About Moxie Girl Musings

Moxie Girl Musings is about starting over from square one after tragedy impacted my young family. It's filled with stories of triumph, struggle, snafus, hopes, and dreams. Sometimes there will be features from other writers that I like and every so often I'll include an original short story, but normally I simply write what's on my mind at the time. Welcome to my unfiltered true-life story as I figure out this thing called life. http://www.amberleaeaston.com

Thursday, July 14, 2016

Take a Drive in Wide Open Spaces to Shake the Cobwebs from Your Mind #AmWriting #Motivation

When everything starts to get to be too much--too much noise, too much stress, too much overload--get in your car and drive. Anywhere. Leave the city lights and traffic in your rear view mirror and hit the open road without an agenda.

Turn up the radio. Open the window. Let the wind toss through your hair.

Let it be easy.

Don't coach your thoughts, allow them to flow through your mind on a whim.

Notice the scenery around you.

Sing out loud to a song--and sing LOUD! Free up those vocal chords and tap the steering wheel like a drum.

Pull over at some out of the way roadside diner and leave your phone in your pocket. Chat with the waitress about the weather or the specials or the history of the place. Look her in the eye. Smile.

Perhaps find a new town, go their city park, sit on a bench, and look around. What would it be like to live there? Can you imagine an alternate life where you're one of its citizens walking by on the sidewalk looking at you and wondering where you're from and what you're doing? Free up your mind to possibility.

Be childlike in your wonderment of the world and the people in it. There really is more good than bad in the world if you bother to look around, loosen up, and practice kindness.

On your way home, appreciate where you've chosen to build a life. Notice the wonderful things that drew you there. Be grateful for what you have--the bills, the house, the kids, the co-workers--because it really is all temporary.

Tomorrow it could all change. Appreciate today. Soak it up. Embrace your life as is--a perpetual work in progress where you have the power to create every moment and rewrite as you go.

Amber Lea Easton is a multi-published author of romantic thrillers, contemporary romance, women's fiction, and nonfiction. She also writes five different blogs, works as a professional editor and author coach, creates a line of inspirational journals, volunteers for children's literacy, and advocates for suicide awareness. In addition, she is the mother of two extraordinary human beings who lives in a small cabin high in the Rocky Mountains where she is completely aware of how lucky she is. To find out more about her books, please visit http://www.amberleaeaston.com

Friday, July 8, 2016

Reality is Never What it Seems #BookReview #FridayReads

 Featuring the brilliant new releases, Butterfly Bones and Dream Journal on the blog today. More than that, I've reviewed each one, too. For those of you familiar with my blog, you know that's not common for me. I try to avoid posting book reviews for a multitude of reasons, but when I read a book so fantastic that I am blown away, then I am compelled to do something about it. Enjoy the features--book reviews are below each one. These are definitely worth your time!  
From the back cover....

They come in threes; death, tragedy, premonitions.

Life is good for Amanda, normal, just the way she wants it; until she’s awakened on the back lawn by a ghost from her childhood and her dog.

Nightmares and premonition dreams have returned with a sickening dread of change.

Events push her. Dreams pull her.
Her past and future are only a nightmare away.
When the unthinkable happens – reality slams into her with jarring force – she realizes everything can change in less than a day.

The thin walls between reality and imagination begin to blur with the psychological twist of her dreams.

She’s on a dangerous path that threatens everything.
The life she’s worked so hard to create begins to crumble.
Her mind dangles by a damaged thread.

Is there another life she’s supposed to be living?
If there is, will she live to see it?

An excerpt...

“What a fucking mess you’ve made,” shouts a scruffy girl about eight, with spiky blonde hair, standing in the center of a gravel parking lot. A heavy fog swirls around her, and, for a moment, she disappears into the mist. I look down and see my lap covered in broken windshield glass and leaves. I look back toward her, she waves her arms and jumps around wildly as if she’s trying to get my attention.

I’m dizzy. I try to focus. I can see her mouth move but — “Sorry, I can't hear you.”

