tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33275059850096074652024-03-05T23:38:14.915-08:00 Nicole Williams Where I write about writing. Word.Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-7303200266211374972016-02-28T16:29:00.002-08:002016-02-28T16:29:37.078-08:00THE FABLE OF US Epilogue!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hey Everyone!<br />
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In case you didn't get a chance to read the bonus epilogue for THE FABLE OF US, you can read it here on Natasha is a Book Junkie's spankin' new website! Check it out and make sure to take some time to peruse the new site—it's STUNNING!<br />
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XOXO<br />
<br />
<a href="http://natashaisabookjunkie.com/2016/02/20/epilogue-the-fable-of-us-by-nicole-williams/">http://natashaisabookjunkie.com/2016/02/20/epilogue-the-fable-of-us-by-nicole-williams/</a><br />
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Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-22272599982751254572016-02-26T09:03:00.000-08:002016-02-26T09:03:33.898-08:00COLLARED's Cover Reveal and First Excerpt!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The cover for COLLARED is here!!! What do you think? I absolutely adore it, and can't wait for March 22nd to get here so I can share this book with you.<br />
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I've listed the first excerpt as well as the blurb below to introduce you to Torrin and Jade. Enjoy!<br />
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<h3 style="border: 0px; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy', Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.4em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
He holds my eyes, not letting them wander away from him. “Why have you been avoiding me?”</h3>
<h3 style="border: 0px; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy', Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.4em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
I wander my room, not sure where to go now that he’s here. I’m not sure where I fit now. I’m not sure where I belong in his life.</h3>
<h3 style="border: 0px; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy', Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.4em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
“You know why,” I say quietly.</h3>
<h3 style="border: 0px; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy', Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.4em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
“I want to hear you tell me.”</h3>
<h3 style="border: 0px; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy', Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.4em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
“Why?”</h3>
<h3 style="border: 0px; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy', Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.4em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
“So I can change your mind.” His hands slide into his front pockets, and the sunlight catches on his dad’s watch and casts golden beams through the room. It lights up like someone just lit a million candles at once. “I can’t do that unless I know exactly why you don’t want to see me.”</h3>
<h3 style="border: 0px; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy', Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.4em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
He wants a reason? I’ll give him a whole list of them.</h3>
<h3 style="border: 0px; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy', Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.4em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
“Because I don’t want to drag you into my mess of a world any more than I already have. Because I don’t want to smear you through the mud on the media’s march to burying me. Because I don’t want to hurt you—again—and because I want to protect you.”</h3>
<h3 style="border: 0px; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy', Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.4em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
“I can protect myself from them.”</h3>
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I shake my head and cover my chest with my hand. “To protect you from <i>me</i>.”</h3>
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Torrin’s jaw hardens. He works it loose the moment after. “I don’t need protection from you.”</h3>
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“Everyone needs protection from me. There’s something dark in me now, Torrin, and I can’t get it out. It’s growing, spreading, and I don’t want it to infect the people I love.”</h3>
<h3 style="border: 0px; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy', Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.4em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
He pushes off the closet doors and crosses the room before I know he’s coming. “There is nothing dark in you, Jade. Nothing.” He backs me into the wall and stares at me, unblinking. “There is light and good in you. There always has been. There always will be.”</h3>
<h3 style="border: 0px; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy', Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.4em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
“That’s gone. He took it from me.”</h3>
<h3 style="border: 0px; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy', Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.4em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
“No, he didn’t.” Torrin’s hand slams into the wall beside my head. “It’s still there. You had to bury it to keep it safe, but it’s still there. You’ll find it. I know it.”</h3>
<h3 style="border: 0px; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy', Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.4em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
I want to believe him, but that doesn’t make it true. “You can’t find what isn’t there, Torrin.”</h3>
<h3 style="border: 0px; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy', Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.4em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
“Dammit, stop talking like that,” he says, his jaw tensing. “It’s there. I know it.”</h3>
<h3 style="border: 0px; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy', Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.4em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
“I’ve tried. I can’t find it.” Even as I say it, I start to feel different. It’s because of him being so close, saying what he is in the way he is. He’s the tether that keeps me from floating away.</h3>
<h3 style="border: 0px; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy', Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.4em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
His eyes lower to mine. “I’ll help you find it.”</h3>
<h3 style="border: 0px; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy', Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.4em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
I feel my heart again. My lungs. Everything else. I feel it waking up. “What makes you so sure you can find it?”</h3>
<h3 style="border: 0px; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy', Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0.4em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
“Because when I look in your eyes, I still see it.” His other hand fits against the wall beside my head. “Because when I’m close to you like this, I can still feel it.” He leans a little closer, and I feel something too. “It’s there, Jade. It’s not gone. He took ten years of your life—<i>ten years</i>.” The corners of his eyes crease as an emotion fires in his eyes. “Don’t hand him the rest of it by believing that kind of shit.”</h3>
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When a seventeen-year-old girl vanishes,<o:p></o:p></div>
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A community is shaken. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Parents turn desperate. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Friends hold vigils. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And the boy who loves her searches.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When a year goes by,<o:p></o:p></div>
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The community is recovering. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Parents feel hopeless.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Friends feel helpless. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And the boy who loves her continues his search. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When ten years go by, <o:p></o:p></div>
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The community has forgotten. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Parents cling to the past. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Friends move toward the future. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And the boy who loves her . . . <o:p></o:p></div>
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Brings her home. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Jade Childs spent ten years in captivity, but now that she’s
back, the real battle for survival begins. The media shadows her. Flashbacks
haunt her. Her old life evades her. Her so-called new life rejects her. She
spent too many years in the dark to recognize the light. She spent too long
repressing her feelings to remember how to express them. She spent a decade
abandoning hope and cannot dare letting it back into her life. Jade’s not just
defined by what happened to her—she’s collared to it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When the twenty-seven-year-old woman is found, <o:p></o:p></div>
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A community wants to know the story,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Parents want to forget the story,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Friends want to be a part of the story,<o:p></o:p></div>
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And the man who still loves her faces the greatest challenge
yet: letting her go. <o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-9136251802456412942016-02-03T10:37:00.003-08:002016-02-03T10:37:44.340-08:00THE FABLE OF US is Live!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hi Everyone!<br />
<br />
In case you missed the release information yesterday, I wanted to post the purchase links for THE FABLE OF US. Don't forget to take advantage of the special release week pricing too!<br />
<br />
Yesterday was an amazing release day (really the best one ever), and I know I have you all to thank for that. With all of my heart, thank you for being the best readers in the whole world!<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Amazon:<br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Fable-Us-Nicole-Williams-ebook/dp/B01B3NWQ9A/ref=pd_sim_351_2?ie=UTF8&dpID=41FWdl-p9LL&dpSrc=sims&preST=_AC_UL160_SR100%2C160_&refRID=1G6F7V4Z93N7HK990EFA" rel="nofollow" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://www.amazon.com/The-Fable-Us-Nico…/…/ref=pd_sim_351_2…</a></div>
<div class="text_exposed_show" style="color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px;">
iTunes:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px;">
<a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-fable-of-us/id1078760356?ls=1&mt=11" rel="nofollow" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">https://itunes.apple.com/…/bo…/the-fable-of-us/id1078760356…</a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
B&N: </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-fable-of-us-nicole-williams/1123316843?ean=2940157797683" rel="nofollow" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-fable-of-us…/1123316843…</a></div>
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgksZcjQJRq4ia3wJovb0wIBeTBeYUs_eN0ebFJTqjoLa60PNuCk_9LDPiBDmXfyPLrj47x774jMjfJQKEyVr7j6Vn3Lk6KZmgy-1qY7ofbf3ofNwfogQNgqn12U7oZoK2wsyito-rpJBE/s1600/When+you+love+someone%252C+do+it+right+and+love+them+forever.+Don%25E2%2580%2599t+leave+them+wondering+the+whole+time+when+it%25E2%2580%2599s+going+to+run+out+or+expire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgksZcjQJRq4ia3wJovb0wIBeTBeYUs_eN0ebFJTqjoLa60PNuCk_9LDPiBDmXfyPLrj47x774jMjfJQKEyVr7j6Vn3Lk6KZmgy-1qY7ofbf3ofNwfogQNgqn12U7oZoK2wsyito-rpJBE/s320/When+you+love+someone%252C+do+it+right+and+love+them+forever.+Don%25E2%2580%2599t+leave+them+wondering+the+whole+time+when+it%25E2%2580%2599s+going+to+run+out+or+expire.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi25_JT6MSJItFOl4wJT0NmFOTidcvrCCHAKFw7_c9x4DYx7y7j_WPwm_SJSfrDh-uBonUBIjttSfc2j4OpV7JKtd_Uy_zO4IGGeOJCbcnRkPMUNe4OICfTB7D6BhyphenhyphenR1K8BpTUBsZlWIag/s1600/fableofus-williams-ebookweb-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi25_JT6MSJItFOl4wJT0NmFOTidcvrCCHAKFw7_c9x4DYx7y7j_WPwm_SJSfrDh-uBonUBIjttSfc2j4OpV7JKtd_Uy_zO4IGGeOJCbcnRkPMUNe4OICfTB7D6BhyphenhyphenR1K8BpTUBsZlWIag/s400/fableofus-williams-ebookweb-3.jpg" width="250" /></a></div>
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Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-30055113096532383022016-01-25T10:17:00.000-08:002016-01-25T10:17:05.098-08:00First Teaser for THE FABLE OF US!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Here is the first teaser for my upcoming novel, THE FABLE OF US, scheduled to be released on February 2nd! I'm really, REALLY excited for you all to read this one. My love affair with writing found its way back to me with this one and has decided to hang around (much to my great relief). I'm so excited for what's coming this year . . . can't want to share it all with you.<br />
<br />
Missed you all!<br />
<br />
XOXO<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrTKORJ89D2Ml4QQ0jc8qGjeZWs9JJIthXGTM3_AP7y_vQShszIzr7-ZdT4Ag8fhifehvdR1OKXADP87jxKMuNuIZfvipBAleuKdpF_fneirdDqBHLALeaOFFVaWdGvJjiJKIouyUVyZY/s1600/fableofus-williams-ebookweb-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrTKORJ89D2Ml4QQ0jc8qGjeZWs9JJIthXGTM3_AP7y_vQShszIzr7-ZdT4Ag8fhifehvdR1OKXADP87jxKMuNuIZfvipBAleuKdpF_fneirdDqBHLALeaOFFVaWdGvJjiJKIouyUVyZY/s400/fableofus-williams-ebookweb-2.jpg" width="250" /></a></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
“Boone?” I said, twisting my neck to
look at him. He hadn’t stopped looking at me. “What are you doing this week?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
reached for his replenished drink and lifted it in my direction. “A whole lot
of this.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
swallowed when he did, but I was fighting the voice in my head that warned me this
was a bad idea—quite possibly my worst idea to date. “How would you feel about
earning some extra money?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Boone
settled his glass on the counter, keeping it clutched in his hands. “Who says I
haven’t already earned so much of it I couldn’t possibly be interested in
earning any more?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now
it was my turn to lift an eyebrow in his direction. While the Abbotts were
known for the wealth spilling from their ears, the Cavanaughs had been known
for the past few generations for the opposite. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>From
his worn brown boots that probably should have been tossed out last summer, to
the plaid button-down shirt I had a distant memory of him wearing back in high
school, I had my answer. Plus, there was the whole issue of . . . “That last
five dollars in your wallet that is now in Tom’s pocket might say something
about you not having so many more of those you wouldn’t be interested in making
more of them.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Finally
his face gave way to emotion. Just a flash and only for a moment, but his eyes
narrowed at the same time his forehead creased, like he was almost insulted.
“You Abbotts think you can buy the world and anyone in it. I’ve known that
about your family for years, Clara, but I guess I didn’t realize that gene had
been passed down to you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
refused to back down, not after bringing it up. Besides, Boone’s impressions of
me couldn’t get much lower. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Ten
thousand dollars,” I said and shut up after that. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Boone
was clearly as shocked by the number as I’d guessed he’d be. Ten grand was a
lot of money to anyone anywhere. Especially to earn in one week. Down here
though, working the kinds of jobs Boone had worked back in high school and
probably still did, that was a third of a year’s salary. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
looked away for a moment, glaring at the wall across from us, before his gaze
cut back to me. His shoulders were tense, his neck so rigid that his veins and
muscles were showing. Part of me knew he felt insulted that I was offering him
money in exchange for a favor—part of me felt ashamed for the same—but Boone’s
and my relationship had been severed years ago. This was nothing more than a
business transaction between a couple of acquaintances. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
know, the last time someone offered me that chunk of change over a few drinks,
it wasn’t followed by an offer that was on the up-and-up.” His voice was cool
and removed, the way he was looking at me the same. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What
I’m about to ask isn’t illegal, I promise. It’s not even inside.” I shook my
head. “It’s just . . . maybe a little deceitful.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
huffed and gave a nod. “I’d expect nothing less.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
I thought of a way to phrase what I was about to suggest, nothing sounded quite
right. No matter how I worked the pieces of my proposition in my head, no
arrangement made it seem less undignified. So I went with the most basic
explanation. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“All
I need from you is for you to pose as my plus one for the week. Nothing more.
