by Skye Warren
“Listen, your grandmother’s batshit crazy. And I’ll put up with her crystal ball and her incense and her random predictions, but I’m not going to put up with her saying anything about you. If she says that in front of me I’m going to have some words.”
Lightness suffuses my chest. “How do you do this to me, Joshua North? How do you make everything feel possible?”
He cups my cheek in a rough palm. That’s the only warning I have before he’s kissing me, his lips demanding entrance, his movements urgent. “Everything is possible,” he murmurs, his mouth against mine. “You forgive me. You love me. How can anything be impossible knowing that?”
That’s how I know I’ll dance again. Love is the hardest thing. Forgiveness. He’s right about that. If those things are possible, then everything is.
He bears me down on the carpet, muttering to himself about the stars and the moon. Something about a chariot as he pulls the clothes from my body. The fire dances heat across my bare skin. It’s nothing compared to the emerald fire in his eyes. I look down, unashamed in my nakedness. There’s nothing to be afraid of when he’s full of raw need. My legs open for him, a clasp for his muscled thighs. He pulls back to press himself into me. We’re combined in the most elemental way. We’re forged in fire in front of that hearth, as bright as the stars. We move together, ocean waves pulled by the moon, salt licking at the sand. In that moment of blinding heat, we find forever.
EPILOGUE
In the tarot deck, the World card depicts a woman wearing only a cloth, dancing inside a large laurel wreath. She looks behind her to the past, while her body moves toward the future.
Bethany
The lights flicker three times, meaning the show is about to begin.
Through the heavy velvet curtain I can hear the shuffling of expensive wool and silk as three hundred guests take their seats for opening night. They turn the pages of glossy programs that feature my photo in black and white.
“Nervous?” Marlena sparkles in a white costume with crystals.
She’s everything pale and shimmery tonight. There’s something elemental about dancing in a plain leotard, the way I did on the finale. This is our debut as a new dance company. Reporters from nineteen different outlets, both local and national, have press passes. We have full costumes and a gorgeous set designed by a husband and wife team of artists. The entire warehouse has been transformed into a night sky with dark netting and fairy lights. It’s like a grown up blanket fort.
“So nervous,” I confess. “My hands are shaking.”
She grins. “That’s a good thing. It means you’re alive.”
I laugh a little unsteady. “Then count me extra alive. Times a hundred.”
“We’re going to blow their freaking socks off.”
“You are, that’s for sure.” Marlena shines as the figurative crystal ball, the fountain from which our dancer spirits appear. They spill out from her in artistic display, both demons and angels, called forth to the earth through her body.
My own costume has just as many sparkles, maybe more. Except these are midnight blue. Swarovski crystals shaped like stars and crescents cover my torso. A skirt made of patchwork silks in purple, blue, and green rounds out the picture. I’m the quintessential fortune teller, the classic New Orleans psychic. I’m Mamere. In the dance I’ll consult my crystal ball, searching for answers—and I’ll find them in the form of tempestuous spirits. Some of them are moaning, others are mischievous. They pull at my skirt and my sanity until I question what’s real.
It was time to branch out on me own. I realized that after the attack. I suppose I knew that for a while, but as I fought with myself—my pride, my dignity, my struggle to survive—under Connor’s hand, I became sure of it. Marlena came with me, along with a sizable endowment from Scott Castle for us to launch the new dance troupe.
I peek from between the dark curtain.
Green eyes watch me steadily.
Josh knows I’m back here pacing, because I’ve been pacing for days now, weeks even. I’ve been worried, but he hasn’t been. You were made to do this, he says.
Only right now it feels like I was made to throw up.
I give Marlena a kiss on her cheek, partly comfort that I need, partly gratitude for her coming with me. “You’re going to be amazing.”
A playful smile. “I know. Scott’s going to be so hot for it tonight.”
“You two are crazy.”
“As if you aren’t getting plenty of action.”
Action. Yes. Joshua North is a man of action. That’s why he brought me to the warehouse, blindfolded, to show me how he had a platform installed. It was only the beginning of an idea, the barest bones, but it was everything I needed.
We’ve renovated the space, but there’s still an industrial feel. The lack of mercy these four walls have seen. I like a little dark history. It tempers the brightness of the day. “Am I insane for starting my own dance company?”
We’re a little late in the game to have second thoughts. I’ve already formed a company and an advisory board. I already have the goddamn business cards. “Yeah,” she says, looking exhilarated. “I love that about you.”
The truth is I feel exhilarated, too.
Soft notes skate over the air. It’s our cue to get into place.
Marlena steps forward to the center of the stage, curling in on herself. Later she’ll stand and dance. For now she’s an inanimate object. Even the spirits slumber on various parts of the stage. I’m the only one standing as the curtains slide open.
In the front row I see Josh’s brilliant green eyes. In the distance I see his brother Liam and Samantha. I can even see my brother’s figure lounging in the back with his entourage. There’s only one person I’m focused on, one person who understands.
And when I leap into the air, it’s him I’m leaping toward.
* * * * *
Thank you so much for reading Josh and Bethany’s book!
If you haven’t read OVERTURE yet, don’t miss Liam’s story…
Liam North got custody of the violin prodigy six years ago. She’s all grown up now, but he still treats her like a child. No matter how much he wants her.
