Tuesday, July 10, 2018
BROKEN LOVE STORY ~ NATASHA MADISON --> RELEASE DAY BLITZ
I had the perfect life; a husband who loved me, and two kids who were my world.
Until someone else answered his phone and my perfect life shattered.
When he died, I was left with answers he couldn't give me and a box full of lies.
He left me broken.
I fell in love when I was fifteen, knowing she was the one.
For five years, she was my everything—my every breath, every heartbeat, every thought.
She made me promise to move on, promise to find love again, but I broke those promises because I can't move on.
Two broken souls brought together by tragedy and heartbreak.
Can a broken love story be fixed?
When I clock out and head for the park, anticipation runs through my veins like a good buzz on a night out. A reunion booking could be my way out of trouble. A five-day gig might bring me very close to the finish line.
Along the way, I stop in front of a dry cleaner, check my reflection in the plate-glass shop window, and reckon that I look the part April wants: dark jeans, motorcycle boots, and well-worn T-shirt that shows off the ink on my arms. Tribal bands, a sunburst, and a compass. I haven’t shaved in two days, and my stubble is rough. If she wanted clean-cut and business attire, I’d have covered up the tats with a crisp white shirt and a fine silk tie, then slid a blade across my jaw in the a.m. If she wanted sophisticated, I’d have given her the smooth, James Bond voice to boot. She could have me as a country boy, even, in a pair of steel-toed cowboy boots and with the drawl to match.
But April wants the guy who might have screwed her in the restroom of a bar.
She wants gravel and sandpaper, ink and danger, shades and leather.
The more you give someone what they want, the more you get in return.
When I reach the park, I head to the Terrace Bridge. She’s not here, but I’m early, since I like to get a read on any and every situation. I scan the surrounding area, noting the benches, the nearby tables, the cool placid water gurgling under the bridge. June in New York City can seduce you or it can trick you.
What it has in store today is anyone’s guess. I lean my hip against the stone railing, and I wait. Two minutes later, I spot a threesome walking in my direction. My heart thumps, and I groan quietly.
Why does the universe do this to me?
Blond curls, lips like a bow, a tight trim waist. Even from several yards away, I can tell she wears little makeup—she has that fresh-faced, rosy glow about her, and something innocent yet knowing in her expression. Like Lily James, whom I developed a wicked crush on when I watched her in her latest movie.
April’s not tiny, but she’s not towering either. Maybe five-three, five-four. A delicious dream. Which translates roughly to “just my type.” She wears tight jeans, a long black shirt that clings to her figure, and a huge silver necklace with a heart charm that dangles between her breasts.
As if I wouldn’t already be checking them out without the pendant between them.
I’ve had many clients. Keeping it platonic has never been an issue since I’ve never been attracted to a customer.
Looks like I’ll be getting familiar with how to resist temptation.
When her nose isn't buried in a book, or her fingers flying across a keyboard writing, she's in the kitchen creating gourmet meals. You can find her, in four inch heels no less, in the car chauffeuring kids, or possibly with her husband scheduling his business trips. It's a good thing her characters do what she says, because even her Labrador doesn't listen to her...
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