Chloe Cox's Blog

Ford and Adra's story is finally out!!

You can get it at Amazon and Barnes and Noble (still waiting on Apple), and there's an excerpt below....

I have been waiting to get these two together FOREVER, and I'm so happy they finally got their happy ending. :D Hope you guys love Ford as much as I do!

Now for that teaser (I put this up way earlier, but some people missed it and I love it so much)...

Ok, so some context: there is a much anticipated BDSM movie being filmed at Club Volare LA, and Ford and Adra have been enlisted as consultants on the film. Unfortunately, Adra’s ex-boyfriend and terrible overall Dom Derrick Duvall is the actor playing the lead role. When Adra is asked to run through a scene, this makes for a little bit o’ conflict, and Ford is just not having it…

Excerpt from Chapter 6, SUBMIT AND SURRENDER…

Ford looked over the pages that had been thrust into his hand by the harried director and frowned. It was apparently the first BDSM scene they were shooting, but one that occurred somewhere in the middle of the movie, at least in the script he’d read.

Still, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what this scene was actually about. All he saw was some light discipline. That wasn’t nearly enough to go on.

“What do you want from us?” Ford asked.

“Anything you can give us,” Olivia said, laughing nervously. “I have so many questions.”

“Ask away,” Adra said.

“I just…I don’t understand what’s going through her head, here, you know?” Olivia said. “Like, I get the motivation—she’s just defied one of his orders, but it’s because she realizes that she’s actually in love with him, even though it’s supposed to be ‘no strings attached,’” Olivia said, rolling her eyes slightly at the phrase ‘no strings attached.’ “And so she has to like…pull away, or rebel or something. And he’s not having it.”

“You seem to get it pretty well,” Derrick said from where he was lounging on a couch. Ford wondered if his smile was leering, and then decided to let it go. For now.

Besides, Olivia did seem to have a pretty good grasp on the material.

“Yeah, I get the emotional aspect,” Olivia said, picking at some non-existent lint on her jeans. “I just don’t know what she’s supposed to be actually feeling, physically and mentally, as this is going on. As a submissive. Or how it relates, I guess. Like, I have no idea, even the gestures… I don’t know.”

Santos, who had been on the phone, whispering frantically, finally looked over.

“You can help with this?” he demanded, looking at Adra and Ford.

Adra looked up from the script. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I can definitely help with this.”

Ford did not like how that got Derrick’s attention.

“Good,” Santos said. “You coach, I will be back in ten. This security shitshow outside has thrown everything off.”

And with that, the director actually walked off.

Ford frowned. This entire production was a disorganized mess, from the lax security to the lack of planning and preparation for the actors. Ford and Adra had no experience with coaching a scene, Olivia had no idea what she was doing, and Derrick was focused on Adra. The disorganization showed.

Olivia looked at Adra, her expression shy.

“Can you show me?” she asked. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Um, yeah,” Adra said. She smiled nervously. “I guess I’m not sure what I’m doing either? I’ve never acted or anything, so…”

And Derrick made his move.

“Let’s show her,” Derrick said, getting up off his couch. Speaking directly at Adra. “Let’s do the scene together.”

That was it.

“Sit down,” Ford ordered.

Derrick sat, slightly stunned. Everyone else froze.

Ford had read the scene. He knew the words, what little there were. But more than that, he knew the scene, in his bones. Now that Olivia had given an emotional context it made sense. He knew what it was, what to do. He was a Dom. And he was damned if he was going to let Derrick use Adra to demonstrate anything.

He pinned Adra with his eyes and said, “Pay attention, Olivia.”

Then he walked over to Adra, threaded his hand through her hair, pulled her head back, and started the scene.

“You knew the rules, and you broke them,” Ford said, his eyes taking in all of Adra—her big brown eyes, her parted lips, her delicate neck. Her undeniable reaction to him. “Now there are consequences.”

~ * ~ * ~

Adra’s mind went blank.

For an eternal second, her mind actually went blank.