She shouts, “No shit!” She gestures with her whole body like a kid having a temper tantrum, her mouth moves again as if she’s shouting, but there is no sound. Then she laughs and I realize she has been mouthing the words like a muted television. She laughs again, brushing hard at the hem of a faded green dress that hangs on her small frame two-sizes too large. “You haven't listened in so long – the fucking sound’s been turned off!”

The fog thins and there’s something about her that’s disturbing. “Do I know you?”

She exhales, looks up at the sky, shakes her head and sighs dramatically.

She’s standing several yards away from me in a sunny parking lot surrounded by old oaks, yet I can hear her sigh? It doesn’t seem right – the distance.

“If you don't — I'm one-hundred-percent fucked.”

“You have a potty mouth.”

“It's inherited.”

“Who are you?”

“Child of a rock star. Or blues singer.” She chuckles. “Or demented, drugged-out-dreamer. Sort of depends on the year.” She does a pirouette in her tattered tennis shoes, sending up a cloud of dust around her feet. “No, wait. I’m a wizard!” Twirling on both feet around and around with her arms out. She stops, staggers, gains control of the wobble and whispers, “Did you like the yellow butterfly? Beautiful against the chrome, wasn't it?” She scuffs the gravel with her toe. “Shame to kill it. But the grill would seem too nightmarish without it. No one wants a plain-old chrome Freightliner grill, a gnat’s fuzzy ass from their nose, etched into their memory, for-ev-ver.”

Liz was in the car with me, laughing, pointing to the water spraying up from the tires of a semi, and then the butterfly battered by the wind and rain on the grill of the truck. “What do you mean, you killed it?”

“Had to, but just this once. Butterflies were our thing – don’t you remember? There wasn’t one we couldn’t name in our rope-scarred neck of the woods.”

“We never killed them.”

“I’m desperate here. Okay?” She sighs loudly and bats at the hem of her dress. “Anyway. Back to who I am. I’m your Fairy Godmother – here to rescue your sorry ass, Cinderella. Oh, no, no. I know! I'm your sensitive inner-child.” She laughs insanely bold. “I really love that, inner-child, how’s that even possible when I’m older? You notice how no-one ever says poltergeist, juvenile delinquent or inner demon.” She shouts holding her arms up to the sky, “Hallelujah! Praise Jeez-Sus!” Then places her hands on her hips and stares at me a long unblinking moment. “No? Nothing? You don’t remember? Seriously? If I was the monster-under-the-bed, or spit green-pea soup at you, would you get it? No, fuck, guess not.” She steps in close with an exaggerated Mother-may-I step.

I realize with a start that she’s me. I was ten, waiting in the parking lot outside the church. Talking, bitching, to an imaginary friend, one I had created on Zita’s instructions to be older and wiser version of myself, we were playing Mother, may I, but the imaginary older me was acting stupid and it was pissing me off.

How is this possible? Seeing my younger self, talking to an older me that I’d invented. And now I am the older – talking to the younger from the other direction.

“This is unreal.”

“NAAAAH! Wrong again! This is as real as it gets, princess. I'm trying to save your charmed ass. Actually, my ass. I’m selfish like that.” Raising her arms, she turns in a circle, shouting to the bright blue sky like a circus Ringmaster. “Ladies and Gentlemen, can we have your attention, please! We need some fucking help here!” Then she turns to me and whispers, “Am I blurry?”


“Shit. I don't know if that's good or bad. I think I should be a little blurry or misty. A tiny bit wavy or something. I’m not? You sure?”

“You're not. You’re loud. You're giving me a headache.”

“No, I'm not touching you. It's the tree. The oak tree is giving you a headache, probably angry with you for hitting it with your damn car. Or maybe the bent steering wheel’s complaining. Don't go blaming me. Blaming me is not good. Especially if I'm the last thing you see.”

My review...

Butterfly Bones is one of the most creative, evolved stories I've read in a long time. The story brought up a lot of emotions for me personally, actually, as I, too, feel as if I'm standing on a crossroads in life where I'm questioning my choices and goals---just like Amanda. In the story, she grapples with loyalties, love, longing, and loss. The writer weaves an eloquent story that both enchants and challenges us to look at our own lives. What would our younger self think of us now if we could meet? 