One week, ten grand. What do you think?” My words came out too fast, my voice
too high. Because no matter what I tried to convince myself of, no matter how
much radio silence had passed between us, Boone and I were not and would never
be mere acquaintances. We had too much history to ever be “acquaintances.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Boone
was silent for a minute. One long minute I thought would never pass. When he
did finally say something, I’d been two seconds away from leaving and spending
the next seven years trying and failing to forget about Boone Cavanaugh again. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Let
me get this straight, because I thought I understood the English language, but
I cannot get my head wrapped around what you just said.” Boone scooted his
stool a half foot in my direction, the skin between his brows pinched in a deep
line. “Are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you </i>asking <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me </i>to show up at your family’s place
with your family inside and pose as your date for the wedding?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
shook my head. Hard. “As my plus one. That’s all.” My traitor voice gave me
away though. Still too high and fast. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Boone
didn’t miss it either. Something that resembled the stirrings of a smirk worked
its way into his expression. “As your boyfriend.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
wasn’t going to make this easy. Not that he had any reason to. “As my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">plus one</i>.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Boone’s
smirk became as pronounced as it got. His head tipped just a bit, his eyes
flashing, and his mouth turned up in a hint of a smile. “As your lover?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
fingers curled into my palms. “As. My. Plus. One.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>An
uneven chuckle vibrated in his chest as he studied me. He probably couldn’t
figure out my business deal any more than I could. “Why? Why me?” He held out
his arms and shrugged. “With all the history between us and the history of your
family treating mine like we were trash . . . why choose me?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
picked at the frayed ends of my cut-offs, considering his question as much as I
was considering my answer. I had too many reasons to ask him, most of those
reasons ones I didn’t want to legitimize by voicing . . . even to myself. When
I’d left Charleston seven years ago, I’d told myself the Boone Cavanaugh
chapter of my life was over. Yet here I was reopening it, or starting a brand-new
chapter. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Boone
continued to wait, his silence screaming at me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
He wanted to know
why, so I gave him an answer, though it might have been the least honest one I
had. “Limited options.” I scanned the few dozen customers, most of them older
than my father and most looking like addiction had played some recent role in
their lives. “Running short on time.” I tapped my wrist. “That’s why I choose
you. Now if you’re done with the Q & A, what’s your answer?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
pulse was pounding in my neck as I waited. I needed him to say yes. I needed
him to agree to crawl into that cab with me and pose as my plus one for the
next week because even though my family weren’t fans of the Cavanaughs, showing
up single was a worse crime. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Am
I to understand that who you’d originally planned on bringing as your ‘plus
one’ fell through?” Boone scooted his stool down another foot. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
I couldn’t decide
what I wanted to do more: scoot closer or farther away. “Stop talking like an
asshole. If you have a question, ask me for Christ’s sake.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
didn’t think debutantes were supposed to take the lord’s name in vain . . .”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
was tempted to slug the smirk right off his face, but I didn’t. I needed him to
agree. I needed to not show up solo and become the target of sabotage setups
and sneaky double-dates the whole week. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Fuck
you, Boone Cavanaugh,” I fired off before I could bite my tongue. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
second of silence passed between us, then he laughed. “There’s the Clara Belle
Abbott I’d been convinced had been adopted at birth. Damn, I missed her.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
found myself laughing with him, because crying seemed like the less enticing
option. Laugh or cry—the beat of Boone’s and my relationship. “So does that
mean you’ll do it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Boone
wiped his eyes, his laugh rolling to an end. It had been forever since I’d
heard him laugh, but it sounded the same. Just like I remembered. “If you
answer my questions to my satisfaction.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And
there’s the Boone Cavanaugh who makes so many conditions no one can ever get
close enough to him to get through.” I peaked a brow at him, letting him know
he wasn’t the only one allowed to take shots. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
were planning on bringing some rich California boy toy with you this week?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
was planning on bringing my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">boyfriend </i>who,
yes, lives in California, but was a transplant from Ohio, and who was very
middle class, with me this week.” The three or four or five shots were making
my mind muddy. I couldn’t tell if I was saying too much or too little, but
Boone seemed satisfied with my answer. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“But
that fell through?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
nodded, my head stuffed full of cotton and tequila.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
broke up with him.” It was a statement, not a hint of doubt in his voice. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He
broke up with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me.</i>” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Boone’s
forehead creased. “How long ago?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Three days ago.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Boone’s
mouth parted some. “The guy broke up with you three days before he was planning
to fly down here to support you and save you from the blood-suckers?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Boone—”
I warned.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Sorry,
the creatures of the night,” he continued, not hiding his smile when my frown
deepened. “I gotta tell you, you really know how to pick ‘em. First Ford
McBride, the behind-your-back-fucking-your-little-sister loser, and then this
prick who bailed on you a few days before you flew out to face your own
personal Armageddon.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
cracked my neck from side to side. Boone wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t heard
or told myself a thousand times, but it felt different coming from him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“Let’s not forget
to toss you into that knowing-how-to-pick-‘em pile,” I muttered, more to myself
than to him, but he didn’t miss it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
didn’t pick me, Clara. I picked you.” For the briefest moment, I caught a
glimpse of the Boone I remembered. The one who’d occasionally open himself up
and share his world with me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
swallowed. I’d finished my last shot minutes ago, but I felt like hundred-proof
alcohol was streaming down my throat. “Any more questions? I’ve, or we’ve, got
to get going unless I want my dad calling the sheriff to come looking for me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Wouldn’t
be the first time, would it?” A smile pulled at the corner of Boone’s mouth. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It
wouldn’t be. But at least this time the sheriff wouldn’t have to lie to my
daddy about how he found me, and who he found me with.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Or
where he found us . . .” Boone’s gaze shifted away, staring at the wall
opposite us like he was seeing something else. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“So?”
I pressed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
took another sip of his drink. “Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m seeing
someone? Don’t you care if I’ve got someone in my life I’ll need to explain
this little week-long arrangement too?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Of
course, yes, I should have thought of that. Do you have . . . someone? Do you
think she’d care if you did this?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Boone
finished his drink before rising from his stool. He’d always been tall, but it
looked like he’d stretched another couple inches in the years since I’d seen
him. And that was definitely the same shirt he’d had in high school. I
remembered those buttons. The shiny marbled ones that snapped closed . . . or popped
open. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’ve
only ever had one someone special, Clara, and she turned me off to the whole
idea of ever having another.” He wouldn’t look at me as he talked. “So no,
there’s not someone special in my life to care what I do or who I do it with.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
He tipped his chin good-bye at Tom
as he headed toward me. I scrambled off of the stool, trying not to sway in place
when I stood. I wasn’t short—in fact, I was taller than average for a woman—but
standing a foot across from Boone Cavanaugh, I felt very small. Almost like he
could squish me between his thumb and index fingers. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Ten
thousand dollars? Seven days?” He shuffled a step closer, putting himself so
close that if I kept swaying in place, I was going to sway right into his arms.
That shouldn’t have seemed like such an appealing option. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
nodded because I couldn’t form any words I trusted to say out loud—because I’d
just been hit by a familiar scent. One I’d tried to delete from my memory, and
one I knew I never could. Boone smelled like my childhood. Like the best years
of my life in Charleston. Salty from sweat, sweet from his mom’s and sister’s
shampoo he used to use instead of buying something more manly, and sour with
the reminder of the past. I wanted to bury my face in his shirt and breathe him
in until I’d had my fill, but if this next week was ever going to work, I
couldn’t let past feelings and history bleed into the picture. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
I couldn’t wreck
him again—and I couldn’t let him wreck me again. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Distance. Arm’s
length. Collected, cool, and calm. That was my marching beat for the next week.
Boone and I had started out as friends; we could do it again. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
My vision was
blurry from the shots, the background of the bar hazy and undefined. The only
thing I could see clearly was him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
His hand lifted,
moving toward my face. Just when I thought he was about to cup my cheek and
kiss me, his fingers grasped a chunk of my hair swinging just above my
shoulders. He studied it for a moment like he didn’t recognize it. After a
minute more of that, he leaned in, dropping his mouth to just outside my ear.
He was messing with me. I knew that. It wasn’t enough that I was paying him ten
grand; he was going to cost me more by the end of this. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
“You’ve got
yourself a boyfriend. Temporarily,” he whispered, his voice raising bumps on my
forearms. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
Lifting my
shoulders, I cleared my head and slowly shoved him back until he was an arm’s length
away. “A plus one. Temporarily.”<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-47562650883557570802015-01-24T19:03:00.000-08:002015-01-24T19:03:01.159-08:00THREE BROTHERS Deleted Scene #1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I originally wrote THREE BROTHERS with chapters that included both present and past scenes, but after discussing it with my editor, we felt the flashback scenes slowed the story down. There are about five chapters that take place from the time Scout first arrived at Red Mountain to the time she left, and I think they're fun in the sense of shedding light on her relationships with the three Armstrong brothers.<br />
<br />
I was planning on keeping these scenes for my own grins, but since THREE BROTHERS did break into a few international top 100 charts on Amazon (not to mention breaking the top 200 in the United States!), I wanted to release one of these scenes as promised. When it reaches 25 reviews on Amazon, I'll release another scene, along with another when it reaches 50. Should it break the top 100 on Amazon U.S., I will release another!<br />
<br />
Please keep in mind this is an unedited version and a way to say thank you to everyone for making the release week of THREE BROTHERS so outstanding! I hope you enjoy getting to know the young Scout and Armstrong brothers as much as I enjoyed writing about them.<br />
<br />
<br />
XOXO<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">THEN <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">June 21, 2003<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
whole life, all thirteen years of it, had been packed up in a couple of boxes
and one old suitcase. I hadn’t realized my life had been so small until I’d
seen it stacked on the porch of the place that I was expected to call home now.
It was a place I’d never seen before, in a state I’d never come anywhere close
to. Inside of it lived people I’d never met or even seen before in an old
photograph. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Red
Mountain Ranch owned and run by John Armstrong and his three sons was
apparently a legend out here in the still semi Wild West, but to a girl who’d
spent her life jumping from one high-rise apartment to the next buried deep in
the city of Chicago, ranches and mountains were places I’d seen in magazines or
were portrayed in the pictures hung on waiting room walls. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
mom had never been one for losing herself in the country or finding peace in
the quiet places of the world. I think she felt most comfortable and at rest
when she was socked in by people and skyscrapers. Where the air around her was
filled with such a din of noise she couldn’t hear the voices in her head.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
mom wasn’t crazy—at least by a devoted daughter’s point of view—although her psychiatrist
might disagree. I suppose if she hadn’t been crazy, I wouldn’t be here now,
trying and failing to crawl out of a car and face “home sweet <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">new</i> home.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
eyes had been locked on the black leather headrest in front of me since I’d
scrambled inside of the car at the airport and even though I could sense a
shadow looming up on the porch waiting for me, I couldn’t seem to force my
stare from that headrest. The fear of the unknown was crippling. I’d left
friends and all that was familiar behind and even though I knew there was no
going back, that didn’t stop me from longing for it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Another
minute passed and that shadow lumbered down the steps, stopping just outside of
the car door. The instant the door opened, a dozen new smells rushed at me,
flooding the car with scents that were as foreign as this place. Earthy smells,
like trees and flowers, weeds and grasses. It was a potpourri of scents I had
nothing to compare it to; all it brought to mind was the way the Earth had
probably smelled the first days of its existence. Nothing in the city smelled
like this, nothing even close, not even the scent of fresh bark the city raked
into the flowerbeds every spring at the park by our last apartment. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m
sorry about your mom, Scout. She was a fine person, Make sure you don’t forget
that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
voice was a man’s, low and rough from old age and what I guessed had been a
hard life. His voice reminded me of the way a grizzly bear’s pelt I’d once
touched at a museum felt—course and weathered. Like even the strongest of
storms couldn’t cut through it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
hands were clutched together, sweat clamming them up. “She was weak,” I
whispered, immediately followed by my head lowering. My mom might have been
weak, but she deserved better than me broadcasting it to the world. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Your
mama wasn’t weak, nowhere close to it. She was strong.” That rough voice filled
the air, seeming to boom right off that giant mountain towering above this
place. “It just turned out that in your mama’s case, the demons in her past
were stronger.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
felt something stir in my blood. Something hot and explosive. It was a
sensation I’d been becoming more and more familiar with since my mom’s death
and the comments and criticisms that had come with it. “Is that what you tell
all of the orphaned children you take in after their mother’s swallow a bottle
of the very pills that were supposed to be helping with her depression, not
letting her give in to it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>John
Armstrong didn’t say anything. He could have, after the words I’d fired off at
him in the tone I’d encased them in, he had every right to fire back with
something of his own, but he didn’t. Instead, he held out his hand that was as
large and weathered as the size of that Grizzly Bear paw, and he waited. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
hadn’t realized I’d taken his hand until he was guiding me out of the car and
once I was standing in front of him, he placed his hands on my shoulders. There
was a smile on his face, but there was a sadness behind it, like no matter what
happy moment or joyous encounter, nothing could smudge away the sadness from
this man’s past. It made me wonder if my smile would be the same going forward.
If after finding one’s mother and only known family member dead on the bathroom
floor with an empty pill bottle still clutched in her hand, her eyes for the first
time ever peaceful, would drip enough sadness into my life to ensure all of my
smiles going forward would miss their mark. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It
will be okay, Scout,” John said, giving my shoulders the lightest squeeze. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“If
this is where you try to comfort me that time will heal everything, you can
save yourself the effort. A few dozen others have already beat you to that
proverb.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
John Armstrong towered a foot over
me and had to weigh three times what I did. He was a pillar of a man who had a
beard that was thick and tangled with streaks of gray. His face was dark
already and summer had only just begun, but he had the deep canyons of wrinkles
to prove he didn’t hide from it like my mother had. With that mountain in the
background, John Armstrong seemed almost the same size of it, and just as
rugged. I should have been intimidated into silence from the size of this man
alone, but I wasn’t. Instead, the silence I’d kept close to me since my mom’s
death was finally falling away, revealing a person I wasn’t quite familiar
with. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Then
I guess I’ll be the one to tell you the truth.” Somehow, the lines of his
forehead drew deeper before he led me up the steps to his house. “Time won’t
heal everything—it won’t really even heal some things.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Are
you saying I’m always going to feel this way? That I’m always going to feel so
. . . lost?” I wasn’t sure if that was the word I was searching for, but it was
close. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>John
nodded and that nod should have depressed me more than it did, but something
about someone finally telling me the truth was a relief. Hearing a word of
truth in a sea of lies was refreshing in the most unexpected of ways. “Time
won’t fix the past and the scars you sustained as a result, but it does make it
easier for you to endure them.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m
not sure I want to endure this for the rest of my life. I’d rather forget it.
I’d rather have it wiped from my memory for good.” The steps creaked and
groaned beneath my soft footsteps, but they barely made a sound beneath John’s
large, mud-coated boots. It was like he was a ghost passing over them . . . or
he’d just learned where to step so they didn’t sound like they were about to
snap. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“If
that’s what you really want, that would also mean your memory of your mother
would have to be erased for good as well. To forget her death means forgetting
her life as well. Is that what you want?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
thought about that the rest of the way up the last few steps and crossing the
wide-stretching porch to the front door. As hard as life had been living with a
chronically depressed parent, there’d been enough good to almost even the
scales. There’d been enough random whims where my mother had pulled me out of
school to spend a sunny afternoon sprawled out on a blanket in the park while
we binged on gelato and vanilla wafers. There’d been enough happiness to
counteract the sadness. Enough joy to skew the sorrow. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No,
I don’t want to forget her. I guess,” I added when I felt that familiar stab of
pain in my stomach when I thought of her . . . only to realize the only place
I’d ever see her again was in my mind or photographs. She’d laughed her last
laugh and we’d fought over the last bite of lemon gelato for the last time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“The
people we love are as much a curse as they are a blessing, Scout. I know that’s
not what people want to believe, but it’s the truth. The ones we love can lift
us high as much as they can tear us down. To know love is to know pain, and to
feel love is to feel pain. Choose who you love carefully. Make sure they’re
worth the pain that comes with loving them. Make sure they’re worth the gut
wrenching feeling that’s surely going to come. Make sure they’re worth your
love.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
hadn’t known what to expect when the lawyer had read me my mother’s will,
informing me of who she’d named as my guardian, but when I’d learned he lived
on a ranch in Jackson Hole, Wyoming and was named John Armstrong, I hadn’t
expected he’d start our first conversation with a lesson on the merits and
pitfalls of love. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Are
you saying some people deserve to be loved and some don’t?” I asked slowly. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Everyone
deserves love. Some just deserve your love more than others.” As John’s hand
swallowed the doorknob as he prepared to open the door to my new life, my
eyebrows pulled together. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“So
then how do I know what people deserve my love?” I wasn’t sure if we were still
talking about my mom in some loose sense, or if we’d moved on to something else
entirely, but this seemed like a powerful enough life lesson to have clarified.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s
easy.” Another smile touched by sadness pulled at his mouth. “They’re the ones
who love you back, not the ones who back away from your love.” That was all he
offered before pushing open the door and motioning me inside of his home. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
sucked in a long breath before taking my first timid step inside of Red
Mountain Ranch. The lawyer who’d informed me of what my life would be like from
here on out had given me a little bit of history on John Armstrong and his
relationship to my mother. Apparently, they’d met in college, been the best of
friends before quite likely giving the role of lovers a try, and after that had
failed and they’d graduated, they’d gone their opposite ways and remained in
contact with the occasional letter or phone call until their different lives
had cut off all connections. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>John
Armstrong came from old money and his family had a rich history in Wyoming.
