It’s LIVE!!!

Today is the day! The Fragile Line, Part One is available NOW!  I can’t wait for you to get to know Chloe and Matt…I had so much fun writing them!  Below is a little teaser from Chloe, and keep scrolling down to hear from Matt.  Yep, this book is told from both of their POV’s!  (Then, keep on a-scrollin’ for the giveaway).


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Synopsis

Recommended for ages 18+ due to strong language and sexual content.

Chloe McCarthy thought she had found the perfect guy.  Someone just as detached as she was when it came to love and commitment.  Someone who never pressured her for more than just sex.  But when she gets a little too comfortable with their arrangement, and he rejects her for someone else, it triggers heartbreaking memories that leave her questioning her resolve for a commitment-free life.  In a moment of self-pity, she calls on the one person who she knows will make her smile.

Matt Langston lives a drama-free life, and he wants to keep it that way.  Chloe McCarthy?   All drama.  Which is why he needs to stay away from her.  A mechanic by day and bouncer by night, he tries to focus on work, but the more he tries, the more she creeps into his thoughts and his dreams, until he realizes that he needs to get her out of his system once and for all.

The Fragile Line is a spin-off to The Fine Line, told in an addicting three-part romance novella series, with each part building on the last.  The series may be read alone, however, reading The Fine Line first will provide a further introduction to the characters which may enhance the overall reading experience.

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To celebrate the release, I’m holding a giveaway!  Click on the graphic below to enter to win a $10 Amazon Giftcard!

Keep reading for an excerpt!

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Excerpt from Chapter Six:

“Is it everything you hoped it would be?”  Chloe asked, as I took a bite of the most delicious bread I have ever tasted.

This bread was so good that the garlicy, buttery, orgasmic masterpiece of flavor in my mouth forced a long moan out of my throat.  “Oh, yeah.”  I mumbled with the bread still in my cheek.  “This is fucking incredible.”

The dark wooden table of our window booth was dimly lit by an overhanging lamp with a red shade.  For a small restaurant, Ricci’s had an inviting, casual atmosphere complete with old-time Italian music.  At this time of night, there were only a few other diners scattered about.  I would imagine the place would be closing up soon for the evening.

She leaned in and whispered, “What if I told you I know how to make it?”

That caught my attention…enough to stop chewing.  “Don’t tease me, woman.”

She leaned back and huffed in exasperation. “God, why are you so macho?  The name’s Chloe.  CH-L-O-EEE.”

I chuckled.  “If you say so.  I’ve gotta hear this.  How do you know how to make the bread?”

“I dated one of the cooks when I worked here.” She shrugged and took a bite of bread.

Should’ve known that.  But really?  Was that all she was going to give me?  “And…did the recipe just osmose from his brain to yours on a date?”

She gave me the stink eye.  “I told him I’d only go out with him if he gave me the recipe.  So he did.  And we went on a date.  And that was it.”

“Lemme guess.  He wasn’t your type.”

She shook her head.  “I don’t really have a type.  I like variety.”

I nodded with raised brows, keeping my mouth shut about the fact that she just fed into her promiscuous reputation.  Was she doing it on purpose?  Did she actually want people to think she was easy?  She seemed okay tonight.  Why did part of me want to believe her rep was BS?

“What about you?” she asked.  “How come I never see you with any girls?”

“I could ask you the same thing.  Why no steady boyfriend?  You’re sexy as hell.  If you dropped the bitch act, you could easily land some dude if you wanted to.”

There went my word vomit.  So much for keeping my mouth shut.  Luckily, she didn’t seem offended this time.

Instead, she forced out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, just not the one I want.”

I cocked a brow.

She rolled her eyes and took a sip of her lemonade.

“Maybe it’s not an act,” she continued.

I nodded in thought.  “Or, maybe it is.  You seem pretty cool now.  Not clingy or—” What’s a nice way to say ‘easy’? “—overly accessible.  It’s a nice change.  You should do it more often.”

Her face scrunched up.  “Maybe I just don’t like you.”

“Or.  Maybe you like me more than you think.”  I winked.

The waiter came with our plates, a Sirloin Marsala for me and a spaghetti with meatballs for her.  After grating Parmesan cheese over her plate, he asked the typical waiter question, “Is there anything else I can get for you two?”

I answered instantly, “More bread.”

