About New Point:Imagine the worst day of your life. Immerse yourself in the details. How did you feel? Who were you with? What were the consequences? Recalling my darkest day is as simple as typing a few search terms into a web browser. It only took thirty minutes for me to become the center of a media frenzy that caught the attention of an entire country. So I hid. Nine months later and I'm getting better. Moved two hours from home, landed my dream job, and met a delicious new guy. Healing is that simple, right? Wrong.
About Pressure Point I know what you’re thinking. It’s unconventional to want a man nine years older than you. It’s inconvenient to crush on your dearest friend’s older brother. It’s silly to pine after a man for six years. It’s cliché to lust after a celebrity. It’s pathetic to fall in love with a man who barely knows you exist. I know what you’re thinking because I’ve thought it all, too. And yet that hasn’t stopped me from wanting Blake Campbell. Charming, gorgeous, brilliant, kind, selfless – Blake is everything I’ve ever wanted, but he doesn’t see me that way. In fact, he hardly noticed me until one night. Traumatic events brought us together for the first time, but then he tossed me aside. I know it’s irrational, but I wanted him up until the moment he left me lying there alone. When his eyes finally open and he finds out I’ve left, will it be too late?
New Point
At first, balancing on the pale blond arm of an Adirondack chair to retrieve an extra set of house keys hiding above the sliding glass door on the deck seemed like my best shot at getting inside. Now, while my fingers blindly seek out the metal, I realize I’d be better off throwing a rock through the door and unlocking it from the outside, because there’s no way my short arms will find the key before I tumble to the ground. In an email the caretaker had mentioned an extra set up keys hidden up here, but they are nowhere to be found.
“New Point isn’t known for much breaking and entering, but I have to admit, this looks mighty suspicious,” an unmistakably Midwestern accent drawls from behind me, effectively scaring the sweat off my bare shoulders.
A shriek escapes from my lips as I teeter preciously on the wood chair and my hands lose their grip on the white doorframe. The rubber of my flip flop doesn’t provide much traction, and my body pitches sideways. In just a second I’ll crash against the deck floor and spend my summer recovering physically instead of gaining back my old–
Sturdy muscular arms slide around my waist and yank me against an equally firm chest. “Whoa, there. I didn’t mean to scare you.” The masculine voice has a smile behind it.
“Probably shouldn’t go sneaking up on someone then,” I mutter once I catch my breath and untangle myself from his grasp. He chuckles at my retort, a rich baritone that almost sends a shiver down my spine.
When I’m a step or two back, I’m nearly breathless again, but this time for completely different reasons.
Sturdy was one way to describe his muscular grasp, but now that I have a full frontal view of him, I see my mistake. He’s perfect. Thick arms with nicely defined muscles that don’t bulge too aggressively beneath his white t-shirt, a broad chest, and trim waist with low riding blue exercise shorts. And that’s just his body. Bright white teeth gleam at me from behind a broad smile. Thick, dark brown curly hair begs to have fingers run through it, and he has coffee-colored eyes framed by long lashes that most girls would envy.
He’s a combination of sultry sex appeal and mischievous intentions as displayed by the twist of his lips. Less than one minute in his presence and I’m practically swooning.
“Who are you?” I blurt out.
With a smirk, he crosses his arms across the planes of his chest. “Shouldn’t I be asking the questions, Ms. Breaking and Entering?”
“Is it breaking and entering if your family owns the home?” I wonder and take a few steps away from him to gain some much-needed distance. With him standing so close I can’t concentrate—all that raw masculinity is distracting. Suddenly I can’t remember what I’m even doing on the deck. Yes, he’s that hot.
When I reach the deck railing I lean against it, opting for the most casual stance possible. Meanwhile, my insides are knotted in a chaotic jumble. Unfortunately it’s not only because of the delectable male specimen before me. His surprise arrival ignited a riot of anxious sparklers in my stomach. I despise being snuck up on, to put it mildly.
I inhale a discreet breath through my nose, forcing my stomach to exhale with the calming skill. There. I’m okay enough to talk. “You should probably be the one explaining why you were lurking around my deck.”
“Lurking? I prefer keeping neighborhood watch.”
I raise a brow. “Really?”
“My sister was once the caretaker of this place,” he admits, closing the gap between us, but not standing close enough to be considered an invasion of personal space. Not that I would mind him crowding me… Shoot. He’s talking. I need to pay attention.
Olivia Luck lives in the middle of America with her loving husband and her obsession with writing. She wrote her first romance novel at age eight. When she’s not reading, editing, or writing, you can find her in the kitchen learning to cook. Olivia loves to travel and spend time with her family. Get in touch with Olivia, she adores emails: olivialuckauthor@gmail.com Olivia Luck lives in the middle of America with her loving husband and her obsession with writing. She wrote her first romance novel at age eight. When she’s not reading, editing, or writing, you can find her in the kitchen learning to cook. Olivia loves to travel and spend time with her family. Get in touch with Olivia, she adores emails: olivialuckauthor@gmail.com
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2 comments:
humans never know the value of what they have until they lost it. i cand't wait to read the book
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