I’ve seen every square inch of Violet Eaton’s delectable body and she has no idea who I am.
Until now.
What happened between us online, in our chats, was meant to stay anonymous and in the past.
Until it didn’t.
It’s a small world, but Ruby Creek is even smaller. When I move to the tiny town, the grumpy facade I’ve created slips when we’re forced to live under the same roof.
Every flush of her cheeks, every time her eyes flare with heat, every time she begs me not to stop, the ice I’ve encased myself in melts. She has me wanting things I can’t want. Things I’ve been dreaming about since I first laid eyes on her two years ago—things I don’t deserve.
But my invisible wounds have the power to ruin us both. As a former soldier, I should have the discipline to walk away, but the more I open up to Violet, the more I want to keep her.
I came back from the war a different man, but my scars are older and deeper than anyone knows—and I planned to keep it that way. I planned to keep my secrets hidden.
Until her.
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Excerpt
Shaking my head as I march back into the barn, I head down the long hall of offices toward the laundry room at the end. I live in a small apartment above the barn so I just do my laundry down here. I grew up on a proper ranch, in the dirt and snow, usually with hay in my hair, so the thought of washing all my clothes in the same machines used for the hairy horse laundry doesn’t bother me at all.
I’m almost to the door when I hear it.
“Violet.”
That voice. The low rumble of it. The threat woven into it. The man behind it. I swear my feet grow roots that shoot out and bind me to the ground. My heart knocks violently in my chest like it’s trying to get out and run away. And quite frankly, I don’t blame it. I want to get out of here too.
He wasn’t supposed to be here yet. I was supposed to be gone down the highway by the time he showed up. He was supposed to be out of my life. I was supposed to have left him behind. Forgotten him.
But I haven’t. I’ve warred with myself, wrestled and fought. Been with other men to prove to myself that I’m fine. But one word out of his mouth, and I seriously wonder if I am. I could run and hide, but that’s not how the new me handles this. The new Violet isn’t a shrinking Violet. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway.
Maybe one day it will feel true.
So I suck in as much oxygen as I can and hold my head up high. I refuse to let this man make me feel small or embarrassed. We have a shared past, but we’re both adults. This will be fine.
Spinning on one heel, I turn and march back to the office I just passed. The one that has sat empty for years. I stop just inside the doorway, partly because I don’t want to go any further and partly because I’m reeling. All it takes is one look at Cole Harding, sitting behind a desk in a dark suit, spinning the cufflinks on his shirt, for me to lose all the bravado I just puffed myself up with. I literally feel it roll right off me like someone has doused me with a bucket of cold water. My body’s reaction to him has never been normal, and today is no exception.
The inky hair, the gray eyes, the square shoulders, the sad tilt to his mouth. He crosses his arms under my gaze, and I roll my lips together at the sight. Just the way he moves, so sure and so calculated, drives me to distraction. There’s so much power coiled in every inch of his body. A soldier’s body.
His biceps are where my eyes land, and where they stay. They’re incredible. I wonder how they’d look completely bare, how they’d feel wrapped around me. I hate myself for even going there. But I keep my eyes trained on them, because it’s less unnerving than looking him in those soulful eyes. Silvery pools, deep and haunted and swirling with so much. The ones full of anger, and pain, and sorrow. Those are a much bigger problem for me. And for my heart.
“Violet.” He says my name like it’s a sentence, a full thought. Like I should know exactly what he means when he says it. But I don’t know anything where Cole Harding is concerned. I think I actually know less than anything. Other than the hair on my arms is standing up like there’s an electrical current running over me, and my stomach is flipping like I just shot down off the high point of a roller coaster. Which is apt, because my history with Cole is nothing if not a roller coaster.
“Everyone calls me Vi.” I hate how quiet my voice comes out. I hate the way my name sounds on his lips, too formal and too familiar all at once.
His eyes rove my body, but he doesn’t smile. It’s not appreciative. It’s more like he’s assessing me, like I’m a mess that needs cleaning up and he’s trying to figure out how. Shame lurches in my gut, flashes of the way he talked to me once and how it warmed me to my bones pop up in my head, but I do my best to will it away. I’ve worked too hard at moving on to go down that rabbit hole again.
“I’m not everyone,” he says plainly.
I hiss as I suck air in, trying not to sound like I’m gasping for it. Trying not to give away the fact that he’s just winded me with his words. Blood rushes in my ears and pools in my cheeks—like it always does. You look so pretty in pink. He’d told me that once, and now it takes every ounce of my strength not to let my mind and body wander back to that day.
“What do you want, Cole?”
His eyes flash, and his body goes rigid right as his jaw ticks. Like somehow I’m the one who’s annoying him when he’s the one who called me in here. He could have kept his mouth shut, and I’d have been none the wiser. We could have avoided this entire encounter.
“I just want to make sure that we’re on the same page. That we can continue to stay out of each other’s way while I work out here. That you can keep things . . .” his eyes slide down my body and then back up, “professional.”
