The Negotiator, an all-new sexy, romantic comedy standalone from Avery Flynn is now LIVE!!!
The Negotiator by Avery Flynn
Release Date: April 24th, 2017
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Wanted: Personal Buffer
Often snarly, workaholic executive seeks “buffer” from annoying outside distractions AKA people. Free spirits with personal boundary issues, excessive quirks, or general squeamishness need not apply. Salary negotiable. Confidentiality required.
Workaholic billionaire Sawyer Carlyle may have joked he needed a buffer from their marriage-obsessed mom, but he didn’t need a waiting room filled with candidates to further distract him. (Thanks, bro.) But when a sexy job applicant shooes his mom and the socialite in tow out of his office, Sawyer sees the genius of the plan. And the woman. In fact, Miss Clover Lee might just get the fastest promotion in history, from buffer to fake fiancé...
This free-spirit might look like hot sunshine and lickable rainbows, but she negotiates like a pitbull. Before Sawyer knows what hit him, he’s agreed to give up Friday nights for reality tv, his Saturdays for flea markets (why buy junk still baffles him), his Tuesdays and Thursdays for date nights (aka panty-losing opportunities if he plays his cards right). And now she wants lavender bath salts and tulips delivered every Monday?
Yup, she’s just screwing with him. Good thing she’s got this non-negotiable six-weeks-and-she’s-gone rule or Sawyer may have just met this match…
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2odkLcU
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About the Author:Avery Flynn is an award winning, USA Today bestselling romance author. She has three slightly-wild children, loves a hockey-addicted husband and is desperately hoping someone invents the coffee IV drip. She was a reader before she was a writer and hopes to always be both. She loves to write about smartass alpha heroes who are as good with a quip as they are with their *ahem* other God-given talents. Her heroines are feisty, fierce and fantastic. Brainy and brave, these ladies know how to stand on their own two feet and knock the bad guys off theirs.
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Pretending never felt so good….
Fake Fiancée by Ilsa Madden-Mills is NOW LIVE!
ONLY $0.99 & Free on Kindle Unlimited.
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2laEuMc
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Amazon Paperback: http://amzn.to/2ldp4TS
A new standalone romance from Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author Ilsa Madden-Mills...
They say nothing compares to your first kiss,
But our first kiss was orchestrated for an audience.
Our second kiss…that one was REAL.
He cradled my face like he was terrified he’d f*ck it up.
He stared into my eyes until the air buzzed.
Soft and slow, full of sighs and little laughs,
He inhaled me like I was the finest Belgian chocolate,
And he'd never get another piece.
A nip of his teeth, his hand at my waist...
And I was lost.
I forgot he was paying me to be his fake fiancée.
I forgot we weren’t REAL.
Our kiss was pure magic, and before you laugh and say those kinds of kisses don’t exist…
Then you’ve never touched lips with Max Kent, the hottest quarterback in college history.
Get ready for breathtaking kisses and dreamy football players…
Max stalked over to the barrier that divided the stands from the football field and jumped it. The fans went nuts as he brushed past them, some not even realizing it until he was down the aisle. The Jumbotron followed him.
“Good Lordy, what’s he doing?” Mimi asked, clutching at her chest.
“I don’t know,” I said rather weakly, taking the chance to study him the closer he came. He was beautiful, his shoulders impossibly broad. To add to the distraction, his helmet was in his hand and all that dark brown hair was flowing around his chiseled features as if he had a fan in his face. My Viking.
“He’s coming over here,” Mimi commented.
He was. But why?
I stopped breathing . . .right when he came to a halt in front of me and knelt down on one knee.
Eyes the color of a wild ocean gazed at me.
He took my left hand in his right one.
“Max,” I breathed, my heart fluttering.
He gazed up at me. “Sunny Blaine, will you marry me?”
The stadium went wild. In a daze, I looked up at the Jumbotron and felt like I was watching this happen to someone else. Camera phones flashed all around us.
