Book Blitz and Giveaway! Withering Hope by Layla Hagen

Publication date: January 19th 2015

Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

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Aimee’s wedding is supposed to turn out perfect. Her dress, her fiancé and the location—the idyllic holiday ranch in Brazil—are perfect.

But all Aimee’s plans come crashing down when the private jet that’s taking her from the U.S. to the ranch—where her fiancé awaits her—defects mid-flight and the pilot is forced to perform an emergency landing in the heart of the Amazon rainforest.

With no way to reach civilisation, being rescued is Aimee and Tristan’s—the pilot—only hope. A slim one that slowly withers away, desperation taking its place. Because death wanders in the jungle under many forms: starvation, diseases. Beasts.

As Aimee and Tristan fight to find ways to survive, they grow closer. Together they discover that facing old, inner agonies carved by painful pasts takes just as much courage, if not even more, than facing the rainforest.

Despite her devotion to her fiancé, Aimee can’t hide her feelings for Tristan—the man for whom she’s slowly becoming everything. You can hide many things in the rainforest. But not lies. Or love.

Withering Hope is the story of a man who desperately needs forgiveness and the woman who brings him hope. It is a story in which hope births wings and blooms into a love that is as beautiful and intense as it is forbidden.

(Aimee’s POV)

I wake up covered in cold sweat and something soft that might be a blanket. I can't tell for sure, because when I open my eyes, it’s dark. When I try to move, a sharp pain in my temple makes me gasp.

"Aimee?"

"Tristan." The word comes out almost like a cry. In the faint moonlight coming in through the windows, I see him leaning on the seat in front of me, hovering over me. I imagine his dark brown eyes searching me worriedly.

"Are you hurt?"

"Just my temple, but I'm not bleeding," I say, running my fingers over the tender spot. I assess him next. It’s difficult given the dim moonlight. His white uniform shirt is smeared with dirt, but he appears unharmed. I turn my head toward the window. I can't gauge anything outside in the darkness.

"Where are we?" I ask.

"We landed," Tristan says simply, and when I turn to look at him he adds, "… in the rainforest."

I nod, trying not to let the tight knot of fear in my chest overtake me. If I let it spiral out, I may not be able to control it.

"Shouldn't we … like… leave the plane or something? Until they rescue us? Is it safe for us to be inside?"

Tristan runs a hand through his short, black hair. "Trust me, this is the only safe place. I checked outside for any fuel leaks, but we're good."

"You got out?" I whisper.

"Yes."

"I want—” I say, opening my seatbelt and trying to stand. But dizziness forces me back into my chair.

"No," Tristan says, and he slumps in the seat opposite mine on the other side of the slim aisle. "Listen to me. You need to calm down."

"How deep in the forest are we, Tristan?"

He leans back, answering after a long pause. "Deep enough."

"How will they find us?" I curl my knees to my chest under the blanket, the dizziness growing. I wonder when Tristan put the blanket over me.

"They will," Tristan says.

"But there is something we can do to make it easier for them, isn't there?"

"Right now, there isn't."

"Can contact someone at base?" I ask weakly.

"No. We lost all communication a while ago." His shoulders slump, and even in the moonlight, I notice his features tighten. His high cheekbones, which usually give him a noble appearance, now make him look gaunt. Yet instead of panic, I’m engulfed in weakness. My limbs feel heavy. Fog settles over my mind.

"What happened to the engine?" I whisper.

"Engine failure."

"Can you repair it?"

"No."

“There is really no way to send anyone a message?”

“No.” As if in a dream, I feel Tristan put a pillow under my head and recline my seat.

My name is Layla Hagen and I am a New Adult Contemporary Romance author.

I fell in love with books when I was nine years old, and my love affair with stories continues even now, many years later.

I write romantic stories and can’t wait to share them with the world.

And I drink coffee. Lots of it, in case the photo didn’t make it obvious enough.

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