I convinced myself I needed him. I thought there was no one better to record my debut album with…
I was wrong.
Encased in layers of ice, he wears his pain like a protective shield.
Wanting what I can’t have might ruin me. But so help me, I crave his destruction.

Lee Piper is a lover of books. She often juggles reading seven novels at a time for the sheer joy of it. At the grand old age of five, Lee Piper decided to become an author, however found a limited market for her unicorn stories. So, high school English teacher it was.
At thirty-two, and grieving the loss of her second miscarriage, Lee Piper turned to novels—Kylie Scott to be precise—to escape the pain. This then inspired her to write Rock My World, the first in a four part contemporary romance series. Her debut novel not only reached the second round of the 2016 Emerald Award, but also became an Evernight Publishing bestseller within the first two weeks of publication.

Lee Piper lives in Adelaide, South Australia with her drummer husband, cheeky daughters, and one very crazy dog.
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Cover Reveal, Uncategorized

Just Joe by Jen Luerssen

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Cover Reveal
Just Joe by Jen Luerssen
Cover Design by Just Write. Creations
Photographer- CJC Photography

https://goo.gl/3kF7WZ
Releases November 27, 2018

Hey there, beautiful! I’m Joe, just Joe, not like that asshole with a heart of gold, F*cking Frank. Hope you’re not too disappointed that I kept my abs under wraps, I’m no show off. Check out the guns, though, am I right?
Really, my abs would have distracted you too much away from my handsome face, and that would have been a travesty. I am the full package—handsome, built, funny, charming. You could say I’m a little full of myself, but I’m just honest. We are always told to build our self confidence and believe in ourselves. Then you agree when someone compliments you and you’re some kind of monster.
Wait until you meet Betsy, she’s fantastic and I’m sure you’ll love her. She’s a stripper, oh shit, I mean she’s a burlesque dancer. Please don’t tell her I messed that up. She hates when I call her a stripper. She’s also a f*cking genius computer whiz.
Betsy hired me and my construction company to renovate her house. I’m a musician but I also really like making people’s homes up to date, plus it pays a shit ton.
Bets and I have friend-zoned each other but I secretly have the hots for her. My brother, Jack thinks I’m crazy for just being friends, but he’s only 18 and was raised by me, so he clearly knows nothing.
Or maybe he’s the smart one.
I think you should get this book and see what happens, or at least get it for the perfection that is the cover, ya know, me.

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Cover Reveal, Uncategorized

Scar Me by India R. Adams

Scar Me by India R. Adams is releasing on December 1st!
Check out this incredible cover!
ADD TO YOUR TBR — http://bit.ly/2qAdztH

Monsters in the night aren’t what I had to fear.
It was him…
Alone in his bedroom, we fought his demons from the past.
And I kept it all a secret.
I should’ve told.
I should’ve screamed…
But I didn’t. I loved him.
So down the haunted road I went.

Cover Design: Jay Aheer
Cover Model (Steal Me): Andrew Chastain | http://www.andrewchastain.com
Cover Photography (Steal Me): Nathan Baerreis Photography | http://bit.ly/2PeBq10

Start the series NOW with Steal Me!

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“Some relationships have hidden truths that few can survive. Only us strong ones can dare listen to, and have the balls to stay and bear witness to, the result of irrevocable damages. So tell me, Maverick, are you one of the strong?”

Maverick, unfortunately, is well aware of Tucker’s meaning. Mav has recently lost his father, his mother is slipping into a depression, and his little sister is in desperate need of a parental figure. But now he’s losing his heart to Tucker’s mysterious sister, Delilah. As Maverick squints into the sun, looking at the beauty standing in front of the lake, he wonders if his heart is crazy for begging him to take on yet another tragedy.

*Warning: This book is intended for mature audiences and may contain possible triggers with sexual abuse.*

About the Author:

India is either hiding away and writing in the Smokey Mountains of North Carolina, in a studio writing and recording songs for the Forever series, in yoga trying to find her Zen (that keeps escaping her), walking down an old dirt road (no joke), outdoors with her dogs and family (because to live without the sun is a crime), in a coffee shop talking books (Caf’n’chat), or floating in a lake (when the weather permits). She thinks reading books is the answer to all problems (and having a glass of red wine is a fabulous second solution). She loves to chat with readers because she says they are brilliant and most passionate.

Connect with India!