My first clear thought was I’ll kill him.
Aloud, nothing came out but a faint wheeze. Clearly someone had stuffed a giant wad of cotton in my mouth. Clearly I needed something a lot stiffer to drink than this Diet Coke. Clearly my fake boyfriend was a freaking raving lunatic.
He sat his helmet on the ground next to my feet, reached inside it and pulled out a small black box.
No, no, no!
The box opened, and my stomach churned at the sight of the large round solitaire diamond ring that was nestled on the black silk. I blinked repeatedly to clear my vision.
With deft fingers, Max eased it out of the lining and slipped it on my left hand.
I stared down at it. Then back at him.
I was going to murder the hottest quarterback in the country.
Kiss her, Kiss her, the crowd chanted.
We were the focal point of the entire world.
Max stood and tugged me up with him until we were standing. He slid his hand around my neck and pulled his face to mine. The sky was blotted out as he kissed me.
But I hadn’t said yes!
I wouldn’t say yes.
Not to a fake engagement.
The applause of the stadium was deafening. And his kiss—it was deadly. Despite my rage, my body craved him. His lips were hot, so hot, and my tongue met his with a vengeance. We kissed hard, and I nipped at him, my teeth scraping across his lips. But the only one who’d end up bleeding in this scenario was me.
He eased back to take me in, and with a final look at my face he gave a thumbs-up sign to the entire stadium. They went nuts, chanting his name.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered in my ear, letting his hand trail down my arm as he stepped back from me. He walked away backward, eyes on me the entire time. The announcers for the game told everyone who might have missed it that Max Kent had just asked his girlfriend to marry him, and she’d said yes. More cheers came as they replayed him on his knee in front of me with a giant YES written across the top.
I plopped back down in my seat. Frozen.
“. . . did you see her face? Shocked . . .”
“. . . most romantic thing in football . . .”
“. . . luckiest girl in the world . . .”
My face went hot. Even my ears burned. I wanted to crawl under a seat.
What a lie.
The half ended and our offense came out to the field, snapped the ball, and Max threw it straight to Tate who ran it in for another touchdown. My chest constricted and anger churned in my gut.
I didn’t care who won.
I hated football right now.
Most of all, I hated Max Kent, and I was going to make him pay.
Meet the Author
Wall Street Journal best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.
She's addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding females. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Ian Somerhalder, astronomy (she's a Gemini), and tattoos. She has a degree in English and a Master's in Education. When she's not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets and fuzzy pajamas.
She loves to hear from readers and fellow authors.
Email her at email@example.com.
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Devi’s Bliss: A Story of Dakiniby Mika Lane Devi's Bliss #2 Publication Date: October 31, 2016 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Erotic, Romance
Purchase: AmazonDakini St. Onge has got it going on. She is a successful sensual massage therapist at the famed Devi’s Bliss spa just outside San Francisco, nestled in the breath-taking redwoods of Marin County. She owns a gorgeous condo on glamorous Nob Hill with views of the city and the Golden Gate Bridge. Her art collection is jaw dropping and her Audi convertible is brand new. Best of all, she’s able to support her beloved grandmother in the best senior home in the country. But appearances are not always what they seem. Dakini has a secret that’s eating away at her, leading to increasingly desperate self-destructive behavior. Her best friend is about to give up on her, and her boss is getting fed up. If she doesn’t get it together, she could lose it all. When Mr. A enters the picture it seems like he may be the only one who can really help. But will Dakini’s past stand in the way of her accepting the very assistance that could save her? Join Dakini in the Zen sexuality of Devi’s Bliss and fall down a rabbit hole of your own exquisite passion. Note: this novella is written for ages 18+ due to language and sexual content.