This is more than a five star read. The characters are vivid and three dimensional. The writing style is brilliant. The story is a mix of emotionally complex women's fiction with quirky paranormal twists that pushes this to another level of story-telling that is truly extraordinary. I highly recommend it! 

From the back cover...


As a child Amanda dreamed of her funeral. She was there, a spirit hiding behind the honey suckle watching the mourners, listened to their comments, ‘too young... only thirty-two...’
She turned thirty-two on Christmas.

She hasn’t sleepwalked or been woken up by her ghost and his cat in years but this one dream haunts her. She tries to brush it off as a childish fear, but she knows the difference between a nightmare and a premonition dream. This was no nightmare.

Against the odds, she’s created a normal life; an investment adviser, living with her husband in a comfy bungalow with a yard large enough to plays Frisbee with her dog. Life is good.

Until one hot August night.
In the predawn hours, she’s awakened under the old oak tree of her back yard by her childhood ghost, from a dream with the sticky webs of a premonition.

They’ve returned. The thin wall between reality and imagination begins to blur.

She starts this dream journal to help untwist the dangerous symbolism buried deep in the dreams. Will they come true? Will she live to see thirty-three?

This is a collection of dreams by Amanda J. Wilde, a character in the novel BUTTERFLY BONES. This is Amanda’s journal, her thoughts and fears, because as adults, there are very few people we can discuss ‘premonition dreams’ with (and expect to keep our job) and even fewer still that will help untwist their meaning. She keeps this journal to herself (mostly) even as the life she’s created starts to crumble around her.
 A spin-off short story, from the novel Butterfly Bones – Visions are the voice of the soul

An excerpt...

Holding onto clumps of grass, slipping at the rain-slick muddy edge of the cliff, I’m on the verge of hysterics as I slide further, slowing losing my grip.

The heavy, blowing rains have carved a cave into the earth under the slick grassy edge. The cliff face has sheared off, crumbled away and fallen into a deep river gorge.

Each time I grab a handful of grass to pull myself up, it pulls out in a muddy clump.

I slip further and scream, “Help!”

I can see over my shoulder to a rocky riverbed a hundred or so feet below with a muddy thread of a river frothing and tumbling between boulders.

My right leg dangles free in the air, I struggle to touch anything with it and only find more air.

It seems I’ve been struggling, hanging on by my fingernails for hours.

I scream help again and hear laughter.

I look up to see my friend Kerry with Brad, looking over the cliff’s edge, laughing at me.

They must not realize how much danger I’m in.

“Help! I need a hand please! It’s too muddy. I can't get a grip to pull myself up.”

Kerry laughs and slaps her thighs. Laughs too hard to speak.

Can’t she see the drop below me?

Brad says, “I told you to lose weight, get in shape. How many times have I told you to workout harder, you've lost all your muscle tone, you let yourself go to flab. This is your fault fat-ass.” He turns and walks away.

Kerry smirks at him, stops laughing and says, “Don't worry, Sweetie. I'll help you out of this mess. Always have, haven’t I?” She turns and walks away.

She’s gone for so long that I start to worry she’s left.

I’m at the very edge now with both feet kicking at the wind, my hands are slick with mud, and fingernails are broken off at the quick from digging so hard into the grass’s muddy roots, trying to find a grip. I’m panicked. Tears of fear, anger and frustration blur my vision. I can’t pull myself up and the more I try, the more I slip. My muscles burn, my fingers cramp in pain and sting.

I’m an inch now from the muddy edge and the concaved slick earth carved out under me. The line where the grass and mud have given away is curved down to eye level. There’s nothing to grab should I slip an inch. My pulse hammers in my ears as fear rises.

I’m going to die here.
“Hey!” Kerry extends a thick stick out over the edge of the cliff. My breath catches as I dangerously slip, reaching for the stick with one hand.

I grasp and tear, struggling to find a handhold in the slick grass, crawling with my arms and elbows, as she pulls, digging her heels in the muddy ground. She’s chuckling, shaking her head.