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/IndiaRAdams/
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Now Available, Uncategorized

Connected in Pain (Ravage MC Rebellion Series Book 1) by Ryan Michele

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**NEW RELEASE & GIVEAWAY**
Connected in Pain (Ravage MC Rebellion Series Book 1) by Ryan Michele is #NowAvailable!

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Same Family Connection

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Release Blitz, Uncategorized

She’s Country Strong by Heatherly Bell

Title: She’s Country Strong
A Wilder Sisters Novel
Author: Heatherly Bell
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: November 9, 2018

Blurb
When a disgraced country singer meets a wealthy rancher, sparks fly!

From enemies to lovers…

Sabrina Wilder’s scandal derailed her singing career, so when there’s interest
from Nashville in staging a comeback, an image consultant is hired to repair
her tarnished halo. But the handsome man she meets is stubborn, bossy, and
issues orders. He wouldn’t recognize the word “please” if it lassoed
him.

This Texas rancher is a fixer…

Damien “D.C” Caldwell works with celebrities to repair their damaged images.
Now, he’s amassed a large enough fortune to retire and return to his beloved
Texas. Tasked for one last job, D.C. heads to the beach town of Whistle Cove,
California for what should be an easy fix.

When one night in Hollywood turns their relationship into a tailspin, these two
opposites suddenly can’t stay away from each other. But they’re headed in two
different directions for very different lives.

He’s headed to his ranch and a lifetime of peace and solitude…

She’s headed back to the bright lights of Nashville and a very public life…

Purchase Links

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Also Available

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Author Bio

Heatherly
Bell drinks coffee, craves cupcakes, and occasionally wears real pants.
She lives
in northern California with her family.
Author Links
New Release, Uncategorized

Tangled IN YOU by Cassandra Night

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★★ RELEASE BLITZ ★★

Tangled IN YOU by Cassandra Night, is LIVE!

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BLURB

How do you begin to live when an unbearable tragedy only allows you to exist?

You become me.

A construct of perfect lines and shields built to protect the heart, allowing only short gasps of air and small rays of sunlight, to endure the pain.

My life was left in ruins when I lost everyone I loved. I forfeited everything I once was to keep their memories protected from everyone else. To survive, I pushed it down, kept it locked away, desperate to forget the truth.

Then he showed up, willing and daring me to feel again, to raise me from the ashes of despair. It was a mistake to let myself believe I was ready, because now, through the fissures in my armor she is trying to return and take it all back by force.

Eventually, all secrets are bound to unravel revealing terrible things about the past. Can I, survive the gale of sorrow, after I let them in again?

DARKNESSFEAR-MADE-ME

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Cassandra Night is a new author of unusual heart-breaking, soul healing stories full of hope and love.

She lives in England with her two sons and very patient husband, enjoying coffee mornings and books like chocolate desserts. Cassandra Night is an obsessive reader of romance, and since she found a new passion in writing, now she loves to submerge herself in her own stories too.

She writes real, flawed characters that you can peel layer by layer until their souls are wide open, and hearts bleeding at your feet. Cassandra’s stories are realistic and gritty, also involve characters dealing with mental issues and their emotional growth overcoming their struggles.
If you are a lover of deeply emotional, flawed and realistic stories with a lot of anguish, her books are for you!

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Release Blitz, Uncategorized

Safe Rider by Jessica Ames

Title: Safe Rider
Series: A Lost Saxons Novel #2
Author: Jessica Ames
Genre: Contemporary MC Romance
Release Date: November 9, 2018
Cover Design: Kellie Dennis at Book Cover by Design
Rule #1 of getting life back on track: don’t fall for a biker…

A new life; a new start—that was what Liv needed after escaping her violent marriage. Moving to Kingsley was a chance to rebuild what was broken and show the world she wasn’t defeated by her past. No part of that plan involved falling in love with a biker.
Dean never expected to want the sweet woman living across the street. She’s not his type, yet he can’t stay away from her. When trouble follows Liv, he’s one step behind, ready to defend her because his time in the Lost Saxons Motorcycle Club has taught him two things: how to ride and how to protect what is his. And Liv is his—even if she doesn’t know it yet.