Devi’s Bliss: A Story of Noelleby Mika Lane Devi's Bliss #1 Publication Date: October 11, 2016 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Erotic, Romance
Purchase: AmazonNoelle Berry is going places. She’s an in-demand sensual massage therapist at the famed Devi’s Bliss spa just outside San Francisco, nestled among the breath-taking redwoods of Marin County. She’s got a long-term plan to open her own business, which will set her up for life and give her the security she never knew growing up. But there’s one problem. Mikey. Her kid brother. Charming. Clever. Cute. But always in trouble. To get him out of the home they grew up in, Noelle became Mikey’s guardian. But so far her good example has failed to teach him anything. Not responsibility, not ambition, not good judgment. But when Mr. R comes to Devi’s Bliss for a massage, things seem like they might be turning a corner. Not only is he devastatingly handsome, he also wants to help her realize her dream. Right away. He even has a plan for Mikey. But can Noelle leave her past behind and trust him? Can she let him prove he’s different from the man in her life who hurt her the most? Join Noelle in the Zen sexuality of Devi’s Bliss and fall down a rabbit hole of your own exquisite passion. Note: this novella is written for ages 18+ due to language and sexual content.
Devi’s Bliss: A Story of Isabellaby Mika Lane Devi's Bliss #3 Publication Date: October 11, 2016 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Erotic, Romance
A story of Isabella. The third novella in the Devi’s Bliss series by Mika Lane, writer of hot, sexy romance.Isabella Raven has tattoos, wears leather, and rides a Yamaha FZ1. She lives in San Francisco’s historic Mission district, makes a mean pasta sauce, and is a busy sensual massage therapist at the world-renowned spa, Devi’s Bliss, nestled in the Redwoods of Marin County. Her adorable but naughty little dog Taboo chews everything in site, but he’s the least of her worries. The Feds are after her through no fault of her own, and are wasting no time in making her pay for someone else’s mistakes. If she doesn’t get them off her back, her lovely rides up the California coast will be thing of the past. Or not… Mr. P, client and fellow motorcycle rider, has connections. Lots of them. He wants to help. But something about him has Isabella running in the opposite direction. Can she overcome her prejudices and accept his help? And his heart? Join Isabella in the Zen sexuality of Devi’s Bliss and fall down a rabbit hole of your own exquisite passion. Note: this novella is written for ages 18+ due to language and sexual content.
About Mika LaneIn all its forms, writing has been a passion of Mika’s since a young age, but erotic romance is what gives purpose to her days and nights. She lives in the magical and funky San Francisco Bay Area. A devotee of the intelligent and beautiful, and lover of shiny things, she’s a yogi, hiker, traveler, thinker, observer, urbanite, book worm, and she has been known to drink cheap champagne. And she has too many shoes.
Own by K.I. Lynn & N. Isabelle Blanco is the highly anticipated conclusion to the Need Series!
Get your copy now at:
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2ewafgy
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2em4sud
Why the fuck is Kira at this party?
I have no right to begrudge her this. She should be here, having fun, experiencing college to the fullest.
It just burns that she came here without telling me. That she didn’t even think of inviting me.
That she’s pushing me away while making time to sit on the grass with Austin.
If Dana hadn’t told Ryan to call me, I wouldn’t have known Kira was here.
This party is taking place in one of the student’s homes--a mansion so fucking big, it’s bordering on ridiculous.
I’m never going to find Kira here, and according to what Dana told Ryan, Kira’s shitfaced. Drunk out of her mind.
And Dana lost her.
Growling under my breath, I push past the crowd, ignoring every drunk girl who tries to grope me.
Sometimes I wonder how I ever got high off this kind of attention. How my ego fed on it. It’s annoying as fuck.
I’ve already checked the large ass kitchen. Two of the sitting rooms. The foyer. The pool room. And almost every room upstairs.
I get a text from Dana. Marilyn just spotted her going into the movie theater on the first floor. OMW there now.
Of course this place has a movie theater, too.
Fucking ridiculous, as I said.
