Impossible Choice by Sybil Bartel
(Unchecked #2)
Published by: Carina Press
Publication date: August 31st 2015
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance
Synopsis:
Book two of Unchecked
After her parents were murdered, Layna Blair spent three years on the run—until Marine Sergeant Blaze Johnson stepped in and saved her. With him, Layna knew safety for the first time…but two weeks after shipping out for another tour in Afghanistan, Blaze comes home early.
When Layna sees the jagged wounds covering his body, every truth she thought she knew is destroyed. Blaze is distant and angry and though her heart is shattered, Layna desperately tries to keep their relationship together in the face of another tragedy. When the tenuous bonds holding them together are ripped apart by a revenge-hungry maniac, Layna must trust her survival instinct and bury her past for good.
But the enemy is two steps ahead, and before she can take action, Layna’s hand is forced by his deadly demands—save herself or save the man who risked his life for her freedom. Blaze saved her once. This time it’s her turn to protect him.
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I stood there watching the huge bulk that was Blaze pluck two giant duffle bags from the carousel. Mesmerized by the sight of him, I could hardly believe he was home. When my brain kicked in, I picked up his small duffle and stepped beside him. “I’ll grab a luggage cart.”
Half his mouth twisted with a smirk. He hefted a bag over each shoulder then took the small duffle from me. His free hand wrapped around mine and shock waves of awareness shot up my arm. “Let’s go, baby.”
I glanced at his bags. “That’s a lot of luggage.” I’d never seen him travel with anything other than his small duffle.
He looked down at me but he didn’t comment. “Where’d you park?”
I indicated a direction with my head and he led the way. He didn’t speak and I was too nervous to say anything.
When he saw the Tahoe, he held his hand out. “Keys, baby.”
I didn’t ask him if he was tired, or if he wanted me to drive. I didn’t ask him how long he’d been traveling. I didn’t ask him where he’d been. I simply pulled the keys out of my purse and handed them to him.
He unlocked the doors, ushered me to the passenger side, kissed me hard and fast then threw his duffels in the back. When he got behind the wheel, he spent three seconds adjusting the seat and mirrors then he glanced at me.
“Stop being nervous, nothing’s changed.” He didn’t touch me, he didn’t take my hand, he didn’t kiss my knuckles or run a finger up my thigh.
Everything had changed. “Those are big duffels.”
“That’s what six years in the military will do to you.”
“Why aren’t you touching me?” I blurted out.
The ghost smiled appeared. “You really want me to answer that?”
Um… “I don’t know, do I?”
He moved. Quick, precise, I was dragged across the center consul, my legs straddled his thighs, his hands threaded through my hair and he plunged his tongue in my mouth. Heavy, wet, desperate need mixed with unrestrained desire and we became a flurry of hands and teeth and tongues and thrusting hips. When I reached for his belt buckle, his hand slammed down over mine.
“I wasn’t touching you because I didn’t want to fuck you in a truck like some cheap date. I was holding back, waiting to get home so I could make love to you all damn day and touch every inch of this body I’ve been fantasizing about for the past sixty-eight days.”
I grew up in Northern California with my head in a book and my feet in the sand. I dreamt of becoming a painter but the heady scent of libraries with their shelves full of books drew me into the world of storytelling. I love the New Adult genre, but any story about a love so desperately wrong and impossibly beautiful makes me swoon.
I now live in Southern Florida and while I don’t get to read as much as I like, I still bury my toes in the sand. If I’m not writing or fighting to contain the banana plantation in my backyard, you can find me spending time with my handsomely tattooed husband, my brilliantly practical son and a mischievous miniature boxer…
But Seriously?
Here are ten things you probably really want to know about me.
I grew up a faculty brat. I can swear like a sailor. I love men in uniform. I hate being told what to do. I can do your taxes (but don’t ask). The Bird Market in Hong Kong freaks me out. My favorite word is desperate…or dirty, or both—I can’t decide. I have a thing for muscle cars. But never reply on me for driving directions, ever. And I have a new book boyfriend every week—don’t tell my husband.
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