Somewhere in his ancestry line had been one of the founding families of Jackson
Hole, and somewhere else had been the family who’d built the very ranch I’d
wound up at. He’d married, had three sons, and his wife had died a while back.
I didn’t know the particulars or even a few details, but I did know this was a
wealthy and influential family and that I was a girl from the inner city who’d
grown accustomed to having the water shut-off and having to get creative with
whatever was left in the fridge when it was mealtime. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
mom had considered herself a starving artist, and she was proud of it. She
wasn’t a sell out like so many others she’d seen rise to fame, but the cost to
not selling out meant not selling very many of her pieces. So we ate canned
soup for more dinners than I liked to remember and the second hand store on
Fifth and Browne was responsible for keeping clothes on my back and shoes on my
feet. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
wasn’t sure how to act in a home where they apparently had so much money, they
could throw tens and twenties to keep the fire burning in their fireplace all
winter long and not feel its effect. It wasn’t like there was a manual for
young teenage girls whose poor, artist of a mother had just killed herself and
she was now being swept off to one of the wealthiest families this side of the
Mississippi. I wish. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>John
followed me inside of the house, closing the door behind us. When I heard the
driver pull away, the sound of crunching gravel growing fainter and fainter, an
air of finality settled over me. This was it. There was no going back. I was
home. Although it was a home I knew nothing about and next to nothing about the
people living within it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Not
even the names of John’s three sons, or their ages. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Welcome
to Red Mountain Ranch.” John’s hearty voice filled the vast entry, bouncing off
the timbered walls. “I’m sorry if it’s lacking something of a warm, welcoming
touch. I’ve found that to make a home inviting, it requires a woman’s touch and
my wife’s been dead for long enough now I’m not sure I remember what the scent
of her coffee cake smelled like or the way her smile could light up a room all
by itself.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
wasn’t sure what to make of this giant of a man who talked so openly, but I
figured I was safe with issuing an, “I’m sorry.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His
eyes scanned the entry, almost like he was expecting to find her. “I’m sorry
too,” he said after a moment, a sigh immediately following. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“This
is a really nice home you’ve got,” I said conventionally, clueless as to what
to do or say next. I felt like a thank you was in order given he’d agreed to
accept guardianship of me having never even met me, but I wasn’t quite sure if
I was thankful yet. This whole situation made thanksgiving a difficult emotion
to conjure up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“My
great, great grand-daddy built the first establishment a mile off to the north
of here. It’s still there, but slowly crumbling away. My great grand-daddy
built the big barn you might have seen when you pulled up. And my granddaddy
built this place a year before my daddy was born.” John scanned the room again,
but instead of seeming to search for his wife, it was like he was seeing
shadows and shapes invisible to me. “Every generation of Armstrong has somehow
added something to this place.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What
are you going to add?” I asked, inspecting the vast room, imaging what was left
to be added. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m
not going to add anything. If I had my way, instead of building this place up,
I’d burn it down to the ground.” John’s eyes were already dark, like the color
of water as the sun set, but they went another shade darker. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
took another look around. I’d only seen the outside of the house and the entry,
but it didn’t seem like the kind of place a person would want to take a match
to. The walls were made of round, wide logs, gleaming like a sheet of ice, not
dilapidated walls that time, rodents, and un-reined tempers were crumbling. The
ceiling was high, the floors were a shade darker than the walls but just as
shiny, and the furniture and décor scattered throughout the room was tastefully
done and had the look of things that had been purchased at a hefty price tag.
It might not have been my style and there might have been five too many animal
heads adorning the walls, but Red Mountain Ranch had its charm. I didn’t understand
why anyone would want this place to burn<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Why
would you want to do that?” I asked, verbalizing my thoughts. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>John
didn’t answer me right away. I was almost certain he wasn’t going to answer me
at all when he let out a long exhale. “Because this place, and the land
surrounding it, is cursed.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
waited a moment, then I waited a couple more, hoping he’d expand on his answer.
Cursed? Were we talking some voo-doo hoo-doo witch had sacrificed a dove here
and made a star using its blood? Or did he mean cursed in the way a person said
half-heartedly as a way to explain a sequence of bad luck with no real
explanation to pin the blame to? Maybe John meant something else entirely, but
whatever his definition of cursed was, I learned one thing—that was all he was
going to say about it right then. Well, and I suppose I learned something else.
That based on the way he’d said it and how his expression had changed, it
became clear that this was the thing he both feared and hated the most in his
whole life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
might have been the cool temperature lingering in the hallway or it might have
been the topic we’d just glazed over, but something caused shivers to cascade
down my back, trickling down into my legs. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“If
this place really is—“ One sharp look from John stopped me from repeating the
word—“what you say it is . . . then why haven’t you burned it already?” This
was the strangest conversation I’d ever had with a stranger, and that I was
having it with the person who was my parental figure and guardian by the court’s
standards, was either a good thing or a bad thing, but it definitely wasn’t a
neutral thing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“My
sons,” John answered in a simple tone. “I’m getting old and this place belongs
to them now more than it does to me. If they decide to burn it, they have my
blessing. If they decide to repeat the same mistakes of their ancestors and
myself before them, then God have pity on their souls.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
mom had always accused me of being more curious than a cat, and if curiosity
killed the cat, what was it going to do to me? But I’d shrugged it off and
claimed a healthy amount of curiosity could just as easily keep a person alive
as it could kill them. So far, I’d proven my point since I was still alive and
mostly well. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What
kind of mistakes?” My curiosity asked as I followed John through the foyer. I
didn’t know where we were going or what came next but for some misguided
reason, I trusted this man and his unconventional topics of conversation. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Speaking
of my sons,” John’s voice raised over each word as he leaned his head back,
“they all swore to me on their mama’s grave that they’d be here to greet you at
seven o’clock on the dot and if they don’t get their asses down here now I’m
going to help them find their own graves!” John’s voice filled the foyer,
bellowing up the stairs leading to the second floor where I guessed his truant
sons were hiding. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’d
be hiding too if my mom had told me a stranger would be moving in with us and
I’d be expected to treat her as just another member of the family. I could
hardly expect John’s sons to roll out the welcome mat and chime the bells that
I’d arrived when I wouldn’t have done the same for them. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
that was when I caught a glimpse of someone lumbering down the stairs from the
second floor and when he made his way far enough down so that I could see all
of him, I realized I would have rolled out the welcome mat, chimed the bells,
and thrown a parade if this was the guy who showed up as the new member of the
family. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Years
older than me, this guy who I assumed was one of John’s three sons couldn’t be
described as hot because any guy with a nice body and face could be described
with the same weak word. No, hot didn’t cut it. Not by a fraction. This guy was
a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">god</i>. A god in human form and one
that was making my stomach twist into so many knots I doubted it would ever
come untangled. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
was tall and wide like his dad, but unlike the darker features of John, he had
dark blond hair that was already starting to lighten from the early summer sun.
I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were, but they were far lighter than John’s
near obsidian color, and from the way this young man carried himself, I would
have guessed he didn’t lack for confidence. When he stopped at the bottom of
the steps, his focus shifting from the phone in his hands to me, he gave me a
quick once-over before his gaze cut to his father. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“She’s
older than I thought she’d be,” was all he said, giving his attention back to
his phone when it chimed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
told you she was thirteen,” John replied. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah,
but not all thirteen-year-old girls are created equal.” The guy’s gaze
flickered to me again, just enough to make my stomach tighten once more, before
it flickered back to his phone. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Since
you seem intent on arguing the definition of a thirteen-year-old, I’ll lead
with the introductions.” John shook his head at his son. “Scout, this is my
oldest son, Chase. He’s seventeen, thinks the world was created to meet his
every whim and wish, and is responsible for breaking so many girls’ hearts,
he’s recognized wherever he goes by the locals as well as most of the vacation
crowd.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“My
reputation wasn’t earned by just breaking hearts, if you know what I mean.”
Chase arched a brow at me and made a clucking sound with his mouth. I wasn’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">exactly </i>sure what he meant, but I could
take a few educated guesses. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>John
was still shaking his head. “Chase, my first born, the child who was supposed
to be the disciplined, over-achiever of the bunch”—I noticed Chase roll his
eyes at his phone—“this is Scout. Think of her as your—“<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Sister,”
Chase interrupted with another eye roll as he stuffed his phone into his back
pocket. “Yeah, I caught that the first thousand times you drilled it into all
of us.” When a car horn blared just outside the door, Chase started moving
toward it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
As he passed me, I realized just
how much taller he was than I’d first thought. He might have only been an inch
taller than John, but he towered over me. Kind of like I was some tiny ant
staring up at this great, golden god. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Chase
had just passed me when he broke to a stop. “It’s nice to meet you, Scout.
Sorry to greet and run but my social calendar calls.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>On
cue, the doorbell rang and Chase’s smile slid higher. He was at the door and
pulling it open before John’s face could turn an impressive shade of pink. “I
told you not to make plans tonight, Chase. I told you that tonight I expected
us all to have dinner together and make Scout feel welcome.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Chase
had the door halfway open when he shut it again, jogged back my direction, and
before I’d realized he’d wrapped his arms around me and scooped me up into some
kind of hug, my feet were back on the ground and Chase’s arms were unwinding.
“Do you feel welcome now, Scout?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
verbal response wasn’t possible, so I bobbed my head. My body was still all
tingly and warm from just having been so close to the divinity known as Chase
Armstrong. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“She
feels welcome, Dad. Gotta run.” When he opened the door for the second time,
Chase pulled it all the way open. On the other side of it were two girls. Two <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">women</i>. Their smiles matched Chase’s,
slanted from what I guessed was expectation or maybe it was anticipation . . .
something they were all looking forward to. They weren’t as pretty as Chase
was, not by half, but if he wouldn’t have been beside them to compare to, I
suppose they would have been what guys considered major hotties. Chase slung an
arm around each one of their shoulders, and spun around to face us before
leaving. “And just so you know Dad, I didn’t make plans tonight. But plans kind
of showed up at my front door.” When the girls started laughing, Chase
shrugged, then winked at me before turning their threesome around and heading
down the stairs. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
hadn’t shut the door behind him, so I had a chance to watch him leap into the
convertible running outside as one girl climbed behind the steering wheel and
the other crawled into the passenger seat. As the convertible sped out of the
driveway in a spray of gravel and dust, I sighed. I actually sighed all wistful
like. I was going to be living under the same roof as that guy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At
that moment, life did not suck. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m
sorry about that. Chase is easily distracted. And frequently,” John said,
shaking his head at the spot Chase had disappeared from. “As for my other sons
. . .” John went to the bottom of the stairs Chase had jogged down a few
minutes ago and rested his hand in the large knoll-post that had been carved
into the shape of some kind of bird of prey. “Conn! Don’t make me come up there
and get you!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>For
John being all gentle and cautious with me, it seemed he was the opposite with
his sons. There was nothing gentle or cautious with the way John’s face and
posture were as he glared up at the top of that stairs, waiting. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We
wouldn’t want that, now would we.” An even, smooth voice replied from the
shadows in front of me where none of the lamplight glowing in the foyer could
reach. Pulled to that dark place, I took a couple of steps forward, but that
was when he crept out from his hiding place. With each step he took, more of
the light from the room illuminated him. “Don’t get so worked up, Dad. We
wouldn’t want you to have another heart attack.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
was only a few feet away when he seemed to notice me, but once he did, his
attention didn’t wander, not even long enough to blink. His stare was similar
to Chase’s in its investigation, but different in that it went farther, not
stopping until his gaze felt penetrating and on the verge of unwelcome. This
dark stranger was studying me like he couldn’t only see every last dark secret
I possessed, but he could sense the ones I was hoping to one day accrue.
Secrets like being with a guy like Chase Armstrong just to see if he was as
godlike in the bedroom as he was outside of it, or getting high on a beach late
at night, and going skinny-dipping all by myself. Sure, these might not have
been the deep, dark secrets people shriveled away from, but they were deep and
dark for a thirteen-year-old girl who had yet to kiss a guy or have her first
drink of alcohol. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“How
long have you been skulking in that dark corner, Conn?” John’s eyes narrowed on
his son as he approached. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Long
enough to see Doe Eyes here get even more so as she watched big brother drive
away looking like she wished he was what was being served for dinner.” Conn
didn’t stop moving my direction until he was so close I could see the flecks of
gold in his dark irises. “And I don’t skulk in the dark, Dad. I thrive there.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Conn
shared a smile with me then, one that felt more chilling than it did warm, and
for some reason, I shared a smile of my own with him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Where
Chase had been big, blonde, and beefy, Conn was the opposite. He was still
taller than me, but only by a couple of inches, and his hair was the same dark
chestnut brown I guessed John’s had been before silver took over. His body
could be described as lanky and lean, and the dark long-sleeved shirt and pants
he was in gave off a sinister type vibe. That, matched with the brooding
expression told me this was one of those boys my mom had warned me against. The
kind who’d let too much darkness into their lives it suffocated out all of the
light—which seemed hypocritical coming from a woman who’d decided to kill
herself in her thirties. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Studying
Conn Armstrong, I didn’t need to have heard my mother’s warnings or remembered
them to realize this wasn’t the type of guy I wanted to get mixed up with. This
was the type of one I needed to avoid, so I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t seem to
look away from him and take a step back. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Conn,
meet Scout. Scout, meet Conn.” John stopped off to the side of us, looking
between us like he was waiting to see who would be the first to blink. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What
kind of a name is Scout?” Conn tipped his head. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“My
mom loved ‘To Kill a Mockingbird,’” I explained with a shrug. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Looks
like Harper Lee’s Scout was a total opposite to the Scout you are. Your mom
must have been disappointed.” In a different tone, Conn’s words could have been
construed as harsh, but that wasn’t how they hit me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>John
took them a different way than I did though. “Don’t start, Conn. You promised
you’d behave tonight.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What?
