FINDING THE ONE by Kristen Ashley, EXCERPT
Their parents being family friends, American/English aristocrat, Blake Sharp, and Scottish playboy Alasdair Wallace were thrust together all through their childhoods.
Blake thought Dair was a filthy, obnoxious, little boy bully.
Dair thought Blake was a spoiled, prissy wee miss.
Then Blake grew up to be a beautiful, loving woman who took care of everyone and made amazing pistachio muffins. And Dair grew up to be a protective, fun-loving, hard-living professional rugby player.
In the meantime, they’d both been deeply betrayed by lovers.
When their paths cross again, Blake is still reeling from her fiancé’s treachery and what she learned about herself during it.
Dair thinks he’s recovered from a marriage to a woman who was not at all what she seemed, and now he’s smitten by the woman Blake has become.
So smitten, he has every intention of exploring what they can grow to be together.
But their combined family history is filled with secrets and lies. Secrets and lies that explode in their faces.
And while they deal with that, ghosts from the past rise up and threaten to haunt their future.
Is what they built together strong enough to hold true?
Or will their personal demons tear them apart?
EXCERPT
Conveniently, they had three open guest bedrooms.
His mother accepted for the lot of them.
Therefore, Dair didn’t get to take Blake back to his hotel room so they could chat and whatever else he could get up to with her in a hotel room. With the others around, he didn’t get to have that chat at all.
He preferred waking up to Blake’s warm, soft body covering him, but he’d take that view and knowing she was in the same house…for now.
He threw the covers back and went to the bathroom.
He’d discovered last night that the guestrooms were as spectacular as the rest of the house, and not just the ever-present view.
Blake had done those as well, obviously.
Even though the rooms were large, the décor was darker to give more of a cocoon-like feel, which Dair thought was a stroke of brilliance. His room was on the rustic side. And another Blake touch, the bathrooms were kitted with everything you might need. New toothbrushes, toothpaste, toiletries for men and women.
Dair availed himself of some of that, particularly the dental hygiene. But he saw a bunch of Kiehl’s stuff for men and decided to give it a go. The facewash smelled of menthol, which was a nice wakeup call. Paired with the moisture shite after it, he found he liked it.
He’d slept in his boxers, so he tugged on his jeans, shrugged on his shirt and buttoned it up but tucked his socks into his shoes, took them with him down the stairs after he tidied the bed and set them by the door.
His nose, which smelled something stupendous baking, along with the scent of cooked bacon, led him to the kitchen.
He stopped dead while entering it.
This was because Blake, his Blake, Blake Sharp, heiress to the Marchioness of Norton title, heiress to the Bernard-Sharp fortune, was standing at the sink wearing a loose-fitting white shirt with wee sleeves, and a pair of white pajama pants with huge red hearts on them.
Huge red hearts.
Her hair was up in a messy knot at her crown, long locks floating down her slender neck.
And last, the kitchen was sparkling clean.
Right…
Bloody fucking hell.
He could fall in love with this woman.
“Morning,” he called, strolling in.
She jerked then turned his way. “Good morning.”
There was a little heart on the left breast of her shirt too.
And she was wearing no makeup, but she was just as stunning as ever.
He couldn’t stop his smirk.
He’d made a decision that morning, that decision being, they weren’t fucking about with this anymore.
This was why he went right up to her, slid an arm around her waist, and pulled her soft body against his.
Her lips formed an “O,” her eyes went lazy in a way he felt in his cock, but she didn’t fight his hold.
“Erm, sleep well?” she asked, awkwardly moving her hands to rest them on his chest.
“Slept better with you draped on me.” She pressed her lips together. It was only then, after his gaze lifted to her eyes, he saw the dark circles under them. He narrowed his on them and asked, “You?”
“Great.”
He bent his head to get close and whispered, “Liar.”
She skirted that and queried, “Want coffee?”
“Aye, and I’ll get it. After ye tell me why ye had trouble sleeping.”
“Dair—”
He gave her a gentle shake. “We’re doing this, lassie. So learn now, I dinnae let important shite go. The entire Wallace clan, save the patriarch, talks things out. We’re honest. Frank. And we dinnae let shite fester.”
“We’re doing this?” she asked on a raise of her exquisitely arched dark brows.
“Are we not?” he asked in return.
“What is this?” she continued questioning.
“We’re going to see,” he replied.
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Kristen Ashley is the New York Times bestselling author of over eighty romance novels. She’s a hybrid author, publishing titles both independently and traditionally, her books have been translated in fourteen languages and she’s sold millions of books.
Category: On Writing
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