Bowie's story, BREAKING HEARTS is live. And I think you'll love reading it as much as I loved writing it. He Is sooooo sexy. Bowie has always been the Casanova of the team. The serial dater, who never let a woman close to his heart. Now, we get to see why he is how he is. And there are a few hints about the next book sprinkled in, too.
HERE'S AN EXCERPT TO WET YOUR APPETITE:
There was nothing worse than running into one of the women he’d dated and not being able to remember her name. He hated the look of disappointment and hurt they shot him when he slipped up and couldn’t remember where he met them or the small details of their dates. It made him feel guilty and defensive, which pissed him off. Not at them, but at himself.
One woman blended into the next between deployments. He hadn’t slept with them all…not that he could ever convince his teammates that he hadn’t. Their eagerness to believe in his legend was a thorn in his side at times.
So what if he enjoyed women? He was a red-blooded, heterosexual male. What did they expect?
He was getting all worked up, and the woman in question had yet to turn around so he could get a look at her.
She might not be one of the many. But there was something distinctly familiar about her. The way she stood, the perky way her ass filled out her black slacks—the way her sun-streaked, light brown hair hung between her shoulder blades with just enough curl to look like a neat row of upside down question marks—niggled at the edge of his brain like a word that just wouldn’t come.
The bank teller at the window beckoned for her to step forward. Since he was standing four people behind her, he couldn’t hear her voice or what was said, but the way her back and shoulders stiffened didn’t bode well.
“I want to speak with the bank manager.”
He heard that clearly, but with an added note of stress in her voice, it didn’t help. But she was just so damned familiar.
The teller stepped to the phone. In just a few seconds a tall, well-dressed, balding man appeared. “Please come into my office, Mrs. Harper.”
Mrs. Harper. No, he’d never dated a married woman. Maybe she got married after they dated. Good. If she was already hitched, she wouldn’t be interested in renewing their acquaintance. Relief relaxed the muscles in his neck and shoulders.
Two minutes later the young, attractive brunette teller beckoned to him. “I’m so sorry we’re having trouble with our drive-through, Mr. Rivera.” She smiled at him.
Mister instead of Lieutenant sounded strange. “No problem.” He laid the two pieces of paper he held on the counter. “I just need to cash these two checks.”
“I’ll take care of that right now.”
She was back in less than a minute with the money, counting the bills out for him, placing them in the envelope and sliding it across to him. When she tapped the top, he noticed the writing on the flap and picked it up. “Call me. I’d like to get to know you,” was written on it with a number and the name Melissa.
He smiled. “I’m only on leave for a few days, and I’m on my way out of town, but maybe when I get back…” He left it hanging.
Her smile tipped over into a grin. “I’ll be here.”
He strode to the exit and pushed through the first door. Sensing someone behind him, he paused to hold the door open for the woman.
Recognition zapped him like a bolt of lightning.
Alayna Wieland. He never thought to see her again. Never thought he’d want to see her again. He automatically reached for her, and his palm skimmed her shoulder as, head down, she rushed past him and hit the exterior door with both hands. He caught it as it swung back and took two paces out to follow her. She paused at the top of the sidewalk, her body stiff, her hands fisted. Things had obviously not gone well in the bank.
She turned, and shock bolted across her face, her lips parted, eyes wide, and her brows shot up. “Bowie…” She sounded as breathless as he felt.
Ten years had passed since he last saw her, but she hadn’t changed much. Her hair still lay wavy and thick across her shoulders, her pale green eyes looked bright as peridots. The need to touch her rose, hungry and insistent. He fisted his hands at his sides to fight the urge. Moments ticked by as they stared at each other.
A kaleidoscope of memories raced through his mind. Alayna naked beneath him, her body moving in response to his. Alayna basking in the sun, her skin a beautiful gold against his duskier tone. Holding her as close as another layer of skin while they slow danced on the dock at the pond on her father’s ranch. Lying together on an air mattress in the bed of his rusty truck and talking about their future. Her tearstained face when their families clashed and she’d broken it off.