Professional. Nothing between us has ever been professional. He’s seen me naked, trampled my heart, and then showed back up out of nowhere with nothing but cool looks and mocking words and now expects me to keep things professional? Indignation flares up in me over the fact that he feels entitled to dictate how I should conduct myself. Like I don’t come up against enough of that in this industry as it is. It’s a sore spot, and he should know. I spent long nights telling him about my childhood. About how I struck out on my own. And now he’s going to waltz in here and talk to me like that? No way.
“Let me be clear, Cole.” This time I don’t let my voice waver, and I don’t stare at his biceps. I stare right into his steely eyes. “This is my place of work, and I am nothing if not professional. The way you’re talking to me right now? It isn’t professional. So, I’m going to continue doing exactly what I have been for the past year and you can stay out of my way. Think you can manage?”
His body snaps back slightly, and his eyes go wide. Like he didn’t see that coming. Didn’t see me coming. And he lashes out at me for it. I see the flash of insecurity on his face right before he spews his words back at me. And it’s that hint of sorrow that takes the bite out of them.
“Pretty in Purple was so sweet. What happened?”
I shake my head at him sadly. Because when it comes down to it, that’s what I feel when I see him, when I think of him. Sad.
“Seems like you mistook Pretty in Purple for a doormat.”
I look at him just long enough to see the forlorn look on his face, the crack in his cold exterior, before I turn and walk away. The spear to my damn heart. Golddigger85 is just as lost as he was before, just as complicated. Just as broken. And I’ve already decided I won’t tolerate the way he lashes out. We all make choices. That’s what he told me once, and he wasn’t wrong.
It’s why I moved on. It’s why I disappeared without a word. It’s why this awkwardness between us now is on him, not me. My head knows exactly what choices to make where Cole Harding is concerned.
But my heart?
It’s not so sure.
About Elsie
Elsie Silver is a Canadian author of sassy, sexy, small town romance who loves a good book boyfriend and the strong heroines who bring them to their knees. She lives just outside of Vancouver, British Columbia with her husband, son, and three dogs and has been voraciously reading romance books since before she was probably supposed to.
She loves cooking and trying new foods, traveling, and spending time with her boys–especially outdoors. Elsie has also become a big fan of her quiet five am mornings, which is when most of her writing happens. It’s during this time that she can sip a cup of hot coffee and dream up a fictional world full of romantic stories to share with her readers.
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For exes, Mason and Ems, the last thing they expected was to be sharing a home together. Their willpower will be tested in ways neither of them expected, until an unforgettable night of passion brings the two of them back together and changes their lives forever. Readers who love second chance, roommate romances will enjoy Love Me Ever After by Julie Archer, an angsty, accidental pregnancy romance.
He didn’t believe second chances had consequences. Until now.
Sharing a house with his ex was the last thing Mason Miles expected when he came back home. After nearly eighteen months away, he finds himself in the spotlight at work with a career that’s threatening to go stratospheric.
Moving in with Ems was the easy option, although it seems she’s determined to make it hard for him at first - in more ways than one. But he soon realises he can’t let her slip through his fingers again.
For Ems Berry, sharing a house with Mason, more ripped and tattooed than when they were last together, is massively testing her willpower. Until one night of passion in the wrong place at the right time draws them back together.
When he gets a job offer he can’t refuse that will take him away again, can their newly reestablished relationship survive? Especially with the added complication of a baby on the way...
Excerpt
Copyright 2021 @Julier Archer
Luke and Tasha’s suggestion ate at me all day. I had plenty of time to think on the journey for a client meeting, then on the way back. At the same time, I’d browsed the local Ealynn Sands estate agent sites for rental properties. There wasn’t much around unless I wanted a one-roomed studio near the marina for an extortionate price or to spend all my salary on a massive property I’d only use about three rooms in, which I wouldn’t be able to afford either. I would have to bite the bullet and call Sara.
But how would Ems react to me moving in? We hadn’t been in touch since I went to New York. But needs must. I waited until I got back to the station before calling Sara; signal on the last part of the journey was dodgy at the best of times and I didn’t need it cutting out when I was in the middle of this conversation.
Standing by the bus stop, I dialled and waited.
“Hello?” A female voice I thought I recognised answered.
“Hey, is that Sara?”
“Yes…” A note of suspicion crept into her voice, no doubt assuming I was a cold caller about to offer her compensation after an accident.
“It’s Mason. Mason Miles.”
A shriek down the line had me holding the phone away from my ear. “Oh. My. God. Mason!”
“Tasha gave me your number. She’s moving in with Luke and there’s a spare room at yours.” There seemed little point in beating around the bush.
“I never expected you to call me though. What will Ems say?” Sara laughed.
“No idea, haven’t spoken to her in a while.”
“Huh. And don’t I know it.” Sara paused. “It was a bit of a shitty thing to do, Mason.”
“What? Tell her my plans to go on a secondment to further my career, offer her the opportunity to come with me and have her walk out on me? It wasn’t all one-sided, you know.” I don’t know why I felt the need to defend myself, given that all of this had happened eons ago. But I needed a place to live and without Sara’s support, I wouldn’t get a roof over my head.