There was just Ford’s hand in her hair, his lips so close to hers, his body controlling her own…

And then she remembered. The scene. This was the scene. He was speaking lines.

She barely remembered to breathe.

“This,” Ford said, tightening his grip on Adra’s hair, “shocks her into a submissive mindset. It bypasses thought and goes directly for the body. You see her eyes, the pupils dilated? Her lips parted, her breathing shallow and fast?”

He was speaking to Olivia. But his eyes never left Adra.

“Yes,” she heard Olivia say.

“This is where he would kiss her,” Ford said.

He pulled Adra’s head back just a little more.

“Softly, at first, but thoroughly,” he said, his eyes on Adra’s lips. “Then harder. Firmer. Establishing dominance.”

Adra licked her lips and felt her breath hitch. His mouth was so close, hovering over hers while he described what he could do to her. What she was feeling. How it would work.
And damn him, he was right.

“This is where she would begin to yield,” he said. “Where she’d begin to feel powerless.”

He was right. The warm, wet feeling started to spread from her core, her skin dancing with a million little tingles. She was enthralled.

“Adra, tell them what you feel,” Ford said.

It was an order.

“Warm,” she said, before she could stop herself. “Warmth. Light. I need—”

“She’s starting to lose words,” Ford said softly. “This is the first reason he reminds her of the safeword.”

He leaned his head down, his mouth by Adra’s ear.

“Tell me the safeword, Adra,” he said.

“Red,” she whispered. “It’s red.”

“What’s the second reason?” Olivia said. Adra could barely hear her.

“To make sure she knows she’s making the choice,” Ford said. “That in the end, she’s choosing to submit. That his dominance is so complete that she doesn’t even have control over her own desires.”

There was a pause.

“Oh,” Olivia said quietly.

“That’s when he leads her over to the bench,” Ford said, walking Adra the short distance to one of Volare’s own spanking benches.

When he let her go, she missed him. Felt adrift. Staring at the bench, thinking about what it meant. About who was behind her.

About how he had taken control of this situation without consulting her, without asking. About how she had no idea what this meant, if it meant anything at all. And about how she wanted it to go on so much that she didn’t even care.

She had her safeword, after all.

“He would make her look at the bench,” Ford went on. “He’d make sure she knew what it meant, what it was for. This is when she’s confronted with that choice—submit, or safeword out.”

Adra felt Ford’s hand on her shoulder, pushing her one step forward, just in front of the bench. She couldn’t do this. If she did this, she’d be betraying their friendship. They both would. But Adra would fall so much harder. If she did this, she didn’t know if she could stop. She didn’t know if she could come back from it. She didn’t know if she’d want to.

“Her mind would be in conflict,” Ford said behind her. “The tension between every social convention, every emotional defense mechanism, telling her not to do this, to run away from what she feels, versus the overwhelming urge to obey. To let go, give in, be free.”

Adra closed her eyes. How far would he take this?

“And then he would give the order,” Ford said.

His hand pushed on her shoulder.

“Bend over,” he commanded.

Adra obeyed.

She did it reflexively, automatically. She bent at the waist, her ass up in the air, her hands reaching out for the handles, fingers spread wide as she savored the way it felt to wrap her hands around the contoured rubber. She turned her head, resting her cheek on the bench. And she gave in.

“She surrenders,” Ford said.

His voice beat with a rhythm she could feel between her legs. Her body hummed with the timbre of his voice.

“Her entire body is like a primed instrument,” Ford said, his hand moving to her hip. “She can feel everything. She can feel me breathe. She is pulled tight, waiting for it. The slightest touch, the slightest impact…”

Would he do it?

Jesus, would he do it?