The kid, who must’ve been fifteen or sixteen, eyed our full basket of bread, then looked back at me with a quizzical look on his face which kind of pissed me off.  I mean, I would’ve eaten it all up already if he wouldn’t have been so quick with our meals.  And I wanted leftovers.

“Please,” I said calmly.

“O…kay?  I’ll be back with that in a minute.”

Dipshit.

The steak was even better than the bread.  It literally melted in my mouth.  Chloe laughed when I moaned again at the taste, and I smiled, knowing that my mission for the night had just been accomplished.

We savored our meals quietly for a few minutes before she broke the silence, continuing our conversation.  “Maybe I’m not interested in anything serious with anyone.  Maybe taking what I want and being…less than nice…is the best way to make sure they don’t get all googly with me.”

“What the hell does ‘googly’ mean?”

“Come on, you know.”

I shook my head no.

“It’s the lovey-dovey look in someone’s eyes.  Whether it’s a boy or girl, man or woman, we all do it.  It’s the way someone looks at you when they want you to think they’re falling for you.  They look at you with ‘googly-eyes.’”

“Ha!  You seem like an expert.  Maybe your nickname should be ‘heartbreaker.’”

“Yeah, right.  I’ve only gotten that look from one person.  And I’m not the one who did the heart breaking in that situation.”

I nodded in understanding.  It couldn’t have been Logan.  He’s never felt that way about her.  My curiosity piqued.  “First love?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

She continued stuffing spaghetti into her face as if this conversation were over.  I cleared my throat to get her attention.  It worked because she looked up from her plate with a WTF look.  “Go on, Pink, spill it.  You know you want to.”

She laughed again.  Just a small one, but a laugh nonetheless.  It took her another moment before she finally started to talk.

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Prologue and Giveaway!

(THIS CONTEST HAS ENDED AS OF 12AM FEB 10TH)

Today, I feel like doing a giveaway.  I have gotten such positive feedback from readers and I feel truly blessed that so many people have given The Fine Line a chance!  To say thanks, I’m giving away a signed paperback copy of the book.  If you haven’t read it yet, check out the sample below!

WordPress is funny which means the rafflecopter widget does not show up in wordpress.

Click here–> a Rafflecopter giveaway to enter the giveaway.

The Fine Line

What’s it about?  The Fine line is a coming of age story about a girl with a jaded past, who has written off relationships for good.  Boys are fun, but she’s happy being single and independent, and is determined to keep it that way.  When she meets and forms an unexpected bond with Logan Tanner, an illegal street racer with his own trust issues, she begins to question everything she thought she knew about life, and love, and asks the question: Can love have a future?  Or is history destined to repeat itself?

~Click here to see The Fine Line on Goodreads
~Purchase Links:  AmazonB&NiBookstoreKOBOSmashwords
~Author links: FacebookTwitterGoodreads

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Prologue

Some people wear their hearts on their sleeves.  I learned a long time ago that preserving one’s heart means keeping it protected.  Sheltered.  My heart is hidden deep within the secure layers of my soul, where it rests easy with the knowledge that nothing can penetrate its everlasting impervious shell.

Twelve Years Ago

Yelling.  Always yelling.  The hardwood floor in my bedroom chilled my toes as I slid out of my bed to see what was going on.  I wouldn’t dare leave my room, though.  I knew better.  As I tip-toed to the bright crack in the door, something crashed to pieces, and I squeezed Mama Bear tight.

Is Mommy crying?

My hand found a place on the cool metal door knob as I peeked through the crack.  I brought Mama Bear up to my chin so she could see too.  Her soft, fuzzy fur tickled me.  Mommy sat on the floor with her back against the hallway wall, her head in her hands while Daddy stood tall above her.  Her shoulders lifted up and down as she wept.

No, Mommy, don’t cry!

“I want a divorce,” she whispered.

What was a divorce?  Whatever it was, Daddy didn’t seem too happy about it.  He crouched down so that his eyes were across from hers.  Fisting her t-shirt, he yanked her close to him.  With the other hand, he pointed his finger at her, jabbing her as he spoke.  His voice stayed quiet, and I couldn’t hear what he said, but I knew it was something scary.