The humor escapes me.

She’s pulling me up inch-by-inch.

My breath is ragged and my heart pounds as I inch my way up to my ribs on the cliff's muddy edge, holding onto the stick now with both hands. I’m so grateful my chest aches and my eyes blur with tears of relief. My panic begins to subside as my hips near the grassy slope where I’ll finally be able to pull myself up onto the muddy ground.

Kerry says, “You’re as gullible as ever,” and lets go of the stick.

I gasp and fall back into open-air.

I'm so shocked — I can’t scream.

I fall, watching a half smile on her face, her eyes looking directly into mine, until all I can see is a tiny silhouette of her at the top of the cliff, backed by bright blue sky.

My review...
 I couldn't get enough of these short stories. A few of them actually made me cry. The emotional impact is like a sledgehammer to the gut--I loved them all! The talent of this author truly surpasses most. Literary in style, almost lyrical at times, yet approachable. They are weird in a quirky paranormal way, but if you love opening your mind to the idea of premonition dreams and fantasy, then you will love this collection as much as I did. I guarantee it. Any great lover of literature will find these stories compelling and heart-wrenching. Wait until you read the one where she's in Belize swimming with dolphins...I cried like a baby. Or the one with the doll on the beach or the monks in the mountains...seriously, I cannot find a flaw. They are all profound in their own way. This is a five star read, but I'd give it ten if I could.

Saturday, July 2, 2016

Sexy #RomanticSuspense in Barcelona #4thofJulyRomance

Excerpt of the romantic suspense novel, One True Thing...

She was too beautiful, too known, too wild, too…much. He knew that she was the kind of woman who could devour him, who would know his soul, who would wield her power over him with advanced skill. Yet he couldn’t leave.  Maybe that’s why he had come, armed with chili-cheese fries, to dare destiny.

"My great-grandmother was a painter," she said after he'd joined her. "Being an artist is all I've ever wanted to do."

"And you did it. You had a successful showing and—"

"Someone destroyed them all." 

"Yes, they did." He couldn't imagine having one of his resorts go up in flames. Maybe it wasn't the same exactly, but he poured so much of himself into each design, into every part of the decision making process, that it would feel like...a death. He didn't know what to do or what to say to ease her pain. 

She blew out a long breath before standing straight and looking at him through the shadows. "It's at least one in the morning by now. Time for bed. Are you joining me?"

He inhaled sharply at the idea of resuming where they'd left off. 

"Don't you want to...talk or something?" he asked. 

"About my feelings?" Her lips twisted. "It sucks. It hurts like hell. It pisses me off. There. I talked about my feelings. We good now?" 

He'd never met anyone like her. Vanessa Warren was definitely one-of-a kind. She sauntered to him, almost like a predator about to go in for the kill, stood on her tiptoes until her breath caressed his chin, and whispered, "Make me believe in something good, something better than a lie." 

He grabbed her ass and lifted her up until they were eye-to-eye. Hair licked with fire slipped across his face when she leaned over him, all color and warmth. He wanted this, wanted her. This is why he had come, to feel this again, this agony of desire that he had suppressed for years. 

Fingers twisted in the strands of hair that slipped against his face. He crushed her to him, ravaging her mouth like a dying man grasping at life. Tongues teased. Teeth nipped.  And he fell past a point he had never thought to cross, not that he cared, not that it mattered. In his mind, he could see the lights of the city, blurring with speed and spinning beneath them. 

God, she felt good.  Intoxicating. Her lips nibbled across his neck.  

“I shouldn’t want you so much, but I do. I can’t stop myself,” she whispered.  

“Why do you want me?” He held her firm with his fists wrapped in her hair. “Tell me.”

“You wanted me when you didn’t know who I was. We were just two people, strangers, without a past or a future. I knew you wanted to fuck me against that mural, beneath that tarp, I saw it in your eyes, thought about it all damn day. Then tonight there you were. You walked up those stairs like a predator, seeking me out, sweeping me away.”  

“You want to be swept away?”  


"I'll do my best." He scooped her off her feet and carried her from the balcony to the bedroom. He fell onto his back against the mattress with her silk-encased body draped across him. 