I about-face and practically fly down the stairs. I have no idea where the hell the movie theater is, so I grab a few people as I walk and ask them.
All of them are as clueless as I am.
They look at me as if I’m crazy.
To them, I probably look like I am.
Finally, I find one person who knows. Don’t know who he is, don’t care. He points me in the right direction, and I rush away without even thanking him.
The theater is all the way in the back of the house, in an area that’s actually empty. I get there in time to see Dana opening the door and rushing in.
Man, she’s an awesome girl. I could never thank her enough for caring for Kira the way she obviously does.
I go inside and find the small theater empty, except for Dana, Marilyn . . .
My breath whooshes out of me at the sight of her. I’m instantly hard, aching, furious, and possessive.
We haven’t fucked in days and I’d be lying if I said my balls aren’t full to bursting. I need sex right now like I need air and she’s the only person to give it to me.
But she came here, in that tiny, dark purple dress.
I have no right to tell her how to dress--but what the fuck is she doing coming to a party dressed like that without me?
Kira’s leaning against one of the chairs all the way at the front of the theater, refusing to move despite Marilyn urging her.
It’s obvious she really is drunk as a motherfucker.
“I just want to be alone, guys,” she says, almost whining.
I refuse to be amused. Now’s not the time. I’m too pissed at her.
But, fuck me. She’s sexy, adorable, and those lips are begging for my cock.
“I know, sweetie. But it’s not good for you to be alone right now.”
Kira swats Marilyn away. “Stop your shit, woman. You’re not my mother.”
Even Dana laughs at that one.
“She’s not. But I’m your man. And I say you’re not going to be alone.”
They all turn to stare at me as I walk down the short steps toward them.
Kira’s eyes flare with resentment.
She rakes me with a cold stare that still manages to burn my entire body with how hungry it is.
Damn. If any of these girls just happen to look down a bit, they’re going to get an eyeful of how hard my dick is.
“I don’t want you here, either.” She swats me away like an imperious little queen.
“Girls. Leave us.”
Marilyn and Dana hesitate at my tone.
I don’t have time for this shit. “Now.”
Dana snaps to action first and leads Marilyn up the stairs and out of the theater.
Kira’s still looking at me with that rebellious hunger, a lust-filled sneer on her face.
I have no qualms about reaching down and palming my dick in front of her.
Her eyes flare hungrily.
“We’re leaving, Kitty. Now.” I can’t fuck her until she sobers up considering how angry at me she is, but I’m getting her home.
Kira steps toward me and stumbles at bit.
I rush forward and catch her, pulling her up against me.
Contact. Seering, torturous contact. I have my arms wrapped around her, my hands on her ass, before I realize what I’m doing. As always, it’s an instant reaction. Absolutely zero control over my own body.
Kira pushes at my chest and that sexy small growl she gives me turns me on so much. “Don’t touch me.”
My barely leashed temper snaps free. “Like hell. You’re mine.”
She struggles against me, her body sliding along mine. “Excuse me if I don’t want to go back to fucking the dick I’ve seen inside Jennifer two too many times.”
She’s hurting. I get it. Shit, I’d be even more feral in her shoes.
But I’ll be damned if I let her pretend she doesn’t want me anymore.
Fisting her hair, I slide my other hand under her dress and roughly shove her panties to side.
Kira lets out a broken gasp at the feel of my fingers slipping inside her.
I move them around on purpose so she can hear how wet she is. “Lie to me again. Tell me you don’t want me,” I growl in her face.
Her arms wind around my neck and she slams her lips against mine. Growling at me like she hates me and wants to eat me at the same time, she kisses me with everything she has.
Trying to control me.
I want nothing more than to show her who’s fucking in charge here, but she’s licking my tongue like it’s the tip of my dick, and her hips are thrusting up and down, fucking my fingers.
Using me for her pleasure.
Her body locks up, her plump pussy swelling around my fingers. A throb, a rush of liquid, and she’s squirting into my hand, her sexy moans echoing between our lips.
