Some say love can be an addiction. Others say it’s the thing that makes life worth living.
Let me tell you everything I know about love…
Love isn’t patient, love isn’t kind. Love is a game, a chase. A thrill. Love is wild and war-like, and every man and woman must fight for themselves.
At least that’s how it was for me.
A high-priced virgin call girl by the time I started college, I was addicted to love and to sex.
Even though I’ve never had either.
I controlled love, played it, and held the world in the palm of my hands.
Then I fell down from those highs, and I’m being blackmailed for all my mistakes, forced to keep secrets from everyone, except the only guy I don’t regret.
Trey.
With all the other women, I knew what they were. They were temporary.
They were pills, they were bottles, they took away all the pain, and numbed the awful memories that wore away at my ragged, wasted heart.
Until I met Harley.
She’s the only girl I ever missed when she walked away. But now she’s back in my life, every day, and there are no guarantees for us, especially since I don’t know how to tell her my secrets. What happened to my family.
All I know is she’s the closest I’ve ever come to something real, and I want to feel every second of it.
A few minutes later a cab pulls up, and she
pays the driver, then escapes. I squeeze my eyes shut when I see what she’s
wearing. Then I open them.
“Hi.” She offers a meek little wave as she
sinks down next to me. I close the sketchbook.
The cab races off, kicking up exhaust into
the night breeze, mingling with all the other scents nearby. This is New York
for you – I can smell Harley’s wild cherry lotion and I can smell garbage that
needs to be picked up tomorrow, the fume from cabs, and the trailing scent of
cigarettes. The ugly with the beautiful.
“You look guilty,” I say. “But you don’t
have to look guilty on my behalf.”
“I feel guilty.”
“Why? Are you going back to him?” I ask in
a strangled voice. The thought makes me sick.
She shrugs. “He made me an offer.”
I recoil, then stand up quickly as if I
can’t even be near her when she’s like this. When she’s in this zone. “Are you
going to take it?” I ask with a sneer. I don’t mask my disgust. I can’t mask my disgust.
“I don’t know,” she says, and her voice breaks,
and I fucking hate that she can be like this.
Tempted.
I push both hands through my hair, grabbing
hard. “You’re not a fucking whore, Harley.”
“It’s not like that,” she spits back.
“Fuck that,” I shout through clenched
teeth. I pace down the block, walking away from her, far away. To the end of
the block, where I stop and slam a hand against the street sign. I take a
sharp, deep breath, then turn around. She’s still on the stoop, and she’s
fiddling with her shirt, shakily fastening the top two buttons.
When I reach her I bend down and grip her
knees. I stare hard at her, her brown eyes like pools. One lone tear streaks
down her face. “You are better than that,” I tell her, never breaking her gaze.
“You are so much better than that.”
“But what if I’m not?” She chokes out in
the tiniest voice.
I wipe the pad of my thumb across her
cheek. I want to kiss her tears away, but I can’t go there right now. For a
million reasons.
“You are,” I say firmly. I want to shake
her. I want to smack some sense into her. “How can you even say you’re not?”
She drops her head so I can’t look at her.
“Because I’m not. Because I went to see him. Because you’d never do this.
You’re stronger than me. You’re never even tempted.”
“You think this is easy for me?” I crouch
on the sidewalk, my hands still gripping her knees. I glance down at her socks,
then shake my head. “I hate these socks,” I mumble, as I peel the right one
down her leg. She lets me, lifting her calf for me. My fingertips brush her
skin, but I manage to resist running my hands up and down those calves. The
mission to get her out of this awful costume is stronger than my desire to
touch her. I unbuckle one shoe and take off her sock. I do the same to the
other leg, rolling down the white knee-high, undoing the shoes, and tugging the
sock off her foot, ignoring how smooth her perfectly shaven legs are. I hand
her the offending items, and she stuffs the white socks into her purse. Out of
sight. Somewhat out of mind. “I can’t stand seeing you dressed like this. I
wish you were wearing a t-shirt and jeans right now.”
I
earn a small laugh for that, and she lifts her head, flashing a quick lopsided
smile. The Harley smirk that makes me want to wipe it away with my mouth. Kiss
that sexy smirk right off of her. Hear the sweet sighs she makes when I kiss
her.
Lauren Blakely writes sexy contemporary romance novels with heat, heart, and humor, and her books have appeared on the New York Times, USA Today, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and iBooks bestseller lists. Like the heroine in FAR TOO TEMPTING, she thinks life should be filled with family, laughter, and the kind of love that love songs promise. Lauren lives in California with her husband, children, and dogs. Her novels include Caught Up In Us, Pretending He’s Mine, Playing With Her Heart, and Trophy Husband. She also writes for young adults under the name Daisy Whitney.
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THE THRILL OF IT is available for pre-order on Amazon and the Apple iBookstore at the special promotional price of $2.99.
After release, the price will be $3.99. Snag a copy at $2.99 before Nov. 21
This sounds like such a great book.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful post! Harley seems very very interesting character. I don't know why but men with secrets are always sexy.
ReplyDeleteRaffle name: Demitra Giote
I can not wait to read this! It sounds like it's going to be awesome :)
ReplyDeleteSo excited for this one! I am loving the teasers.
ReplyDeleteI'm so looking forward to reading this book ... I hope I win!
ReplyDelete