“Damn dress.” She propped herself above him and grimaced. “Help me out of it?”

“With pleasure,” he whispered against her neck. 

His fingers moved to the discreet zipper at her side and — with his gaze never leaving hers — he slid it down.  She shrugged it off her left shoulder. As if unwrapping a Christmas gift, he wasted no time in sliding the rest from her lean, toned body. Velvet hissed down her torso and slipped from her legs. Clad only in strapless bra and panties with her hair falling in wild layers past her shoulders, she kicked the tangled material off her feet and flashed him a devilish smile.   

“You’re deadly.” But what a way to die.
From the back cover...
Power...it's a heady drug.

Vanessa Warren is America's favorite rebel. Daughter and granddaughter of US Presidents and sister to a future one, her family connections and notoriety are seen as leverage for manipulating the White House—if she's captured.

One little lie leads to a whole lot of trouble.

Reclusive international resort developer, Dominic Varga, needs a date to ward off his matchmaking parents. When he persuades the notorious Vanessa Warren to play his girlfriend for the night, he has no idea he's stepped into the crosshairs of kidnappers who will do anything—destroy everything—to get to her.

One true thing...

Trapped in a rapidly escalating international terror plot, Dominic and Vanessa's lie becomes the only real thing in the midst of betrayals, conspiracies, and murder. As their world falls apart, they suddenly only have each other to rely on against ruthless people who will stop at nothing to achieve their goal. Who can they trust? Who is behind the plot—her own family, a political rival of her family's, or a terrorist organization? How far will the kidnappers go—what will they be willing to sacrifice—to control the power of the White House? Is there anywhere in the world where they can find safety? 

  Download it now 


Monday, June 27, 2016

Free At Last! Why I'm Not Tearing Up at Being an Empty Nester #Women

Despite being a stay-at-home mom and then a mom-who-works-from-home, I've never really fit the mom mold. Yes, I had fun taking my kids to all their activities when they were little, am grateful for being present for every game or swim meet, am happy I was able to volunteer in their elementary classrooms, and am absolutely thrilled at the kind-hearted, wonderful human beings I raised as a single parent. I have no regrets about the last twenty years--none. I loved being able to have a flexible schedule where I could easily put my family first. But there were plenty of things I didn't like about parenting young kids and certainly won't miss now that both of my kids are off to college--and none of them have anything to do with my kids, but with fulfilling the role of parent. UGH. Good riddance!

I won't miss the mom-pressure. You know what I'm talking about--the judgy eyes, the rumors, the petty gossip if I didn't do _______. Fill in the blank. As women, we put each other under too much pressure to be some ideal parent no matter what is happening in life. Didn't sign up to bring a hot dish to the parent meeting because the budget was tight? Expect judgy eyes or a snippy comment from someone. Didn't volunteer to be the team mom (or class mom)? Expect a comment about how it must be nice to have so much "free time." If your kid decides to pursue a different sport and has a new circle of friends, expect to be asked "if he has any friends anymore" or if he "just decided to give up" by the parents from the old group. Mom-pressure comes in many forms. Once, as a solo parent, I literally couldn't afford the $20 entry fee to watch my daughter compete in the state swim meet. I had used all my cash on gas and snacks to pack in her bag, drove nearly three hours to be there, and waited in cold Colorado February conditions for eight hours in my car. I checked in with her via text, turned the car on here and there to stay warm, and waited wrapped in a blanket in the front seat. A few moms coming out of the meet later that night saw me picking my daughter up on the curb and made sure to tell me what a shame it was I hadn't been inside watching, and how disappointed my daughter probably was that I hadn't been there to cheer her on. I definitely won't miss any of that.

I won't miss the hectic schedule. How many hours of my life have been spent waiting? Waiting in cars, waiting in gyms, waiting on humid swimming pool bleachers, waiting for plays to start, waiting for parent/teacher conferences, waiting in parking lots at odd hours to hook up with a carpool. My time is MINE again! Woo! Now, if I'm waiting, I hope like hell it's for a concert or a spa appointment or to board a plane.