I manhandle her, my mind cracking under the pressure of so much need. Spinning, I fall to my knees on the short steps and place her beneath me.
The steps are short but they’re huge. Enough to accommodate her lower body on one.
Kira leans back with her elbows on the step above her. Head thrown back, gorgeous throat exposed, she struggles to pull in air.
I lean back on my haunches and yank my belt open.
The sound makes her raise her head. By the time her eyes are on my crotch, I already have my glistening cock out in my hand.
She whispers my name like a prayer.
This is what I need. No more distance. No more pain. Just her and her nearly demonic need to have me.
And I need this even more.
I grab her thighs and tug her toward me. Kira says my name again. Her hands land on my shoulders, fisting my shirt.
I spread her legs wide, wider than I probably should, and slide that juicy cunt right onto my dick.
Her body arches off the stairs like she’s being possessed.
If I haven’t left enough of me inside her for her to understand--for her to accept--that I own her and always will . . .
I’m going to remedy that.
And there’s nothing she can do about it.
I pull my hips back, slow, hissing at the slick feel of her pussy walls tightening. Trying to keep me in.
Kira whimpers, clenching me even harder.
Wanting to let me go and powerless to do anything but keep me.
Using all my strength, I slam back into her.
One hard, vicious thrust.
She cries out and comes all over me.
Just like that.
I crack my neck, a growl purring through my chest, and lay into her. No mercy. No thought.
I’m close. Just a few more pumps into that slick cunt.
Kira fists my hair, her moans bouncing off the walls around us. I lower myself down and brace my elbows on either side of her head.
She tries to tug me down and kiss me.
I slide one hand beneath her head, fisting that beautiful hair, and drag her up to me. “Who told you that you could come here dressed like that?”
She bites my lip hard enough to make my vision snap white. I think I taste blood. “Fuck you. You don’t own m--” She chokes on her words with my next thrust.
I can’t stop groaning, yet somehow I’m laughing in her face at the ridiculousness of her statement. “You want to keep fucking lying to yourself, Kitty?”
She hisses like the wild cat she is and leans up to lick across my bottom lip. When she pulls back, I see it.
Her lips are stained with the blood she drew from me.
I press my lips to her, our tongues dueling. We’re nothing but a mindless mass of sex, and I can feel the come rising up my shaft.
In the back of my head, it registers that I hear people speaking.
On the other side of the door.
“That bitch ruined my life!”
“First off, don’t ever call her a bitch in front of me. Got it? Secondly, you have no proof it was her that sent your parents that video. Third, back the fuck off, or I’m going to forget we were ever--”
The door opens.
I raise my head enough to look up. For a split second, the fact that we’ve been caught freezes me.
Then I see two pairs of familiar blue eyes locked on us.
K.I. Lynn is the USA Today Bestselling Author from The Bend Anthology and the Amazon Bestselling Series, Breach. She spent her life in the arts, everything from music to painting and ceramics, then to writing. Characters have always run around in her head, acting out their stories, but it wasn't until later in life she would put them to pen. It would turn out to be the one thing she was really passionate about.
Since she began posting stories online, she's garnered acclaim for her diverse stories and hard hitting writing style. Two stories and characters are never the same, her brain moving through different ideas faster than she can write them down as it also plots its quest for world domination...or cheese. Whichever is easier to obtain... Usually it's cheese.
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N. Isabelle Blanco was born in Queens, NY (USA). At the age of three, due to an odd fascination with studying her mother’s handwriting, she began to read and write. By the time she’d reached kindergarten, she had an extensive vocabulary and her obsession with words began to bleed into every aspect of her life.
N. Isabelle Blanco spends her days working as an author, web programmer, marketer, and graphic designer. That is when she isn’t handling her “spawn”, as she calls her son, and brainstorming with him about his future career as a comic book illustrator.