She’d let him…

Amazon
Barnes and Noble

Hi! So I plan to have the 8th Club Volare book, Submit and Surrender, out by the end of February, but I figured I'd give you guys a taste of Ford and Adra's story now. :)

This is unedited, and is still subject to change, but I think it’s fun. :) Ok, so some context: there is a much anticipated BDSM movie being filmed at Club Volare LA, and Ford and Adra have been enlisted as consultants on the film. Unfortunately, Adra’s ex-boyfriend and terrible overall Dom Derrick Duvall is the actor playing the lead role. When Adra is asked to run through a scene, this makes for a little bit o’ conflict, and Ford is just not having it…

Excerpt from Chapter 6, SUBMIT AND SURRENDER…

Ford looked over the pages that had been thrust into his hand by the harried director and frowned. It was apparently the first BDSM scene they were shooting, but one that occurred somewhere in the middle of the movie, at least in the script he’d read.

Still, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what this scene was actually about. All he saw was some light discipline. That wasn’t nearly enough to go on.

“What do you want from us?” Ford asked.

“Anything you can give us,” Olivia said, laughing nervously. “I have so many questions.”

“Ask away,” Adra said.

“I just…I don’t understand what’s going through her head, here, you know?” Olivia said. “Like, I get the motivation—she’s just defied one of his orders, but it’s because she realizes that she’s actually in love with him, even though it’s supposed to be ‘no strings attached,’” Olivia said, rolling her eyes slightly at the phrase ‘no strings attached.’ “And so she has to like…pull away, or rebel or something. And he’s not having it.”

“You seem to get it pretty well,” Derrick said from where he was lounging on a couch. Ford wondered if his smile was leering, and then decided to let it go. For now.

Besides, Olivia did seem to have a pretty good grasp on the material.

“Yeah, I get the emotional aspect,” Olivia said, picking at some non-existent lint on her jeans. “I just don’t know what she’s supposed to be actually feeling, physically and mentally, as this is going on. As a submissive. Or how it relates, I guess. Like, I have no idea, even the gestures… I don’t know.”

Santos, who had been on the phone, whispering frantically, finally looked over.

“You can help with this?” he demanded, looking at Adra and Ford.

Adra looked up from the script. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I can definitely help with this.”

Ford did not like how that got Derrick’s attention.

“Good,” Santos said. “You coach, I will be back in ten. This security shitshow outside has thrown everything off.”

And with that, the director actually walked off.

Ford frowned. This entire production was a disorganized mess, from the lax security to the lack of planning and preparation for the actors. Ford and Adra had no experience with coaching a scene, Olivia had no idea what she was doing, and Derrick was focused on Adra. The disorganization showed.

Olivia looked at Adra, her expression shy.

“Can you show me?” she asked. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Um, yeah,” Adra said. She smiled nervously. “I guess I’m not sure what I’m doing either? I’ve never acted or anything, so…”

And Derrick made his move.

“Let’s show her,” Derrick said, getting up off his couch. Speaking directly at Adra. “Let’s do the scene together.”

That was it.

“Sit down,” Ford ordered.

Derrick sat, slightly stunned. Everyone else froze.

Ford had read the scene. He knew the words, what little there were. But more than that, he knew the scene, in his bones. Now that Olivia had given an emotional context it made sense. He knew what it was, what to do. He was a Dom. And he was damned if he was going to let Derrick use Adra to demonstrate anything.

He pinned Adra with his eyes and said, “Pay attention, Olivia.”

Then he walked over to Adra, threaded his hand through her hair, pulled her head back, and started the scene.

“You knew the rules, and you broke them,” Ford said, his eyes taking in all of Adra—her big brown eyes, her parted lips, her delicate neck. Her undeniable reaction to him. “Now there are consequences.”

~ * ~ * ~

Adra’s mind went blank.

For an eternal second, her mind actually went blank.

There was just Ford’s hand in her hair, his lips so close to hers, his body controlling her own…

And then she remembered. The scene. This was the scene. He was speaking lines.

She barely remembered to breathe.

“This,” Ford said, tightening his grip on Adra’s hair, “shocks her into a submissive mindset. It bypasses thought and goes directly for the body. You see her eyes, the pupils dilated? Her lips parted, her breathing shallow and fast?”

He was speaking to Olivia. But his eyes never left Adra.

“Yes,” she heard Olivia say.

“This is where he would kiss her,” Ford said.

He pulled Adra’s head back just a little more.

