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I would like to dedicate this book to the alphabet, for those twenty-six letters have changed my life. Within those twenty-six letters I have found myself, and now I live my dream. Next time you say the alphabet, remember its power. I do every day.
“Holy fuck . . . he’s hot,” Marley whispers.
“Don’t speak,” I whisper. “Can I whistle?” Marley whispers as she looks him up and down.
Claire Anderson. Beautiful, smart, and proud.
She is the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in a long time,
“He would want you to be living life to the fullest . . . for both of you.”
“He would want you to be happy and cared for . . . loved.”
Live while you can.”
“He’s still with you. He will always be with you. Trust him to watch over you. You need to let him go, Claire.”
The sun’s reminder of what I have lost. I hate my hand without his ring. I hate my life without his love.
He’s dead enough that I’m lonely . . . but alive enough that I can’t fathom moving on.
“I’m a porn actress. You may have seen my latest, Anal Mistress with Johnny Rocket Cock.”
My horrified eyes meet his. “Sit back down.” “I . . .” I take another step toward the exit. “Claire,” he warns. I glance around at the 120 pairs of eyes fixed firmly on me and then back up at him. “I said sit. Back. Down.”
Me . . . I just want to punch him in his pretty-boy face.
“I always get what I want.” He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “And what I want is you.”
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers as he kisses me. “So fucking beautiful.”
“Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”
“You shouldn’t feel so fucking good. That never happens to me.”
“You really are a very good-looking man, Mr. Miles.”
“Kiss me,” he breathes. “I need you to kiss me.”
“Open your eyes,” he commands. I drag them open. “Kiss me,” he whispers. “Tris,” I whisper, close to the edge of insanity. “It’s all right, baby.” He pushes the hair back from my forehead. “I’ve got you.”
“You only get one life. So you need to grab it with both hands.”
I swipe my key and walk into my room and frown. A huge bunch of red roses sits on the table, a small white card carefully pinned on the red ribbon. ANDERSON My heart races as I read—it’s from him. I nervously open the card. WE HAVE UNFINISHED BUSINESS. COME TO PARIS FOR THE WEEKEND. xoxoxox
“Come to Paris. Spend the weekend with me.”
“Nobody here has what I want.” I bite my lip as I listen to him. “You have what I want, Claire.”
But there’s something about him that makes me want more.
To be honest, I’m kind of proud that I’m doing something for myself for once. This is so unlike me.
“Nous devons obtenir une réponse à ce sujet puis-je avancer a ce sujet cette semaine,”
“Malade, je vais vous envoyer un message dans la matinée. Je vais avoir besoin du rapport d’ici lundi s’il vous plait,”
“Oui, s’il vous plait,”
“Oui, oui, nous en parlerons lundi. Je dois y aller. Au revoir,” he replies.
“Be a good boy, and you might get what you want.” He smiles darkly. “Or be a bad boy, and take it anyway.”
Claire Anderson is fucking hilarious.
She has no idea how fucking sexy she is. It’s the weirdest thing—she’s everything that I’ve never found attractive before.
“And what did you like about me?” “Well.” She falls serious. “I wanted to turn you.” “Turn me.” I frown as I take a big gulp of my drink. “Into what?” “A motherfucker.”
I hold her face and kiss her. I completely lose focus on where we are, and my eyes close in pleasure. Oh, this woman . . . she makes me forget everything and everyone. When I open my eyes again, I see her smiling dreamily up at me.
this woman fries my brain.
When I’m holding her in my arms like this, intimacy is running between us like a river, and just for a moment . . . She is mine.
“What was your favorite thing you saw today?” He changes the subject. “Honestly?” “Of course.” “It was you.” Our eyes lock. “You were the most beautiful thing I saw today, Tristan Miles.”
“The other women would all pale to your beauty.” I smirk at his ridiculous statement.
“I don’t remember if I dated any beautiful women.” I frown. “Because,” he whispers as his eyes drop to my lips, “at this moment, all I can think about . . . is you.”
Tristan Miles is beautiful, smart, and witty, and he makes me laugh, which is not an easy feat, and that’s just on top of the amazing sex. But more than that, he makes me feel like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. Never once, not even for a second, did I feel insecure about my body. He constantly had his arm around me or was holding my hand, kissing me. Listening to everything I said and giving me great conversation. I think we talked the entire weekend; never once did it feel forced or uncomfortable.
“I’m . . . not boyfriend material?” he whispers. “I’m great fucking boyfriend material, Claire.”
“Guess what, Anderson?” he whispers. “What?” I smile. “We’re not over . . . till . . . I say we’re over.”
“Whose jocks are these that I found in your suitcase?” he yells as he spins Tristan’s briefs on his finger. My eyes widen. Oh shit. “Yes, Mom. Who left their damn underwear in your suitcase, and what exactly were you doing in fucking France?”
Who is he?” he yells. “I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.”
she’s breeding serial killers here.
“What’s your name?” I ask. “Your worst nightmare,” he whispers darkly in a monster voice.
Get out . . . get out . . . get out of the fucking house.
“Only to have that crazy motherfucking kid jump on me and try to shove my own underpants in my mouth.” Jameson tips his head back and laughs out loud. “There’s more,” I stammer. “That’s not even the worst part.” Jameson is laughing hard now. “They take me inside. She sends that child to his room, and then she goes to get ice, and then another kid comes out.” I picture his face, and my eyes widen. “This kid . . . is fucking evil, man, I’m telling you.”