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From USA Today Bestselling author, MJ Fields, comes a gripping story of love and lies.
27 Lies: Luke’s Story (The Truth About Love)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2bSl0HX
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2c2IPtD
A long time ago...
I was young and naive. I thought I could save the world. I thought that protecting those around me from hurt and pain was what I was born to do. She made me feel that way. Ava Links, the little girl who was too fucking stubborn for her own good. The little girl who absorbed the hurt and pain of everyone around her and tried to bring sunshine to them all. The little girl who didn’t give a damn if people picked on her about wearing a crown and tutu every day. A little girl who somehow looked at me, expecting—no, damn near demanding—I protect her.
I saw the pain she hid, and as I grew older, I understood that pain. The pain of being so much to so many that there is really never a “you”.
I took control of my life...
I had to get away from everyone who pulled at me in order to claim myself. When I became the man I was destined to be, I began to live. Then, one drunken night, Ava Links, no longer a little girl, said the right damn thing to me, and everything changed. After seven years of fucking her while home on leave with no expectations, now my life is out of control…
One bad dream, one I love you, one night of pushing her the hell out of my life, one drummer stealing her heart, and one explosion took everything away.
Lies are told.
Lies are unraveling.
Lies are going to destroy.
These are my truths.
I watch as Dad and Tessa pull away from the curb, the place where Thomas Hardy, the love of my life, smiled at me before he took his last breath. I was so sure it wasn’t his last, and I was as sure that him being on life support would eventually mean he would wake up and tell me he loved me again.
Standing erect atop the gray sidewalk is the light pole that he was crushed against, pinned between it and a car, while on his way to get me a Snickers bar that I didn’t need.
No, I need him.
I stand on the balcony and take in a calming breath. The babies are sleeping inside, freshly bathed, adorned in the cutest clothes money can buy, swaddled in their very own Bingos that I have in triplicate because my father insists I need them that way. Their bellies are full, and they have been rocked asleep in my arms.
There is no way they can actually be affected by my pain, my anger, my sadness, but I never want them to. Therefore, if I keep my grief to their sleeping hours, I know they will be okay. I close my eyes tight and pray they will be okay.
Praying. Why do I still bother?
I place my elbows on the brick overhang, peering down at that spot where black meets gray, where the love of a man and a woman got taken away in the blink of an eye.
But it’s not gone. My love. T and my love will never go away. We have a forever love.
I stand back and wrap my arms tight around myself, letting out a low groan and releasing the pain, the anger, the hate, and all the ugly in a place where I know I can, where it will not affect a soul.
The clouds use this time to part, and the sun peers through and shines down on me. Emotions come to a roiling boil in that moment, and I shut my eyes, seeing Thomas smiling back at me.
The sun … The sun is T, my T, my love and my pain.
Really, there isn’t anything I look at that doesn’t remind me of him and the insurmountable love I have for a man who loved me so much. He lied during the pregnancy so my pain wasn’t as severe, making me believe he was the father of both our children.
There are lies in love, just as much as there are truths.
A man will tell a woman he loves that she doesn’t look fat in that dress, or that she is the best he’s ever had, or that she is the most beautiful women on the planet. It may not be true, but he believes it enough to tell her those things, to make her happy and feel beautiful, and not fat, and the best he has ever had.
A man like Thomas Hardy would do that for a girl like me.
The pain of his absence is so copious it makes me sick. Sick to my stomach to the point I do throw up. My body can’t take the sickness it feels while it breathes in the air that surrounds me, in a world without T.
I slowly lower myself to my knees and cover my face as the tears spill out, the way they do when I am on this balcony that should have a rooftop garden that we grew together. A garden that grows and blooms, and comes to life, surrounded by our love.
I sit back against the brick wall as I take in the comfort of the pain’s release. I cry until I can’t anymore, and then I take a deep breath and stand up. I close my eyes once again, one last time for now, and picture him and all the beauty that is him.