“Softly, at first, but thoroughly,” he said, his eyes on Adra’s lips. “Then harder. Firmer. Establishing dominance.”

Adra licked her lips and felt her breath hitch. His mouth was so close, hovering over hers while he described what he could do to her. What she was feeling. How it would work.
And damn him, he was right.

“This is where she would begin to yield,” he said. “Where she’d begin to feel powerless.”

He was right. The warm, wet feeling started to spread from her core, her skin dancing with a million little tingles. She was enthralled.

“Adra, tell them what you feel,” Ford said.

It was an order.

“Warm,” she said, before she could stop herself. “Warmth. Light. I need—”

“She’s starting to lose words,” Ford said softly. “This is the first reason he reminds her of the safeword.”

He leaned his head down, his mouth by Adra’s ear.

“Tell me the safeword, Adra,” he said.

“Red,” she whispered. “It’s red.”

“What’s the second reason?” Olivia said. Adra could barely hear her.

“To make sure she knows she’s making the choice,” Ford said. “That in the end, she’s choosing to submit. That his dominance is so complete that she doesn’t even have control over her own desires.”

There was a pause.

“Oh,” Olivia said quietly.

“That’s when he leads her over to the bench,” Ford said, walking Adra the short distance to one of Volare’s own spanking benches.

When he let her go, she missed him. Felt adrift. Staring at the bench, thinking about what it meant. About who was behind her.

About how he had taken control of this situation without consulting her, without asking. About how she had no idea what this meant, if it meant anything at all. And about how she wanted it to go on so much that she didn’t even care.

She had her safeword, after all.

“He would make her look at the bench,” Ford went on. “He’d make sure she knew what it meant, what it was for. This is when she’s confronted with that choice—submit, or safeword out.”

Adra felt Ford’s hand on her shoulder, pushing her one step forward, just in front of the bench. She couldn’t do this. If she did this, she’d be betraying their friendship. They both would. But Adra would fall so much harder. If she did this, she didn’t know if she could stop. She didn’t know if she could come back from it. She didn’t know if she’d want to.

“Her mind would be in conflict,” Ford said behind her. “The tension between every social convention, every emotional defense mechanism, telling her not to do this, to run away from what she feels, versus the overwhelming urge to obey. To let go, give in, be free.”

Adra closed her eyes. How far would he take this?

“And then he would give the order,” Ford said.

His hand pushed on her shoulder.

“Bend over,” he commanded.

Adra obeyed.

She did it reflexively, automatically. She bent at the waist, her ass up in the air, her hands reaching out for the handles, fingers spread wide as she savored the way it felt to wrap her hands around the contoured rubber. She turned her head, resting her cheek on the bench. And she gave in.

“She surrenders,” Ford said.

His voice beat with a rhythm she could feel between her legs. Her body hummed with the timbre of his voice.

“Her entire body is like a primed instrument,” Ford said, his hand moving to her hip. “She can feel everything. She can feel me breathe. She is pulled tight, waiting for it. The slightest touch, the slightest impact…”

Would he do it?

Jesus, would he do it?

She’d let him…

SAVAGE HEARTS is here! It's live on Amazon and Nook!
Amazon
Nook

And I thought I'd give you guys a juicy little excerpt. :D

This is Soren's Club Volare story. Following the publication of a book about the band, Soren gets sued--and his lawyer Cate Kennedy is the perfect sub for him. It's just taking her a little longer to figure that out...

EXCERPT FROM SAVAGE HEARTS:


“Stop thinking so much,” he ordered. “And get your ass upstairs. Now.”

Cate could get her ass upstairs as quickly as Soren told her to, but to stop thinking entirely?

Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.

Especially when she could literally feel his eyes on her ass the whole way up. It made her feel warm, and wanted, and wet.

Which was a problem, because she had a job to do. She had a job she had to do right now, a job that couldn’t wait. She couldn’t afford to let Mark Cheedham own a news cycle with his press conference and all the allegations he’d made; she had to craft a response and she had to go on television and hit back, and the sooner she did it, the better. For Soren’s sake.

