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Pressing the boundaries
of both the psyche and the heart, Sam and Holden embark on a dangerous
journey that will test the limits of love.
Sam Wintry’s life used
to be almost perfect. She was engaged to her childhood best friend and
high school sweetheart, Tyler Marks, planning an amazing cross-country
honeymoon during her college break. But after a hit-and-run leaves her
in ruin, she begins seeing Tyler’s fractured, ghostly presence, and her
family believes she’s losing her mind. Not until she completes their
journey, stopping along the way to scatter Tyler's remains, will Tyler
be able cross over. Only...is Sam ready for him to leave her?
the black sheep of the Marks' family, Holden Marks, returns to check on
Tyler's case, Sam convinces him to give her his brother's ashes.
Despite their shaky history, she needs him...plus, he owes it to Sam and
his brother. What she doesn’t count on is Holden’s relentlessness to go
on the trip.
On the road, Holden realizes just how unhinged Sam
has become. Dealing with her psychosis forces him to confront his dark
past, making it harder to keep secrets hidden that should remain buried.
Especially from Sam, the only woman he’s ever loved. And as Sam starts
to unravel the truth, she begins to question if the brother she's
unwillingly falling for again is in an even darker place than her.
My feet race across the root- covered path, and when I reach her, I swallow hard.
Rain water drips down her face, rolling over her full lips, and her black hair is slicked back.
Like she just got out of the shower. I try to keep my gaze from drifting lower, but dammit.
Her white shirt clings to her body, teasingly revealing the fact she’s either not wearing a bra,
or she’s wearing a really thin one.
I’m instantly sporting a semi. I give myself a mental punch to the gut, clearing my
thoughts. I don’t know how to start this. My mouth is dry, and if I had any words in my
empty head before, they’re long gone. Maybe I misread her paint—
Her arm snakes around my neck, pulling my shirt off my head, and I realize— like a
dumbass— I’m still holding it above me. Her other hand goes to my stomach, and I suck in a
sharp breath at the feel of her warm skin through the material. Her body presses against
me, and it’s so delicate, fragile. She’s shaking. I want to hold her tight. Feel every bit of her.
“What are we doing?” she asks, releasing a small, timid laugh.
I swallow again. “I don’t know . . . but whatever it is, I don’t want to stop.”
Heat blazes in her eyes, desire. And I try to remind myself that this is Sam. My next
door neighbor, and the girl I’ve known since she was in diapers. But she’s far more mature
than her years; she sees things clearer than anyone I’ve ever met— is more sultry than any
woman I’ve ever seen.
Shutting down my brain, I brush a wet lock of hair from her cheek. She gasps at my
touch and bites down on her lip, and it’s my undoing. Gripping her soaking shirt, I pull her to
me and press my lips to hers.
It’s soft and questioning, us trying to figure out our beat. It’s nervous and unsure, but
as her mouth parts to welcome me in, I dip my tongue inside the hollow of her mouth, taste
the sweetness of her. When she matches me, her tongue sliding over mine, mingling, heat
scorches the back of my throat. My pulse quickens as a tremor rocks me.
She shivers in my arms, whether from the cold or the kiss, I’m not sure. But all I want
to do is make her shiver more. And then warm her. I bend at the knees and grasp her thighs,
lifting her into my arms. Something primal is taking over— driving out any hesitation. She
latches her arms around my neck, locking her legs around my waist.
I’m moving us forward or backward . . . I don’t know. But I feel the tree bark against
my knuckles at some point, and I press Sam against it, her body molding to mine. Our kiss
becomes crushing and hungry, and I’m suddenly desperate, scared for it to end.
I’ve never opened myself up to anyone like this, especially a girl. I’ve made out with
them and other things. Hell, I’m a guy. But with Sam . . . I know I’m vulnerable now. I can
feel her reaching in and taking up residency in my soul.
It’s painful and pleasurable and scary as hell.
Thunder cracks above, the rain beats down, but we’re lost beneath a black dead
tree— feeling alive.
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From an early age, Trisha Wolfe dreamed up fantasy worlds and characters and was accused of talking to herself. Today, she lives in South Carolina with her family and writes full time, using her fantasy worlds as an excuse to continue talking to herself.