Chapter Two
Present day…
I’m unloading groceries from my car when I first see him. It’s the roar of the engine that draws my attention. It’s so obnoxiously loud in the quiet cul-de-sac that I can’t stop my eyes from gravitating towards the sound. As I do, the mid-afternoon sunlight catches the chrome pipes, momentarily blinding me before the bike moves into the shadows of the trees lining the road.
I don’t know a thing about motorcycles, but I can appreciate the beauty of it. It’s a beast of a machine, with an emerald green fuel tank and pearl accents. It’s a bike designed to catch attention, and it does. Even if it didn’t, the man riding it would. To say he’s imposing is an understatement.
With fascination—and a healthy dose of trepidation—I watch as he stops the bike in the driveway opposite my house and pulls off his helmet.
His head is covered in a thin layer of dark fuzz, which is at odds with the amount of hair covering his jaw, and every inch of skin not covered by clothes is inked. I’m more than certain his body is covered in even more artwork than I can see.
He isn’t classically handsome, nor is he the type I would usually find attractive, but there is something about him. Maybe it’s the bad boy vibe, or the confidence of his movements—I’m not sure. He’s only wearing plain, boring, black jeans—nothing special—but they do fit him perfectly. The dark denim hangs in a way that accentuates his narrow hips and his tight bum. Beneath his leather vest he has on a loose, dark sweatshirt, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Looking at him, it’s like he rolled up out of hell to cause mayhem. Simon could never pull off that look, not in a million years. He is a trousers and button-up shirt kind of guy.
He’s also a huge bastard—one that should not be entering my head at all.
My breath catches and all thoughts of Simon vanish as the biker turns and I get a full view of the back of his vest. There are two crossed swords dripping blood onto a skull wearing a helmet. This is macabre enough, but it’s finished off with a T-cross piece over the skeletal nose and red, burning coals for eyes. The words ‘Lost Saxons’ are arced across the top of the garment, ‘Kingsley’ across the bottom.
He’s not just a biker, he’s a biker.
I’m not a native to Kingsley, but I also don’t live under a rock; I know what the Lost Saxons Motorcycle Club is. They’re well-known, even outside the former colliery town. If the newspapers are to be believed, they deal in drugs, weapons—anything that will give them a quick payout. They’re criminals, a gang of men dedicated to living outside the confines of the law, and from the looks of it, I have one of their members living across the road from me.
And he definitely lives there because he’s moving up the path towards the front door with a comfortable ease that only comes from being in your own space.
The bands around my chest loosen a little as he steps inside the house, the front door banging closed behind him, and once again peace and tranquillity return.
I’ve been in Kingsley for more than a year, but I’ve only been renting this property for the past three months. It’s the first time I’ve felt truly happy since I left Simon; the therapy, the breathing techniques, the finding something good in each part of the day is working and I finally feel as if I’m moving forward.
But now I have a biker living on my road.
Maybe I can move somewhere else…
Except, I signed a twelve-month tenancy agreement. Why? Because this house has a good square footage, is in a quiet part of Kingsley and was a bargain.
Now, I’m wondering if Mr Biker is the reason why the rent is so cheap.
I shake myself.
Firstly, for being so judgemental; I’m not usually. This is because so many people have judged me over the years and usually they come to the wrong conclusion. Secondly, because in the months I’ve lived here, this is the first time I’ve seen him. Clearly, he’s not a frequent visitor to the house.
I stare at the now-closed door and sigh. Maybe I should worry about my own problems and not who is living across the street from me. But I can’t help but feel concerned. I left my old life behind, reclaiming what was left of the woman I was before I met Simon. Even after all this time, I’m still trying to work out who this version of me is, but I figure she’s the kind of woman who would not care about the biker living across the street. I also figure she is the kind of woman who doesn’t get involved in other people’s business unless it becomes her business.
But he is a problem and he most definitely is my business, because he lives spitting distance from my front door. I don’t need the kind of trouble this man and his Club will bring. I need quiet, and I need safety. I don’t need the police camped on the front lawn.
Feeling irritated—and a little anxious—I reach into the boot of my car, gather up my shopping bags and heave them out with a grunt. Juggling my load, I fumble for the lid of the boot and manage to get it closed without dropping anything. This is a feat in itself, given how heavy these bags are. How much did I buy?