And for that she needed Soren to answer some questions. That was what this meeting was for, his debriefing. That’s all this meeting was for.

Keep telling yourself that, Kennedy.

“Faster,” Soren growled behind her. “Or I will pick you up and carry you.”

Cate blinked. He wouldn’t.

No, he probably would.

She practically ran up the remaining steps.

“Hey,” she said, turning around to face him at the top of the stairs. “We should probably work out some rules, or boundaries, you know, when we’re doing professional stuff, and when we’re doing…other stuff.”

Soren pointed at a closed door. “In there. Now.”

There was a silence. Cate didn’t move except to tighten her hand on the railing. She was sure he could hear her heartbeat; it was that loud. It was deafening. Soren stood in front of her, towering and unyielding, and looking every inch the Dom. Like, she suddenly realized, he always did. Soren didn’t turn this stuff on and off the way that Cate did, he didn’t compartmentalize. He was always just him.

And he was the one making the rules.

Slowly, Cate let go of the railing. She could already feel her pulse throbbing between her legs, could already feel her skin start to tingle in that particular way.

She met his brilliant blue eyes for one meaningful moment and then turned around, walked toward the room he’d chosen, and opened the door.
It was dark. She fumbled for the light switch on the wall until she felt Soren’s massive bulk behind her, and then she gasped.

His huge hand on her stomach, spanning it.

His mouth on her neck.

She heard a woman moan, and realized it was her. She felt her knees go weak, felt herself collapse into him, felt the hardness behind her.

“Oh, what the hell do you to do to me?” she murmured.

In answer he spun her around, into the room, against another wall in the dark. She heard a switch flip, saw the soft lighting, the comfortable furniture, the bed, padded benches, things she didn’t recognize.

This was not a room for a debriefing.

“Soren—”

“Quiet,” he said, and lifted both her hands above her head, pinning her with one huge paw.

Soren’s size blocked out everything else.
No sound. Just the two of them breathing, in synch. She could feel the heat on her cheek. In her belly. Between her thighs.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Soren said.

“I was busy,” she said. She looked straight ahead, at the little dip in his collarbone, and tried to keep her voice even. “I was doing research for the case.”

“That’s an excuse,” he said.

His free hand found her hip and stroked it, caressed it, felt the material of her skirt. Stopped when it found the zipper.

“It’s true,” she said.

“No, it’s only part of the truth,” Soren said, his fingers toying with the zipper on her skirt. “The rest of the truth is that you’re afraid.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

“Fine. Definitely.”

In the dim light he smiled. Then he bent down and kissed her.

Not gentle this time. Heated. Hard. Hot. The kind of onslaught she could only surrender to, helpless to do anything but yield, anything but let it wash over her, until something caught fire in her. Cate almost felt like she was watching from outside herself as the hunger in her grew, as she kissed him back with equal ferocity, equal breathlessness.
She’d never wanted anyone so badly in her entire life.

She’d never been so mindless.

Soren tore away from her with a growl, panting. Cate almost wailed; it felt like she actually needed him, physically, like she needed contact, as much of it as possible.

“No,” Soren said. “I’m going to be careful with you.”

“Please don’t be,” Cate said.

His hands tightened on her hip, on her wrists. He exhaled slowly.

“You’ll get what you need, Cate. Not what you want.”

It's here! *booty dance*
Amazon
Nook
Apple

I am so excited for the official release of LIE TO ME, and I hope you guys love Marcus and Harlow as much as I do. :) Here's an excerpt from Chapter 1...

I stand there, swaying, digging for my Metrocard as the bus finally begins to pull away from the curb. The light ahead on Delancey Street is green, and beyond that is the long expanse of the Williamsburg Bridge. My heart is thudding against my ribcage, each beat threatening to crack the thin veneer of stability I have erected around me and let it all out: all the tears, the heartbreak, the grief. The loneliness. The lust. I just manage to swipe my Metrocard, catching myself on the handrail as the bus lurches ahead, when I hear it.