She drew a deep breath. “Bowie…” She seemed at a loss about what to say. “I-I need to go and pick up my children.”
“Children.” Of course, she had moved on with her life. Just as he had. “How many?”
“I have three. All girls. Six, four, and two.”
At least she hadn’t moved on as soon as he was gone. “That’s incredible. You always said you wanted a big family.” Those could have been his children. Emotion churned in his belly.
“Bowie…” There was a catch in her voice and a look of uncertainty in her eyes. “You’re okay?” She seemed distressed.
Right now he wasn’t so sure. “I’m in the Navy. Six years. A Lieutenant.” He looked her directly in the eyes. “No wife, no kids.” She left him emotionally stranded, but he’d survived. Thank God for his rage. It kept him motivated for a year, and by then he stayed focused because he had to. Some of the pain bubbled up inside him now. Ten years, and he still hadn’t gotten over it.
“That’s…that’s good. Wonderful.”
He raised a brow.
“It suits you. You’re fit and tan, and you have the air of someone who’s extremely focused.”
He ducked his head. “I learned that long before I enlisted.” A note of bitterness came through he couldn’t control. He cleared his throat. “I won’t keep you. You have kids to pick up, and I have friends waiting for me.” Not true. Doc bailed at the last minute due to a scheduling snafu on post. And the rest were deployed.
Cut loose from his team, he felt at sea while he waited for reassignment. And working BUD/S training at Coronado was getting old.
He nodded. “Goodbye, Alayna.”
She looked stricken at his abrupt tone, but murmured, “’Bye.”
Though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he brushed past her and walked away.
Alayna followed Bowie’s progress as he strode down the sidewalk to his car. He was still angry. And she didn’t have the energy to defend herself. Didn’t have a clue how she’d defend herself. She purposely hurt him to keep him safe, but at this point he probably wouldn’t care why she broke things off with him. He’d moved on with his life.
She had tried to move on too, but failed miserably. Three children and a broken marriage later, she was right back where she was after graduating from high school. Alone, broke, and still longing for something she lost ten years ago.
Would she have contacted Bowie if she’d known he lived here? Probably. She wouldn’t have been able to resist. But she’d done enough damage ten years ago. Her family did enough damage to them both. Damage she had plenty of time to regret. Ten years of grief, regret and longing. She made so many mistakes, and never figured out a way to fight her father and protect Bowie. Her father had the law on his side, and Bowie’s life would have been over if she hadn’t walked away from him.
Even that hadn’t saved her from one of the most painful episodes of her life. Seeing him brought it all rushing back.
She glanced at him as he paused next to his car. He was still gorgeous. Even more gorgeous than in high school, which she never would have believed possible.
He was older, of course, and more muscular, his shoulders broader. It was hard not to stare at him and just drink him in. The well-defined muscles were delineated by the gray T-shirt hugging every one of them. He still had those compelling, chocolate brown eyes with a striking rim of gold around the iris, and a manly face that could cause angels to weep. But he hadn’t smiled, so she didn’t get to see those dimples.
She was close to weeping as she trudged down the sidewalk to her car.
She couldn’t believe the police had frozen her bank account because of an investigation into her ex-husband’s real estate dealings, dealings she never had any part in.
How she was supposed to pay her bills and feed her girls? She needed to go to the police station and talk to someone. If she couldn’t provide a home for her children, even if it was because of something Aaron did, he’d go to court to take the girls away from her. He didn’t want them, of course. He just wanted her to suffer.
She hit the key fob, unlocked her car, and reached for the door handle. Her attention was drawn back to Bowie. She’d probably never see him again. He turned and looked toward her over the tops of the cars.
For a moment their eyes met. Her heart rose up to choke her. She’d loved him since she was fifteen. Wanted to marry him, have his children. They had such plans for after graduation—college, a home, a family. “I’m sorry.” The words came out a whisper.