All I’m pointing out is that Scout’s here namesake was a strong tomboy. Not a—“<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Weak
little girl?” The words spilled out, boiling over before I’d even realized they
were forming. Something about this boy in front of me made me shed that layer
of discretion away. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Conn’s
eyes tumbled down me again, a sideways smile tugging at the corner of his
mouth. “Princess. That was more the word I was looking for. Only princesses
wear light pink and match their nail polish to their outfit. And their
lip-gloss too.” When Conn’s scrutinizing eyes landed on my mouth, not in a
hurry to leave, it wasn’t my stomach I felt knotting like I had with Chase, it
was my heart. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Conn,”
John warned, reaching out for his son’s arm but Conn deflected it by stepping
aside. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“My
mom named me Scout because she hoped that I’d remember to question everything
and try to see the best in all people.” I didn’t know why I felt the need to
defend my mom’s choice of name for me, but it seemed important that this boy
who was looking at me like he was just waiting for a punch line, knew there was
more to me than a name and a pink dress. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And
do you see the best in all people?” His head tipped deeper. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
didn’t look away from his intense stare. “Yeah, I do.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Something
gleamed in his eyes. A challenge? A secret? Who knows? “We’ll see.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Stop
being so damn cryptic, Conn. You’re going to scare her.” There was an edge of
warning in John’s voice as he stared down at his son. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
was just about to reply that I didn’t feel scared or anything close to it, when
Conn chuckled a couple of low, rolling beats. “How about I’ll stop being so
cryptic when you stop telling me who to be and not be?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Can
we not do this now?” John said, his face a light shade of red. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m
not the one who started ordering you to stop being so hot-headed and
narrow-minded.” Conn’s reply was eerily calm in contrast to his father’s. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“God
damn it, Conn,” John hissed through a rigid jaw. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Don’t
worry, Dad. I’m damned, all right, but it might take a few more years before I
can convince you.” Right then, in the most fleeting of moments, I saw it. I saw
what Conn was talking about. The mask slipped back just enough I caught a
glimpse of the Conn Armstrong who wasn’t all bravado and show, and that was the
image I latched onto. It would be that flash of the sad, scared boy I’d come to
regret for years to come, because that might have been the Conn Armstrong who
resided beneath the surface, but that wasn’t the man who broke my heart so many
times I’d stopped trying to put it back together. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
was Conn who reminded me that it didn’t really matter who we were deep down
inside, because it was the person we were with others who defined us. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“If
Harper Lee’s Scout was a strong tomboy,” I said, trying to slice through the
thickening tension, and also trying to figure out what this boy I was so
suddenly and inexplicable enamored by thought of me. “What does that make me?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Conn
lifted a dark brow. “A princess. I thought we already went over this.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
arms crossed as I tried not to bristle at him repeating the term. “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Strong </i>tomboy. Fill in the
adjective—what kind of ‘princess’ am I?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Conn
rubbed at his chin. He was older than me, though not by much, but he already
had a dark shadow of stubble covering his chin and jawline. Watching him rub
his hand against it, made me wonder what it would feel like against my cheek. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
a knowing expression worked into position on Conn’s face, I dumped that
pondering from my head. Hopefully, for good. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Let’s
see. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Scout</i>.” He said my name in the
same tone he’d used when saying <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">dad</i>.
Almost like it was more curse than address. “Other than your mother who killed
herself by swallowing a pharmacy worth of pills, you have no other family, but
because of some name your mom scribbled down on a piece of paper, we’re stuck
with you now and you show up at our front door in a pretty pink dress, and
those big, sad eyes of yours in hopes we won’t reject you like your own mother
did when she decided death was better than living with you one more day.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Beside
me, John was issuing a string of warnings, but I didn’t hear them. All I heard
were the vile words spilling from the mouth of the boy in front of me. When I
tried to take a step back from Conn, I couldn’t. It was like I was stuck being
close to him. Not quite close enough to reach out and touch him, but close
enough to be affected by his toxicity. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’d
say that makes you pathetic,” Conn continued. “One <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pathetic </i>princess. Be glad your mom isn’t around to see the strong
girl she hoped you’d become reduced to the pathetic one you are today. Be glad
she isn’t here to see you for the piece of shit you are like I’m glad my mother
isn’t around to see in me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His
words flowed over me like scalding lava, burning and singing their way deep
inside. I could feel tears pushing their way to the surface, but I wouldn’t let
them spill. I couldn’t let him see me cry. I wasn’t sure why and maybe letting
him see me cry was exactly what he needed to realize what kind of person he
was, but either way, I kept my tears to myself. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Get
out! Now!” John’s booming voice finally cut through, making me want to cover my
ears from the volume of it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
Conn stayed planted in place, John pointed at the door and lifted his brows in
a way that suggested if Conn didn’t move himself, John would move him. Only
when John made a move Conn’s direction, did he finally stop looking at me long
enough to dodge his dad. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Where
John’s and Chase’s footsteps had echoed through the foyer, Conn’s were silent.
He was more specter than man moving through that room. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
should have kept my back to him and let him go, but something about wanting to
prove to him and myself and my mom if she could still see me from wherever she
was now, that I was the strong Scout no one seemed to believe I was. “You can’t
make me hate you just by spewing a few nasty words, you know.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>John
put his arm around me, probably more to keep me from following Conn through the
front door than as a show of support, but when Conn twisted his head over his
shoulder, his eyes black, that kept me in place more than John’s strong arm.
“No, I can’t make you hate me. You’ll figure out a way to hate me all on your
own eventually. Just ask my dad.” Conn’s eyes narrowed on me, but it was clear
that look of disdain was intended for the man on my left. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Conn
powered through the door, disappearing into the night, but my eyes stayed on
that spot long after he’d gone. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m
sorry about that. I was hoping to spare you from Conn’s . . . <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">disposition, </i>for at least a few days
while you got settled in.” John couldn’t keep looking at the spot his son had
left, so he turned to face me. “If I would have known he’d be waiting for us,
armed and ready to fire every last bullet in his artillery, I would have taken
you in through the back door.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Why’s
he so angry?” I asked, wondering what happened that could have been so terrible
to make Conn the way he was. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He
hates the world and those in it as much as he’s convinced himself we all hate
him.” John’s voice had calmed, to almost sound sad, but his face was still a
special shade of red. “I love my son and he has his merits, but my advice to
you is to give him as wide of a berth as you can while you’re here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Why?”
When I found myself fretting with the hem of the pink dress Conn had made it a
point to insult, I sighed. This morning, it had been my favorite piece of
clothing, but after tonight it was going into a garbage can. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Because
he’s made it a favorite pastime of his to make sure everyone around him is as
miserable as he is.” When John’s face darkened, I caught a glimpse of Conn in
him. The two had such similar faces I could have been looking at the Conn of
the future. “Now, I promised you dinner. After those introductions, you’ve got
to have worked up an appetite.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Actually,
food and my appetite were the farthest things from my mind. Especially after
having just met one father and two sons who redefined
complex-bordering-on-unhealthy relationships. What kind of a family had my
mother farmed me off to?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Don’t
you have three sons?” I asked softly, peeking up the stairs to see if one more
would come hustling down them, wondering what he’d have to say about me being
here. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>John’s
face softened instantly, the shadows under his eyes lightening. “Yes, I have
three. Two you’ve met and one you’ll meet soon.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“A
third that doesn’t have to fulfill the duties of his social calendar or won’t
get thrown out of the house for saying mean things?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
deep chuckle came from John, vibrating deep in his chest. “No, no social
calendars or general disdain for humanity to worry about when it comes to my
middle son.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“So
he’s the good son,” I guessed. Chase was the playboy, Conn was the black sheep,
so the third one had to be the good one of the bunch. That was the only role
missing from the line-up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He
is.” John nodded, his smile firmly in place. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What
makes him the good one?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>John
raised a brow at me, likely as surprised at my series of pointed questions as I
was. It might have been thanks to the Wyoming air stirring something up from
deep inside of me, or it might have been the feeling that this life was a new
start for me, a chance to redefine myself and be whoever I wanted. There was no
one from my past life to hold me to the person and limitations I’d held myself
to. This was a fresh start in every way a person could ever want one. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>John
took his time replying, but when he did, I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen a man as
proud as he was ashamed. “Because he didn’t turn out anything like me. That’s
how I know he’s the good one.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>John
didn’t strike me as a saint, but he didn’t seem like the other kind of man
either. I was about to tell him so when someone jogged through the same door
two brothers had just escaped from. He looked different than the other two, but
there was no denying this was the third brother. The middle. The good one. It
seemed appropriate that he was the middle child given he was the bridge between
his two other brothers. Not as tall or wide as Chase, but not near as lean and
lanky as Conn. Instead of being light or dark, his hair was a warm brownish-red
and his eyes went with the same middle-of-the-road theme being brownish-green. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Other
than John, he was the only other one who fulfilled the cowboy image when I
learned I’d be living on a ranch. His light colored hat was dotted with flecks
of mud, his boots up to the knees of his worn jeans were even muddier. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His
smile, though . . . well, it was wholly different from both of his brothers. It
was wide, pulled up as high as a smile could go on either side, and there was
no hint of any other emotion lingering within it other than genuineness. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m
so sorry I’m late,” he began, sliding his hat off and taking long strides my
direction. As he got closer, I could tell his face had also taken a beating
from the mud. When he held out his hand for me to shake, my eyes widened. “And
I’m also sorry for being such a mess.” He lowered his dirty hand, wiping it on
the leg of his jean. “Do you mind if I take a quick shower and catch up with
you at dinner, Dad?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’d
say that sounds like a good idea unless you want to finish the job of
convincing Scout we’re the bunch of barbarians your brothers and I have done a
good job of assuring her of.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
leaned in, like he was going to whisper something in my ear, but kept a safe
distance. Probably because he was slicked in mud. “They <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">are </i>a bunch of barbarians, but me, I’m fairly evolved.” With a
shrug, he laughed when John shooed him away good-naturedly. John was a
different person with this son. It was strange how the dark mood of one son
seemed to have a direct effect on him, just as the light mood of this one did
the same. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Nice
to meet you, Scout. I look forward to getting to meet more of you once a little
less mud is meeting me.” He waved at his dad and me before jogging for the
stairs. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What’s
your name?” I called after him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
was in the middle of kicking off his boots and dropping his hat onto one of the
pegs punched into the wall where a few other hats swung from. “Chance. My
name’s Chance.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Chance?”
I hadn’t realized I’d repeated his name out loud. Conn was a bit different, but
I’d gone to school with a guy with the same name, and I’d run into plenty of
Chase’s, but Chance? Not a single person. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah,
you know, like a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">chance</i> encounter. Or
take a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">chance </i>on me. Or—“<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Better
not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">chance </i>it?” I threw into the mix.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Chance
laughing, pulling off his socks that had somehow managed to also get muddy.
“Yeah, or as in the legendary, notorious, known by every corner of the world .
. . <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Chance </i>Ranger Armstrong.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
found myself laughing with him. It was the first time I’d laughed since I’d
found my mom’s body on the bathroom floor. “I like your name, Chance.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After
balling his dirty socks up and burying them inside his dirty boots, he padded
barefoot up the stairs. “I like your name too, Scout.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m
not like Harper Lee’s Scout if that’s why you like my name. You know, just to
clear that up.” I was picking at the hem of my dress again, replaying the
things Conn had said to me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Good
thing I like real life people only about a million times more than I like
fictional characters then, Scout, not-Harper-Lee’s-Version.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Are
you making fun of me?” I asked as he continued up the stairs. Unlike his two
brothers before him, I didn’t feel the need to worship every place his feet had
touched the ground. That was a relief. At least I wouldn’t be sharing the same
address with three brothers I couldn’t think straight around. Just two. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Nope,
not making fun, just saying I like your name and that I’m looking forward to
being your friend.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
it turned out, Chance was the only friend I had that summer, and became my best
friend those five years I lived at Red Mountain. <o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-6535989327782732542015-01-20T17:06:00.000-08:002015-01-20T17:06:30.320-08:00Brand New Release! THREE BROTHERS!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My latest novel, THREE BROTHERS, just released today! This is a contemporary romance that is a standalone. Sorry, no cliffhangers. ;)<br />
<br />
This is a story about righting wrongs, seconds chances, and letting go of the past in order to step confidently into the future. It's a love story: my favorite kind of love story.<br />
<br />
If you're looking for the links to purchase, I've listed them below.<br />
<br />
Happy reading!<br />
<br />
<br />
Amazon: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Three-Brothers-Nicole-Williams-ebook/dp/B00SGTMSZ2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1421770644&sr=8-1&keywords=three+brothers+nicole+williams">http://www.amazon.com/Three-Brothers-Nicole-Williams-ebook/dp/B00SGTMSZ2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1421770644&sr=8-1&keywords=three+brothers+nicole+williams</a><br />
<br />
B&N: <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/three-brothers-nicole-williams/1121090903?ean=2940150296145">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/three-brothers-nicole-williams/1121090903?ean=2940150296145</a><br />
<br />
Apple:<a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/three-brothers/id959801745?ls=1&mt=11">https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/three-brothers/id959801745?ls=1&mt=11</a><br />
<br />
Kobo: Coming very soon!<br />
<br />
*********************************************************************************<br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I grew up with three brothers. They weren’t tied to me by blood, but our connection went beyond genetics or bearing the same last name. Our connection was forged the summer I turned thirteen, the summer my mom ended her life and left me in the custody of John Armstrong, a man I’d never met. Packing all I owned in a couple of boxes, I left the familiarity of the big city and headed west to Red Mountain Ranch, set in a lonely valley outside of Jackson Hole. </span><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Nothing was as it seemed at Red Mountain—it didn’t take long for me to figure that out. John was kind to me but distant, as if he was afraid to let anyone get too close. His three teenage sons had their own devices for keeping love as far away as they could. The eldest distracted himself with cheap relationships that had a shelf-life of one night. The middle son threw himself into the rigor of running a ranch, and the third wielded cruelty and mind-games in his quest to keep people from getting close. </span><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Time has gone by, and I’ve spent those years trying to forget the brother I’d fallen for—the biggest mistake of my life. </span><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Finally, I’ve moved on. Finally, I’m back. But what I didn’t realize was that running away from the wrong brother meant I’d also run away from the right one. The one who’d been there for me all along, waiting in his brother’s shadow for the day I either would or could move on. </span><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">But a decade is a long time to wait. Has the brother I should have chosen all of those years ago moved on too? Am I about to discover that my biggest mistake wasn’t falling in love with the wrong brother, but failing to return the love of the right one sooner? </span><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Does unrequited love have an expiration date? </span><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I’m about to find out.</span><br />
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Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-30643096806060910322015-01-08T12:03:00.001-08:002015-01-08T12:03:21.983-08:00THREE BROTHERS Excerpt (Releasing January 20th!)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Happy 2015 everyone! Wishing you all a fulfilling, successful year filled with lots of fun and adventure! Thank you for being part of 2014 being so fabulous—looking forward to many more to come.<br />
<br />
In case you haven't seen the Facebook or Twitter buzz about what's coming from me next, I wanted to update you all here. THREE BROTHERS is releasing January 20th and is a contemporary romance set in rural Wyoming. It tells the story of a woman who's so haunted by her past, she's struggling to get on with her future. It's a love story about choosing the people who deserve our love and the ones who return that love, instead of chasing after the ones who are so damaged they've forgotten what love is. It's a novel I feel fans of the LOST & FOUND series will enjoy (I'll also have some especially exciting news for all of you LOST & FOUND fans coming tomorrow!)<br />
<br />