Marcus pounding on the bus door.

I don’t know why, but I turn to watch him. Everybody else thinks he’s just a guy who missed the bus in the rain, who knows he can’t catch a cab when the weather’s like this, who’s pissed he’s going to have to wait to get across the bridge.

But I know he’s chasing me.

That Marcus Roma, for once, is the one chasing me.

Now, from inside this bus, from the other side of what might as well be an impenetrable barrier, I can look at him. I can look at him run after me, a look of desperation on his face that I’ve only ever seen once or twice, and only when he didn’t know how to help me. Marcus Roma raw is too much for me to handle right now. Maybe ever again. No one else has ever seen through me like Marcus, no one else has ever stripped me of all pretense.

It was always intoxicating. It was always a rush. It always made me so very, very vulnerable. Once it made me strong, too. Now?

Now it would just make it all that easier to fall.

But would it? And here is where I really start to drive myself crazy, in the seconds when I’m watching Marcus run in the rain, falling farther behind the bus with every step. Because now that I’m not standing in front of him, exposed to those eyes, I’m thinking, Maybe this is actually what I need.

Maybe I need to yell at him. Maybe an explanation would end it. Maybe it would exorcise the ghost of Marcus Roma from my life once and for all and I could move on.

Or maybe this is just my body making rationalizations for what it wants. Which is Marcus.

Five years, and I’ve never forgotten the feel of his hands on my body.

My throat tightens up and my mouth goes dry. We’re on the bridge. Marcus is far behind us. The rain slams into the big, broad windshield of the bus as we speed toward Brooklyn, and I’m thinking about how I just ran. I never used to run. That’s not what I do. I’m a fighter.

Marcus taught me that.

I fought my way through after my parents died in the accident, with Marcus’s help. I fought for Dill. I fought for my own freedom. And I just ran from Marcus, because I wasn’t sure I could fight…

What?

I’m kidding myself. I know what. I know what I had begun to feel for him before he left, what I never stopped feeling, even after he was gone: no man has ever made me feel like that. Like he could turn me molten with just a look. Like I could drown in him, like I wanted to drown in him. Like I loved him so much that everything else faded away, like I could live on that feeling alone, burning bright and beautiful in the dark of my wounded heart.

I’ve thought about what it felt like to have Marcus Roma touch me so many times. What it was like to have him inside me. Even after he abandoned me without any explanation, even after he broke me, even after he did all that knowing exactly what it would do to me, he’s still the only man I’ve ever dreamed of. I’ve had other men since then, and every time I’ve been painfully aware of how much they were not Marcus.

Fuck him for that. Seriously.

I’m angry and overwhelmed and I’m feeling way too many things in a short period of time, like all the joy, rage, loss, grief, and lust of those years is condensed into this one moment on a public bus, speeding across the Williamsburg Bridge, and this is the one time I can’t shut down my brain. I can’t stop myself from asking what if?

What if I don’t see him again? What if he just doesn’t care to try again? What if this is it? What if this is the last time I see him, and I’ve run away?

Great. I get to add shame to the mix of emo crap I’ve got brewing inside me. I feel like I’m going to be sick. Apparently it’s noticeable, because a guy sitting up front actually gets up and offers me his seat. You have to be very pregnant or very old or, apparently, very much on the verge of totally losing your shit in public to get that offer.

I say thanks, but no thanks. I grip the handrail harder. I need to feel myself grounded to the physical earth, not resting on a seat, mind free to wander and think about all the what-ifs. About how, if I’m truly honest, for that one second when I locked eyes with him, I felt like I did back in the old days. Like I wasn’t alone in the world. Like I had a teammate. Just because he could see me and I could see him.

And if there’s one thing I still need, almost more than I need my next breath, it’s to feel like I’m not alone in the world.

Except that I am. And I have been, since Marcus left. Maybe when Dill is older I won’t feel like that. But right now I’m all Dill has, and I have to stay strong and sane. Which means no chasing after the man who made me this way, or letting him chase after me, or indulging in any of that hopeful bullshit that is sure to get my heart broken all over again.

