“It started when I was fifteen…”
It took me an hour to tell, with fits and starts and tears. I told Alex about how I had once loved Bob. About how I’d been so happy when I was twelve and my mom had married him, excited that I was going to have a dad.
I told him about how my mom had started a new job when I was fifteen. About how the job took her out of town sometimes, and that was when he would come visit me in my room. The next day, as if in apology, he would leave me a bouquet of freshly cut lavender, in a crystal vase on my dresser.
“He told me no one would believe me if I told.” By this point we were lying side by side on my bed, our foreheads pressed together, our legs intertwined.
I’d forgotten how safe it felt, being close to him.
“I kept quiet for two years, and then I told my mom. She… didn’t believe me. Didn’t want to believe me, I don’t think.” Alex traced a finger over the lines of the scars on my shoulders, and I didn’t feel the need to pull away.
He’d been silent since I’d started talking, letting me get it all out.
“I started sleeping around, taking any attention and affection that I could.” I wasn’t angry at myself anymore. I’d done what I had to do to get through. “I put on a bunch of weight in self defense. And then I started cutting myself. It was a relief, really, the way it let the pain drain away.”
“Never again.” Alex’s fingers tightened on my shoulders; they were the first words he’d spoken in almost an hour. “No harming yourself. You’re not alone anymore.”
“Never again,” I agreed. The ghost of a mile whispered over the corners of my lips. “When I came to college I decided to make a fresh start. And that day in Lodenville, I was forced into making another one, all over again.”
“And… how do you feel now?” His words were casual, but I understood what he was asking.
Had he given me enough time?
“I’ve never told anyone that story before. Not all of it.” I propped myself up on one elbow. Tracing my fingers over the edges of the tattoo that peeked out of the neckline of his shirt, I closed my eyes and savoured the sensation of being near him again.
While my eyes were closed, he moved in and kissed me. Initially a soft, sweet brush of the lips, it quickly turned hot, a frantic need to once again be together.
As his hand slid down to cup my hip, Alex broke the kiss for just a moment. I moaned in protest, but when I heard his words I had to smile.
“I love you, Serena.” I leaned forward, captured his lips with my own again, reveling in the warmth his words brought.
“I love you, too.” I closed my eyes, and gave myself whole heartedly.
Alex loved me for me. And that was all I had to say about that.
Want another tale from Safe Haven?
Check out Love Me If You Dare (Kaylee’s story), available now!
Read on for an excerpt.
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Other Books by Lauren Hawkeye
New adult romance
A Bride for a Billionaire
Three Little Words
Spring Fling (with Julia Kent, Sara Fawkes and Cathryn Fox)
Love Me For Me
Love Me If You Dare
Contemporary BDSM romance
Linger
Breathe
Blush
Surrender to Temptation
Fling (With Sara Fawkes and Cathryn Fox)
Historical romance
Seduced by the Gladiator
My Wicked Gladiators
See her websites for complete booklists!
www.laurenhawkeye.com
www.laurenjameson.com
About the author
Lauren Hawkeye / Lauren Jameson never imagined that she’d wind up telling stories for a living… though when she looks back, it’s easy to see that she’s the only one who is surprised. Always “the kid who read all the time”, Lauren made up stories about her favorite characters once she’d finished a book… and once spent an entire year narrating her own life internally. No, really. But where she was just plain odd before publication, now she can at least claim to have an artistic temperament.
Lauren lives in the Rocky Mountains of Alberta, Canada with her husband, toddler, pit bull and idiot cat, though they do not live in an igloo, nor do they drive a dogsled. In her nonexistent spare time Lauren can be found knitting (her husband claims that her snobby yarn collection is exorbitant), reading anything she can get her hands on, or sweating her way through spin class. She loves to hear from her readers!
Get in touch with Lauren online!
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http://www.laurenhawkeye.com
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LOVE ME IF YOU DARE
Excerpt. June 25, 2013.
Copyright © 2013 Lauren Hawkeye.
Written by Lauren Hawkeye.
“Uh-oh.”
I had been swaying to a song by Bruno Mars, my arms in the air, when Caroline’s voice filtered through. Opening my eyes, I saw her looking over my shoulder with apprehension.
A big hand was on my shoulder before I could ask her what was wrong. That hand pulled me, spinning me around on my heels. With three vodka sevens in me, I lost my balance, falling against the rock solid chest of the guy who had grabbed me.
The scent of soap and something that was uniquely him combined in my nose and told me who it was before my eyes actually took him in. My pulse quickened, my heart beginning to beat double time, as I looked up and my vision confirmed what I’d already known.
Thick, dark gold hair that stood up in spikes all over his head. Eyes that couldn’t quite decide if they were hazel or green. Chiselled features that were normally set in inscrutable lines.
I must have surprised him, because right now he looked like he’d seen a ghost. His hands ran up and down my arms, feeling the flesh as if he wasn’t sure I was real, and I shivered under the touch.
