by Tanya Holmes
“Exactly,” I said with a grin. Then I captured her mouth and kicked the door shut.
Swoosh.
A NOTE TO READERS
I hope you enjoyed Within Temptation. Stay tuned for Temptation’s Edge, Book 2 in the standalone, Sons of Temptation trilogy.
Temptation’s Edge is a straight contemporary romance featuring Trace’s baby brother Coltrane (Cole) Elias Dawson and Eddie Gray’s baby sister Nina Penelope Gray.
After two years in Saint Mary’s Asylum, Cole is finally getting out, but is Temptation, West Virginia ready for him? And most importantly, is he ready for Temptation?
Expected release: 2015.
Curious about Cole? Then be sure to put Temptation’s Edge on your Goodreads ‘To Read’ shelf.
You can also check out the sneak peek at the end of this book.
Enjoy!
APPRECIATION
Brittney,Colette&Nicolas—Sorry for all the time I spent away from you in the writing cave.
This is what I was doing.
Mommy—Thanks for pushing me to reach higher.
Daddy—Ditto. God, how I miss you.
Grandmom (my 2nd mom)—Ditto and ditto.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A gazillion thanks to my uber-talented editor and friend, Nikki, who believed in this story and me from the start; and, to the sweet and sassy Tara, sister-from-another-mother, beta reader extraordinaire, and partner-in-crime.
Two thumbs up to the amazingly awesome Argie, friend, beta reader, and trusted advisor; and, to the fiercely fabulous Mitzi, cheerleader, friend, and chief mischief-maker.
Huge props to the marvelous Melissa, friend, book doctor, shrink, and co-conspirator. This story wouldn’t have seen the light of day were it not for you.
Mega kudos to The Sons of Temptation Street Team. Ladies, each of you holds a special place in my heart.
High-fives to my final edit beta readers (AKA the Ladies in Shining Armor): Amber, Angie, Eugenia, Geri, Sonia, and Tianna. I also want to send special thanks to Risa and Tina for all their help and encouragement.
Shout-outs to my Southern Fried Chicas blog mates: Amie, Denise, Mel, Raine, and Vanessa—I can’t thank you all enough for your endless support over the years.
Much love to Roslyn, for your friendship and wisdom. Also, a ton of gratitude to Kathleen, who taught me how to word paint. Thanks also to Amy, Angelle, Chase, Karen, Lynn, Mary, Pam, Rhonda, Roseann, Shari, Stacey, and Theresa—all of these wonderful people suffered through earlier versions of this manuscript, in some form or fashion. I may have lost touch with a few of you, but I’ve never forgotten how much you helped me. Last, but certainly not least, to D and J—THANK YOU! Y’all know what you did.
Ladies (and Gent), thanks for taking this wild ride with me. I’ll love you forever.
Best wishes,
Tanya
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tanya Holmesis a former Romance Writers of AmericaGolden Heart® finalist, a recipient of theMaggie Award for Excellence, theMICA Award, as well as Overall Winner of theSandy Haddad Award, and a two-time finalist and one-time winner ofThe Emily (Best of the Best). She's happily married with children and loves reading, writing, and a good cup of coffee—but not necessarily in that order.
PLACES & SPACES
Tanya’s website
Tanya’s Blog
Tanya on Twitter
Within Temptation on Facebook
Coming in 2015:
Temptation’s Edge
By Tanya Holmes
A standalone contemporary romance
Book 2 of the Sons of Temptation trilogy
Here’s a sneak peek.
PROLOGUE
The Man Who Wasn’t There
COLE
____________________________
“Know something, boy?” Hollander whispered from the other side of the counter. His reptilian smile looked as oily as his bald head. He inched forward, his hot breath steaming the Plexiglas between us. “You may have duped everybody else, but we both know you’re still nuttier than a Chunky bar.”
I shifted from one foot to the other and shot the asshole a distracted glance. Weighed down with anxiety, I’d only been listening with half an ear. Sweat burned into my eyes as I canvassed the stuffy room. There were no windows. Nothing in the way of air circulation. Just bone-white walls, a matching Formica floor, and a fleet of ceiling lamps. But the claustrophobic surroundings were the least of my worries.
I’d already said my goodbyes to everyone who mattered, ignored those who didn’t, and now this was the last step. Checkout.
Coltrane Elias Dawson was finally going home.
But first, I’d have to suffer this prick behind the Plexiglas.
“I’ve seen your kind before,” Hollander continued. He shot me a mocking wink with his good eye. A black patch,à la Long John Silver, covered the other. “You’re what I like to call a ‘repeat nutbag.’”
I sighed. “Are you done yet?”
“Done? Yeah, sure.” Hollander snickered and shoved a clipboard through a slot in the security booth. The attached pen swung over the counter’s edge, dangling by a frayed piece of yarn.
I glanced at the paper. “What’s this?”
“It says you received your property.” Hollander pointed a fat finger. His nail was discolored. “Now sign on the dotted line and get your crazy ass out of here.”
The coward always saved his insults for when we were alone. From day one, Hollander hadn’t missed an opportunity to bust my balls, and he seemed determined to take one last swipe. If the man said half the cockamamie shit he’d lobbed at me in front of others, he’d have lost his job long ago. Then again, maybe not. The tool’s uncle ran the place, so obviously nepotism had its perks.
I gave my John Hancock with one furious stroke of the pen. Tossing the ballpoint back on the clipboard, I straightened one muscle at a time and prayed the idiot hadn’t seen my hand trembling.