So it’s done. He’s gone. Probably he won’t try to contact me or anything, since he hasn’t tried to already. It was just a chance encounter, and now it’s over. That is a very good thing.

So why am I hyperventilating? Why is my palm sliding down the handrail, slick with sweat?

Why do I feel nauseous when I think, it’s over.

It’s been over. Christ, Harlow, get a grip!

People are still looking at me. I’m soaking wet, my blonde hair plastered to my head, my leather jacket beaded with rain. I can feel that my lips are blue. The bus is slowing down, running into traffic on the other end of the bridge, and I think this is good. This will give me some time to get myself together, to get my head right before I have to go home and see Mr. Wolfe.

And then it hits me.

Mr. Wolfe. Marcus.

Both back in town at the same time.

That can’t be a coincidence.

I think that, and relief blossoms in me. Because Marcus isn’t here for me. It’s not about me; it never was. He’s here because Mr. Wolfe is here. Marcus is still working for him. So even if I’d decided that getting some kind of closure, or an explanation, or whatever was a good idea, it’s not like I’d get it. Because Marcus isn’t here for me. I just dodged a major, major bullet.

This is what I tell myself while the bus lurches toward the other end of the bridge. This was a lucky escape; bullet dodged. I can’t ever be in a position where I want more from Marcus than he wants from me. I can’t let him back in my life.

And it’s not a problem, because he’s not here for me.

I tell myself this over and over and over again.

By the time the bus slows to a stop in Williamsburg, I’ve calmed down slightly. Figuring out that Marcus still doesn’t give a crap is somehow liberating, I guess because it’s a familiar kind of pain. Like, that I know how to deal with, if only because I’ve had a lot of practice. It was just the shock of seeing him that put me off balance. I’m over it now.

I’m totally over it.

I climb down the stairs, out of the bus, almost expecting to see, like, sunshine and bluebirds and whatever else—that’s how liberating that thought feels. Marcus is across the river, on a different island entirely, and out of my life, and if I can just avoid him from here on out, I will only have the real estate developers and Mr. Wolfe to deal with.

So, no worse than things were when I got up this morning.

I’m expecting the clouds to part and the sun to shine, but obviously it’s still raining. That’s ok, too. I let it wash over me, imagining the relief I’ve convinced myself I’m supposed to feel, trying to let it flow through me all over again before I walk home in the rain, umbrella-less. I close my eyes, turn my face up to the sky.

When I open them again, I see Marcus.

Standing tall, breathing hard, his black hair wet with rain. Hat gone. Coat open, white dress shirt soaked through, his pecs and abs contracting with every strained breath. Pale gray green eyes on fire.

“Harlow,” he chokes out.

He’s still holding my umbrella.

He ran. He chased me across the bridge. He beat a bus, across the bridge.

To catch me.

He’s panting still, out of breath, and now it’s like he’s stolen mine, too. He takes another step toward me and this time I can’t look away. His eyes have me. It’s the same, the same as it always was, only different, now, too: more. There’s all those years, all those shared memories flying between us, swirling around in an invisible field that I know we both feel, all those things that we know about each other that no one else will ever really, truly know, no matter how much we might want to tell them, because they weren’t there. It was just us. Just Marcus and me.

And those eyes, seeing through me.

And now there’s what’s different about it, too. What’s changed. How I can’t ignore the man he’s become. Jesus God, no one could ignore that. Can he see through that, too? Can he see me watch his body move, watch how he brushes that black hair out of his eyes, how the rain is caught on those long eyelashes? How when he licks his lips, moving toward me, I’m transfixed?

The thing between us is alive, I swear to God. All that history, all those memories, and now this, this unique awareness of the physical man in front of me, and the way my traitorous body responds: it’s a living thing, whipping between us, drawing us closer, something blind and stupid, fierce and feral. It’s choking me, making it hard to see straight, to remember all the reasons I have to be afraid for my heart. All I can see is that strong jaw, those huge shoulders, that tie dancing in the wind, water dripping down his face while he looks at me with those beautiful, sad eyes…

No single human being has ever hurt me the way Marcus Roma has, and now he’s back. And I don’t want him to leave. And that will be my downfall.

