Waking up

She stretched her body in bed and rolled over to the opposite side, gliding her hand over his pillow. Breathing his scent in. Fantasizing about the sleeping pose she would have found him in if he were home, and how he would have wiggled his ass into her lap to be the little spoon. 

She closed her eyes and clutched onto the pillow, imagining hugging his firm body. She smiled, hearing his morning compliments. She bit her lip, feeling his mouth on her. She moaned, smelling his breakfast surprises.

It had only been a few days and there would only be a few more before she would be with him, but she missed him immensely. She wanted to be with him every waking hour, sleep next to him every single night.

She took her phone and sent him a photo of blowing him a kiss. “I love you,” she wrote under it.

Can I Tell You A Secret?

She had excused herself to go to the restroom, needing a break. She let the cool water run over her fingers, over her manicured hands, wetting her bracelets and watch, as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. She rolled her neck, rolled her shoulders, and sighed.

“Why aren’t you at home? In PJs, under a blanket, surrounded by food? Dumbass.”

Her parents had made her come here, on this damn date, after this damn tiring week, and she wasted her damn evening here. She blamed herself for going along with it. She should have said no, switched off her phone and let her parents get over it. She should have. But she never did because she knew this was the easiest option. Saying no, she wouldn’t hear the end of it.

He’s an important client. The son of a close friend. You need to do this for our family, her dad said at her. Before gifting her something to make it better. We all have a role to play.

She rolled her eyes at the never-ending memories.

Use your charm and appearance for the good of our business. Your business, her mom would add. Always supporting her husband, never her daughter.

She was an educated, successful, strong woman with killer instincts and didn’t care about her killer looks. If anything, she saw them as a hindrance. A way for anyone to excuse them not taking her seriously. But that was something they all regretted later. She was the strongest advantage in their family business. Not that anyone ever admitted it.

And usually she could ignore it, but on a day like this…it was hard.

She closed the tap and fixed her makeup to buy herself some more time before she had to go back. To that smug bastard that kept looking around to see who saw them together. To the prick she had to warn twice to get his hand off her.

She swallowed the bitter taste of being pimped out by her parents. Again.

She narrowed her eyes at herself. “Let me tell you a secret. I could take my father’s company and make it even greater. Unmatched. Without me, he would crumble.” And he knew it. But would never admit it out loud.

“I don’t need this crap.” She pushed herself away from the basin. Let my parents work their charm. I’m out.

She could still salvage this evening—opening a bottle of wine in the sanctuary of her home, some music playing, catching up on her favorite show. Being alone.

She dug her high heels into the ground and opened the door to walk to her table, make an excuse—believable or not, she didn’t really care—and get the hell out of here.

She made the first step into the hall and ran straight into a wide, toned chest with a lingering fragrance that she knew well. Too well. She scrunched her nose, looking up. “Tobias,” she cooed, “Never a pleasure.”

He leaned closer. “That’s not how a remember it.” His voice was thick and smoky. Seductive.

“You’re welcome.” She moved past him.

His long fingers wrapped around her elbow, stopping her gently. “Don’t tell me Kemdon over there is waiting for you.”

“Not your business.” And not mine for long either. She pulled her arm back and walked away, feeling his gaze on her but not turning back.

She came up with an excuse, grabbed her things and left before Matthew Kemdon could object or even react.

She stepped out of the restaurant, putting on her coat while walking. She tied it tightly around her body, shuddering at the fall barring its teeth. A second later a car pulled up and the door opened. She didn’t need to lean down to see who it was. She knew it. Her body knew it.

That wolfish grin spread on his handsome face. “Come on. Let me give you a ride. You’ll freeze. I know how you hate cold.”

“What would you know about warming up a woman? You’re made of ice.”

“That’s what your suitors say about you.”

“That’s what rejected, bitter and too-full-of-themselves suitors say about me.”

He chuckled. “Please, let me drive you home. You’d be doing me a favor. I need some of that special wine you hide in your stash.”

She got into the car and slammed the door. Even a ride with Tobias would be better than waiting for a cab in this cold. “Mighty presumptuous of you. Thinking you’re making it up.”

That grin of his was on full display. “I wouldn’t dare being presumptuous when it comes to you, Kyle.”

Neon Lights

I’ve been trying to get into the rhythm of writing and editing I had before shit hit the fan (btw, that is a disgusting image). And I haven’t been entirely successful buuuuut I am finally getting close to finishing the first round of editing.

I wanted to share a little sneaky excerpt but I’m omitting the names and I’m not telling where in the story it fits so that if you do decide to delight me with reading the book once it comes out, I won’t spoil a single detail about it to you. Let me know what you think!

They injected fear into my blood and I felt it coursing through me. Surrounded by darkness and muffled street sounds, I stared at the ceiling, my body willing me to close my eyes, my mind too wired to oblige. In flashes, I went through my relationship with him, checking for feelings.