“Swoon-worthy, forbidden, and sexy, Liam North is my new obsession.”
– New York Times bestselling author Claire Contreras
“Overture is a beautiful composition of forbidden love and undeniable desire. Skye has crafted a gripping, sensual, and intense story that left me breathless”
– USA Today bestselling author Nikki Sloane
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And if you enjoyed this emotional second-chance romance, you’ll love Before She Was Mine by Amelia Wilde. I was never allowed to love Summer Sullivan. I loved her anyway. And then I took her heart in my hands and crushed it. Read BEFORE SHE WAS MINE now >
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Excerpt from Overture
Rest, Liam told me.
He’s right about a lot of things. Maybe he’s right about this. I climb onto the cool pink sheets, hoping that a nap will suddenly make me content with this quiet little life.
Even though I know it won’t.
Besides, I’m too wired to actually sleep. The white lace coverlet is both delicate and comfy. It’s actually what I would have picked out for myself, except I didn’t pick it out. I’ve been incapable of picking anything, of choosing anything, of deciding anything as part of some deep-seated fear that I’ll be abandoned.
The coverlet, like everything else in my life, simply appeared.
And the person responsible for its appearance? Liam North.
I climb under the blanket and stare at the ceiling. My body feels overly warm, but it still feels good to be tucked into the blankets. Th
e blankets he picked out for me.
It’s really so wrong to think of him in a sexual way. He’s my guardian, literally. Legally. And he has never done anything to make me think he sees me in a sexual way.
This is it. This is the answer.
I don’t need to go skinny dipping in the lake down the hill. Thinking about Liam North in a sexual way is my fast car. My parachute out of a plane.
My eyes squeeze shut.
That’s all it takes to see Liam’s stern expression, those fathomless green eyes and the glint of dark blond whiskers that are always there by late afternoon. And then there’s the way he touched me. My forehead, sure, but it’s more than he’s done before. That broad palm on my sensitive skin.
My thighs press together. They want something between them, and I give them a pillow. Even the way I masturbate is small and timid, never making a sound, barely moving at all, but I can’t change it now. I can’t moan or throw back my head even for the sake of rebellion.
But I can push my hips against the pillow, rocking my whole body as I imagine Liam doing more than touching my forehead. He would trail his hand down my cheek, my neck, my shoulder.
Repressed. I’m so repressed it’s hard to imagine more than that.
I make myself do it, make myself trail my hand down between my breasts, where it’s warm and velvety soft, where I imagine Liam would know exactly how to touch me.
You’re so beautiful, he would say. Your breasts are perfect.
Because Imaginary Liam wouldn’t care about big breasts. He would like them small and soft with pale nipples. That would be the absolute perfect pair of breasts for him.
And he would probably do something obscene and rude. Like lick them.
My hips press against the pillow, almost pushing it down to the mattress, rocking and rocking. There’s not anything sexy or graceful about what I’m doing. It’s pure instinct. Pure need.
The beginning of a climax wraps itself around me. Claws sink into my skin. There’s almost certain death, and I’m fighting, fighting, fighting for it with the pillow clenched hard.
“Oh fuck.”
The words come soft enough someone else might not hear them. They’re more exhalation of breath, the consonants a faint break in the sound. I have excellent hearing. Ridiculous, crazy good hearing that had me tuning instruments before I could ride a bike.
My eyes snap open, and there’s Liam, standing there, frozen. Those green eyes locked on mine. His body clenched tight only three feet away from me. He doesn’t come closer, but he doesn’t leave.
Orgasm breaks me apart, and I cry out in surprise and denial and relief. “Liam.”
It goes on and on, the terrible pleasure of it. The wrenching embarrassment of coming while looking into the eyes of the man who raised me for the past six years.
Want to read more? One click OVERTURE now >
Books by Skye Warren
Endgame trilogy & Masterpiece duet
The Pawn
The Knight
The Castle
The King
The Queen
Trust Fund duet
Survival of the Richest
The Evolution of Man
Underground series
Rough
Hard
Fierce
Wild
Dirty
Secret
Sweet
Deep
Stripped series
Tough Love
Love the Way You Lie
Better When It Hurts
Even Better
Pretty When You Cry
Caught for Christmas
Hold You Against Me
To the Ends of the Earth
Standalone Books
Wanderlust
On the Way Home
Beauty and the Beast
Anti Hero
Escort
For a complete listing of Skye Warren books, visit
www.skyewarren.com/books
About Skye Warren
Skye Warren is the New York Times bestselling author of dangerous romance such as the Endgame trilogy. Her books have been featured in Jezebel, Buzzfeed, USA Today Happily Ever After, Glamour, and Elle Magazine. She makes her home in Texas with her loving family, sweet dogs, and evil cat.
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About Amelia Wilde
Amelia Wilde wrote her first story when she was six years old, a narrative strongly inspired by The Polar Express. When she was nine she wrote her first novel-length work, all in one paragraph.
Now, Amelia is all about that love. Her romances feature unique, independent heroines and alpha heroes who are strong of heart and body. Readers have described her work as “emotional,” “intense,” “phenomenal,” and “like a child scribbled with a crayon,” which she takes as the highest praise.
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Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. Except for use in a review, the reproduction or use of this work in any part is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.
Audition © 2019 by Skye Warren and Amelia Wilde
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