We are pleased to present:
Jessica Moriarty appears to have it all—a successful career as an architect, a loyal group of friends, a gorgeous apartment, and an on-again-off-again affair with Boston’s most eligible bachelor. Behind this “perfect life” façade, Jessica hides the loss she feels over giving up her dream career as an artist, copes with a destructive relationship with her alcoholic mother, and struggles with heartbreak over a lost love.
Jacques Sinclair only needs his cameras, a backpack, and a good pair of walking shoes. A world-renowned photographer, he is a man without boundaries. Despite fame and fortune, he still yearns for the woman who shattered his heart when she vanished from his life five years ago.
A chance meeting brings Jacques and Jessica back together. Reunions aren’t always planned or welcomed, but chemistry has a way of revealing what is denied. Ensnared in a web of sabotage and conspiracy—carefully constructed by people who want to control their lives—Jacques and Jessica struggle to trust each other, break free from the status quo, reclaim their love, and build a life of extraordinary possibility.
Amber Lea Easton is a multi-published fiction and nonfiction author. Smart is sexy, according to Easton, which is why she writes about strong female characters who have their flaws and challenges but ultimately persevere. She currently has six contemporary romance and romantic suspense novels out in the world: Kiss Me Slowly, Riptide, Reckless Endangerment, Anonymity, In Between, and Dancing Barefoot. Her memoir, Free Fall, is dedicated to suicide prevention, awareness, and helping others navigate the dark journey of grief.
In addition, Easton works as an editor, freelance journalist, and professional speaker. She speaks on subjects ranging from writing to widowhood. Some of her videos on romance writing have appeared on the international Writers & Authors television network. Current radio appearances are linked via her author website, http://www.amberleaeaston.com.
Easton currently lives with her two teenagers in the Colorado Rocky Mountains where she gives thanks daily for the gorgeous view outside her window. She finds inspiration from traveling, the people she meets, nature and life’s twists and turns. At the end of the day, as long as she’s writing, she considers herself simply to be “a lucky lady liv’n the dream.”
Easton also publishes under the name Dakota Skye who has one paranormal erotic romance, Blurred Lines, currently available and another, Deadly Decadence, due out in the fall of 2014
She stood on the threshold of the bookstore dodging patrons and pedestrians. Ten past seven. Regret sagged her knees. For the second time in her life, she labeled herself the Queen of Self-Sabotage. As if leaning against a fierce wind of remorse, she pushed the door open, and forced one foot in front of the other.
“I’m looking for Jacques Sinclair.” She forced the words from a too-dry throat.
“I’m sorry, you just missed him.” The employee didn’t look up from the stack of books she arranged on a table.
Missed him. She nodded without truly understanding how she could have undermined herself like this. Again. “He’s really gone then?”
The girl worked as if she hadn’t spoken, head down, oblivious.
Her gaze connected with the cover of Jacques’s book. Legs heavy and unsteady, she maneuvered toward the display until she touched the cover with her fingertips.
Closing her eyes, she smelled the overpowering scent of the roses, felt the early morning breeze against bare skin, sensed him moving behind her, tasted him on her lips, heard the low sound of his voice saying her name.
“Excuse me, do you know if Mr. Sinclair is staying in Boston tonight?” she asked.
The woman looked at her as if she were a stalker. “He probably went back to New York. His gallery exhibit isn’t until next weekend.”
“Back to New York?” Information overload crashed her system. So close. The same side of the Atlantic. She braced herself against the counter.
“He lives in New York,” she answered as if speaking to a small, slow child.
“Right. He has an exhibit next Saturday. I saw that in the article…what gallery?” She handed over her credit card and blinked at the cover again.
“The Bliss Institute.”
Breathing ceased again and she silently cursed Fate. Her friend Miranda owned the Bliss Institute. What was happening? Did Jacques know that? Of course not, how could he? She felt like an insane woman on the precipice of a major nervous breakdown.
“Are you all right?” The woman grabbed the book and slipped it into a bag.
“Perfect, never better.” She needed a martini…she’d give her life for a martini. Oblivion sounded like heaven right now.