Could it really be that he wasn’t appalled to find me back in town? The sparks that I’d spent my time at college trying to dampen flickered, then burst back into the roaring fire that I’d always felt around him.
“Ella?” Those ever changing eyes narrowed and he cocked his head. I sucked in a breath when he used my sister’s name. I saw the second that he realized his mistake, but by then the pain had sliced through my veins.
“Out of everyone,” I started, my voice shaking as I stepped away from his touch. “Out of everyone who knew us both, I thought you would be able to tell us apart.”
Emotion that I couldn’t quite identify flickered over his face. I didn’t stick around to figure out what it was. Spinning, I shoved through the crowd of people, stumbling on the shoes that suddenly made my feet ache.
The combination of too much vodka, emotions running high, and the shock of seeing him again made me nauseous. I thought I might puke.
The downstairs bathroom had a line that snaked down the hall.
I’d only been here a few times, several years ago, but I remembered there was a small bathroom off the bedroom upstairs. I knew Caroline wouldn’t care if I used it, so I kicked off my shoes and, picking them up, hurried up the cheaply tiled stairs.
“Shit.” Clasping the edges of the porcelain sink in my hands, I bent over the basin and sucked in deep mouthfuls of air. My heart was thundering in my chest, adding to the sick sensation that threatened to smother me.
Dylan McKay had looked at me and seen the ghost of my dead twin. What he didn’t know was that he was my ghost, the mistake that would never stop haunting me.
The mistake that didn’t ease the want.
Bracing my weight on the sink, I looked into the mirror, cringing at what I saw. Sweat had melted away my makeup, the charcoal around my eyes smeared
in a way that made me look manic. The shock of seeing Dylan had made me pale and sickly.
No wonder he’d confused me for my sister. Still, after what had happened between us, I’d expected… well, I wasn’t sure what I’d expected from Dylan.
More, I guess. Or else nothing at all.
Sighing, I splashed cold water on my face, then scrubbed with paper towel. With my skin naked, I looked more like the Kaylee that the people of this town knew and remembered.
Maybe that was who I was destined to be. No matter how I fought it, it seemed like I couldn’t ever escape the past.
Finger combing my messy, sweat dampened curls, I pulled them back in a ponytail with an elastic band that I found in the top drawer of the vanity. With it the transformation was complete, even though I still wore the siren red dress.
I was Kaylee Sawyer, the girl who had always stood in the shadow of her twin, the girl who had made a tragedy happen by not being content with staying in the shadows.
The reminder pressed down on me, and for an unhappy moment I considered calling Joel. I couldn’t tell him about Dylan, oh hell no, but he’d try to cheer me up just because I was hurting.
I dismissed the thought as soon as I had it. I had to stop reaching out to him like he was my boyfriend, unless I was actually prepared to give him that commitment.
If I hadn’t already known that I wasn’t, the mess that Dylan had made of my heart in the two minutes I’d seen him would have spelled it out.
“Get me out of here.” I shuddered, reaching for the door. I half meant the party, and half meant my home town in general.
The hair on the back of my neck rose as I left the bathroom. It gave me enough of a split second warning that I didn’t jolt when I found Dylan standing just inside the entrance to the small bedroom.
His arms were crossed over his muscular chest, and his expression was stern. He seemed to fill the entire room, just by standing in it, something that I remembered well.
Dylan had always seemed larger than life. Just like Ella.
“What do you want?” My voice was sharp, even waspish, as I halted just outside the bathroom. I curled my toes into the floor, concentrating on how the short carpeting prickled the bare soles of my feet.
I didn’t care that I was being short. What did it matter, after all? Dylan had been Ella’s friend, not mine.
“I’m sorry.” There didn’t seem to be a whole lot of emotion behind his words, but that was just Dylan. Stoic. A rock.
Not expressing how he felt didn’t mean that he didn’t feel it.
“It’s fine.” It wasn’t—of course it wasn’t. But all of the emotions that had been pushing at me all day had scrubbed my heart raw, and I couldn’t handle the thought of a confrontation. Not that I’d ever been any good at them.
“When did you get back?” Though his face remained nearly expressionless, those eyes raked over me.
I wished I didn’t still feel the tug between us.
“Today.” My voice sounded rusty, as if I hadn’t used it for a very long time. “I’m just here for the summer.” Next year I’d have to be extra diligent to find a job before school was done, so that I could avoid ever setting foot in Fish Lake, Oregon again.
There was a pause, and I stared at the toes that I was still curling into the carpet.
“How’s your mom?” He asked. As I sank my teeth into my lower lip, I told myself that he couldn’t possibly care, but I knew that wasn’t true.
Dylan had always seen too much, and he’d practically lived at our house during the time when my mom’s drinking had gotten worse.
He knew what she was like now, I was sure of it. And if I let him in too close, he would see what I was like too.