They were right. I was attached. I couldn’t imagine a good day where I wouldn’t start or finish the day without talking to him, and a bad day would be turned into worse if I didn’t get to hear or see him.

How had this happened? When?

I didn’t need this, I didn’t want it. I had barely ended my relationship, my damn marriage, had yet to deal with it all and process it, finalize it. My heart was in bandages, my head in shambles. How did I not see this coming? Why did it take my younger brothers, who had been avoiding any actual feelings like the bubonic plague, to point it out for me? And now that they had pointed it out for me, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was right in front of me, staring me down in obnoxious neon lights.

I had feelings for him. I had freaking feelings for him.

My heart raced, my hair stuck to the back of my neck and forehead, my stomach felt like it was attacked by the meanest, spiciest curry. Panic swallowed my whole body.

I had to put a stop to it. I wasn’t in it too deeply; I could reverse the effects. I could. I would.

I made a mental list of what I needed to change. At the top of it was putting a stop to the daily communication between us. I had to detach myself from him and focus on me, myself, and I. No feelings, no romance was good for me right now. Any strings attached had to be cut with a chainsaw.


It was a glorious sunny day. The kind that shone on all your problems and made them go away. Not hers though. She lied on the couch, covered with two blankets, surrounded by a heap of things she had needed but didn’t care to put away. The mess around her mirrored the mess inside her.

She stopped picking up the phone and returning any messages and emails. What more was there to say? What could anyone say to her to make her feel better? To take some pain away? And she didn’t want to hear the sigh they all made when she gave the same recycled answer to the same questions. How are you? How are you feeling?

How was she supposed to feel? A month ago a freak accident where no one was to blame took her husband. Her best friend. The person she had been so used to having around her that she kept expecting to see him sitting at the dining table, working on his laptop.

If she managed to sleep semi-soundly, there was a blissful moment in the morning when she thought that she would find her husband next to her in bed. But that was so short. And so painful when the realization hit. Never again. Never again would that happen.

Everyone around her meant well. Checking in, making sure she ate, offering advice. But she didn’t care. All she cared about was that he was gone. And he wasn’t coming home. No more plans, no more Scrabble tournaments and pillow fights, no more kisses and hugs. Even his shirts lost his smell.

Her sister told her she had to go through the stages of grief and she would somehow heal. It felt like her process only had one stage…emptiness. She didn’t know where to turn, where to go, how to live. How to find the desire to do all that?

WWW Thursday

I know this is usually done on Wednesday but nothing about 2020 is making me stay in my routine. I swear on most days I don’t know what day it actually is. August was another month where I read more and wrote less. My WIP is waiting for me (not so patiently) to edit and I do hope I’ll manage to finish the first round of editing in September. What do you want to do in September?

The first finished book in September is Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine. I... I almost feel like I don't want to say a single thing because you need to experience it yourself. I loved it. Loved the story, the characters, the ending.

The first finished book in September is Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine. I… I almost feel like I don’t want to say a single thing because you need to experience it yourself. I loved it. Loved the story, the characters, the ending. Go get it!

Buy The Wives (Devil Wears Prada 3) Book Online at Low Prices in India | The  Wives (Devil Wears Prada 3) Reviews & Ratings - Amazon.in

I am currently reading The Wives.

The Deal | Elle Kennedy

My next read is going to be The Deal. I read The Chase in July and loved it so I am hoping that I won’t be disappointed.

What are you reading? Planning for September?

She Was Doing Better

(PART 3)

She is a mess. Her hair is in scarecrow knots, her skin is blotchy and red, her throat stings. And don’t get her started on her stomach. She has forsaken every idea of food besides crackers and all drinks but water. It all tastes horrible once you have the oh-so-wonderful experience of having it come back up.

She moans into the pillow, turning on her bed, trying to find the perfect position. But there are no perfect freaking positions after two days of clutching the toilet like it’s her best friend and savior. She groans loudly instantly regretting upsetting her raw throat.

“Your neighbors are going to start thinking they are in the middle of The Exorcist,” Lee says as he opens the door, chuckling at his joke.

Hardy har har. Liz rolls her eyes and flips him off under the covers. Not having the energy pull her limb from under the cover.

He comes into her room, a knowing smirk on his handsome face. She’s never thought that seeing his face could make her nauseous but her stomach wanting to spit out the sip of water begs to differ.

“Did you just give me the middle finger?”

“What?” She plays innocent but his eyes say he’s on to her.

Liz almost chokes on her own spit. It’s been difficult keeping her reactions in check around him as it is but now being sick… She doesn’t have the strength to deal with his directness and cheekiness. “I’m not admitting anything.”

“Well,” He points at where her hand was a second ago. “You’re either really happy to see me and got an erection, or you’re flipping me off.”