I wanted to share the cover, blurb, and the first excerpt with you all, so here it is! I hope you enjoy and, as always, thank you for being so wonderful and supportive.<br />
<br />
XOXO,<br />
<br />
Nicole<br />
<br />
P.S. If you're a book blogger and would like to sign-up for the tour, here's the link to do so!<br />
<a href="http://us4.campaign-archive1.com/?u=6f7e6c35359236674e511ee50&id=c4d39de891">http://us4.campaign-archive1.com/?u=6f7e6c35359236674e511ee50&id=c4d39de891</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZkDVLe-nur2rS1CkQMKE7LYAAFF46y7x5V-P895Tc4M0-PTK2OSG8MIbgJ5OnBpI7-LXQUTDpcDTTF1WuHWlECZ2RQgV5fEpJx3rTd2VnDqxU9HhEQBzVM_WPmA2Gv4S935ccVYnI-Dw/s1600/three_brothers_full_front.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZkDVLe-nur2rS1CkQMKE7LYAAFF46y7x5V-P895Tc4M0-PTK2OSG8MIbgJ5OnBpI7-LXQUTDpcDTTF1WuHWlECZ2RQgV5fEpJx3rTd2VnDqxU9HhEQBzVM_WPmA2Gv4S935ccVYnI-Dw/s1600/three_brothers_full_front.jpg" height="640" width="396" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I grew up with three brothers. They weren’t tied to me by blood, but our connection went beyond genetics or bearing the same last name. Our connection was forged the summer I turned thirteen, the summer my mom ended her life and left me in the custody of John Armstrong, a man I’d never met. Packing all I owned in a couple of boxes, I left the familiarity of the big city and headed west to Red Mountain Ranch, set in a lonely valley outside of Jackson Hole. </span><br style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Nothing was as it seemed at Red Mountain—it didn’t take long for me to figure that out. John was kind to me but distant, as if he was afraid to let anyone get too close. His three teenage sons had their own devices for keeping love as far away as they could. The eldest distracted himself with cheap relationships that had a shelf-life of one night. The middle son threw himself into the rigor of running a ranch, and the third wielded cruelty and mind-games in his quest to keep people from getting close. </span><br style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Time has gone by, and I’ve spent those years trying to forget the brother I’d fallen for—the biggest mistake of my life. </span><br style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Finally, I’ve moved on. Finally, I’m back. But what I didn’t realize was that running away from the wrong brother meant I’d also run away from the right one. The one who’d been there for me all along, waiting in his brother’s shadow for the day I either would or could move on.</span><br style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">But a decade is a long time to wait. Has the brother I should have chosen all of those years ago moved on too? Am I about to discover that my biggest mistake wasn’t falling in love with the wrong brother, but failing to return the love of the right one sooner?</span><br style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Does unrequited love have an expiration date? </span><br style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I’m about to find out.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;">I stood there, sucking in deep breaths until I felt something that resembled calm. And that was when I noticed a faint red glow coming from one end of the porch. That I hadn’t smelled the familiar scent that came with it was an indication of just how not myself I’d been when I fled out that door.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"> “You might want to keep running. Things are only going to get worse in there. There’s no happy ending waiting for anyone on the other side of that door.” </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;">His voice blew past the walls I’d been so sure had been impenetrable and threaded through me as it always used to. Instead of feeling like the twenty-five-year-old woman I was, I became that impressionable girl who had worshipped the ground beneath a boy who had no right to be worshipped.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"> I closed my eyes and bolstered my strength. “You were always the one who was better at running, Conn. That’s more your style than mine.” Instead of down the stairs or back inside, I went toward him. I wanted him to see that he didn’t have power over me any longer. At least, I wanted him to see the façade of him not holding power over me.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"> “Yet how long were you frozen on that first step when you arrived? I kind of lost count at five minutes.” </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;">His voice was just as smoky and smooth as I remembered it, and age had deepened it a key or two. The porch lights were out. With just the light coming from the buildings and barns dotted around and the orangey glow of his cigarette, I could barely make out Conn’s face. Not that I needed light to remember it. I’d memorized the perfections and imperfections of it years ago, and despite my efforts to forget, it had revisited my dreams too frequently.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"> Where Chase had been big, blond, and beefy, Conn was the opposite. He was taller than me but only by a couple of inches, and his hair was the same dark chestnut John’s had been before the silver took over. Conn’s body could have been described as lanky and lean, and his dark long-sleeved shirts and pants gave off just the right degree of sinister meets tortured. That, matched with his brooding expression, had alerted me from the beginning that he was the kind of boy I should keep my distance from. The kind who had let so much darkness into his life that it suffocated all of the light</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"> “You were here the whole time? Camped out in your chair, smoking your cigarettes, watching me, and you didn’t say anything?” I stopped when I was still a good ten feet back from him. Distance was a good thing when it came to Conn, both mental and physical. “I should probably be surprised, but I’m not.”</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"> Conn’s jagged smile crept into place. “So? Are you keeping your fingers crossed for a repeat of your sixteenth birthday?”</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"> I didn’t have to see the image flash through his eyes to know exactly what he was talking about. “Nothing happened.” I crossed my arms and stood taller, trying to convince myself at the same time.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"> “And is that why you disappeared for seven years?” The cigarette dangled from Conn’s lips. The bottle in his hand was already a third empty, and even though I could barely see them, his eyes were both calling me closer and shoving me away. Everything about him flashed danger. Everything screamed stay away.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"> I’d never read the signs when it came to Conn. This time, I’d promised myself I would. I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t come back here if I wasn’t sure I could keep him at an emotional and physical distance.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"> “I came back because John, aka your father, is dying. I came to say good-bye.” I leaned into the railing along the porch, keeping a safe distance without making it seem as though I was concerned about how close or how far I was from Conn. “Unlike you, I’m not trying to discover what gives out first: my lungs or my liver.”</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"> “I’m hoping they go at the same time.” Conn plucked the cigarette from his lips long enough to take a pull from the bottle.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"> Unlike his father, who was adamant that scotch was the only thing to drink when a person needed one, Conn chose tequila. It wasn’t a simple matter of a difference in taste. No, whatever John liked, Conn preferred the opposite. What was sad though was that in Conn’s effort to defy John at every turn, he was only proving just how significant a role his father played in his life. He was just as in tune with his dad as if he’d been mimicking him at every turn.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"> “Why aren’t you at dinner?” I asked, reminding myself to keep our conversation short. Conn was a master at wordplay and could lure even the greatest of cynics to his side.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"> “Because I don’t want to go.” He held out the bottle. When I shook my head, he let the bottle hang between us for a few moments before taking another long drink. At this rate, Conn would be shit-faced before that cigarette burned out.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"> “That seems to be your go-to answer to every question.”</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"> “That’s because that’s my go-to feeling for most everything, family most of all.” Conn looked off into the distance where Red Mountain rested. Unlike the rest of us, who dodged looking at it or venturing up it, Conn seemed to view it as a refuge.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"> “Still haven’t gotten over your daddy issues?” I closed my eyes, instantly regretting my words.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"> I was just about to apologize when Conn leaned forward in his chair. All I could see were the whites of his eyes, but that was all I needed to see to know he was staring straight at me. When I’d been younger and under the impression that Conn could do no wrong, I’d measured my life in the moments when Conn had looked at me and me alone. There were only two ways he looked at me: straight through or straight on. Now I would have preferred he look straight through me because his eyes pulled things out of the place I’d buried deep inside myself.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"> “I don’t know. Have you gotten over your Conn issues?” </span><br style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"> </span></div>
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Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-541350962818032132014-08-15T05:00:00.000-07:002014-08-15T05:00:09.259-07:00The Next Installment in The Outsider Chronicles is . . . DAMAGED GOODS<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So HARD KNOX just came out. A few days ago. The first book released in The Outsider Chronicles. BUT the first book I wrote of the series was DAMAGED GOODS, a book I wrote last summer and was just waiting for the right moment to publish. As it turns out, September 9th is the right moment!<br />
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If you've read HARD KNOX, you'll find DAMAGED GOODS a bit grittier, a sliver darker, and a degree (or two or three) steamier. Now, enough with the fine print, here's the good stuff . . .<br />
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The cover. Done by the brilliant Sarah Hansen at Okay Creations.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitBdSR2bF4XBnnmCkg6ISwOoibWNoyB8U1qQdYhG5_4twjwXRT6P4xLCGXrcpZFUJpRJJs7FoXw8p69di-81hL9AjMW2T96EIaWmDLwPKtifm7HmhU_7_20bcCBIpVUgVcmOtv36szj84/s1600/DG+iBooks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitBdSR2bF4XBnnmCkg6ISwOoibWNoyB8U1qQdYhG5_4twjwXRT6P4xLCGXrcpZFUJpRJJs7FoXw8p69di-81hL9AjMW2T96EIaWmDLwPKtifm7HmhU_7_20bcCBIpVUgVcmOtv36szj84/s1600/DG+iBooks.jpg" height="640" width="425" /></a></div>
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And here's the blurb!<br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When Liv Bennett said goodbye to the sinkhole of a town she
grew up in, she hoped she’d left that chapter of her life behind forever. But
forever turned out to only be three years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Returning home to her two younger sisters after their addict
of a mother up and disappeared, Liv promptly reinstitutes her golden rule that
got her through her first nineteen years of life without getting knocked up,
roughed up, or messed up: Don’t date the local boys and god forbid, don’t fall
in love with one of them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It isn’t long before that golden rule is put to the test. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Will Goods isn’t the same boy she remembers growing up by in
the next trailer over. The wild, careless boy who used to tear up the town with
his three brothers has morphed into someone else so completely, he’s almost
unrecognizable. The quiet, contemplative man who works on cars by night and
takes care of his mentally ill mother during the day is nothing like any of the
local boys Liv grew up avoiding. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But just when Liv considers suspending her golden rule this
one time, she finds out something about Will that will change everything. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Will Goods isn’t who he used to be; he’s not even the man
Liv thinks she’s gotten to know over the summer. He’s someone else entirely. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He’s become . . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Damaged Goods.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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I will be working on making this available for pre-order and will post those links once they're available. Hope you all enjoy, and thank you so much for making HARD KNOX's release week so spectacular!</div>
Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-63650353640289361932014-08-12T07:25:00.000-07:002014-08-12T07:25:25.158-07:00HARD KNOX is Live!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
HARD KNOX is officially live! I've listed the purchase links below, along with the link where you can enter the release week giveaway for a chance to win a $50 Amazon gift card and a signed paperback copy of HARD KNOX!<br />
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For all of you CRASH fans, HARD KNOX is for you! Lots of drama and angst and one epic love story. I hope you all enjoy!<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Amazon: </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MN0TTI4" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="background-color: white; color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MN0TTI4</a><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">B&N: </span><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/hard-knox-nicole-williams/1120116551?ean=2940150334458" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="background-color: white; color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/hard-knox-nicole-williams/1120116551?ean=2940150334458</a><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Kobo: </span><a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/hard-knox-1" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="background-color: white; color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/hard-knox-1</a><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I'll share the Apple link as soon as it's live! </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Giveaway link: </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Nicole-Williams/215156715173890?sk=app_228910107186452"><span style="font-family: inherit;">https://www.facebook.com/pages/Nicole-Williams/215156715173890?sk=app_228910107186452</span></a><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAwrBaskwFQ0UqStmbnFImsDMM0YY77RUS-H9rGJmN0GCst92Z992KuRxBtyId8OuEcRBb0kUa2EuA-Ck7tgl7wpQ7u3xKIOTtd18cZySfBjijqlTLSnmcVzOVisJpeOek_SdmpSedQFI/s1600/HK+AmazonGRSW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAwrBaskwFQ0UqStmbnFImsDMM0YY77RUS-H9rGJmN0GCst92Z992KuRxBtyId8OuEcRBb0kUa2EuA-Ck7tgl7wpQ7u3xKIOTtd18cZySfBjijqlTLSnmcVzOVisJpeOek_SdmpSedQFI/s1600/HK+AmazonGRSW.jpg" height="400" width="257" /></a></div>
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Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-56458872755492707102014-08-05T11:05:00.000-07:002014-08-05T11:05:44.267-07:00Second and Final HARD KNOX Excerpt Before Its Release!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We are one week away from the release of HARD KNOX and I wanted to leave you all with one last excerpt before you can have the entire book in your hands. Make sure to check my author Facebook and Twitter pages on the 12th for fun release day events and giveaways!<br />
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HARD KNOX EXCERPT:<br />
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<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Knox
smiled. Actually, Knox smiled </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman Italic"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>at me</i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">. “You’re sure?” He was already moving toward the remaining
boxes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“See this? It’s my sure face.”
Circling my finger around my face, I frowned. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well, good. Because you being
unsure about moving in wouldn’t have changed anything, but it eases my
conscience knowing you’re okay with it.” The wink he flashed me didn’t keep me
from grabbing the can of Silly String Harlow kept on her desk. Up until now, I
hadn’t been able to comprehend what kind of situation could ever arise that
would require Silly String, but this one kind of did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ripping the cap off, I aimed it in his
direction. “You’re a pain in my ass.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Knox lifted an unimpressed brow when
he saw the can. “Right back at ya, sweetheart.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My finger moved to the depressor.
“Being forced to move in with you is one thing. Being chained to you all night
and morning when you knew how to free us is another. But calling me
sweetheart?” With a shake of the can, I aimed it at his head. “Yeah, not even
close to okay.” I pressed the button, and a line of bright purple string burst
from the can, splatting on his forehead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>For a moment, Knox didn’t seem to
realize his face was being assaulted by a purple string of foam, but as soon as
that cleared, a challenging smirk went into place right before he charged me. I
didn’t stop spraying, covering even more of his face, but it didn’t slow him
any. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Haven’t you heard? I’m Knox Jagger. If brass knuckles and
steel-toed boots can’t keep me down, the girl spraying a can of Silly String at
me’s in trouble.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah, but haven’t you heard?” When
his hand wrapped around my wrist, I pulled away, but his grip was about as
breakable as when I’d tried to bust through the handcuffs. “I’m Charlie Chase.
The girl who name calling and general loathing can’t shut up, so too bad for
the guy trying to intimidate me with words.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Right before he yanked the can out of my hand, I got in one
last squirt. It gushed right into his eyes, immediately followed by a huff and,
“You’re going to regret that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The harder I tried to stay serious,
the more I felt the laughter ready to rip through me. When his fingers gripped
my side and squeezed, I let lose. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Stop it, Knox!” I shouted between
spurts of laughter. “Not fair! The rules of Silly String war clearly state
tickling is off limits!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>All that did was make him squeeze my
sides harder, and now having possession of the Silly String can, he paired the
tickling up with spraying Silly String into my hair. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m going to kill you!” I squealed,
trying to wrench out of his grasp. To no avail. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Nah, you won’t. You like me too
much.” Now he was laughing—probably because the Silly String was so thick on
top of my head it was spilling over onto my forehead. “Your world would be
colorless and void without me in it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah, sell your lies some place
else.” I leapt up, trying to snatch the can away. “We’re all stocked up here.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Knox’s reply was pinching my waist
faster, making me laugh even harder. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Who’s the funny girl now?” he said,
laughing right along with me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You!” I screeched, trying to wrench
out of his grasp. “You’re the funny girl now!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Then, in a moment of sheer genius or stupidity, I twisted my
leg behind Knox’s, curled it back sharply, and yanked with all of my might. I
had the element of surprise, but the thing about taking down a guy the size of
Hulk’s half-brother was that he took down whoever was still attached to him. In
a heap of limbs and surprised huffs, we tumbled to the floor, him falling an
instant before me, which was handy since he broke my fall. Although since his
body wasn’t much softer than the floor, he only cushioned my fall marginally. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Knox groaned. “You might not weigh
much, but you come down like a ton of bricks, Charlie.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Kicking the can of Silly String out
of his hand, I pinned his shoulders. “Though I be but little, I am fierce.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Knox inspected my hands on his
shoulders and me above him, then something in his eyes gleamed. We were both
covered in ribbons of neon purple string and had just been engaged in a
sibling-like war, but I could still feel heat bursting to the surface and
traveling through my body until the entirety of it seemed to be consumed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I didn’t know you knew
Shakespeare,” he said, his voice a note lower. “I took you more as a Plath kind
of girl.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I didn’t know </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman Italic"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">you
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">knew Shakespeare. Or Plath.”
