For fans of Christina Lauren and Jodi Ellen Malpas comes the next novel in M. O’Keefe’s breathtakingly sexy series about a woman called into a journey of the heart, body, and soul.
We played our roles, told each other lies.
But now Dylan is no longer just a mysterious deep voice on the other end of the line. We’re face-to-face and our relationship is very, very real.
We still have secrets—but so much is crystal clear:
The thrilling danger.
The raw, naked desire.
The need to keep feeling the way he makes me feel. Forever.
Dylan is putting up walls, trying to keep me safe, but he can’t shut me out. He has seen my darkness and rescued me. Now it’s my turn, if only he will let me.
“She misses church,” Pops said. We both stared down at that engine like it was all that mattered.
“Yeah. She said.”
“So you should take her.”
“Is this relationship advice?” I scoffed.
“It’s human advice. That’s all.”
“Yeah? Human advice?” I let the seething irritation out. I let it just pour right on out all over him. “You feel like an authority on that?”
“No,” he snapped back, no longer pretending to look at the motor. “I’m an authority on mistakes. On regrets. And I’m telling you, take her to church. Help her get right. Be the guy beside her instead of that fucking blond cop with the chin I’d like to break in half, or you’ll lose her. And you will regret that, son. For the rest of your life.”
I didn’t want to acknowledge that any of his words rang with an implacable truth. And I didn’t want to tell him that I was thinking of taking myself out of the race, because I couldn’t be the right guy for her.
Pops’s opinion, right or wrong, did not matter.
“Forget the car,” I told him, angry for some reason to see him working on that hopeless engine. I had every resource in the world. Money, people, time. But I could not give it to anyone here. “I’ll have someone bring her one of mine.”
“She asked me to fix it,” he said, not looking up from the beat-up four-cylinder engine. “I’m going to listen to what she wants. You might consider doing the same, son.”
“Oh, fuck you, Pops. You can’t fix the past by getting Annie to love you. And don’t call me ‘son,’” I said, and went back to my trailer.
But the ghosts only followed.
Molly O'Keefe has always known she wanted to be a writer (except when she wanted to be a florist or a chef and the brief period of time when she considered being a cowgirl). And once she got her hands on some romances, she knew exactly what she wanted to write.
She published her first Harlequin romance at age 25 and hasn't looked back. She loves exploring every character's road towards happily ever after.
Originally from a small town outside of Chicago, she went to university in St. Louis where she met and fell in love with the editor of her school newspaper. They followed each other around the world for several years and finally got married and settled down in Toronto, Ontario. They welcomed their son into their family in 2006, and their daughter in 2008. When she's not at the park or cleaning up the toy room, Molly is working hard on her next novel, trying to exercise, stalking Tina Fey on the internet and dreaming of the day she can finish a cup of coffee without interruption.
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