The girl handed her the receipt before stepping away as if afraid of catching the insanity bug.
Six weeks. Jacques planned on being in Boston for six weeks.
Laughter from upstairs halted her retreat. As if dragging her legs through mud, she walked toward the stairs. With every step, memories overpowered her. Laughing in bed with rain falling outside open windows, whispered secrets in the dark, sharing wine directly from the bottle, feeding each other bread with their fingertips.
Him asking her to marry him, her saying yes.
Her throwing it all away for reasons that now seemed meaningless.
“We should go, Jacques. We’re running late. Miranda’s already at the restaurant.” A stick-like man with shaggy brown hair and black-framed eye glasses appeared at the top of the stairs.
She stood on the bottom step, one foot poised to ascend, her hand on the railing and blocking the way. She clutched the bag to her side and turned to flee.
“Jess?” The quiet question stopped her descent. “Jessica Moriarty?”
She gripped the railing and looked up at him.
Jacques stood at the top of the stairs, blond hair falling across his forehead and skimming his ears, different from the picture on display, more like it had been when they’d known one another, shaggy and disheveled. Emerald eyes snapped with fire as his gaze raked over her from head to foot. A cobalt blue shirt had been stuffed into black jeans, half in the waistband and half out as if he simply didn’t give a damn. He’d rolled the sleeves to his elbows, exposing tanned forearms, and a leather bracelet twisted around his left wrist. He walked toward her like a predator who’d cornered his prey. Slowly…surely. Sexuality oozed from his pores with every step he took.
She stepped back and swallowed the rush of saliva that flooded her mouth.
He stopped two stairs above her. “Running away from me again?”
Excerpt Two (Adult Content)
He stalked toward her until her back collided with her easel. His hands gripped the top of the canvas, arms pinned her where she stood. “I haven’t wanted to remember you in a very long time.”
“I suppose not.”
“But I have.”
“Are you happy?”
“What do you mean?” She folded her arms across her chest.
“Did you make the right choice? Leaving me? Leaving our life together? Tell me you’re happy and I’ll walk out of your life forever.”
“What does it matter? I can’t undo it.”
“Why is it a difficult question for you to answer? Why can’t you tell me that you have no regrets? I want to hear it.”
“Of course I have regrets, but so what? What good does that do us?”
“That’s why I came here tonight, to see…”
“See what? I’ve done what I said I would do.” Pride forced her head high. “I’m up for associate partner at my firm. I’m a good—no, great—architect. We both succeeded without each other. Good for us.”
“You’re lying. You’re not happy.” His hand framed the side of her face, forcing her to look at him. “I see it in your face. It’s like you’ve died. You’re living in the past, which tells me you’re not that thrilled with the present.”
“When did you get so mean?” Too tired to fight, tears blurred her eyes. “Get out. Enough insults for one night. Just go.”
“Why are you still wearing my ring?” His voice was low and powerful in the small room.
“Why do you?”
“My ring.” Dark blond hair covered his left eye when he bent forward, only a breath away from her face. “Why are you wearing it? Does it mean anything to you or do you simply think it’s pretty?”
“Please go.” She flattened her hands against his chest, but wished she hadn’t. The feel of his hard body beneath her hands liquefied her bones.
He slammed his hand against the canvas, knocking it to the floor behind her. “You just left. One day we’re living together, talking about creating a future, and then you walked away without
ever looking back.”
“I look back in my own way. Often, too often, I need to grow up like you said.” Her lungs deflated like air from a balloon. Breathing ceased. I needed to come back here to—”
“To be safe? To do the right thing?” He had her backed against the easel. “I thought you would at least stay in touch with me, the man you supposedly loved, the man you said
you wanted to marry, the man you said you needed…but you disappeared.”
“You had my address. I didn’t disappear.”
“You let me go without a word. Until today, I hadn’t heard from you in years, yet here you are wearing my ring.”
“I said I was sorry.” Every inch of her quaked with restrained emotion. “Leave now. Go. Good luck with your exhibit, the workshop, with your life, all of it. Just get the hell out of my house.”