This is something I have struggled to get used to since I set out on my own: shopping for myself. I was so used to getting whatever Simon wanted, not what I wanted or needed that I now have a tendency to overindulge when I’m in the supermarket. I have to remember I’m on a budget and that I can’t afford a hundred pounds a week food bill. But the freedom to do as I please goes to my head more often than I would care to admit—even after all this time.
I barely take two steps before I feel something shift. Then, the weight of the bags changes as the plastic splits from handle to seam. Laden down as I am, I can do nothing but watch in seemingly slow motion as my milk carton hits the concrete at force, spraying white into the air like a geyser while the rest of the contents spill out onto the pavement, my apples rolling to settle in the gutter.
Well, shit.
I move to my car and carefully place the other bags in the boot before turning back to the carnage I have wrought. A white river of milk is free-flowing across the paving slabs and staining the grassy verge.
Shit, shit, shit.
I move to pick up the first fallen item—a ruffled looking lettuce—when a deep, gravelly voice says, “Do you need a hand?”
I jump practically out of my skin; I can’t help it. It’s not a normal response and I know this, but I can’t stop it. My flight response battles with my fight for dominance as I spin around. And my body, which has been conditioned to react over the years, tries to recoil. It takes everything I have to stand still as I let out a garbled yelp.
“Jesus!” I gasp out as I realise the voice belongs to my neighbour from across the street: the biker.
For a moment a tendril of fear works through me, but it winds back a notch when he doesn’t make any sudden movements. I put a hand to my sternum, trying to control my thrumming heartbeat, then drag in a shuddering breath as my counsellor’s voice sounds in the back of my mind: I am in control; I can keep myself safe.
And I can. I have been doing it for months now quite successfully.
For his part, Mr Biker looks contrite and slightly concerned, as if worried I may keel over. It is a possibility, given how much of a workout my respiratory system is getting, courtesy of him.
“You nearly gave me a coronary,” I snap, which is probably not the best idea, given the present company, but shock makes my mouth engage before my brain. 
“Fuck,” he mutters, as a tattooed hand runs over his buzzed head. My eyes of their own volition follow the movement and I have to drag my gaze back to his face. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay,” I mutter.
This close up, I can see his eyes are pale, a blue so light it looks grey. He’s also wearing a ring through his left nostril that I shouldn’t like, but find I do. I don’t usually like piercings, nor do I like tattoos, but he pulls both off perfectly. Too perfectly, really. He’s nothing like Simon who was more at home in a suit rather than jeans and never left the house without ensuring his hair was perfectly styled. I doubt this man cares about that kind of thing; he’s dressed for comfort. He’s rough, hard, but there is something about him that I like—and I don’t even want to dissect that.
Boy, do I have bad taste in men? First Simon, now I’m lusting over a criminal. I should become celibate and join a nunnery.
But he is good looking, even under the bad boy appearance.
“Do you have another bag?”
“What?” I pull my attention from scanning the thick scruff of beard covering his jaw. It’s verging on wild and this close to me, I can see it has copper-flecks among the brown.
“A bag: do you have another? To put the food in,” he clarifies, speaking slowly, as if I’m not with it—which I’m not. I’m rattled having him in my space, and not just because my hormones are standing to attention. The man belongs to one of the most notorious biker gangs in the country, and he’s also at least five inches taller than I am. He’s bulky, in an athletic way, rather than a steroid way, but that means nothing; Simon wasn’t built but he could still overpower me. That in itself is enough to make me wary, although I do everything not to show it.
He’s not going to hurt you.
Breathe it out, Olivia.
“Oh. Yeah.” I move back to the car and find a spare shopping tote tucked away. When I turn back to the biker and hand him the bag I do it with a lot more confidence than I feel.
He takes it without a word, opening it up and gestures for me to hold it for him. I do so without question. Why? I don’t know. I should run into my house and hide because this man is dangerous. His leather vest with the skull on the back, the tattoos, the swagger: everything about him exudes just how dangerous he is. Except, he’s standing on my driveway, helping me to collect the remains of my scattered shopping.
Are bikers supposed to be helpful?
I stand silently as he puts each item into the open tote bag, unsure what to say.
“Your milk is fucked,” he tells me unnecessarily because I can see that, “but the rest should be salvageable.”
I stare at the river of white wending over the concrete. This means another trip to the supermarket, unless I can survive with black coffee for tonight.
“Crap,” I whisper.
He runs a hand over his beard, and I notice his tattoos span down his arms to the backs of his hands as well. His skin is covered with so many different designs that it’s difficult to take it all in, but I see he has the same insignia on the back of his leather vest tattooed on his left forearm. On his right wrist, just above the palm, the word ‘Karma’ is stamped. I don’t even want to think why he has that tattoo. What karma is he dealing out?