I suppose knowing of them didn’t mean he’d read them, but as time had continued
to reveal, there was more to Knox than anyone would have guessed. “I took you
more as a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Maxim</i> kind of guy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He shifted below me. The movement
did nothing to calm the heat pooling in my stomach. “It is my Bible. Everything
a guy needs to know about women and love is contained in the pages of one of
those babies.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I lightly slugged his chest. “I
think you’re mistaking love for lust. I see how you could get them confused, no
doubt they’re six-and-one-half dozen to you, but there is one teeny-tiny
difference between the two.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When Knox pivoted below me so his
back was flat across the floor, my body went to slide off of his out of
instinct. My legs spread across his lap, our hips connected, our eyes locked
and mouths parted . . . that was a recipe for a repeat of last night. Right
now, a repeat sounded like exactly what I wanted, but I wasn’t sure if I’d feel
the same in an hour. Plus, after Knox’s vow to keep me at arm’s length, I
supposed heat or not, it was destined to fizzle out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What’s that difference?” His hands
gripped my hips, keeping them where they were. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I had to clear my throat before I
could answer. Something about having his hands on me, holding me to him, was
messing with me. My mind, my senses, my voice. “With lust, the attraction is
all based on </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman Italic"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">what can you do for me? </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">But with love, it’s about </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman Italic"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">what
can I do for you?</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Selfish
versus selfless.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The skin between his brows lined.
After a couple of moments, it erased as a wide smile crawled into place. “Yeah,
that’s not what I’ve read.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-81230018180742194532014-07-30T07:59:00.000-07:002014-07-30T07:59:27.483-07:00First Excerpt from HARD KNOX!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My newest novel, HARD KNOX, is releasing August 12th and to give you all a taste of what the book will be like, I'm releasing one excerpt today, and one more next Tuesday before the book releases the following Tuesday. HARD KNOX is a New Adult/Contemporary Romance, and the first in a series entitled The Outsider Chronicles which will highlight other outsider-type heroes and the heroines who manage to turn their world around, upside down, or just plain hurl it into another galaxy! For those of you who've read the CRASH series, it is somewhat similar in terms of the angst and drama, as well as the roller-coaster ride of a romance, although this series will be more mature.<br />
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If you haven't yet seen the cover or read the blurb, I've listed those below for you as well, along with the excerpt immediately following. Can't wait to share the rest of the story with you all!<br />
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If you'd like to add it to your Goodreads to-be-read list, here's the link: <a href="http://Good Reads">https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22672422-hard-knox </a><br />
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And Bloggers, if you'd like to be a part of the HARD KNOX blog hop or review tour, here's the place to sign up: <a href="http://atomr/">http://atomrbookblogtours.com/2014/07/17/new-release-and-events-for-nyt-bestselling-author-nicole-williams/ </a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiogOVRlGhFq-ztIuW-Z8Hd3cpJiOyvvh8gs7oxW8oOEiOfp_KgbyIHxZt5QBhWMym4zkVfh_8yDtRV3GGdoMTQOWqctEe1hWd56cvzCbGlMrJtU1wNiULMpBT4PqnlOXScb0syr6rCjtg/s1600/HK+AmazonGRSW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiogOVRlGhFq-ztIuW-Z8Hd3cpJiOyvvh8gs7oxW8oOEiOfp_KgbyIHxZt5QBhWMym4zkVfh_8yDtRV3GGdoMTQOWqctEe1hWd56cvzCbGlMrJtU1wNiULMpBT4PqnlOXScb0syr6rCjtg/s1600/HK+AmazonGRSW.jpg" height="640" width="412" /></a></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b>Knox Jagger. The name inspires resent in every male at Sinclair University, want in every female, and contempt in Charlie Chase. </b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b>Charlie can be summed up in three words: independent, independent, and independent. To Charlie, Knox epitomizes everything that’s wrong with college males: prolific one-night stands, drunken senseless fights, and a body that hints at prioritizing gym time over study time. </b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b>As an up-and-coming writer for Sinclair University’s newspaper, Charlie’s tasked with getting to the bottom of who’s been dropping little white pills into girls’ drinks at parties. In an ocean of All-American boys sporting polo shirts and innocent smiles, Knox is the obvious suspect. As evidence piles up against the bad boy of Sinclair, Charlie becomes more and more certain it isn’t Knox. But when her drink is dosed at a party and she wakes up on Knox’s couch the next morning, Charlie’s left with more questions than answers when it comes to Knox Jagger. </b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b>How can Charlie ever hope to uncover the truth behind a guy so closed off he’s become . . .</b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b>Hard Knox.</b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">(EXCERPT)</span></div>
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<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Back
out on the sidewalk, I followed the stream of students wandering around the
back of the building. There was a bit of a line at the door, and while I
waited, a muffled chorus of snickers trickled around me. Some of the more
brazen students pointed at me and my date while guffawing. One guy slid up
beside me, wrapped an arm around me, lifted Pop Prince to his genital region,
made a rock on symbol, and had the girl he was handcuffed to take a picture. I
was debating whether to beat him over the head with Pop Prince or stomp on his
foot when someone solved my problem for me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">A tall shadow shouldered up beside me, towering over the
photo-op dude. “Such an accurate depiction, Aaron. The only thing
non-discerning enough to go down on you is an oversized pillow.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The crowd burst into laughter,
pointing their fingers at someone else. The flushing guy bowed his head and
stepped back into line. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Sorry, Knox,” he muttered, all bravado long gone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Do it again, and you will be.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Aaron raised his hands and backed
away until he’d disappeared inside the building with his cops-and-robbers
compatriot. Knox stayed beside me, stepping up in line as I did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Hello or hey is the generally accepted form of greeting a
person,” he said after a moment, nudging me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The nudge almost made me jump . . .
but why, I don’t know. “Hey.” My voice was high. “Hello.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “One is usually sufficient, but
knock yourself out,” he teased with another nudge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Keep it up, and I’m about to issue
a '</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman Italic"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Get lost</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">.'”
I glanced at him, trying not to think about what Neve had accused him of</span>,
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">trying not to think about the
implications if it were true . . . Which it wasn’t. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “I’m thinking about saying the exact
same thing to you,” he said, all lightness gone from his voice. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I glanced over to find his eyes
forward and his forehead creased. Decked out in his typical ass-kicking attire,
his expression matched the wardrobe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “It means I can’t in my most
out-there thoughts understand what you’re doing here all alone one week after
someone roofied you. I mean, I’ve met plenty of not-smart girls in my lifetime,
but you pulling this stunt might take the cake.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> My shoulders stiffened. “The next
time I want an assessment of my intelligence from the guy responsible for
keeping the lingerie-store-that-shall-not-be-named in booming business, I’ll
ask. In the meantime, I’ve got a job to do.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Two more couples were in front of us
as we moved farther up in line. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“You know, it’s a relief there isn’t any awkwardness between
us,” Knox said. “You know, the kind that stems from you being overwhelmed with
gratitude for what I did for you and not knowing what to say or how to act when
I’m around because you now think of me as some kind of higher power or
something. It’s nice to know you’re comfortable treating me the exact same way
you were before I swooped in to preserve your innocence.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I felt the blood boiling in my
veins. “I think your interpretation of innocence is a bit skewed if you think I
fall into that category. Might want to check one of those heavy, hard things
with a lot of pages inside. Also known as a dictionary, if you were wondering.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Knox cracked his neck, rolled it to
the other side, and cracked it again. “All week, I couldn’t figure out why my
life felt so peaceful, so almost harmonic, but I just realized why.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> When a couple seconds of quiet
passed, I sighed. “Get on with the punchline already.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “It was so peaceful and serene because
you weren’t in it.” He thrust his hand at me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “So why don’t you get back to your
blissful state and leave me and my cynicism alone?” When I flailed my hands
around, Pop Prince thumped Knox’s leg. Neither seemed to mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Because your cynicism can’t pull
you off the ground and protect you if you find yourself in another bad
situation,” he said in a firm tone as we stepped up to the door. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> When the two guys manning the
entrance looked at me and Pop Prince, they shook their heads. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “The only stipulation was that we
arrive handcuffed with something of the opposite sex. It didn’t specify that it
needed to be one that breathed.” I wiggled the pillow and waited. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> When they shook their heads again,
Knox exhaled. “Ah, what the hell.” He yanked the pillow out of the handcuff
before opening it and slapping it around his own wrist. “Happy now, hall
monitors?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Excuse me?” I tugged on the cuffs,
trying not to give too much credence to the knowledge I was handcuffed to Knox
Jagger. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Not another word,” he warned,
making sure the cuff was locked. I was a millisecond or less from opening my
mouth in protest again when his eyes cut to mine. “Not. Another. Word.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Instead of words, I hit him with a
potent glare, but that was all the fight I put up. The truth of it was that I
was partially relieved I didn’t have to go to this thing alone. After last
week, I wasn’t eager to step into another party where the person who’d drugged
me could be hanging out. Having Knox at my side made me feel safe, and after my
latest life lesson, feeling safe was something I’d never take for granted
again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “The key?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Both of the guys were wincing as though they were waiting
for Knox to pummel them into the ground, but the key requester looked closer to
pissing his pants. Not that I could blame them because on a normal night, Knox
could strip a person of their confidence and courage with one look. Tonight,
he’d doubled up on his intimidating pills. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Dangling the handcuff key in front
of the guy, I dropped it into his palm. “Anything else?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The other guy grinned when he looked
at me. Well, when he looked south of my neck. “Thirty-four E.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Is that your future address at the
trailer park?” I wondered if he’d failed to notice or just plain ignored the
words stamped across my shirt. The “some people”, in this case, were his
parents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “I’ve got an impressive record for
guessing the size of a girl’s endowments, but I don’t think I’ve ever had the
pleasure of knowing yours.” The guy was either semi-drunk or missing a few
links in his genetic code because he wasn’t seeing anything other than my
“endowments”</span> —<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">including Knox
Jagger’s curled fists lifting his direction. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Craisins,” I said, driving my
shoulder into Knox’s chest to stop his advance. Not only could I solve most of
my own problems, but I could solve them with words instead of fists. When the
guy’s brows stayed pulled together, I clarified. “You know, those little dried-up
cranberry things? Smaller than a raisin but larger than the head of a pin?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “What the hell do Craisins have to
do with my future motor-boating site?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Before Knox could flinch, I drove my
shoulder deeper into his chest. “Nothing,” I answered. “They have nothing to do
with your guess. Instead, it’s my guess.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Your guess for what?” the guy said
impatiently. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Lifting a shoulder, I shoved by him.
“The size of your testicles.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Knox was the only one chuckling
behind me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “You’d better watch your girl’s
mouth, Jagger. If it isn’t around some dude’s johnson, remind her to keep it
sealed.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The crack came right after. It was
immediately followed by the mouthy guy’s pathetic cry, and the crowd’s chorus
of </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman Italic"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Fight! Fight! Fight! </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Glancing
back, I saw the chest-guesser was sprawled out on the lawn and, other than
rubbing his jaw, wasn’t moving. Kind of made chanting for a fight pointless. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> “Sorry.
