Marco didn’t allow junk food in the apartment. He believed a pure body equaled a pure mind or some crap like that. Honestly, I tuned him out when he started spouting his hippy dippy mumble jumble.
My mother raised me on the preservatives he deemed as evil and I turned out fine. A little soft in the middle but otherwise fine. Besides, it was sacrilegious to deny yourself a cookie every once in a while.
A heaping plate of food slid in front of me. The smell of grilled onions made my mouth salivate and I greedily dug in. At first bite, my eyes rolled to the back of my head.
“I admire a woman with a ferocious appetite.”
My gaze slid to the barstool next to mine, which was occupied by a man in his mid-forties with a horseshoe bald patch and a doughy jawline. The lecherous grin he wore spelled skeeve in a bright red letter’s.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But do you mind? I want to eat my meal in peace. It’s been a long day.”
“Of course. Go ahead.”
“Thank you.”
I could feel his eyes on me as my hands gripped the perfectly soft brioche bun. Watching someone eat was the equivalent to following them into the bathroom.
You don’t do it.
Irritation snaked into my veins. Setting the burger down, I glanced back over at the stranger who had that same grin on his face but it had climbed to pervert status. A couple of years ago, I did a documentary on weird sexual fetishes, food being one of them. The slight rise in the man’s trousers proved what I had suspected. I swear freaks were attracted to me like moths to a flame.
Bluntly, I spoke. “Look, I know what you’re doing and while everybody is entitled to there own kinks, I don’t want any part of it, kapeesh?”
He blinked innocently at me. “And what am I doing exactly?”
Rat fink bastard. I snatched my plate off the bar and moved to a booth in the far corner. While, the man continued to stare, at least, he didn’t have a front row seat anymore. Polishing off my burger and fries, I hurriedly paid and walked to the front. As I passed the pervert, he swiveled in his seat with a bottle of ketchup in hand. The red liquid splashed onto my white button down. A red stain blossomed as if I had been shot.
“What the fuck?” I screamed.
“Oh no! I’m so sorry.” He went toward my boobs with a napkin then paused. “Or better yet, maybe you should take it off.”
Dots exploded in my peripheral as my body shook with anger. I grabbed hold of the ketchup and dumped it over the asshole’s head. His mouth formed a perfect oh as it dripped into his eyes. Waiters hurried over armed with cleaning supplies. I dismissed their help and exited the restaurant, leaving a wake of chaos.
Safely in the hallway, I gripped the sodden t-shirt between my fingertips and scowled. “This day can’t get any worse.”
The universe decided otherwise. Suddenly, a thousand pound football player barreled into me, stealing the air from my lungs. My arms windmilled at my sides as I attempted to keep both feet on the ground which proved futile. I had the grace of a lumbering elephant. A shooting ache shot up my spine when my ass met the floor. Much to my embarrassment, tears welled in the corner of my eyes.
“Holy shit!” the football player exclaimed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.”
“I was standing in the middle of the hallway.”
“Around a blind turn.”
Was this asshole really pinning half the blame on me? I rubbed the base of my backbone. “You’re right. Next time, I’ll stop in a more convenient location.”
“Are you bleeding?” Horror leaked into his voice.
An explanation was on the tip of my tongue but before it could come out, he gripped me by my elbows and yanked me upright. His large hands patted down my torso, checking for any injury’s. The smell of juniper berries, fresh and sweet like the middle of an evergreen forest, caught me off guard. Instead of being outraged at him for feeling me up, I wanted to trace the vein in his neck with the tip of my tongue. See if he tasted like them as well.
God, what was wrong with me?
His thumb brushed my nipple. Reality dumped itself over my head colder than an ice bath. I shoved him backwards with the heel of my palms. The brute barely moved an inch, inciting my outrage. “Jesus! Don’t you have any manners?”
“I thought you were hurt.”
“It’s ketchup you idiot.”
My eyes lifted and came in contact with none other than, Sean Dalis, Matthew’s Lee’s drummer. His long whitish blonde locks swooped across his forehead, highlighting the green in his iris. A light tan dusted his cheeks. Sean looked like he belonged in the ocean, cruising the waves. His ripped torso glistening in the hot summer heat as he maneuvered the surfboard with ease.
“Ketchup? Huh. Never would have guessed that.”
I could feel his assessing stare in every fiber of my being, melting my bones. It made sense now why immediately after Sean’s divorce became public, women were offering themselves to him. As if sex could cure heartbreak like a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.
Not me though, I was engaged. The statement rang false in my ears. Accepting this assignment just got bumped to the number one spot for worst idea in the history of worst ideas. It was going to be a long two months.
Read other books by Nicole Simone
To my wonderful fans, you are the peanut butter to my jelly. I wouldn’t be able to keep on keeping on without your encouragement and infectious excitement about my characters. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!
To all the book bloggers out there who have spread the word about my novels. You are instrumental in my success as an author.
To Sarah at Ok Creations, thank you for crafting the perfect cover for Broken Lullabies.
To Lisa, you almost gave me a heart attack with your copious notes on the rough draft of Broken Lullabies but man oh man, it is so much better because of it. Thank you for polishing this manuscript into a gem.
To Love Between Sheets, thank for your hard work behind the scenes.
And lastly, thank you to my friends, family and loved ones. You guys rock my socks off!
Nicole Simone works in digital media by day and at night, pen’s character driven romance novels that will make your mama blush. She lives in Seattle, WA with her fat bulldog named Humphrey.
Make sure to check out the latest happenings on Nicole’s website.
Or connect with Nicole on Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, and Instagram!
Broken Lullabies
Copyright © 2015 by Nicole Simone
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Interior designed and formatted by:
www.emtippettsbookdesigns.com
Table of Contents
TITLE PAGE
BOOKS BY NICOLE SIMONE
ABOUT BROKEN LULLABIES
DEDICATION
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
MELODY OF TRUTH
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT NICOLE SIMONE
Copyright Notice
Broken Lullabies Page 24