“Do you know why I brought your address with me? Do you?”
“You wanted to tell me off, right? That’s why you came here, to hurt me.”
“I wanted to show you how much I don’t care.”
“Doesn’t that show me how much you really do care?” She lifted her chin, determined not to cry.
A fraction of an inch separated their bodies. She dragged her gaze over the opened buttons of his shirt, over his neck, over his lips until resting on the deep green of his eyes. Damn, the man rocked the word ‘sexy’.
Boldness replaced caution.
Standing on tiptoes, she smoothed her hands along the front of his chest. Touching him again was like coming home from a long, exhausting journey.
He shook his head once as if trying to clear his mind. Only once. He stared at her lips. His hands curled around her forearms, but he didn’t push her away.
“Kiss me,” she whispered against his mouth.
“No,” he whispered as his hands slid up her arms before cupping the back of head.
“I dare you.”
“I know you want to.”
“Now who’s the liar?” she asked, her teeth tugging at his lower lip.
Their mouths met in a kiss that melted her skin like candle wax, turning them into one being, one entity consumed by desire. To hell with restraint and regret. She needed this, needed him, here and now.
Passion overrode all other thought or senses. Her hands stroked his back, kneading and searching. Every sense was alive with his touch, with his kiss. The need for him was an ache that burned deep. Hot. Necessary. Urgent. Primal
God, she had missed this, missed him.
He ripped her tank top in two and tossed the material aside.
His hands squeezed her breasts while his mouth devoured hers.
She yanked his shirt free from his jeans and shoved it high on his chest, needing his skin against hers more than she’d ever needed anything in life. Clothes fell away, bread crushed beneath their bodies, wine spilled from an overturned bottle at their feet.
They fell against the easel, knocking the canvas and paint in every direction. A tangle of limbs, they made eye contact for a moment, chests heaving, breathing labored.
“This is wrong,” he muttered against her skin.
“Right. Always right with us.” She sank her fingernails into his shoulders.
“What the lady wants, the lady gets,” he said, a predatory gleam in his eyes.
His hands worked at pushing her yoga pants over her hips while his mouth claimed her breast.
She looped her toes in the waistband of his underwear and yanked them over his thighs. Her hands sought his erection while her back arched with every stroke of his hands and every lick of his tongue.
He ground himself inside her with the intensity of repressed rage. Her legs wrapped around his hips, holding him as close as possible as he plunged deep inside her.
Sex had never been tame with him, but this was animalistic. This was raw. Teeth sank into skin. Nails scraped against each other’s bodies. They rolled together, locked as one being. Streaks of yellow and red paint lined their faces, stuck in their hair, no one cared.
Waves of pleasure rolled through her veins like a tsunami until all strength left her body. She laughed, breathless, as her mouth sought his again in a kiss filled with satisfaction and surprise.
“Is this what you meant by a do-over?” He shoved his hands through her hair, palms framing her face, and stared into her eyes. His chest rose and fell against hers.
“Not exactly, but it’ll do,” she whispered, still out of breath, heartbeat slamming like a caged bird’s wings inside her chest.
His mouth sucked on her lower lip, tongue teased hers. “I don’t know what to do with you, Jessica Moriarty.”
“You’ve always known exactly what to do with me, Jacques Sinclair.” She repeated the words they’d always said to one another. She dipped her finger into the wet yellow paint on the canvas beneath his head before smearing it across his chin and over his mouth.
He grabbed her hand, linked his fingers with hers and stared into her eyes. Laughter faded. “This shouldn’t have happened. I lost control, I always lose control around you.”
He rolled away and stared at the ceiling. Then he stood and pulled a piece of cheese from where it had stuck to his shoulder. Without looking at her, he dressed.
Rattled from the sex and his reaction, she stumbled to standing, grabbed the blanket from the sofa and wrapped it around herself. Man, she was on a roll today with fucking up her life.
He walked down the stairs without saying a word.
