Kindle: 275 Pages
Published: June 23, 2014
Published by: Carina Press
Hard-edged rocker Graham Allen has it all. He’s flush with cash from playing bass in a band by night and restoring classic cars by day. And there are plenty of women willing to share his bed for a night, complication-free. Perfect, because if there’s anything he learned from his past, it was to never get attached—to anything. So when bartender Carly Sullivan flashes her innocent smile, Graham isn’t prepared for what happens next.
Never fall in love
Two rules, that’s all Graham has—never apologize and never fall in love. He knows Carly is everything he should avoid. Cheerful and sweet, she has “relationship” written all over her. But Graham can’t stay away from her probing questions and concerned blue eyes.
When Graham discovers Carly is hiding a crushing secret, he’s prepared to risk it all. Until in one single moment, everything changes and Graham’s past threatens to collide with his future. His life is crumbling down around him, and soon no apology in the world can save him.
He should’ve known to walk away.
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Sybil grew up in Northern California with her head in a book and her feet in the sand. She used to dream of becoming a painter but the heady scent of libraries with their shelves full of books about wistful summer days and first loves drew her into the world of storytelling. Her true literary love is the New Adult genre but really, any story about a love so desperately wrong and impossibly beautiful, makes her swoon.
Sybil now resides in Southern Florida and while she doesn't get to read as much as she likes, she still buries her toes in the sand. If she's not writing or fighting to contain the banana plantation in her backyard, you can find her spending time with her handsomely tattooed husband, her brilliantly practical son and a mischievous miniature boxer who stole her heart.
If I Had A Dollar
If I had a dollar for all the times I failed as a writer, I would be rich. I wouldn’t be writing this post because I would be lounging on my yacht with my loaded Kindle and some really hot crew chartering our course to Tropical Happy Awesomeness (yep, that’s a real place).
Alas, sadly, I don’t. So—sigh—no hot crew members for me. But. And it’s a big but, I totally wouldn’t have this—this post I’m writing. Or the near to my heart story that comes out June 23rd. Or the other manuscripts in my cue, or all the amazing people I’ve met along the way.
There are a lot of things I can say about writing, and about how many times you fail before you finally get something right. And I will tell you, I am surprised by all of them. But mostly I am surprised by the people you meet along the way. This isn’t a cut throat business, this isn’t a competitive professional sports team, this isn’t a water cooler gossip fest (well, okay maybe just a little bit of gossip). It’s a world of nice people who genuinely want to help you with any knowledge they can impart.
If I had a dollar for all the less than satisfactory jobs I’ve ever had, it wouldn’t get me that yacht, but it’d buy me a plane ticket to Tropical Happy Awesomeness. (It’s a real place, you know.) And when I got there? I’m pretty sure Tropical Happy Awesomeness would not have as many great people as the world of writing does.
So, I’m glad I don’t have a dollar for all the times I’ve failed at something in my life. I would much rather have the experiences and the friends I’ve met along the way. They say writing is a solitary existence, and it can be. (I so love to live in my own head!) But writing is a gift. A gift I would not appreciate or love as much as I do without all the failed attempts and perseverance. Because when you do finally succeed? And trust me on this, if you persevere you totally will, the victory is oh so sweet. So I will gladly trade all those dollars and that yacht and those hot crew men. You go on ahead to Tropical Happy Awesomeness without me. I’m just gonna stay here and write.
“Look at me, Carly.” I waited till she glanced up. She was so pretty, innocent and pretty, “No misunderstandings.”
“Misunderstandings?” Her voice was just above a whisper.
I didn’t blink. “I’m not boyfriend material.”
“I got that,” she whispered.
“Good.” I felt like an ass. No, scratch that, I was an ass, a total classless prick. It was my excuse for saying what I said next. “Wanna get naked?”
I trailed my fingers down her cheek. “I wanted to kiss you this morning.”
She didn’t flinch. “I know.”
I threaded my hand up the back of her neck. “You pulled away from me.”
I twisted my fingers into her hair. “I still want to kiss you.”
Turning her face, she exposed the smooth skin of her neck. “Please, don’t.”
“Why?” Jesus, she was beautiful.
“You scare me.”
Inhaling, I stilled. “Maybe you scare me, Carly Sullivan.” I wanted to take the words back as soon as I said them.
“Thank you, Mr. Allen.”
“Why do you do that?” I asked before I could sensor myself.
“Call me by my last name?”
She stopped walking and looked at me. “It bothers you?”
I tried to think through the haze of alcohol. I wasn’t going to tell her the truth, so I chose the only other arsenal I had. I took a step toward her and bent my knees slightly so I was closer to her eye level. “What’s my name?” My voice was low and quiet.
“Graham?” she asked, unsure.
“Say it again.”
“Again.” I leaned closer.
“Graham,” she whispered.
“I like to hear my name cross your lips.”
Fastening my helmet, my fingers fumbled and suddenly Carly was there.
“Graham, please don’t drive.” Big, fake, sad doe eyes, she looked at me like she gave a shit but I knew better.
“What the fuck do you care?” I was sick of women pretending they cared. They didn’t. They wanted a piece of me because I was in a band or because I had fucking money.
“Please, get off the bike,” she begged.
I ripped the helmet off and turned on her. “You want me off the bike?” I threatened.
She jerked back a foot.
“Off the fucking bike, huh?” I swung my leg over and grabbed her arm. “Why?” I barked.
She stumbled back and I followed.
“You wanna finish what you started?” Seething mad, I took another step toward her.
“Stop.” She quivered.“I’m not the one doing anything. I didn’t crawl in your bed half naked and tell you not to touch me. I’m not the one who smiles like I won the fucking lottery every time I see you. So what exactly am I supposed to stop doing, Carly