An engine revved behind her, and gravel shot across the asphalt when the vehicle braked. Alayna turned and eyed the van blocking her car. The side door opened, and two men leaped out, their faces covered by stocking masks. When they both rushed toward her, she stumbled back and turned to run.
The two men swooped down on her and grabbed her arms. She screamed, twisted and turned in their grasp, then attempted to dig in her heels. They lifted her off her feet. She squirmed and kicked, hitting the calf of the guy on her right. He stumbled.
Another man leapt from the side, slid across the trunk of her car, and hit the attacker on her left mid-body. They all went down sideways, hard. The only thing that saved her from being hurt was the cushion provided by the guy on her right. She planted an elbow in his gut as she struggled to jerk away and get up.
Bowie rolled onto his knees. The kidnapper beneath him struck out, hitting him in the jaw and rocking his head back. Bowie punched the guy in the face, reared up, and grabbed her arm, his fingers digging in as the man on her right held onto her arm at the same time. She was a rag doll between the two men, their fingers bruising her. She kicked the guy at her feet in the balls, and her skin burned as she was wrenched from his grip. Though he was groaning, he grabbed her ankle, and she pulled her foot free, losing a shoe, and scrambled to get her legs moving.
Bowie half-dragged, half-carried her away from the van and the men. The two kidnappers ran after them toward the bank until a security guard rushed out the front door, his weapon drawn.
The two turned tail and ran to the van, jumped inside, and the vehicle peeled off and shot away.
Alayna bent at the waist and braced a hand on one knee to catch her breath. There’d been little time to feel scared until now. Now she was shaking with adrenaline and shock. All the possibilities raced through her head. White slavery, rape, murder. Dear God.
“Alayna.” Bowie’s voice dragged her thoughts away from what could have happened and back to what was. “You okay?”
“Yes.” She straightened, and the world tilted, going grayish-black for a moment, then righted itself. Bowie grabbed her elbow to steady her until everything came back into focus.
The security guard looked like a boy scout with a gun. “Come inside the building, ma’am, until the police get here. I’ve already called them.”
“I have to pick up my children.”
“Is there someone you can call, Alayna?” Bowie asked.
“No.” Who had time to make friends when you worked fifty hours a week and cared for three children? “They’re at my ex-husband’s house, and if I’m five minutes late…” He didn’t need to hear about the state of her relationship with her ex. Why would he care? After what she’d done to him, after what her father planned to do, and her brother had done, he’d probably think she deserved whatever she got.
“Call him.” He handed her his phone. “I think an attempted kidnapping is a good enough reason for being late.”
Her hands shook as she trailed a finger across the screen to open it and dialed the number. The phone rang several times, and no one answered. “They must be outside in the backyard.” Which didn’t ease her anxiety. She hoped someone was out watching the children. The pool was right there, just waiting for an accident to happen. And Rosa couldn’t swim without her floaties.
“I’ll call Aaron’s cell.” She’d hear about that later, too. She dialed the number. The muscles in her shoulders and back tightened as she braced to defend herself. The phone went to voice mail after only three rings. If Aaron was playing at his passive-aggressive bullshit, she’d lose it when she saw him. She’d lose it even worse if something happened to her children while they were at his house.
“No one’s answering.”
“They’re probably outside grilling burgers. As soon as the police have taken your statement, you can go get them.”
If only he knew. It was never that easy.
If you're interested in Breaking Hearts, here's the blurb and the links:
Running into Bowie Rivera is the last thing Alayna Wieland expects. She searched for him for years, then tried to move on with her life, but never recovered from losing him. And now she has too much baggage to deserve another chance.
Alayna’s ex-husband embezzled millions from not one, but several criminal organizations, telling them Alayna has the info they need to recover the money. With her and her young daughters in the crosshairs, Bowie steps in to keep them safe.
The cops decide to use her and the children as bait to capture her ex. But her ex has plans...plans that may cost them the second chance both she and Bowie long for...and much, much more.