Realising I’m staring—again—I pull my gaze back to his face, but he doesn’t notice my gawking because he’s focused on the milk spillage.
“It’s only milk,” I say. “No use crying over it, right?” 
Then his lips quirk and I forget he’s a dangerous criminal because my mouth is suddenly dry. It softens his entire demeanour and I suddenly want to see him smile every day.
“I guess not. I have some in the house, if you need it.”
I wonder when he was here to bring milk; this is definitely the first time I’ve seen signs of life at the house across the street.
“Do you want me to grab you some?” he continues.
As tempting as that is, I shake my head. “I think I’ll survive one evening without milk, but thank you.”
This is debatable but I’m not keen on being indebted to this man—even if it is only milk. It’s a ridiculous thought but my brain is completely frazzled right now. At least this is the excuse I’m giving myself.
He hands me the newly filled bag and I take it with murmured thanks, trying not to react as his fingers brush over the back of my hand. I can’t deny the way that feels. There is electricity between us—at least on my part, although I swear I see a slight widening of his eyes at our touch. Perhaps I imagined it because it’s gone so fast I can’t be sure it was there in the first place.
He sniffs then clears his throat and my cardiac muscle gets another workout as it beats faster.
“You just moved in?”
“Oh, yeah. Well, about three months ago.”
He blinks and then his brow pulls together. “Shit, really? Three months?”
I nod.
“I need to start coming to the house more.” He jerks a thumb in the direction of the property he disappeared into before. “I own number fifteen, but I spend most of my time at the clubhouse.”
The clubhouse. With the dangerous bikers where he is a member. This sobers me completely and brings me out of my fantasy. It doesn’t matter how nice he’s being, how polite, I need to bring this to an end. I do not need his kind of drama in my already drama-filled life.
“Thank you for your help, but I should get the food inside before it spoils.”
He studies me. Intently. I try not to squirm under that look. “I’ll help.”
“Oh, there’s no need.”
“I’ll help,” he repeats, as if I didn’t protest.
This annoys me, but I don’t have the chance to voice this because without invitation, he plucks the tote from my hands and reaches into the boot. He wraps a fist around the whole lot and pulls it out as if it weighs nothing, and without a word starts up the path to the front door.
My front door.
Crap!
I quickly reach for the boot, pulling the lid down and tug my handbag up my shoulder as I jog after him. His legs are longer than mine though and he eats up the space in a few steps. This means he’s waiting for me outside the porch when I reach him.
He lifts the bags slightly. “These are heavy, darlin’; do you want to open the door, so I can put them inside?”
I really don’t. It’s one thing him carrying my bags from the car to my front door, but him being inside my house… I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that at all. But I don’t want to be rude and I don’t want to upset the potentially dangerous biker with the cute face and overinflated sense of chivalry either.
I hesitate too long because his smile fades and his jaw tightens. I see the anger flash in his eyes as he realises why I’m hesitating. Muscle memory is a powerful thing because my brain doesn’t register it’s not Simon; all it registers is the perceived danger. To my mortification, I recoil back as if he struck me. My life with Simon may feel like a decade ago, but that primal instinct to protect myself is still the first thing to switch on when I meet someone new—someone I don’t yet know is safe.
His eyes narrow further. It’s like watching a train wreck in slow motion, and I can do nothing to stop the destruction.
There is a moment of silence that seems to span an era. It’s so quiet all I can hear is my own ragged breathing and his huffing.
Finally, he speaks.
“Christ, you try to fucking help someone and this is how they thank you?” He grinds the words between clenched teeth. Then he snorts and shakes his head. Not too gently, he dumps the bags on the ground and leans into me. I pull away from him, my back hitting the side of the storm porch as he gets into my space, all six-foot-plus of him. I have to raise my chin to meet his gaze, and I wish I didn’t because he looks hurt beneath the anger and for some reason that doesn’t sit right with me.
“For the record, I was just going to take your bags inside for you. I usually leave the raping and murdering for the weekend.”
He gives me the dirtiest look I’ve ever seen, turns on a booted heel and starts back up the path. I let my lungs finally reboot and draw in air when he reaches the end of the drive, and I’m filled with a new emotion. This one is abject embarrassment. He didn’t do anything wrong. All he did was try to be nice and I treated him like crap. Did I really think he was going to come into my house and hurt me?
I don’t know.
Old habits die hard.

