by S.L. Scott
Release Date: October 27, 2017
From New York Times bestselling author S.L. Scott comes a new, emotionally driven, romantic suspense standalone.
The war was waged. The king got his queen, but where did that leave me?
When I thought there was no hope, that suffering this lonely life was my destiny, I saw her. The bubblegum pink skirt caught my attention, but her doe eyes captured my heart. Could she be my SAVIOR?
With her, I don’t have to hide the demons that haunt me, or to relive my darkest days alone.
With me, she’s free to be whoever she wants to be. She’s amazing.
Together, we’re two people clinging to a ray of sunshine that only the other can see.
I let my guard down. I got too comfortable. I thought the war had been won when, in reality, it had just begun. When old debts accrue, past demons return to collect their dues.
To find the SOLACE these young lovers crave, will they have to sacrifice the one thing they hold most SACRED?
An Excerpt from Sacred
I see pink.
Curvy ass under a fitted skirt. Tight as fucking—good God almighty. Like a flame, I’m drawn to her. I stand, not even sure why, but I’m moving before I can stop myself following a bubblegum pink skirt that just so happens to be attached to a killer little body and a head of brown hair that flows to the middle of her back.
“Hey?” What the fuck? Why’d I yell that?
Damn. I stumble. She reaches as if she’s going to catch me before I fall. I’m falling all right, but not to the ground. I stop, standing tall and straightening my shoulders. Real smooth. I actually fucking stumble when she looks back and our eyes meet.
A halo of yellow sunshine surrounds her, an angel sent from the heavens to save me. The beauty asks, “Are you all right?”
A smile that rivals the heavens appears. “Yes, you.”
“I’m good, so great.”
That pretty smile grows, and a sweet giggle follows. “I’m glad.” The longer we hold eye contact, the more her composure falters, an unease entering her pretty hazels. “Okay, I should go then.”
“Stay?” she asks in the same confused tone as the last question.
“Yes.” Stepping closer, I hold out my hand. “I’m Cruise. What’s your name?”
Her hand slips into mine and I’m tempted to not just shake it, but never let it go. “Nice to meet you, Cruise. If you’ll excuse me—”
That’s when I notice the books held to her chest with her other hand. “Are you a student?”
“No.” Her reply comes fast with a look of horror filling wide eyes. “I’m not. Are you?”
The relief between us is palpable as our sighs fill the space. Her eyes glance down to our adjoined hands, my hold on her still just as firm. “May I have my hand back, Cruise?”
“Yes,” I reply, then reluctantly release her.
“I’m late for an appointment.”
I don’t want her to go. I like looking at her. I like talking to her and I really like holding her hand. She has fine features, but I can’t stop staring at her cherry-kissed lips. She turns to walk away too soon, so I call out, “Hey, I never got your name.”
“Maybe I’ll see you around.”
She’s not showy when she saunters off, but I watch rapt by every sweet sway of her hips. I find myself tugging at the collar of my shirt, that all-wrong-itchy feeling returning.
I run after her.
Sidling up beside her, I keep her pace, and ask, “Why won’t you tell me your name?”
“Because you don’t need to know it.”
“I want to know it.”
She stops, and looks at me. “Just because you want it, doesn’t mean I owe it to you.”
Feisty. Getting a woman’s name isn’t usually a problem for me, but I respect her argument too much to counter with one of my own. “You’re right. Absolutely right.” This time I notice how the white sweater hugs the front of her body. Damn. I invade her personal space, captivated by her defiance. “I’ve been rude. My apologies.”
“I don’t need an apology, but I do need to go. I’m running late.” She takes a few steps away from me, but says, “Have a good life.”
My hands rise in the air, exasperated with this outcome. “You’re really not going to tell me?”
Her laughter splinters the air. “Unfortunately no. I can tell you’re the kind of trouble I should definitely walk away from. Name intact.” Quick stepping with determination, I watch as she crosses the parking lot.
Living in the capital of Texas with her family, S.L. Scott loves traveling and avocados, beaches, and cooking with her kids. She's obsessed with epic romances and loves a good plot twist. Her favorite color is blue, but she likens it more toward the sky than the emotion. Her home is filled with the welcoming symbol of the pineapple and finds surfing a challenge though she likes to think she's a pro.
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