“My brain hurts just thinking about decoding your words.”

“Fair enough. How are you feeling?” He comes closer and sits on the bed, tucking a leg underneath him, while the other one is touching the floor. His brow is creased in concern, but his eyes are still bright and mischievous.

“Like I could eat a twelve-course meal and climb the Kilimanjaro,” she replies dryly.

“Oh so you want to go back to that place and try the frog legs?” he jokes, his fingers flexing over the cover.

She jumps up and out of the bed, like she’s been catapulted, running for the bathroom. Hunched over the toilet, brought to her knees by the food poisoning, she throws up the water and crackers she managed to get down.

After convulsing for a few moments, she sits back, resting her forehead against her arms.

He stands in the door, leaning against the doorjamb. Worry is etched on his face, his mouth in a straight line. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were better.”

She sighs and gets up to wash out her mouth. Again. “It’s okay. You couldn’t have known I’m not a sicko like you and wouldn’t want to eat frog legs. Or have them mentioned after puking my guts out the entire night.” She doesn’t lift her head to witness the smile on his face. Everything hurts. Even her hair roots.

Empathy settles on his face as he opens his arms for her to walk into them. Liz lays her heavy head on his chest, exhaling. She inhales his scent, letting herself feel a slight relief. Even if it’s on borrowed time. One of Lee’s hands runs up and down her hair, as his other hand, the fingers spread wide, is settled on her lower back. Mmm, she moans internally.

It starts feeling way too good and the longer she lets it go on, the harder it will be to rein her hope of him and her. She pulls back, pushing a gentle smile on her face when she looks him in the eye. “So have you come here just to torture me?” She moves past him and climbs back into bed. God, I’m such a delight. How could he not enjoy my company?

His megawatt smile is back as his eyes beam at her. “I’ve come to check up on you and seeing the abysmal state you’re in, I’m going to make you my mom’s secret tummy medicine and then we’re going to watch a movie.”

Her heart feels like it’s competing in a hurdle race. Being too tired to breathe works in her favor so she can’t show the elation on her face. “But I can’t eat anything. And even when feeling great, I can’t stomach your cooking.”

“Oh, there’s that fire. You’re not dead yet,” Lee says in mock celebration. “You just look like you are.”

She chuckles but stops when her stomach protests in pain. “Even to half-dead ears, you still don’t sound as funny as you think.”

“Let’s make a bet. If you throw my concoction up, I’ll be your slave for a day. We can do whatever, wherever you want.”

She must be running a high fever again because she’s imagining him lacing those words with insinuations. I’ve lost my mind and my stomach.

She gulps, her stomach husky when she say, “Sure.”

New Instagram theme

I had a story in my mind (and I will do it next week) but right now I am getting over a mean cold and I don’t have the mental capacity or the energy to create anything. Blogging has been halted, I haven’t done any editing this week, and I haven’t been reading this week either.

But I thought I would share my Instagram feed. I have changed my theme and I love it. If I were to name it, I would call it summer pastels. Check out the photos and comment if you agree.

If you are on IG, let me know. I love finding new book lovers to follow because I find so many new books I want to read and I also find a ton of inspiration on Bookstagram.

She’s okay. Ish.

(Part two of the previously posted story)

10 Best He's home ((: images | Cute couples, Couples, Relationship

Her racing heart counts the moments she spends enveloped in his tight hug. She inhales his scent, flexes her fingers against his back muscles. Barely stops her palms from moving south and squeezing his ass. He’s always had the best butt. She swallows a moan.

This has gotten out of control. She needs to get a hold of herself. So, what if Lee’s here? In front of me? Ugh, all. Around. Me. 

He pulls back, his eyes caressing every freckle on her face. “It’s so good to see you, Lizzie.”

She rolls her eyes. “I hate it when you call me that.”

His mouth pulls into a knowing smirk. She can’t help her stupid, disobedient eyes dropping to his lips.

Ugh, a rock the size of Canada drops into her stomach. She shakes her head, willing it to help her out. She has to get a grip.

Sure, he is devilishly handsome. Tall. His eyes feel like they have x-ray vision. And he’s funny. And kind. She pinches herself, wincing, to stop her listing all of his characteristics. It’s not like she doesn’t have a written list of those at home.

“Are you okay?” Lee’s brows pull together, watching her.

“Sure, great.” But he is also her best friend’s brother. And waaaay out of my league. Not even in the same sport.

Lee puts his arms around her shoulder, walking toward the car. He puts his luggage in the trunk, stopping. Something strange takes over his face as he looks at her. It seems like he wants to say something.

She tilts her head, holding the trunk and waiting to close it. Or I could lock him into the trunk and treat him as my sex slave. 

It sounds fun. Insane but so fun. A giggle bubbles out of her throat.


