Don’t judge me
for what I’m about to say. I tried to do things the right way. I wore the big
white dress and rode off with Prince Charming. Then Charming changed his mind.
See, that’s the part they don’t tell you; he can change his mind. These days, I
don’t put my heart in anyone’s hands because I don’t even know where I’ve left
it.
Enter Leo.
Blue-eyed specimen of a man, stirring me awake in ways I never thought
possible. I think I should indulge myself for once. Because one time is all I need. Then he goes
and weaves simple, deliberate movements into pure, gilded pleasure. And I’m
hooked. I’m so blinded by desire I barely notice the gaping hole opening
underneath me, the one that’s sure to swallow me entirely. Because every time
I’ve dared to get close to someone, they’ve cracked me wide open.
Why should this
time be any different?
EXCERPT:
Watching
Leo in an unscripted moment of frustration is amusing to me. I like seeing him
shed the enigmatic veil he typically wears. He’s hard to read; I thought so the
moment I met him. Reserved, but not quiet. Polite, but short of friendly. While
he’s noticeably confident and sometimes abrasive in the way he states his
opinions, he doesn’t strike me as egotistical.
I
can’t decide if I like him or not, but I guess an opinion would be premature at
this point.
My
eyes sweep over the back of his white button-down shirt and gray slacks. Both
of which fit him impeccably. His physique can’t hide under layers of clothes. I
can almost hear the sound my gaze makes as it rakes against his hard body.
“Come
on. You piece of shit,” he says under his breath as he bangs the side of the
machine with an open palm. He is slapping it into submission.
Suddenly
he stops and glances back, his blue-gray eyes narrowing as he notices me for
the first time.
“How
long have you been standing there?”
I
hesitate for a moment because I’m not sure how long I’ve been watching him.
“Long
enough to witness you harass the machine. And call it a piece of shit.”
I’m
sure my tone is matter-of-fact, but the corners of his lips twitch. He finds me
to be playful.
“Heard
that part, huh?”
“I
did. That piece of shit costs an arm and a leg.”
“My
apologies.” He doesn’t seem embarrassed; he looks amused and puts up his hands
in surrender. Despite his gesture, there is nothing yielding about him. His
gaze is tenacious in a way that makes me feel alert. “I know what that must of
looked like—I assure you, I don’t typically hit things when I’m frustrated.
Only coffee machines. And sometimes computers.”
I
smile because I can’t help it. I have to remind myself to keep my tone
professional, which is strange for me. I typically don’t need reminding.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Veronica Larsen is a
novelist who enjoys writing emotionally rousing stories laced with potent
sexuality. She particularly enjoys writing about intelligent and independent
women who give the male lead a run for their money. When Veronica isn’t
writing, she is working on graphic design projects. She enjoys losing herself
in a good book and spending time with her husband and young son.
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1ByVWH0
Nook: http://bit.ly/1ppaMdt
Apple: http://bit.ly/1BIFW58
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1vGTkow
GIVEAWAY:Veronica will be awarding a $20 Amazon GC + a digital copy of Entangle to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here:
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