“It would be hard for me not to carry them out, Capo.”
She was a woman of frightening depth, capable of angelic kindness and unspeakable savagery. She’d kept me honest for a long time, now it was up to me to return the favor.
“I’ll save you from yourself, then.”
She caught herself mid-breath.
“Is that a yes?”
“If we stay here and rebuild this house and our lives around children you don’t know…will it make you happy?”
“To take care of them?”
“Will that make you happy?” I repeated.
“Yes.” Her voice cracked. I held my palms up in surrender.
“Then what else can we do?”
She blinked, and candlelit tears fell down her cheeks.
“Antonio.” One word. No more.
“Why are you crying?”
“I don’t know.”
I got up and kneeled at her feet, reaching over Simona to wipe my wife’s tears away.
“It’s going to be really hard,” she said.
“I inherited the house and everything in it. A bad roof. Cracked foundation. Two resourceful children. I have to take care of it. All of it.”
“Can your mother and sister come?”
“You don’t even know them.”
“It’s such a big house even…” She had to stop herself to catch her breath. I didn’t have a handkerchief or anything, so I sat next to her and wiped her sobs away with my sleeve. “…even…even with children in it.”
She broke down completely before I could object. Which, I had to admit, was fine.
I wasn’t going to deny her the family she’d always wanted.
I wasn’t going to deny her anything.
If you loved the Drazens, you'll love the Edge Series. Four intense, sexy books and a free prequel, all releasing in the three month window.
Get them HERE
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If I'm new to you and you want more kinky, hot sex with a touch of darkness and off-the-charts intensity, start with Submission HERE
About the Author
CD Reiss is a New York Times bestselling author. She still has to chop wood and carry water, which was buried in the fine print. Her lawyer is working it out with God but in the meantime, if you call and she doesn't pick up she's at the well hauling buckets.
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Born in New York City, she moved to Hollywood, California to get her master's degree in screenwriting from USC. In case you want to know, that went nowhere but it did give her a big enough ego to write novels.
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She's frequently referred to as the Shakespeare of Smut which is flattering but hasn't ever gotten her out of chopping that cord of wood.
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If you meet her in person, you should call her Christine.
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Text--> cdreiss to 77948 to get a notification whenever I have a new release!
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The Color of Love
Julie A. Richman
First meeting in summer camp as teens, cocky NYC doctor and sexy southern belle push each other's boundaries of love and acceptance, as they discover the true color of love.
All rights reserved.
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? 2018 Julie A. Richman
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Without limiting the rights under copyright(s) reserved above and below, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior permission of the copyright owner. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.
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The scanning, uploading, and distributing of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Brief passages may be quoted for review purposes if credit is given to the copyright holder. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Author’s Note (Please Read)
Hello Readers:
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Thank you for purchasing Cocktales and supporting the author community.
Following is the first four chapters of The Color of Love, a new work set for release in late 2018.
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This book is a saga that spans a fifteen-year period. The reason I’m mentioning this is because the beginning of The Color of Love is set when the H/h, Bray and Misty, first meet as teens in summer camp. Please note that this is not a YA book, although in the first four chapters, you will only see them as teens. The majority of the completed book will take place during their adult years.
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Soooo . . . enjoy getting started (a little early) on my upcoming release.
Stay Cocky and keep reading!
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Peace & Love, Julie A. Richman
The sky is blue
The lake is blue
We’re gonna turn the white team blue
What’s the color of Color War?
Blue, Blue, Blue
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~ Chant of the Blue Team
Color War
Camp Tonkawa
Summer of 2000
That Summer…
One
Bray
The first time I laid eyes on Misty Davis, I realized just how white I wasn’t. It was not merely the peachy glow of her sun-kissed skin or the natural highlights in her long blonde hair, it was something else. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
She was a new camper at Camp Tonkawa, and this girl was impossible not to notice. I’d been catching glimpses of her over these first few days of camp and now she was starting to invade my thoughts. Not a typical thing for me. I’d already learned two things about her. Her name was Misty she was from somewhere in the South.
Overhearing her talking to some fellow campers, I was totally amused by her slow Southern drawl. It was the only accent like it in the entire camp, which was all kids from the Northeast.
I wondered what this new girl was doing here in Maine. These clearly were not her stomping grounds. It was not only her speech and the way she accented her words, saying SEE-ment instead of cement or JEW-lie instead of July, it was what I’d observed of her mannerisms and the way she carried herself, that made her stand out. I’d never met another fifteen-year-old girl who possessed such natural grace. That was, unless, as I’d also witnessed over the past few days, she was on any kind of playing field. It didn’t matter if it was a soccer field, baseball diamond, or an archery range, the girl was a fierce competitor, kicking ass and taking no prisoners. She became so focused only on the win that her femininity transformed into an almost feral ferocity.
I was finally seeing her up close for the first time when our groups were in a co-ed Tug-of-War match. Positioned three back from the center knot, she was the second girl in the formation on the opposing team. Our eyes met before the ref even called for us to start, and they remained locked until my team took hers down and her entire line did a face plant into the sandy pit.
When she got up, anger flashed in her expressive blue eyes and stayed there as she dusted the sand from her shirt. I couldn’t help but smile at her, which unfortunately went unreturned, stinging my ego more than anything.
Over the next few hours, our groups kept crossing paths and I could feel her eyes on me, observing as if I were a new species that needed examination. I decided that she needed a closer look.
The girls from her bunk were all friends of mine from years past. A few had been former make-out partners, who’d been instrumental in helping me perfect the art of French kissing. And one had been more to me.