I won't miss fighting about homework. I told both of the kids this regarding college--it's all on you now. I want them to succeed, but I took them as far as I can. I've taught them all the skills needed to be accepted into college, but what they do with those lessons is no longer on my shoulders. I no longer give a shit about homework, class papers, a D-bag teacher who should have retired years ago, or any of that drama. Adios!

I won't miss teenage angst. Oh, my god. Now, my teenage son's dirty socks will be his roommate's problem and my daughter's OCD will be her issue. I'll see them over holiday breaks when they return with all their stuff, that's true, but hopefully they will grow up while out there in the world and will learn the basic life skills needed when mom isn't there 24/7. And, if I'm lucky, perhaps their kill-each-other-rapid-fire arguments will cease now that they will be apart more often than not. A mom can hope...

I won't miss the competition. This sort of ties in with mom-pressure, but it's more about the kids. I noticed it even at high school graduation--the one-up mentality about what your child has chosen to do after high school, the comments about what college is best and what major is more important. I'm so over it I could care less. I just want my kids to be happy--whether that be college or slinging burgers, I really don't care. And guess what? This small snippet of time doesn't matter in the big scheme of life. Plans change. People change. They grow, they evolve, they decide they want something else. So guess how many f*cks I give about how your kid's college compares to my kid's college? Or about how your kid's major is more serious than my kid's' major? OH MY GOD STOP! First of all, a person can major in anything--whether they graduate with that degree is what matters and then actually find a job and LOVE IT. I have never been the competitive mom--ever. I chose a pre-school where I thought my kids would be happy, never made them play a sport they hated, and have remained silent in the face of all the one-uppers out there. Hey, here's some advice---don't live through your kids! They grow up, get lives of their own, and move away--as it should be.

It's time. We made it! My little battered and bruised family who suffered such a tragic loss with my husband's suicide and who overcame financial hardships that created a lot of despair--we have overcome it all. We have reached a new chapter in our lives and it's worth celebrating!

As the kids enter the new phase of their lives, I reclaim myself and my goals for my life. I hope to be a digital nomad who travels with groups of writers in far away places for adventures, drinks, and laughter. I look forward to all the new friends I have yet to meet--I'm sure you're awesome! I make no apologies for my happy dancing out the door as I load their luggage up and send the kids on their way.

We did it. It's time. No regrets. No apologies. Bring on the empty nest and the new adventures!

One of the greatest lessons I've learned in life is that everything is temporary so enjoy the moment, whether it's thrilling or scary, because moments quickly pass, people come and go, and the best is yet to come.

Amber Lea Easton is a multi-published author of romantic thrillers, contemporary romance, women's fiction, and nonfiction. She also writes five different blogs, works as a professional editor and author coach, creates a line of inspirational journals, volunteers for children's literacy, and advocates for suicide awareness. In addition, she is the mother of two extraordinary human beings who lives in a small cabin high in the Rocky Mountains where she is completely aware of how lucky she is. To find out more about her books, please visit http://www.amberleaeaston.com

Sunday, June 12, 2016

Time is Up and the Action is On! Love on the Run #SecondChance #Romance #Giveaway

Excerpt of Kiss Me Slowly--a second chance romance where the odds are against them as both bad guys and the FBI hunt them down in the Florida Keys...

“You have blood on your dress.” He fingered the strap in question that had slipped off her shoulder. “You should probably take it off.”

“Careful. We can’t go there.” Sand clung to her neck and stuck to the tangles in her hair. The light from the bedside lamp shadowed her face.

“I meant change out of it, not…well, maybe I meant take it off. But then we’d be crossing lines that you don’t want to cross.” He let his fingers trail down her arm. “That would be wrong. Terribly wrong.” 

“You are nothing but trouble.”

“You always liked trouble.” He rested his right palm against the bed, supporting his weight on his healthy arm. 

“Listen carefully to me.” She pressed her finger against his lips. “I’m high on adrenaline, we’re alone, no witnesses, no regrets. One kiss won’t hurt anyone.”