I was too busy paying attention to </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman Italic"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">your</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">
mouth.” </span><!--EndFragment--></div>
</div>
Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-30422459436959161662014-05-07T08:55:00.000-07:002014-05-07T08:55:20.880-07:00SURPRISE!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
How many of you have asked what I've been up to lately? How many times have I had to answer with a vague "writing"? Well, it's true, I have been writing. A lot. So much the line between this world and the fictional one is starting to blur. But here's the really great thing about burrowing in and sacrificing sleep and a social schedule . . . I get to drop a surprise release on you all!!!<br />
<br />
Yep, a surprise release. Not a cover reveal or an announcement about a forthcoming novel or a measly little teaser, but a full-sized novel ready for your reading pleasure. Today. Like now. Right now.<br />
<br />
Why did I decide to do this? For a bunch of reasons, but mainly because I hate waiting for a new book to come out from one of my favorite authors, and would flip if one of them decided to drop a surprise release on the world. So really, it was all of you and your finger drumming I had in mind. ;) Plus Julie, my awesome PR gal from AToMR promotions, suggested it and I'm kind of one of those sick and twisted people who like surprises—both giving and receiving them.<br />
<br />
Okay, so enough about that. Let's get to the stuff that really matters. The book . . .<br />
<br />
<br />
CROSSING STARS is an adult/new adult contemporary romance that puts a modern spin on a classic tale. It's about star-crossed lovers and their battle with fate and family. It's about deciding just how much a person will sacrifice to live the life they want, instead of accepting the one they have.<br />
<br />
<br />
I've listed the blurb, as well as the links to the book below. I hope you all enjoy it and thank you for your patience these last few months while I've been stuffed in my writing cave. Love you all.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfL07J_KDKKCNd5liqDZ-iXmDA8ZIY-LFyqX-SafIxskMJ98EQ6jaWH5wkFjBHy44s3CHgbpYd96ntBFw2_ndtuZAA-hJeRYrUgeaU6dFX15xIReW6MGtTqepMvcO-o-V0opmlvad_cB8/s1600/CS+iBooks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfL07J_KDKKCNd5liqDZ-iXmDA8ZIY-LFyqX-SafIxskMJ98EQ6jaWH5wkFjBHy44s3CHgbpYd96ntBFw2_ndtuZAA-hJeRYrUgeaU6dFX15xIReW6MGtTqepMvcO-o-V0opmlvad_cB8/s1600/CS+iBooks.jpg" height="400" width="262" /></a></div>
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<br />
While the city of Chicago sleeps, a war wages in the streets between two powerful families. While the public assumes organized crime is nothing more than a chapter torn out of America’s history, the Costa and Moran families battle for territory and domination.<br />
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Caught up in the middle of this sinister world is Josette, the only child of Salvatore Costa, the ringleader and notorious godfather of Chicago’s Italian mafia. After the Irish Morans attempted to assassinate her when she was a child, Josette’s parents hid her behind the walls of their sprawling estate and kept her contact with outsiders to a minimum. But now Josette’s eighteen, and she’s questioning if a long life behind walls is worth trading for a potentially short one filled with excitement and adventure and all the things she’s only lived in her dreams.<br />
<br />
On the night she decides to risk becoming just an anonymous face in the crowd, Josette realizes that death isn’t only a possibility—it’s a certainty. Yet when a young man comes to her rescue, the turbulent waters between life and death are further muddied.<br />
<br />
Rylan is everything Josette isn’t . . . and she’s everything he isn’t. She’s sheltered; he’s worldly. She’s thoughtful; he’s hot-headed. She’s sweet; he’s rough around the edges. She’s harmless; he’s dangerous.<br />
<br />
Despite all of their differences, one overshadows them all. One difference means they can never be together unless they’re ready to accept being hunted by the entire crime world for as long as they live.<br />
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She's a Costa. And he's a Moran.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Crossing-Stars-Nicole-Williams-ebook/dp/B00K67D67Q/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1399473193&sr=8-1&keywords=crossing+stars%2C+nicole+williams">http://www.amazon.com/Crossing-Stars-Nicole-Williams-ebook/dp/B00K67D67Q/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1399473193&sr=8-1&keywords=crossing+stars%2C+nicole+williams</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/crossing-stars-nicole-williams/1119447089?ean=2940149263691&itm=1&usri=2940149263691">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/crossing-stars-nicole-williams/1119447089?ean=2940149263691&itm=1&usri=2940149263691</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/crossing-stars-2">http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/crossing-stars-2</a><br />
<br />
Apple link coming soon!!!<br />
<br />
</div>
Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-28996638824692107652013-11-25T17:36:00.000-08:002013-11-25T17:36:13.756-08:00An (insanely) Overdue Update<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hi Readers!<br />
<br />
It's me. Nicole. Yeah, I know there were those speculations that I'd been shipwrecked on some deserted island in the South Pacific, but the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth is that I've been a writing machine the past few months. At least, more so than usual. It seemed almost all at once, several new book ideas came to me, so between outlining those, working on my current projects, and trying to keep up with social media . . . not to mention that whole personal life part of my existence . . . I've been running off of cappuccinos and sheer determination for the entire second half of 2013 it seems.<br />
<br />
So, what are these new projects I've been working on and avoiding sleep for? Well, I can't quite tell you all. Yet. A few things have to be finalized before I can announce my upcoming projects, but the moment I get the green light, I'll be sharing with you all the moment after. To sum it up—I'm dying, DYING (hold up, or is that the sleep deprivation and caffeine diet talking?) to let you know what's coming these next few years. Some really exciting stuff. If I could still flip back handsprings, I'd be doing them out my front door right now. That's how excited I am!<br />
<br />
To update you on my current projects, I've made a couple of notes below on the latest happenings.<br />
<br />
This Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for more than I've ever been thankful for before. My readers, each and every one of you, are high on that list. I will be thinking of you and toasting you this Thursday. Looking forward to spending many more Thanksgivings around the virtual tables with you all.<br />
<br />
XOXO,<br />
<br />
Nicole<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The audio for FINDERS KEEPERS is now available! The amazing Zachary Webber did the narration for this one and really nailed Garth Black's tortured meets wiseass tone. For all of you audiobook listeners, here's the link:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.audible.com/pd/Romance/Finders-Keepers-Audiobook/B00GHTCA9W">http://www.audible.com/pd/Romance/Finders-Keepers-Audiobook/B00GHTCA9W</a><br />
<br />
<br />
The third installment in the GREAT EXPLOITATIONS series, TROUBLE IN TAMPA, has a cover and is finished! I will be announcing the release date soon, but Eve's found herself in some serious trouble . . . and for once, Henry Callahan isn't at the top of that trouble list. I'm so eager to release this next one that I know you've been waiting patiently for.<br />
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Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-71195825794692583472013-09-16T19:55:00.001-07:002013-09-16T19:55:08.734-07:00FINDERS KEEPERS is Live!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
For those of you who haven't seen my mad Facebook and Twitter posts about the release of FINDERS KEEPERS today, I've got you covered here on my blog as well. I've listed the links to FINDERS KEEPERS on Amazon, Apple, B&N, and Kobo below.<br />
<br />
<br />
Amazon: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/FINDERS-KEEPERS-Lost-Found-ebook/dp/B00EUDRBMI/ref=zg_bs_7006648011_3">http://www.amazon.com/FINDERS-KEEPERS-Lost-Found-ebook/dp/B00EUDRBMI/ref=zg_bs_7006648011_3</a><br />
<br />
Apple: <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/finders-keepers/id...695323788?mt=11">https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/finders-keepers/id...695323788?mt=11</a><br />
<br />
B&N:<a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/finders-keepers-nicole-williams/1116912049?ean=2940148369820">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/finders-keepers-nicole-williams/1116912049?ean=2940148369820</a><br />
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Kobo: <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/finders-keepers-33">http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/finders-keepers-33</a><br />
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<br />
I hope you enjoy this story about the dark horse of the LOST & FOUND series . . . I sure enjoyed writing it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Xz-rP8c1BH9LgIYh7aSoCrkcvVumufT1F4E26oIwljVUs2GwkM3xqp0HXkQ_xyfwMYP_EFrGwtaFblo8BusI1Up2SVrMfsCPGk9bUB0ykNQJTAknMktxrofOFN_cpxFuR_smQdvzWSs/s1600/FK+Amazon+GR+SW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Xz-rP8c1BH9LgIYh7aSoCrkcvVumufT1F4E26oIwljVUs2GwkM3xqp0HXkQ_xyfwMYP_EFrGwtaFblo8BusI1Up2SVrMfsCPGk9bUB0ykNQJTAknMktxrofOFN_cpxFuR_smQdvzWSs/s640/FK+Amazon+GR+SW.jpg" width="417" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: -webkit-auto;">There’s tortured. And there’s Garth Black. </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: -webkit-auto;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: -webkit-auto;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: -webkit-auto;">His life has been a constant carousel of tragedy and disappointment, including his love life. Of course, applying the term “love” to Garth’s conquests is a gross misuse of the word. Some people were made to give and accept love, and others weren’t. Garth Black redefines the “others” category. He’s made a vow that the day he meets a woman who could sucker him into falling in love will be the day he runs away. </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: -webkit-auto;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: -webkit-auto;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Garth’s plan has one flaw. What happens when he’s already fallen hard for a girl before the warning signs and red flags go up? What happens when the love he’s avoided his entire life brings him to his knees? What happens when Garth Black lets the dirtiest four letter word he’s ever known into his dark, lonely life?</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: -webkit-auto;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: -webkit-auto;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: -webkit-auto;">This cowboy’s about to find out he can control some things, and he can’t control others. Number one on the what he can’t control list? </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: -webkit-auto;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: -webkit-auto;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Love.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br /></span>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>
Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-87430820599010508972013-08-24T13:42:00.001-07:002013-08-24T13:42:58.005-07:00FINDERS KEEPERS Cover & Blurb Reveal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Anyone want to see the cover for FINDERS KEEPERS?<br />
<br />
Anyone want to read the blurb to find out what it's about?<br />
<br />
Well, today's the day! Natasha over at Natasha is a Book Junkie released the exclusive cover and blurb reveal earlier today, but in case you missed it, here it is!<br />
<br />
As a reminder, FINDERS KEEPERS, the third book in the LOST & FOUND series, is releasing on September 16th and is Garth Black's story. This book was so much fun to write (thanks to good, smart-ass subject matter) and I can't wait for you all to find out what girl's up to the task of Garth Black.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA38oCSZnHPdytVBagYxYT-KhDf_YFwq2eSvA59pcqQhQYtBBiCxGTV0cNZzlzkQLuibJ8nS127bvlcJHrfl-8mdpXSKq0Eb0S94-9x5NmPe9QRB39ULbpIGV4TUG7EB2Xk8F2Qtvfbyc/s1600/FK+Amazon+GR+SW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA38oCSZnHPdytVBagYxYT-KhDf_YFwq2eSvA59pcqQhQYtBBiCxGTV0cNZzlzkQLuibJ8nS127bvlcJHrfl-8mdpXSKq0Eb0S94-9x5NmPe9QRB39ULbpIGV4TUG7EB2Xk8F2Qtvfbyc/s640/FK+Amazon+GR+SW.jpg" width="417" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There’s tortured. And there’s Garth Black. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">His life has been a constant carousel of tragedy and disappointment, including his love life. Of course, applying the term “love” to Garth’s conquests is a gross misuse of the word. Some people were made to give and accept love, and others weren’t. Garth Black redefines the “others” category. He’s made a vow that the day he meets a woman who could sucker him into falling in love will be the day he runs away. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Garth’s plan has one flaw. What happens when he’s already fallen hard for a girl before the warning signs and red flags go up? What happens when the love he’s avoided his entire life brings him to his knees? What happens when Garth Black lets the dirtiest four letter word he’s ever known into his dark, lonely life?</span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This cowboy’s about to find out he can control some things, and he can’t control others. Number one on the what he can’t control list? </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Love. </span></span><br />
</div>
Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-79947507745635848712013-07-29T16:56:00.000-07:002013-08-01T21:48:44.543-07:00NEAR & FAR is LIVE!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm taking a pause from writing Garth Black's book (yes, he grew on me as I hope he'll grow on you, so he gets a book of his own coming out this fall) to let you all know that NEAR & FAR is live!!!<br />
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This is the sequel to LOST & FOUND, that little book I put out a few months ago that all of you readers blew my mind over! You read it, spread the word, then spread the word some more and then . . . BAM! it hit the New York Times and USATODAY lists and I started pinching myself and breathing into paper bags and, well, the rest is history.<br />
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Except, the rest isn't history. Because Jesse and Rowen have one last chapter in their story and it's one I'm thrilled I got to tell. This was a difficult book for me to write. Partly because these characters and their story is so precious to me, but partly because I knew where their story needed to go and I was scared to go there. These are mature characters (for the most part) who have a mature love for each other. Their relationship struggles aren't petty jealousies (although there is some of this for sure), but something much deeper and darker, and for a person who thrives off of love stories and happy endings, it was hard to make this journey with my characters. That being said, it's a journey I will never regret making because . . . I can't say much because I don't want to give away too much . . . now Jesse and Rowen's tale is complete. You all were right, they needed one more book. Thanks for the little "push".<br />
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I've listed the links to NEAR & FAR below if you haven't already found it. As a celebration for N&F's release, I've put LOST & FOUND on sale for $.99 temporarily so if you don't have it, now's a great time to pick it up!<br />
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I'm also getting a lot of questions about Garth Black's upcoming book. I will be releasing the title soon, but I wanted to let you know that it will be released this September and some of our favorite and maybe not-so-favorite characters will be showing up as well. This book is driving me insane! I suppose having Garth's voice in your head twenty-four-seven will do that, but I'm really dying to share this one with you all, so I'll suck it up and try to make Garth shut up (at least for two minutes at a time).<br />
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Thank you for proving to me yet again and again, that I have a group of phenomenal readers who don't just hope I'll continue to keep challenging my characters and myself as I put out new books, they expect it!<br />
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XOXO<br />
Nicole<br />
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NEAR & FAR Book Links:<br />
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Amazon: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Near-Far-Lost-Found-ebook/dp/B00E7HEKDU/ref=zg_bs_7006648011_5">http://www.amazon.com/Near-Far-Lost-Found-ebook/dp/B00E7HEKDU/ref=zg_bs_7006648011_5</a><br />
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Amazon UK<a href="http://Amazon UK">:http://www.amazon.co.uk/Near-Far-Lost-Found-ebook/dp/B00E7HEKDU/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1375141475&sr=8-1-fkmr0&keywords=near+and+far%2C+nicole+williams</a><br />
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B&N: <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1116239495?ean=2940148621973">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1116239495?ean=2940148621973</a><br />
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Kobo: <a href="http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Near-Far/book-gpVYOjRZX0C6Epa71rWVMg/page1.html">http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Near-Far/book-gpVYOjRZX0C6Epa71rWVMg/page1.html</a><br />
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iTunes: <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/near-far/id680432832?mt=11">https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/near-far/id680432832?mt=11</a></div>
Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-53943241029713575972013-05-20T08:00:00.000-07:002013-05-20T08:00:03.735-07:00What's This You Say of Exciting News?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
For those of you who follow me on Twitter or Facebook, you might have seen that I announced last week I'd be sharing some exciting news with you all today! A bunch of you made your guesses as to what it was about . . . most of you mentioned a LOST & FOUND sequel.<br />
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Well . . .<br />
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MOST OF YOU WERE RIGHT!!!<br />
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Jesse and Rowen's story touched me in ways I didn't expect as I wrote it. I love all of my books and characters kind of like one loves their children—equally. But LOST & FOUND kind of gave me favorite child syndrome. It was a story I couldn't get down on paper fast enough, Jesse and Rowen were characters I simply couldn't get out of my head, and the overall message(s) of the book resurrected old scars and healed others. Simply put, Jesse and Rowen's story after LOST & FOUND has been mapped out in my mind for months now. I'm so happy to now be mapping it down on paper.<br />
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Okay. So you have questions (I <i>know</i> you do!), and I've got answers (I <i>think</i> I do)!<br />
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The second book, NEAR & FAR, will be released July 30th in both ebook and paperback format. I'll be releasing the cover, blurb, and teasers in the upcoming weeks to give you all a quick Jesse and Rowen fix. Like LOST & FOUND, NEAR & FAR is already tearing my heart to bits and putting it back together . . . and I'm loving every minute of it. Thank you for embracing these characters so openly and I'm thrilled so many of you asked for, pleaded for, and demanded another book.<br />
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Oh, and there may be, <i>may </i>be another book coming to you this year about the dark horse in LOST & FOUND (and by dark horse, I don't actually mean a four-legged one). The arch nemesis, the reluctant hero, the cowboy we wish we could hate but can't . . . Mr. Garth Black will be getting his own book, too. Now this book's going to be one hell of a ride, so sit down and strap up. How am I feeling about this book, you ask? Two words . . .<br />
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Can't. Wait.<br />
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In related news, LOST & FOUND will be available in audio in the next few weeks so I'll be posting links to where you can find it when it's live. The narrator really nailed how I imagined Rowen's voice and overall tone.<br />
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And for all of you GREAT EXPLOITATIONS fans . . . yeah, you. The ones who have been asking when SCANDAL IN SEATTLE will be released, it's coming, too. As soon as I'm able to give you an exact release date, I will, but it will be coming within the next month.<br />
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Before I sign off, I've got one more thing. I wasn't sure what to expect with I put LOST & FOUND out there. I knew how much I loved it. I knew it was special to me. What remained to be seen was what readers would think of it. Would they love it? Would it be special to them? It's been almost two weeks to the day since I released L&F and truly . . . you all have overwhelmed me. Wait, that's not quite right. You all have OVERWHELMED me (there, that's better). To see something I'm proud of be successful and received so well is a feeling I hope you all have, or will one day soon, experience for yourselves. I'm humbled by my reader's generosity. Thank you for reading L&F, thank you for telling your friends, thank you for leaving reviews, and thank you for letting me share a bit of my world with you.<br />
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XOXO</div>
Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-21557700434131859792013-05-07T10:06:00.001-07:002013-05-07T10:06:48.934-07:00LOST AND FOUND's Release Day!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's May 7th. So that means one thing.<br />
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Most everyone's hangover from Cinco de Mayo should finally be over!<br />
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Oh, wait. I suppose there's one more important thing happening today . . .<br />
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LOST AND FOUND WAS RELEASED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br />
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(Can you ever use enough exclamation points? No. No, you cannot.)<br />
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This book is incredibly special to me for a lot of reasons. It touched me in ways I didn't expect it would. It opened up old wounds and healed others. It was one I was part terrified and part thrilled to put out into the world. That's how I knew it was essential that I did.<br />
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Like all of my books, it's a love story. Yet it's so much more. It's about self-discovery, self-acceptance, and overcoming the demons from your past and accepting the angels standing right in front of you. It's about a troubled young woman, a good guy, and a emotional journey for them both.<br />
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Okay, I'll get off of my soapbox now and let you get back to life! If you're interested in checking LOST AND FOUND out, here are the Amazon/B&N/Amazon UK/Kobo links listed below. I also put together a playlist and a Pinterest page you can check out if you want to get an idea of the images and songs filtering through my head as I wrote it. Warning: the playlist is having a serious identity crisis . . . P!nk, Johnny Cash, Chevelle, and Garth Brooks. Yeah, I know. My playlists are neurotic.<br />
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Pinterest page: <a href="http://pinterest.com/nwilliamsbooks/lost-and-found/">http://pinterest.com/nwilliamsbooks/lost-and-found/</a><br />
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Playlist: <a href="http://www.playlist.com/playlist/23832288011#a/r_02/VlO/">http://www.playlist.com/playlist/23832288011#a/r_02/VlO/</a><br />
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Book Buy Links:<br />
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Amazon: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Lost-and-Found-ebook/dp/B00CODYP5C/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1367929972&sr=8-3&keywords=lost+and+found+Nicole+Williams">http://www.amazon.com/Lost-and-Found-ebook/dp/B00CODYP5C/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1367929972&sr=8-3&keywords=lost+and+found+Nicole+Williams</a><br />
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B&N: <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1014078996?ean=2940016466682">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1014078996?ean=2940016466682</a><br />
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Amazon UK: <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Lost-and-Found-ebook/dp/B00CODYP5C/ref=sr_1_26?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1367907559&sr=1-26&keywords=nicole+williams">http://www.amazon.co.uk/Lost-and-Found-ebook/dp/B00CODYP5C/ref=sr_1_26?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1367907559&sr=1-26&keywords=nicole+williams</a><br />
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Kobo: <a href="http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Lost-and-Found/book-CHHKO6ZFMEewekigr4xaKw/page1.html?s=hOZq5TCUZEK9aFHBDOC99Q&r=1">http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Lost-and-Found/book-CHHKO6ZFMEewekigr4xaKw/page1.html?s=hOZq5TCUZEK9aFHBDOC99Q&r=1</a></div>
Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-62242031276460147142013-04-27T07:29:00.000-07:002013-04-27T07:29:27.482-07:00Interview with Steph Campbell for Simon & Schuster UK's Month of Men Tour!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I was fortunate enough to get to interview Steph Campbell, author of GROUNDING QUINN, BEAUTIFUL THINGS NEVER LAST, DELICATE (and many others!) for Simon and Schuster UK's Month of Men Blog Tour. I don't only admire Steph as a writer, but as a person as well.<br />
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So grab a cup of coffee (or tea) this Saturday morning and get to know the lovely Steph Campbell a bit better!<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(ME) You write good guys. Why?</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(STEPH) <span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">For a several reasons, but mostly because I think that “nice guys” are underrepresented in romance. I think there are plenty of male characters who don’t always behave well, and I think that there’s a stereotype that female readers don’t want to read nice guys and only find badly behaving men attractive. I’m not trying to take some stance against that, but I do try to add balance to that, by writing guys that I think are pretty stand-up men.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I also tend to write female characters that are maybe a little more broken than others, so giving them a nice hero is a nice balance. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">There’s also the fact that I didn’t always date the nicest guys in my teen/early adult years. I definitely get a lot of inspiration for my male characters from the kind of guy my husband has always been. </span><span style="font-size: x-small; letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;"><b>(ME) Can you share with us what project you're working on now?</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;">(STEPH) </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: center;">I’m working on two things at once, actually. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: center;">One is a companion book in the series of books that includes DELICATE and GROUNDING QUINN, called FRIEND IS A FOUR LETTER WORD. It’s the story of Shayna, a familiar face in those two books. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: center;">I’m also co-writing a third book in the LENGTHS series with Liz Reinhardt called LIMITS. This story is Cohen’s (from DEPTHS) youngest sister Genevieve’s story. Like the rest of the series, it’s beachy and sexy, and full of heart. We’re so excited about it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: center;"><b>(ME) What authors did you grow up loving?</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: center;">(STEPH)</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;">I read the basics growing up: R.L. Stine, Ann M. Martin (The Babysitter’s Club), Roald Dahl, and Laura Ingalls Wilder. In middle school, I went through a serious John Grisham/Michael Crichton phase. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;"><b>(ME) You're a busy wife and mom. How do you find the time to write and stay inspired?</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;">(STEPH)</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;">I think with like any other career, this is my job and I take it seriously. I have to put in the work to see results. I have to put in the time, sometimes when I really don’t feel like it, but I always try to take advantage of the quiet times in my house and often forego sleep for several days to get what I need done on time. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
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<b>(ME) If you could go back in time and give the teenage Steph one piece of advice, what would it be?</b></div>
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(STEPH)<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> Stop trying to please everyone. I was sort of the queen of telling people what they wanted to hear when I was younger because I just wanted to keep peace with everyone. That can never last, and it was exhausting.</span></div>
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<b style="letter-spacing: 0px;">(ME) One word to describe yourself.</b></div>
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(Steph) Generous</div>
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Thank you so much for stopping by and giving me a chance to share you with the readers, Steph! Congrats on all of your success and wishing you even more!</div>
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Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-29054511596746444162013-04-23T09:19:00.002-07:002013-04-23T09:19:48.094-07:00Happy CRUSH Day!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
So it's April 23rd. Just any other day.<br />
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Except . . .<br />
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CRUSH WAS RELEASED TODAY!!!<br />
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For those of you who need the links, here they are. Let me know what you think once you finish reading it. I'd love to hear your thoughts.<br />
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Happy Jude and Lucy day!<br />
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http://www.amazon.com/Crush-Crash-ebook/dp/B009YJOLBW/ref=zg_bs_17456_11<br />
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http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/crush-nicole-williams/1113500474?ean=9780062267184&itm=1&usri=crush<br />
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http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B009ZDJRUW/ref=s9_simh_gw_p351_d0_i1?pf_rd_m=A3P5ROKL5A1OLE&pf_rd_s=center-2&pf_rd_r=1GD1QA7JTNC81M0NE3S5&pf_rd_t=101&pf_rd_p=358549767&pf_rd_i=468294<br />
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Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-86245683977706651332013-04-22T00:00:00.000-07:002013-04-22T00:00:14.465-07:00Huge Giveaway to Celebrate CRUSH's Release Week!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Most of you probably know that CRUSH is being released this Tuesday (April 23rd!) and to celebrate its forthcoming release, I wanted to do a fun giveaway to kick things off. The winner will receive signed paperbacks copies of each book in the CRASH series (CRASH, CLASH, & CRUSH), as well as a $50 Amazon giftcard.<br />
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Thank you for being such fans of Judy and Lucy and cheering them on the entire way. I'm so, so excited for you all to check out the final chapter in their story this Tuesday.<br />
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<a class="rafl" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/42d1e20/" id="rc-42d1e20" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="//d12vno17mo87cx.cloudfront.net/embed/rafl/cptr.js"></script></div>
Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-75661552305986491292013-03-14T09:56:00.001-07:002013-03-14T09:56:11.463-07:00GREAT EXPLOITATIONS is live!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Okay, everyone! It's live!<br />
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Here are the links for GREAT EXPLOITATIONS (MISCHIEF IN MIAMI).<br />
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Amazon:<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Great-Exploitations-Mischief-Miami-ebook/dp/B00BSNKLNY/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1363239631&sr=1-1&keywords=great+exploitations">http://www.amazon.com/Great-Exploitations-Mischief-Miami-ebook/dp/B00BSNKLNY/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1363239631&sr=1-1&keywords=great+exploitations</a><br />
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Barnes and Noble:<br />
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<a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/great-exploitations-nicole-williams/1114826038?ean=2940016326184">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/great-exploitations-nicole-williams/1114826038?ean=2940016326184</a><br />
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It is also available on Kobo, and will be released on iTunes any day now!<br />
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Hope you all enjoy a little dose of scandal! </div>
Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-880049517841456792013-03-07T09:00:00.000-08:002013-03-07T09:00:03.714-08:00GREAT EXPLOITATIONS (MISCHIEF IN MIAMI) Teaser Time!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I wanted to give you all a little taste of what GREAT EXPLOITATIONS will be like, so I'm posting a teaser below. It will be released domestically and internationally on Tuesday the 12th. So excited for you all to check out this new series!<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Temptation and Freedom. You might not find any relation between those two concepts, but in my world, they go hand-in-hand. In my world, we’ve discovered a way to market temptation, and freedom is calculated and strategized. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>In my world, we sell both. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We’re known as the Eves, a tongue-in-cheek tribute to the woman who had the temptation thing down. You won’t hear about us in the news, or on the streets, or in the papers. Your best friend’s cousin didn’t grow up with one of us, and we weren’t in the same sorority as you. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We’re the hiccups in society. We’re women without names. Our fingerprints can’t be traced. We’re invisible. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>How do we do this?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We hide in plain sight. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>You might pass us every single day. You might serve us our morning coffee or fit us for a cocktail dress. You might swipe our membership card at the gym or wax our most private of parts. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>You might think you can read me like a book, but you’d be as wrong as everyone before you who tried. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Eves don’t do personal. We don’t do happy hours, book clubs, or girls’ nights. We don’t rent apartments. We don’t keep a P.O. Box. We never get put on a case where our old acquaintances might be. We cut off all ties with our past. We don’t do boyfriends, boy-toys, or one-night stands. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"> I deal in one thing and one thing only. It consumes my life. It consumes </span><i style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-indent: 36px;">me</i><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-indent: 36px;">.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"> </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I generate temptation in order to impart freedom. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>A freedom I was denied. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>How do I manipulate the temptation/freedom equation?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I pluck the apple from the tree.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>In twenty-first century terms? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Infidelity. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Yes, I know that right after the word adultery, infidelity is one of the most controversial and hated words. Just thinking about it can make a woman squirm in her seat. But if you remove all the emotion and bias, it’s nothing more than a word. The act behind that word is something else entirely. It can be unplanned, spontaneous, unintentional, or in my case, calculated. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We’re not a charity, and we don’t work pro bono. We charge a pretty penny, but I haven’t run across a Client yet who didn’t think the service we provide was worth every cent. Before anyone goes and calls the women’s movement on us, hear me out. It isn’t the men we’re benefitting with the service we provide. It’s the women. The wives, specifically.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Our Clients are the women who fell in love with a man with enough dollar signs behind his name to require a pre-nuptial agreement. That same woman who, months or years later, finds her beloved husband isn’t the loving, honest, and faithful person she’d hoped (perhaps, naively) he’d be. That same woman who would come out on the other end of a divorce with nothing. Not one damn dime because she fell in love, signed her name on some document, and the mister with a wandering eye and dick couldn’t keep either to himself. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>That is where the Eves come in. That is where I come in. It’s what I know. It’s what I’m good at. And it’s what’s going to pave the road for my own freedom. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I’m in the business of great exploitations. </span></div>
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Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-88389959855002868922013-02-27T16:18:00.000-08:002013-02-27T16:18:54.213-08:00A New Series Coming Your Way!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
And just when I thought 2012 couldn't have possibly been any crazier . . . two months into 2013 and it's already showing 2012 who's boss!<br />
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So we all know the big CRUSH release is happening on April 23rd (WooHoo!) but there are a couple of new projects I've been hard at work at as well. One, in particular, is the reason for this post. Have you all ever had a favorite television show you positively couldn't wait to watch? Where you were on pins and needles waiting to find out what happened in the following episode? I know I have and I wanted to translate this into a book series. Each installment (episode) will be about 20,000-30,000 words and a new installment will be released about every month.<br />
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Okay, so there's the background, let me get into the good stuff. Like how darn excited I am for this series! I was lying in bed one night, trying and failing to fall asleep, when this story came to me. This happens a lot, so I tried to push it aside and get to sleep. No can do. This story wouldn't quiet. The character's voices wouldn't shut up. So I got up, scratched down a notebook's worth of notes, and finally managed to fall asleep a few minutes before sunrise with a smile on my face.<br />
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This is something totally different. Something edgy. Something sexy. Something I'm dying for you all to check out.<br />
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So, I'm going to learn a lesson from my characters that wouldn't shut up that night and do just that. I'll let the blurb and cover do the talking now.<br />
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You can add it to your Goodreads TBR here: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17449965-great-exploitations">http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17449965-great-exploitations</a><br />
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The first installment of GREAT EXPLOITATIONS (MISCHIEF IN MIAMI) will be released in the next week or two.<br />
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Okay, party people . . . you all ready for this?!?!<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Seduction. Infidelity. Blackmail. Scandal. It can all be bought for the right price and for Sienna Stevens, business is good. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because she’s in the business of Great Exploitations. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She’s an Eve, a member of a secret society of women contracted by the wives of wealthy, powerful men for one reason and one reason only: to seduce their husbands. To ensure their pre-nuptial agreement will be null and void thanks to a little loophole known as the Infidelity Clause. To ensure that those wives don’t find themselves on the other side of a divorce without a penny to their name. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When it comes to the Eves, Sienna’s one of the best because she follows the number one rule of the Eves to the letter: don’t let it get personal. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When the job file of her wealthiest client yet falls into her lap, Sienna realizes that this case could be the one that’s impossible to detach herself from. The payout would lead to her independence, but will the cost be too high in the end?</span></span></div>
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Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3327505985009607465.post-81310045766789902522013-02-13T13:44:00.000-08:002013-02-13T13:44:50.652-08:00Spanish Publisher Picks up CRASH Series!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm so thrilled to announce that a Spanish publisher has picked up the CRASH series and is publishing them later this year. They've given them pretty new covers and even given them new titles. These covers are so different from the other ones, but aren't they great?! I can't wait to add them to my bookshelf! And the new titles make me smile each time I read them: Jude would be pretty proud, right? Below I've listed the release dates, as well as the new titles and covers (along with a translation for those of us who need it!).<br />
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And don't forget tomorrow is the big CRUSH teaser day over at <a href="http://booksoverboys.blogspot.com/">booksoverboys.blogspot.com</a>. The first ever teaser to be released is going live tomorrow people! Jude and Lucy are looking forward to sharing their Valentine's Day with you!<br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Book 1: El Lado Explosivo de Jude (Jude's Explosive Side): May 9th, 2013</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Book 2: El Lado Peligroso de Jude (Jude's Dangerous Side): June 13th, 2013</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Book 3: El Lado Irresistible de Jude (Jude's Irresistible Side): July 4th, 2013 </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1f497d; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"></span></span><br />
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Nicole Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11092261469818128550noreply@blogger.com0