Silently, I raised my stare and looked him over. His hair was that same thick golden mess that made my fingers itch to touch. He’d put a couple of inches on his already impressive six feet in the last few years, and the rangy muscle that I remembered had thickened. A hint of something sexy and smoky had replaced the notes of engine grease that had once layered into his addictive smell. The tattoo that peeked out the sleeve of his dark gray t-shirt was new. It looked like some kind of bird, though it was half covered up and I couldn’t quite tell.
I was entranced by it. I wanted to touch it, wanted to show him that I had one too. God, I’d wanted him for so long. Sometimes it felt like forever.
But he’d been Ella’s. Though I’d wanted so badly to believe differently, that meant that he couldn’t ever be mine.
“It’s good to see you, Kaylee.”
I stared at him, shocked by his words, to find the eyes in that inscrutable face raking over me hungrily. Against my better judgment, I felt myself respond, felt the heat begin to grow in my core.
I’d thought that the consequences of the one time I’d given in had dampened any actual urges that I had to act on my desire.
I was wrong.
“I’ve missed you.” His voice was quiet. As he unfolded his arms and stepped toward me panic flared brightly, and my thoughts swirled.
I wanted so badly to take his words at face value. But I couldn’t stop the memory of his face, of the accusation in his eyes, when I’d told him what had happened to Ella. When I’d told him why it had happened.
He blamed me. Of course he did. I blamed myself.
There was no way he was happy to see me. Which meant that when he looked at me, he saw someone else.
“Are you actually happy to see me, Dylan?” The words were hard to force out of my dry throat. I felt like I should cry, but I was suddenly just too tired. “Or are you seeing her?”
He stared at me as if I’d struck him. I stared back.
Seeing Dylan was a reminder. I wasn’t the same as I’d once been. I wasn’t going to go fade into a corner.
I just wasn’t that girl anymore.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” His voice was suddenly raw, and in that moment I could see my own grief over Ella, reflected back at me.
He took another step toward me. I wanted to fling myself into his arms, to give in to the need that had haunted my every step while I was away.
Instead I did what good Kaylee would have done. I pushed away from the siren call of his embrace, and I ran.
Love Me If You Dare (Kaylee’s story), available now!
House Rules
The Jack Gordon Story
Liz Crowe
House Rules: The Jack Gordon Story
(A Stewart Realty Novella)
A Sizzlin’ Book published by permission of the author
Copyright © 2013 by Liz Crowe
Cover Art and Design by Mina Carter
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
For more information: Sizzlin’ Books
a division of Tri Destiny Publishing
P.O. Box 330 Arcola, IL 61910
ISBN: 978-0-9893069-0-4
Visit our website at www.sizzlinbooks.com
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Prologue
The young boy was on the cusp of manhood that day.
The day he wandered into his kitchen, hung over, hungry, and mad at the girl who’d teased him all night yet wouldn’t let him past second base no matter how hard he begged. Plus as a bonus, he was already late for basketball practice.
When he stepped into the roo
m lit only by weak sunlight, rubbing his face and wondering if he could squeeze in a shower, or if he should just go straight to the high school gym and beg his coach’s forgiveness, his foot met something that was not a chair leg or anything else that made logical sense. He stopped, looked down, and saw her. His brain quickly flipped through events even as it attempted to process what his eyes registered.
He dropped to his knees and rolled her over, his lovely, quiet, smart, and creative mother—the first woman he’d ever loved and would always love, as is the way of boys, despite his frustration at her willingness to put up with his father. Her eyes were open, face drained of all color. His eyes fixated on the bloody vomit that speckled her cheek.
The boy’s hands shook. Anger swelled in his chest. He brushed at the crustiness on her face. Raw fury made his vision dim. How dare she? What the hell was she thinking? How could she give up on herself, on him, on their family?
Eyes burning, his entire body shivering, he picked up the phone and called the ambulance. When they arrived he backed away, then sank to the floor, watching the paramedics try to revive her.
They kept asking him how long she’d been like this, as if he knew. As if he could have known, sunk so deep into his own selfish bullshit the night before. No one knew how long she’d lain face down in her own puke.
He swiped at the embarrassing tears. His mother was dead. On her own scrupulously clean kitchen floor she’d lain while he fucked around, got drunk, tried to get in some girl’s panties. He had failed her when she needed him. Not that she would ever ask for help. No, that was not her way. Silence, stoicism, extreme organization, and tidiness—that was her method against the madness that had become her life with the boy’s father.
His chest hurt. He heard a sob, and when one of the paramedics glanced over at him, he realized it had burst from his own lips.
When he heard the front door open he raised his aching head. The sight of his father forced fresh fury down the boy’s spine, coalescing in his freezing cold fingertips. His father’s face, when it appeared at the kitchen door, was full of shock. The asshole had the nerve to be surprised by his wife’s condition.
What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 3) Page 17