She returned to the kitchen to find him still waiting. She’d hoped he’d gone. Back against the wall, he finished buttoning his shirt. He hadn’t bothered to wipe the streaks of paint from his face and hair; then again, neither had she. When he lifted his gaze to hers, he looked agonized.
“I didn’t intend on that. I should go,” he said.
“Stay. Don’t go. Maybe we should talk or something.”
She wanted to scream, stomp her foot like a child, fall to her knees …anything to make him stay.
“There is someone else, Jess. Life moved on without you.” His quiet words sliced her heart into a million pieces. “I came here for answers, to understand. I didn’t intend to rip your clothes off. I only wanted to understand why you left me. That’s all.”
“And now you understand?”
“No.” He shook his head, a slight grin curving his lips. “But I accept that I will never understand.”
She rubbed the palm of her hand over her face. Of course he had someone else. She had discarded him like a used napkin.
“You’re serious with this woman? What you said about the different women all the time was just to hurt me, right?”
“Yes to both questions.”
A chasm ripped through the room, creating a space larger than the ocean that had once separated them. She felt the loss of him again, more powerful, more poignant than before.
“I wish it wasn’t like this between us…”
“I’m still the same man you left in Italy. The reasons you left haven’t changed. I’m a gypsy at heart, never in one place longer than six months or so.” He looked at the matching ring on his finger and blew out a long breath.
“Please leave. Your girlfriend must be wondering what the hell you’re doing.” She hugged her arms across her chest and tapped her foot against the floor. “Please leave, Jacques.”
“Am I wrong? Are you happy? Tell me I’m wrong about you. Tell me that you love being an architect. Tell me that you honestly don’t regret leaving me.” With every word, his face mirrored the agony she felt.
“Tell me that you have no regrets, that you are happy with your life as it is now.”
“My life is damn near perfect.” She forced a smile. “Partnership is in sight, remember? Corner office here I come. I have everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s a fucking love fest.”
“It is time I let this go then.” With a quick movement, he pulled the ring from his finger and laid it on the back of the red chair.
She stared at the ring against the faded fabric. “Please don’t leave it. Like you said, it’s yours.”
“Keep it, throw it away, it no longer matters to me. Be well, bella.” Door open, he hesitated at the threshold and looked around the room before meeting her gaze again. Bella. The word hung in the air as they stared at one another, the language of Italy dancing in her memory and tugging at her heart.
“Caro…” she whispered.
Without another look back, he closed the door behind him.
She listened to the fall of his footsteps on the stairs, the outside door opening and closing, and folded his ring into her palm. She pressed the closed fist against lips still swollen from his kiss. Silent tears streaked her face.
“What have I done?” Back against the door, she slid to the floor. The question she asked had no answer. Even she didn’t know if she meant the past or the present; conflicting emotions meshed together in her brain like the various paint streaks staining her skin.
But first a taste of the early reviews…
via Avid Reader:
“I loved this
It was refreshingly honest, brutally tragic, and at times lyrical in it’s flow. Their connection was so intense that as I read it, I was like this absolutely cannot survive. Love this intense and in your face has a slow burn to it, and will torch everything in i’s path until it is stamped out…There was nothing contrived about it. I felt like I was literally a fly on the wall and this was happening in reality and not fiction land. I liked them both, probably one of the best couples I have ever read.”…read entire review http://goo.gl/R191Sa
5 stars via ChristophFischerBooks
“Conflicting emotions and insurmountable chemistry cause both of them to reassess the past, their current lives and priorities. Easton shows the magnetic and hypnotic effect of physical and emotional attraction very well and the gradual crumbling of outer facades and deep inner resolve. This is a romantic fantasy written in a convincing and heart warming manner and with enough complications thrown in to make for a very entertaining and gripping read.”…read entire review http://goo.gl/R191Sa
5 stars via Sglas, Amazon reader review:
“Excitement, intrigue, twists and turns! Dancing Barefoot has it all. Very hard to put down.” read entire review http://goo.gl/R191Sa
GET IT TODAY!!
Link to the prequel, In Between: an Italian love story, that is a permanent free read on the author blog (14 chapters total): http://goo.gl/T9XCOj
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