Shit.


Jessica Ames was raised in a small market town in the Midlands, England. She lives with her crazy mongrel terrier and when she’s not writing she’s playing with crochet hooks. From the moment she was old enough to hold a pen she created fantastical stories and by the age of 17 had written her first full-length novel: a fantasy story about an exiled boy king. It was a cliched mess, but she realised she could, in fact, write and finish a book!

Knowing she needed to make money, she found work in the publishing world. Over the next decade, she honed her skills and worked hard to learn everything she could about writing. In January 2018, in a moment of insanity, she quit her job in magazine publishing to write books full time.

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Release Boost, Uncategorized

Twisted Love by R. Linda

Title: Twisted Love
Series: Stockholm Syndrome Series Book 1
Author: R. Linda
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Release Date: November 7, 2018

Running.
It’s what I do. What I’ve always done. 
For fitness. For fun. 

And now for fear.

He took me. Trapped me. Destroyed me. 
Broke me down, little by little. 

His captive.
His slave.
His pet.

But…something unleashes.

Something forbidden. The passion. The pleasure.
It’s wrong. Unforgiving, and I should do what I do.

Run like Hell.
From this Twisted Love.
I didn’t even realise that I had reached for him, until Hendrix flinched at my touch. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He shook his head.
“Do you want me to stop?” I asked as I touched the small round cigarette burns.
“No.”
There were hundreds of them, dotting his. I traced my fingers over each one, feeling his pain. My heart clenched.
Hendrix’s breathing increased and I wondered if I was pushing him too far, but he still didn’t stop me.
My hand drifted down to a large triangular scar on his lower back. I traced the slightly curved edges and winced in pain as I thought about what could have caused such a bad scar.
“What did he do to you?” I whispered so soft I wasn’t sure Hendrix heard.
“Hot iron. My shirt was wrinkled and I looked like a slob.”
“Oh, Hendrix.”
“I was eleven.”
If it were possible for my heart to break any more, it did, right then.
Shattered.
Tears rolled down my cheeks as images of an eleven-year-old Hendrix being held down by Ray flashed through my mind.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered into his back, wrapping my arms around his waist until they came to rest on his stomach. His hands found mine, covering them completely. His body trembled, and I had no idea how to comfort him. How to take away the pain, torment, torture.
I pressed my lips to a scar on his shoulder and he tensed, tightened his fingers around mine. I wanted to make him feel better, make him forget the pain of his past for just a little while.
Throwing caution to the wind, I turned him to face me.
“Lucy.” His voice was low, gravelly. “Stop.”
“No.” I cupped his cheek with my hand and pressed my lips together in a small smile. “Kiss me.”
He froze. Conflict warred in his eyes as he lowered his gaze and dragged it leisurely over my body.
I just wanted a moment for us to both forget. For Hendrix to lose himself in me and forget his past. I wanted to forget where I was, forget that my life was hell. I wanted to feel something other than hatred, and Hendrix’s kisses and fingers on my skin always sparked something in me; a fire, a desire that I constantly had to extinguish. But right then, maybe it was the fact he was trying so hard to be noble and do the right thing, I just wanted to give into the flames and burn with him.
As if following my train of thought, Hendrix’s eyes flashed to life, a low growl erupted from his throat and he slammed his mouth down on mine. My hands were in his hair, my lips moulded to his, a small whimper escaped. And I really didn’t know if it was me or him. Or if it was out of pleasure, comfort, or fear. It didn’t matter. It just was.
His hands cupped my face as he stepped back. Breathing hard, he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against mine. “Can I tell you something?” he whispered against my lips.
“Yes.”
“I’m scared, Lucy. I’m scared I can’t fix this.” His voice was full of pain, anguish.
“Me too.” I pressed myself closer to him, needing the comfort and needing to comfort him.
“I won’t let him touch you, Lucy. At all. He’ll have to kill me first, okay? I promise you, you will be safe.”
I kissed him again.

Gave in to the flames
R. Linda drinks wine and writes books.

A coffee addicted, tattoo enthusiastic fangirl with a slight obsession for a particular British boy band and solo artist, she is a writer of Contemporary YA/NA Romance and Suspense, sometimes dabbling in Paranormal as well. 

Renee lives in Melbourne, Australia with her husband and two sons. When not writing she can often be found reading books to her children and cuddling up with them on the couch to watch their favourite movies.
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