B & N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/breaking-hearts-teresa-j-reasor/1128023953?ean=2940155147602
Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/2Gk18Zq
I thought I'd remind you of my latest Paranormal Romance, DEEP WITHIN THE STONE (Book 2 of the Superstition Series) If you like a book that makes you laugh, cry, and howl at the moon in frustration, Deep Within the Stone is the one for you. My hero, though he's a gargoyle, is sexy and a true ALPHA. He may be a monster, but he's all man, too. The story is a Beauty and the Beast Tale for adults.
HERE'S AN EXCERPT:
Finn studied the sleeping woman while he waited for the sun to slip behind the mountains, and for night to fall. Her features, relaxed in slumber, were refined and delicate. Just a hint of pink tinged her cheekbones, and her brows formed a graceful arch. He studied the roundness of her chin, the fullness of her parted lips, and a sharp, poignant hunger to taste her lips rose in him.
If she wakened to see his ugly face, alive and as monstrous in the flesh as he was in stone, it would surely frighten her to death.
When her eyes opened, thick brown lashes fluttered as she blinked, then her attention focused on him. Would she recognize the change coming over him? He felt the magic awaken and begin dragging at him, trying to tear him out of the stone.
She swung her legs over the side of the lounge chair, turned away, and stood, stretching. She climbed the steps and went inside just as the sun sank deep behind the mountains.
Butterbean rubbed against Finn’s legs, arched his back, and meowed, begging to be picked up. Finn scooped him into his arms, and the cat bumped its head against his jaw. If nothing else had improved in his life, at least he had earned the cat’s affection.
Four large wolves loped around the side of the house, their tongues lolling out. They came as far as the edge of the woods last night and waited for him, and tonight they were growing bolder.
Butterbean began to growl deep in his throat, the hair rising on his back, his tail puffing out. The youngest of the wolves whined, intent on the cat.
Using his arm as a springboard, Butterbean leaped free of Finn’s grasp, landed on the nearby table, jumped to the ground, and, running for all he was worth, sprinted across the yard. One of the wolves broke from the pack in pursuit, his haunches bunching as he took great leaps toward the cat.
Finn roared, “Nay.” He ran forward and took to the sky. The easy flap of his wings seemed slow and laborious, but pushed him forward. He bore down on the pair. The wolf edged closer, his jaws open.
Finn grasped the feline by the back of the neck and swung him up into his arms. The wolf leapt to snatch Butterbean from his grasp, missing the cat’s tail by a thumb’s width. The cat’s claws dug deep into Finn’s shoulder, and his hisses and growling cries of panic pierced the air.
The porch light came on, and Genevieve rushed out onto the patio, facing off with the other three wolves with a wooden club of some kind. Finn’s roar of warning startled Butterbean, and his claws dug deeper, slashing down his shoulder and stomach. If he dropped the cat now, it might be injured, so he hung onto the animal as gently as possible and soared back toward the house.
When Finn landed a short distance from her, Genevieve staggered back toward the door, dropping the club, which thudded against the concrete and bounced on the hard surface, setting up a hollow clatter.
His deep-chested roar displaced the air and left it shimmering with sound as he landed between her and the wolves.
“Begone! You are frightening my mistress.”
The wolves turned and fled toward the woods, the fourth wolf racing to join them.
Butterbean’s back claws dug as deep into his stomach as the foreclaws had his shoulder. The scent of his own blood, coppery and rich, wafted to him. Until the night before, it had been a long time since he suffered any kind of injury, and these scratches nipped and stung with equal vigor, just as the bullet nick had the night before.
He soothed the cat with gentle strokes while he unhooked its claws from his skin.
“You aren’t going to hurt my cat, are you?” Genevieve’s voice sounded breathy and weak, her breathing ragged, as she retreated toward what she called the studio.
Strong emotion clamped a hand around Finn’s throat, and his eyes glazed with tears. He blinked to clear his vision. “Nay. I wouldna repay his affection by harming him.” He moved gingerly to turn so his nakedness would not further distress her. In the dim light, her face glowed, pale and featureless. Try as he might, he could not read her expression. “I mean you no harm either, mistress.”