The door knob made a noise as I accidentally let go of it, and both of their heads turned to look at me.  My eyes widened, and I gasped.  I ran back to bed as fast as I could, quickly covering myself in my blankie.  Oh no, I dropped Mama Bear!  My door creaked as it opened, and light came through the seams of my blankie.

“Olivia?” Daddy said softly.

I didn’t answer.  Mommy was always telling me to make smart choices.  I chose to stay perfectly still and not to breathe too loudly, but it wasn’t easy because my heart was pounding hard.  It was a smart choice, though, because after a few seconds, the door creaked closed. I was safe.  Mommy would be very proud of me.

I peered at the floor, searching for Mama Bear, but she was nowhere to be seen.  Daddy must’ve taken her.  Who’s gonna sleep with me?  I pulled my knees to my chest and held onto them tightly.  Mommy says I’m brave.  Brave girls don’t need silly toys.  Brave girls sleep by themselves.

Eight Years Ago

It’s been a year since Dad told me I wouldn’t be able to spend time at his house anymore.  He said he was leaving to get a new start.  At first, his emails came daily and postcards came weekly, but I haven’t gotten either for at least a month.  Mom says he’s moved on, with his new wife and baby, and that it’s the best thing for all of us.

I was glad to have Kevin.  He loved me and Mom.  Happiness didn’t even begin to describe how I felt when Mom told me he was moving in with us.  If he lived with us, it would mean I would get to see magic tricks and laugh at his stories every day.

Mom told me about the accident last week.  Kevin had gotten hit by a drunk driver.  I knew something was wrong when she dropped the phone on the floor and began sobbing.  I had seen her cry before—but never like that.

I stayed with Nana for five days after that call, and when I returned home, Mom took me into my room, sat me down on my bed, and broke the news.  The funeral service had been the prior day.  Mom thought it would be best if I didn’t attend because it would be too difficult for me.  I cried myself to sleep that night.  I couldn’t get the thought of Kevin, being buried deep in the ground, out of my mind.

The next morning, I thought a lot about the way things work, and I figured out that nothing’s forever.  Nothing.  I had to be strong.  Brave.  I hated being sad.  I hated crying.  I vowed to find a way to make sure I never felt this horrendous feeling ever again.

Three Years Ago 

I looked around our heated garage as Adam poured the amber liquid into our little glasses.   All the tool chests and auto supplies had been packed up and hauled out.  He filled his glass to the brim while mine was only filled a quarter of the way.  He said I couldn’t have a full glass because I was only fourteen.

Hanging out with Adam came naturally.  It was easy.  He was much younger than Mom, but I was under the misguided impression that they were in love, regardless of his age.

Normally, the whiskey we shared was in celebration of an accomplishment.  A new paint job, installing the new engine, fixing the interior.  I had spent most of my evenings and weekends for the last three years watching Adam restore his 1968 Pontiac GTO.  He bragged to people about how much I helped him, but really, I just watched him work and handed him tools as we talked.

Today, we toasted goodbye.  It would be the last time I’d ever see him.  My throat burned as the liquor flowed down it, but I welcomed the feeling.  It reminded me of good times.

“I’m gonna miss you, Sweetie,” he said with tears in his eyes.  “I asked her to marry me, you know.  She said no.”

Anger quickly flooded my system, washing away the heartbreak.  How could she say no?  It had taken me over two years to let my guard down around him.  Two years to break the vow that I had kept for so long and let myself feel again.  She was making him go away.  This was her fault.

I watched as Adam rolled his refurbished car down the driveway and out of my life.  Without thought, my body stormed into the house in search of my mother.  I found her staring blankly out the living room window.

“How could you say no?” I screamed.

“Livie, what are you talking about?”

“He told me, Mom!  He told me he asked you to marry him!”

Her shoulders sunk as she let out a breath.  Her expression turned angry.  “Did he tell you he was seeing another woman?  Did he tell you that he asked me to marry him only after I found out?”

My heart stopped.  My mind barely comprehended what my mother had just told me.  It couldn’t be true.  Adam loved us.  With regret in her eyes, she rushed toward me with open arms.

“No.”  I held out my hand.  “NO!”  Tears spilled out of my eyes as I ran to my bedroom, locked my door, and flopped belly down onto my bed, sobbing uncontrollably into my pillow.

Why does everyone I love have to leave? 

Never again.  I’m done.  This is the last time I will ever have this feeling.

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