Inside, I walk into the kitchen where I have moved everything back to where T had it before I moved in. I stand there and try to make sense of the way he had things put away. It’s stupid. I know it is. Somewhere deep down, though, I keep hoping he will come back, and I will want to fix it up for him.
However, he’s not coming back.
I take my multivitamins then force down the damn shake that Dr. Kennedy brought here after passing her in the hospital when Chance and Hope had their four-month checkup. She came to the apartment and told me I better be taking care of myself so I could take care of my children.
She oversteps in ways that are infuriating. I get angry every time I see her. Though I know I shouldn’t. I know I am directing my anger at her, but she asks for it, and it’s certainly easier than being angry at T for leaving me.
That’s another lie that happens when you love someone. Somehow in the grieving process, you get to a point when you feel betrayed by the one who left you. Like it was a choice they made.
I opened his closet one day and tore his clothes from the hangers. I threw them all over the floor. Then I turned to walk out and get a garbage bag to shove them in. When I returned, though, I saw the mess I made, and I crumbled into a pile of his things. I sobbed into his shirts that still smelled like him, like home and happiness and love.
I could never be mad at him for leaving me when it wasn’t his choice. He was taken away by some fucking drunk who stole a car and will never be punished for his crime.
Thomas Hardy loved me until his dying breath, just like he said he would, and I will love him until mine.
That day, in the closet, I cleaned everything up, put it all back where he had put it—or, at least I let myself believe I did—and I continued to cry while I did it.
Now I walk toward the laundry room, intent on doing something that involves taking care of our—yes our—children.
I flip on the light switch, but there isn’t a damn thing to do. All our clothes are clean, folded, and put away. I am thankful for the help Mom offered through the nanny, but it gives me too much free time.
Chance and Hope almost sleep through the entire night, only waking for one feeding each. They take two naps a day, each two hours long. There is hardly an occasion when one of them are asleep while the other is awake except the night time feeding.
When they are awake, I feed them, hold them, and simply love them. God, how I love them. They are my life, my love, the reason I breath, even though it hurts, and we watch TV.
Movies on TV.
Ones of Thomas Hardy in concert and interviews.
I walk into our room, mine and T’s, not mine and the babies, and sit on the bed that Thomas and I spent endless hours in. If I close my eyes, I can picture him here. If I concentrate, I can hear him laugh. If I let the pain go, I can smile, remembering how he took his time showing me just how much he loved me.
Until reality sets in, and the pain starts all over again.
I consider taking a shower, but then decide against it. I can sleep for nearly two hours straight if I go into the baby’s room now.
I look down as I enter, knowing if I look at the mural he painted first, I will cry. I will cry because it’s unfair that he is gone. It’s so unfair that I almost hate God. That’s why I look instead at what he left me.
He left me two beautiful children. I will always be grateful for them. Always. But would He take them, too?
Haven’t read this series yet?
Now is your chance, 27 Truths is NOW AVAILABLE!
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About the Author
USA Today bestselling author MJ Fields love of writing was in full swing by age eight.
Together with her cousins, she wrote a newsletter and sold it for ten cents to family members.
She self-published her first contemporary, new adult romance in January 2013. Today she has completed seven self-published series, The Love series, The Wrapped series, The Burning Souls series, The Men of Steel series, Ties of Steel series, The Rockers of Steel series and The Norfolk series.
MJ is a hybrid author and publishes an Indie book almost every month, and is signed with a traditional publisher, Loveswept, Penguin Random House, for her co- written series The Caldwell Brothers. Hendrix, Morrison, and Jagger. All three books in the series are published. The Caldwell brothers don’t grow into alphas, when their mother passes away they become her legacy, her good in the world of bad.
MJ was a former small business owner, who closed shop so she could write full time. She lives in central New York, surrounded by family and friends. Her house is full of pets, friends, and noise ninety percent of the time, and she would have it no other way.
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