By Suzanne Brockmann
Might a progressive used to operating wild win the center of a world-weary journalist?Liam Bartlett had approximately misplaced his existence in San Salustiano, and for 5 years the correspondent had performed his top to silence his ghosts. But whilst Marisala Bolivar arrived in Boston, all his stories returned—along with a white-hot starvation for the younger insurgent who'd hidden him and saved him alive! Marisala ached for Liam's contact, goodbye forbidden yet now hers to struggle for with a woman's fierce need. Could a love as soon as cast in hearth ultimately burn true?In this unforgettably sensual love tale, Suzanne Brockmann creates a portrait of 2 daredevil survivors, proven via sorrow and certain by way of future to heal each one other's wounds. A flame who beckoned him out of the darkness, she understood his ache as nobody ever could, yet may perhaps he soothe her hidden scars via supplying her his soul?
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Sample text
Or better yet, stop by my place at around nine? " "Thanks," Liam said, telling Marisala nothing. Marisala had to know. " Liam glanced at her, his eyes hidden behind his dark glasses. "She's a friend," he said. " "There," he said, stopping her right in the middle of the sidewalk. "You've just given me a perfect example of going too far. That was a question not to ask. " Lauren Stuart. Liam's "lady friend's" full name was Lauren Stuart. She sounded like a real New England WASP, tall and blonde and elegant—everything Marisala was not.
I mean, I didn't. Believe anything, really, I mean . " She took a deep breath and even managed to smile. "I guess I just thought it would be really special. " The look in his eyes was unreadable as he nodded. " Marisala nodded, pushing her chair out from the table. The puppy looked up at her expectantly, and she bent to scoop her up. " She tucked the extra sheets of newspaper under her arm. " He stood up too. "I've got some things to take care of downtown in the morning. " It was amazing. He was acting so casual and friendly, as if he hadn't just smashed all of her blazing hopes into tiny, unrecognizable pieces.
Liam lowered his voice. "If I want therapy, I'll find myself a doctor on my own. " She didn't even blink. "I thought it would help if you knew there was someone you could talk to. Someone who had actually been in the prison—" He changed the subject. Pointedly. "I'm sorry I wasn't awake to see you off this morning. " She gave Evita's floppy ears one more rub then straightened up. "I couldn't. I went into your room, but . . you looked so peaceful. " The picture from his dream—her body crumpled in the dirt of the San Salustiano prison—crashed into his mind, pushing aside the provocative image of her in his room, watching him as he lay asleep in his bed.