“No witnesses, no regrets…” Heat flooded his veins. “Adrenaline…”

“If I don’t do this now, I’ll hate myself in the morning.”

“You mean you’ll regret it when they lock me up in the morning and throw away the key because you didn’t kiss me one last time?”

“Exactly.” She straddled his lap.

“You weren’t supposed to agree.” He smiled despite the circumstances. 

“Shut up, sailor boy. Kiss me.” 

She kissed him as if savoring the taste. Her hair fell forward, locking them in a caramel-colored veil of intimacy. Eyes open, they stared at each other as their lips moved against each other’s. 

His hands slid up her long thighs, over her panties and pressed against the smoothness of her back. Every stroke of her lips against his awakened pure need in his veins. He no longer cared about what was right or wrong. All he wanted was her mouth on his, his hands on her body and her skin against his. 

With a quick yank, she pulled her dress over her head. Breasts bared, she pressed him down on the bed and laughed against his mouth. “This is crossing all kinds of boundaries and breaking every rule I can think of.”

“Just like the old days.” He smiled against her lips. His hands moved over her bared breasts. The pain in his shoulder failed to slow him down. He didn’t know who groaned or if they both did, but the sensation of her flesh filling his palms trumped common sense. 

Her bare foot slid over his leg, hands curled into his hair, and body flattened against his. All the anger, the terror and confusion poured from him as he deepened the kiss with an urgency that bordered on desperation. The silky warmth of her mouth erased his pain. Kissing her felt like coming home from an exhausting, lonely journey. 

“A kiss…that’s all I wanted,” she muttered against his chin. A shiver quaked through her body when she sighed. 

“I want more.”

“Impossible. We can’t.”

“We can do whatever the hell we want, Grace.” Despite the burning pain in his left shoulder, he maneuvered so that his body covered hers. He wanted more than a kiss. He wanted more heat. 

“Jonathan…” Caution drummed beneath her tone but her eyes snapped with desire. “We can’t. Too dangerous. We can’t get distracted. Things are complicated enough.”

He dropped his forehead against hers and cursed timing. Her breasts flattened against his bare chest. Skin on skin. Blood on her flesh. Pain in his shoulder.

“I know you’re right, but…I can’t help but want more than a kiss.”

“It’s adrenaline talking. Shock.” She fisted her hands in his hair and held him close. “That’s it. Nothing more.” 

“Adrenaline, huh? That’s your theory?” His lips moved over her neck. He felt her squirm, felt her legs part, felt her hips arching toward his. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. 

Her hands moved over his back before fisting in his hair and pulling his face away from her skin. “Jonathan…please…stop.” 

He curved his hand over the side of her face. Separated by a mere inch and a few pieces of clothing, he wanted more than anything to be inside of her. This close, alone, in the dark, he couldn’t help but remember what it had been like for them as two fumbling teenagers who had felt like immortals. 

“And it has nothing to do with the mess you’re in,” she continued as his thumb caressed her cheekbone. “Our story ended over a decade ago. You wrote the ending, remember?”

He remembered. 

From the back cover...

Trapped in a set-up that could have him in jail or dead by Monday, Jonathan Alexander trusts no one in his inner circle. It’s Saturday. His only hope is Grace Dupont, the best forensic accountant in Miami. But there’s a glitch with that idea. She’s also his ex-girlfriend who'd rather watch him drown than throw him a life vest. Going to her feels desperate…because he is.

Grace enjoys seeing Jonathan squirm. On your knees boy, she thinks as he pitches for her help. Always a sucker for the dark-haired-blue-eyed boys, she risks her precariously balanced life of secrets to help him. Helping him slaps a target on her back–she’s the key to proving his innocence and that’s a bad, bad thing.

Tangled up in a whirlwind of conspiracy, murder, million dollar money trails and diamond smuggling, Jonathan and Grace flee to the sea to stall for time to prove his innocence. Romance sizzles beneath Florida Keys’ sunshine. Both scoff at happy endings. Both doubt justice. Both know each kiss could be their last.

Begin the adventure today!

For the giveaway, I'll be contributing my romantic suspense novel, Reckless Endangerment.
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