An old security guard with thinning gray hair lurked impatiently by the exit. He gave the phlegm in his throat a rude clearing. His way of telling me it was time to wrap it up, but I ignored him. I had to. Anotherincident was the last thing I needed, not with freedom just fifty yards away.
“It’s a big world out there,” Hollander added. “Real mean and scary.”
True, but anything had to be better than this snake pit. I slipped my hoodie over my head, pulled my black letterman jacket on and fastened the gray buttons in silence.
“Go on, Dawson.” Hollander’s good eye narrowed. “Beat it.” He turned away, but rounded to take a parting shot. “You’ll be back though. As the good book says, a dog always returns to its vomit.”
I didn’t give the prick the satisfaction of a reply. Just threw my backpack over my shoulder and headed out. The security guard several feet in front of me led the way through a series of metal doors that slammed open on their own. These Spartan walls stank of disinfectant and misery, but they’d sheltered me for the past two years. Now I was being released into another controlled environment. To live with my big brother Trace, until I could manage things on my own, which probably wouldn’t be anytime soon.
A strange longing squeezed my chest when I glanced back at the closed metal door. Stockholm syndrome had to be real. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be mourning this hellhole already.
But I kept walking. No more safety. No more hiding. I was determined to push myself to the edge. That meant testing my comfort zone. According to my new shrink, Doctor Joseph Rosen, it was the best way to take control again. Some called the old man’s approach ‘radical’ and ‘dangerous,’ but I was ready and willing to try anything. I just hoped Temptation, West Virginia was ready for me.
Snowy wind nipped at my face as the last metal door thudded shut behind me. The finality of it ramped my fear to unreachable heights. My heart clubbed my rib cage. Heat seared my neck. So this was it. This was what I’d spent two years working toward: a world without concrete walls, Plexiglas…and straightjackets.
I squinted at the aloof yellow dot in the sky and blew into my hands, my breath misting into a fleeting cloud of warmth. Stepping into the frigid light of day, I ambled down the salted walkway, my wary gaze darting to and fro. Endless rows of ominous-looking trees lined the courtyard, their skeletal branches weighted down with thick sleeves of snow. Shadows danced beneath them in the wind. Even the lone crow squawking overhead looked spooky as hell.
Now wasn’t that something? Coltrane Dawson. Unnerved by a bunch of bony trees and a friggen bird.
Hell, if anything, I should’ve been scared of the thing that had followed me out here—the so-called ‘security guard’ walking right beside me.
Have you honestly thought this through?the man asked. He clapped my shoulder and squeezed, but I didn’t feel the shriveled gray hand, and it had nothing to do with the twenty-five-degree wind-chill.Look around you, boy, he said. It’s not safe out here.
Here, being the courtyard of Saint Mary’s Asylum.
The weathered gray face staring up at me had jagged teeth, glistening black orbs for eyes, and a bushy brow, yet none of it was real.The man was just one of a dozen or so imaginary things I pretended not to see and hear—illusions that sometimes appeared when anxiety got the best of me. Illusions I’d gotten quite good at ignoring. Saint Mary’s never would’ve released me otherwise.
Truth be told, nobody, including Doctor Rosen, knew how bad it was, and I planned on keeping it that way.
We really shouldn’t leave, Cole,the hallucination urged.Look at all the eyes. There are so many of them.
Go away, I said in my mind.
I can’t. I have to protect us. Don’t you see? They want to rip into you. They want to eat your flesh.
I drew a strengthening breath, then another. Eyes don’t eat anything. They don’t have teeth.
Enraged by my logical challenge, the thing’s gentle façade vanished.You’re going to die out here, you know that?! Cold and alone. The eyes—they’ll devour you!
“Not without teeth they won’t,” I said aloud. “Now fuck off.”
Awwwww. Did I touch a nerve? Good, ‘cause I hope you die. It’s what you deserve. Death. And you’d best believe he’s coming for you. Your mommy’s with him. So is your daddy—well, minus half his head, of course.
My heart skipped as the disturbing images of my dead parents floated before me. The dark memory was just as vivid and frightening as the gazillion other times I’d relived it.
Such a lovely picture, the thing said.Oh, wait. Did you hear that? It’s the sound of the reaper’s blade. You’d better run! He’s looking for your ass! His eyes are everywhere—Everywhere—EVERYWHERE! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!
Even before the screaming started, I had already grabbed my iPod and cranked up the volume. My hands shook as I shoved the earbuds in, drowning the thing’s curses with Rachmaninoff.
The music shut the voices out, helped me focus on reality—and in this particular instance, reality had come in the form of a flesh and blood man.
My brother.
Thank God.
Trace stood fifty feet away in the parking lot, leaning up against a black Jeep, his hands shoved inside the deep pockets of a navy peacoat. His wife Shannon was hugged up next to him, looking as blonde and beautiful as ever. Their baby boy, Tracemore Jr., rode her hip.
I picked up the pace and waved as the illusion followed on my heels, continuing its blitz of dire predictions.
Trace caught sight of me and smiled. I yanked one of the earbuds out just as he cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Hey, bro!”
The thing continued roaring epithets and threats, but I feigned a grin.
Trace’s smile brightened in response. He and Shannon made a beeline toward me, and our big sister Beverly wasn’t far behind. She exploded from the Jeep’s passenger-side door and hit the ground running, arms open, red ponytail bouncing, her eyes dripping with tears.
“Coltrane!” Bev shrieked. Her happy squeals echoed across the courtyard.
Obviously, my ‘companion’ didn’t share her joy.
With a hateful scowl, the man who wasn’t there stormed off, muttering a string of curses as he walked through the trees and vanished.
End Excerpt