If I let it.

“What are you doing?” I whisper. It’s all I can think to say. I don’t understand any of this. Why is here? What does he want from me?

“You ran,” he says. Like that’s an explanation.

“I can’t,” I say. I don’t know what to call what’s happening, or what might happen, but with every step he takes toward me, I know.

“I can’t,” I say again.

Marcus’s face screws up like he’s in actual pain. “Please, Harlow,” he says. “Just talk to me.”

He puts his hand out. Such a simple thing, and yet it means everything. I stare at it for I don’t know how long, not trusting myself to look him in the eyes again. The worst part of this is that I want to take it so badly. I want…whatever I can get.

And that is pathetic.

If it weren’t for Dill, I’d throw myself at his mercy all over again. My heart is pounding, my blood rushing in my ears, my body and soul screaming for some kind of release from the last five years of torture. From five years of not knowing why. From five years of thinking he just didn’t care enough, of thinking that I was just that easy to throw away.

And I’d do it all over again, if it weren’t for my responsibilities.

“I don’t talk to ghosts,” I say, and walk away. I walk away, but I don’t escape. Not even a little bit. I feel his eyes on me the whole time. I feel him, with me. And all the way home, the only thing I can think is: What does Marcus Roma want from me?

After all this time, what does he want?

Amazon US
Amazon UK
Nook
iTunes

I'm basically sequestered in my writing cave, working on the next two books (Lie to Me, book one of a brand new NA/Contemp series, and the next Club Volare book), but in the meantime I figured I can have some fun. Which means MARRYING THE MASTER for 99c this week. :D Enjoy! *scurries back to the writing cave...*

Amazon Kindle
B&N Nook

Hi guys! I'm insanely excited to launch this book. The latest in the Club Volare series is a rock star romance, which was crazy fun to write. I'm launching it at 99c, and then I'll bump it up to regular price. Here's part of the blurb:

"He’s lying about what happened to his ex. He’s lying about the reason he knocked out his lead guitarist and best friend, and then kicked him out of the band. He’s lying about going to rehab—he doesn’t even drink.

And now he’s lying about the way he feels about sweet, submissive Molly Ward. But even that’s a lie—Molly isn’t all that sweet, and Declan loves it.

He’s gotten used to lying. It helps to hide the pain he’s sworn never to share with anyone else.

But Molly is on tour with Savage Heart for one reason only: get to the bottom of what happened the night the band broke up and then write a book that will bring them back from the dead. She’s determined to get through Declan’s lies and get to the truth of the man within, a truth she knows hides deep scars..."

Personally, I love Declan and his scars a whole lot. ;) You guys can get it here (more retailers to follow):


Amazon Kindle
B&N Nook

Hey guys! So , the first Club Volare book, is on sale at Amazon, Nook, and Apple for 99c!



Amazon US
Amazon UK
Nook
Apple

I'm not sure how long I'm gonna leave it at 99c, so go pick it up if you haven't already, and have a great weekend! :)

You guys, TAKEN BY CHANCE is up and available at Amazon US and Nook! I'm launching it at 99c again, because it was so much fun last time and you guys are the best. And to celebrate, MARRYING THE MASTER will also be 99c for a few days!

TAKEN BY CHANCE on AMAZON US:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00DDV96Y4

On NOOK:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/taken...

Guys. Guys. GUYS.

Marrying the Master is, as I'm typing this, #36 paid in the kindle store.

I need...I don't even know what I need. Oxygen? A little brown bag to breathe into? A cup of cold water to the face?



I...I am excited. THANK YOU. You guys are the absolute best.

LOL like immediately after I made the last post, it shows up on the Amazon store! YES. Here it is:
-- Amazon US ---- Amazon UK ---- Amazon DE ---- Nook -- Thank you SO MUCH for your patience! You guys are the best. Happy reading, and hope everyone has a great weekend!