Cover Reveal
Release Date: July
31, 2014
Sent to
the family ranch to overcome his addiction, Taylor Reese is angry and hurt.
Feeling rejected by his father and brother, Taylor throws himself into ranch
life to help him forget. He struggles with his addiction, though he refuses
help. But it isn’t long before it hits him hard how much his life has spiraled
out of control. He begins to question every aspect of his life, and the
confusion leaves him floundering and looking for something, or someone, to
cling to.
Libby
Karlin is cautious, wary of Taylor’s presence. His brutal honesty and lack of
respect claw at her composure. Her dark past makes her reluctant to let anyone
near her family, but when Taylor strikes up a friendship with her son, Libby
finds herself drawn to the sadness within him. His experiences are no secret to
her. She sees where his world turned upside down and offers him a helping hand.
But her own secrets stay buried, locked away until a knock on her door has her
gasping for breath.
Libby’s
fear paralyzes her as she comes face to face with her demons and, determined to
stay strong, she battles for a way out.
Could
dealing with their pasts really give them a future?
Excerpt:
Taylor thought for a moment, intrigued that
she never quite made eye contact with him. She looked everywhere but right at
him. “I think we should leave that discussion for another time. I was
about to say . . . I should apologize for the way I shouted at your
kid.”
“You should or you
will?”
He rolled his eyes. “Look, if you
don’t want the apology, then fine. I gave it to you
anyway.” He weaved around her, heading for the
door.
“You didn’t,”
she said, her voice low. He spun around, the movement causing his hair to flop
into his eyes. He blinked. “Excuse me?”
She shifted from one foot to the other,
staring over his shoulder. “You never really said sorry. You said you
should apologize, but you didn’t say the
words.”
He gawked at her, certain he had said it.
Hadn’t he? He battled for what to say next, and Libby crossed her
arms. The woman might be uncomfortable looking him in the eye, but she did a
good impression of acting like he didn’t intimidate her. He was
rather impressed.
“I would remember it—if
you did say you were sorry. You don’t seem like the kind of person
who says it often, so I’d commit it to
memory.”
“Sassy,” he said, his
brain trying to think of a wittier retort. “And there’s no
need to remember me. I’m right here, every wonderful inch.”
He wiggled his brows and grinned.
Libby sagged, her eyes rolling upward.
“Forget the apology. It wouldn’t be sincere. I doubt you
can even feel such a thing.”
“And
how do you know that?” he asked.
“Because there is no room for
anything but your damn ego,” she said, her vibrant eyes finally
meeting his.
His gut tightened, and this time it
wasn’t due to the lack of drugs. The sensation came from something
else entirely.
Pushing
it aside, he snorted. “You don’t even know me.
You’ve been in my presence for what? Ten minutes
max?”
“Ten minutes was all it took for
me to work out how self-absorbed you are.” She threw her arms out,
palms up. “Why am I even wasting my time on
you?”
“I don’t know, Blue. I
think it’s because you simply can’t help
yourself.”
Libby thrust out her chin. She moved toward
him, determination shining in her eyes. Her red hair framed her intense
expression, one that could kill if he looked too long. Medusa. She was Medusa
and he was about to be turned to stone.
Her
finger prodded his chest, punctuating each word as she spoke. “Do.
Not. Push. Me. My name is Libby.”
“That’s some temper you
have . . . Blue.”
Her banshee’s wail was so high
pitched it could crack glass, and all he could do was laugh. He’d
gotten right under her skin. Maybe his time here wouldn’t be as
boring as he’d first thought. A little light sparring would relieve
the monotony. That’s if he got out of this one with his balls intact,
because Libby looked set to tear them off.
“I know what you’re
doing, and you won’t get to me. I love Josh. He is the reason
I’m backing away now, so go and thank your uncle.”
He smiled. “You
wouldn’t even leave a scratch,
pussycat.”
M.
A. Stacie is never without a book or her eReader. A voracious reader, with a
love of sexy, yet angst ridden novels, she adores getting lost in new worlds.
Her need to write did not grip her until after her second son was born, when
her previous rambles became fully fledged stories.
She
describes herself as one huge contradiction, and though not the most
conventional of hobbies, she counts getting new tattoos as one of hers. Running
keeps her sane, along with knitting and listening to loud music.
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