She closes the trunk and waves her hand. “Oh, nothing, just something that happened at work.”

“You’re getting even weirder with age, Liz.”

“Maturing is for sissies.” She turns to walk to the driver’s side.

His hand on her shoulder stops her. In her movements. Stops the idea of any other functioning. One could call her delusional but she sees the sparkle shooting out from where his skin touches her skin. She could swear that for a second—a glorious second—she sees his eyes zero in on his touching her, sees his Adam’s apple bounce up and down on a heavy swallow.

Lee pulls his hand back like he has been electrocuted. Now that makes sense—him not wanting to touch me. She tries not to let her disappointment show too much.

“Can I drive, please?” He opens up his palm between them. It takes her a second to register that she needs to respond. “I’ve been missing it. I don’t get to drive in the city.”

“Oh, so posh. I don’t get to drive in the city,” she mimics his voice, mocking him. She is desperate to distract herself from ogling him.

“Just give me the damn keys so we can get something to eat. Do you still sniff Froot Loops for breakfast?” Lee snorts, mocking her.

The raging hormones inside her make her feel like a teen around him. And she can’t pride herself on behaving like an adult. “I’ve switched to Cocoa Puffs for a healthier and more nutritious choice.” She angles her body towards him in the car as he pulls away from the curb. “What would you like me to start my day with?” Her dirty sick mind immediately jumps to the idea of having him for breakfast. Nope, nope, keep talking. Erase the image. Erase! “Avocado toast and poached eggs? Caviar?”

He rolls his eyes and asks her another question. What exactly she has no idea. Her eyes spot the muscles in his arms flexing as he turns the steering wheel and it fries every other thought in her mind.

His mouth is moving, his eyes flickering in her direction to see if she is listening but she is overheating trying to gather herself. This is going to be an epic fail. 

Liz runs her sweaty palms against her thighs and then opens a bottle of water and pours it down her Sahara throat.

Ignoring whatever he is rambling about, she turns on the radio. “Let’s listen to some music and talk at breakfast.” She needs to buy herself some time to acclimate her heart, mind, and body to being near him. God, it’s been a while but don’t hold that against me now. I NEED YOU!

She’s Fine. Completely fine

She tosses and turns, getting wrapped and tangled into the cover as she dreams. She was restless when she went to bed, the glass of wine not doing the trick. TV didn’t appeal to her, all streaming services sucked tonight, the letters on the pages of her current read decided to play catch-me-if-you-can with her. She gave up, turning in, and since then has been willing her mind. To. Stop. Working.

It’s not like it’s a big deal. So what if she’s picking up the guy she used to think was the love of her life in a few hours? So what if he is flying in to see her and catch up? It doesn’t mean anything, right? No. Absolutely nothing.

She is calm. Absolutely calm. Completely unfrazzled.

So she spent yesterday shopping for his favorite snacks. And bought extra candles and flowers. She went to get her nails and hair done. Maybe even, maybe, bought some new clothes.

She rolls to the other side, exhaling loudly, and pounds the pillow into submission.

And it definitely, definitely doesn’t matter that her best friend from college that is a friend of his best friend’s sister told her he had been mentioning her a lot. It makes no difference. Zero. She hasn’t even thought about it. Not a lot. Really.

By the time her alarm goes off, she is already dressed and perfectly made up, making it seem like she has just woken up from the most heavenly sleep. She grabs her essentials for waiting at the airport—coffee, water, snacks, and a book—and stuffs them into her shopper with her keys, ID, and phone.

The roads are mildly full, the hour being so early. She tries to get his arrival out of her mind (easier to do than out of her racing heart). She blasts the music, singing and dancing as much as driving allows.

She parks, her eyes on the arrivals’ exit. With every person stepping out, her heart rate sprints with excitement and slows down with disappointment. Up and down. Up and down.

Time inches towards his landing time, people spill out of the airport, and the sun makes its way out of hiding. She steps out of the car, too anxious to keep sitting.

And then, with the dawn painting his handsome face he steps out. As soon as his eyes land on her, his face splits with a wide grin. And her poor heart spikes and stays there.

If You Could

(Just a story)

Bleeding Broken Heart by DarkWolf-BlackHeart on DeviantArt

I gave you my all. My heart and my soul, my body, were yours. Unconditionally and unlimitedly. You had my love, my trust, my respect. You had it all. I gave you all. And you tossed it away. You didn’t cherish it enough, it wasn’t valuable enough. You took it and lost it. I just wish you had taken the love with you too. Because it hurts. Everything hurts. Trying to exist and function pains me, getting up in the morning brings anguish, attempting to erase the memories we had created is an agony. I hate you. And I hate myself for that not being true completely. I don’t want you back because the cut is too deep. I know that if you could take it back, you would. But it doesn’t work that way. And I know that if you could, you would be a better man. But you weren’t. You’re not.