Sara let out a sigh. “Yeah, you’re right. Anyway, that’s all water under the bridge and I expect you’ve got some hot chick in New York, so there’s no need for Ems to stress.”
I didn’t answer and let her think that was the truth. “About this room?”
“Oh, yes. Look, Ems is working late tonight, why don’t you come around about six and see what you think.”
Suddenly, I had a vision of the future where Ems and I would be taking turns in working late in order to avoid each other. But I needed a place to stay and if that was how it would be, I’d have to deal with it.
About Julie Archer
Author of contemporary romance featuring rock stars, small towns, a healthy dose of angst, some steamy times and always a happy ever after!
When not writing, I can usually be found binge watching teen drama series on Netflix, or supporting Spurs from my armchair, and running around after my two feline children, Corey and Elsa.
Real Angst. Real Romance.
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My Review
What attracted me to this book was the blurb. The words "second chance" are used. I am a total sucker for second chance romance stories.
It did take me a few chapters to get into it. Once I did, however, I didn't take too long to finish.
For this genre, this book had a high heat level.
Rating: 😊😊😊😊😊
*** I voluntarily requested to read and review an advanced reader's copy of this book via book funnel.
The first book in a new series by Denise Grover Swank and A.R. Casella, authors of the USA Today bestselling Asheville Brewing series.
Molly
Blogging about bad dates used to be fun, but a girl can only take so much foolishness. So I broke up with my job.
Okay, full disclosure, I was fired. It’s a long, sordid tale, involving my sourdough starter—RIP, Fred!—and my ex-boss’s serious lack of humor.
Newly funemployed and in need of a break, I go to Asheville to dogsit for my sister…and stumble onto a scoop big enough to put my fake-dating days behind me forever.
Augusta Glower, local success story, wrote a bestseller about the self-help group she started. People think her system works, and copycat Bad Luck Clubs have sprung up nationwide. Something feels off, though, and a little poking around by yours truly suggests she stole the idea.
There’s one problem. I have to prove it, and the guy she ripped off—super-hot house flipper Caleb Reynolds—seems to…well, hate me. Which is too bad since his secrets aren’t the only thing I’d like to peel away.
* * *
Cal
Molly O’Shea is my worst nightmare.
Is she sexy as sin? Well…yeah. Does she smell like honeysuckle and trouble? No doubt. Is she determined to dig up my secrets with a backhoe? I’m pretty sure she got a two-week rental. But I’ll never talk. If the reason I started the club gets out, my whole life will implode.
So why is she so damn irresistible?
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About Denise Grover Swank
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Denise Grover Swank was born in Kansas City, Missouri and lived in the area until she was nineteen. Then she became a nomadic gypsy, living in five cities, four states and ten houses over the course of ten years before she moved back to her roots. She speaks English and smattering of Spanish and Chinese which she learned through an intensive Nick Jr. immersion period. Her hobbies include witty Facebook comments (in her own mind) and dancing in her kitchen with her children. (Quite badly if you believe her offspring.) Hidden talents include the gift of justification and the ability to drink massive amounts of caffeine and still fall asleep within two minutes. Her lack of the sense of smell allows her to perform many unspeakable tasks. She has six children and hasn’t lost her sanity. Or so she leads you to believe.
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About A.R. Casella
A.R. CASELLA is a freelance developmental editor by day, writer by night. She lives in Asheville, NC with her husband, daughter, two dogs, and a variable number of fish. Her pastimes include chasing around her toddler, baking delicious treats, and occasional bouts of crocheting. Any Luck at All, co-written with New York Times bestselling author Denise Grover Swank, is her first book.
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Grab your headphones because you'll want to download Helen Starbuck's newest romantic suspense audio, Finding Alex. Narrated by Sebastian York and Tiffany Williams, featuring Johnny Heller, Michael Pauley, and Amy Deuchler. Don't believe me? Listen to the sample below.
Not knowing can be lethal
Assaulted, left for dead, and amnesic, the woman who thinks her name is Alex, may be the only surviving victim of a killer who’s targeting prostitutes and leaving their bodies without fingertips to complicate their identification. Denver Homicide Detective Blake Halloran is sure she is connected to the other killings but he can’t identify her, even with her fingertips intact. And she can’t remember anything—including the face or name of the man who tried to kill her.
With each new victim, it becomes more crucial for Alex to remember what happened to her if Blake and his partner are to solve the murders, but how do you force someone to remember? As Blake’s strong attraction to her and his need to protect her grows, so does his uneasiness about the inability to identify her, whether she’s a villain or a victim, and whether her amnesia is real.
Helen Starbuck—no relation to the coffee bunch—lives in Arvada, Colorado, with her two cats and is a multiple award-winning author of Legacy of Secrets, Finding Alex, The Woman He Used to Know, and the Annie Collins Mystery Series. Helen likes stories about strong women and interesting men. She writes her mysteries from the perspective of an OR nurse and relies on her love of suspense and romance to write her standalone romantic suspense novels. Her theory is, if you don’t like life as it is, you can always write a different ending.
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