Silence reigned between them for several seconds.
“Oh, God. This can’t be happening. I’m either hallucinating or dreaming.” Her voice climbed to a higher pitch.
He kept his tone even, though he couldn’t control the rough, gravelly timbre of his voice. “I have oft thought the same, living the life of this creature.”
She half fell, half sank onto the edge of the patio, as though the strength had left her limbs.
“Ye dinna have t’fear me. I will leave if it is what ye wish.”
Her voice was stronger when she asked, “Can you go?”
His hope fell as quickly as it had risen, hollowing his belly.
“I mean…can you permanently leave the base you perch on?”
“No. I have tried, but I am always called back to it.”
“’Tis part of the magic that created me.” He fell silent for a moment. Surely, being a sculptor, she would understand and wish to protect the stone gargoyle, even if she wished to be free of the live one? “Without a guardian’s protection, while I am stone I am most vulnerable. I could be hammered into pieces. My greatest fear is t’come alive once the damage is done and be unable to die.”
She leaned forward to brace her elbows on her knees and covered her face with both hands. When she finally dropped them, and used the hem of her shirt to wipe her face, he realized she was crying.
“Aye. Butterbean was a wee bit frightened and dug his claws in.” He continued to stroke him. “He’s calming now.”
He started toward her, but thought better of it, and bent to set the cat on its feet. Butterbean meandered over to Genevieve and rubbed against her in a bid to be picked up. She cuddled him close.
“Thank you for saving him.”
“You’re welcome. ’Tis instinct for wolves to chase anythin’ that runs from them. Butterbean has been generous with his affection, and I would have been distressed had he been harmed.” He would have a talk with the pack and encourage them to keep their distance in the future.
“Are you friends with them?”
“They have shared their food with me.”
Genevieve pushed awkwardly to her feet, still clutching the cat. “I’ll get you some disinfectant to clean those scratches.”
She was not screaming or beside herself with terror. But once she was locked inside the house, would she call the men who were here last night? Would they come back to kill or imprison him?
Could their modern weapons do what swords, knives, and arrows were unable to do in years past? The bullet nick on his arm had healed as soon as he turned to stone, but had bled badly beforehand.
He looked to the west where the wolves had disappeared into the forest. He wasn’t a member of their pack. They would not offer him protection, because it would put them at risk.
He had no pack, or flock, or clan to call on. He had outlived his family, his son, everyone in his clan. What great loss would it be if they killed him? Who would mourn his passing?
HERE'S THE BLURB:
Like Michelangelo, gifted sculptor Genevieve Warren believes her purpose is to set free the beings she can sense trapped inside the stone she carves. But she’s never had a sculpture speak to her like the rare 14th century gargoyle left out in the elements to crumble in a castle garden. Because of Scottish antiquity law, she can’t buy him, but she leases him and has him shipped home. However, she’s left to wonder why his owners are so eager to get rid of part of their history.
Finlay MacLeod has spent centuries as a monster. Stone by day and beast at night, he craves an escape from the endless loneliness of his existence. When Genevieve cares for the stone sculpture as though he’s real, he hopes he’s found someone who will care for the monster imprisoned inside it, too… and help him end his suffering. But first he must reveal to her he’s alive.
Genevieve becomes aware there are mystical things afoot when she’s told dark magic surrounds the sculpture she’s imported. The reality of what she’s welcomed into her life is more fantastic and compelling than anything she could have imagined.
But there’s more than one kind of monster prowling the hills and valleys of Superstition. One has decided that only Genevieve can feed his many hungers. He’s watching, waiting, and moving closer every moment.
B & N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/deep-within-the-stone-teresa-j-reasor/1127095745?ean=2940154547915
Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/2GnS9q7
Amazon Canada: https://amzn.to/2uBLXJG
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I hope you enjoyed the excerpts from my books! And I hope you're as excited about my new release as I am.