Happy Tuesday Everyone!
With a little throwback action thrown in, I’m sharing a teaser from my Debut Novel, Finding Love’s Wings.
This is the book that has started it all, not only with my writing, but with the Bold World that you see throughout the Love’s Wings Series, One Week, 69 Bottles and now the Bold Security Series.
This story is about Bold CEO, Cameron (Cami) Enders and meeting the man she never thought she needed in her life, Actor Tristan Michaels.
I share this little ditty with you today and I hope you enjoy.
Finding Love’s Wings is currently on sale for only $0.99!!!
CAMERON ENDERS seems to have it all: a brand new condo in a city she loves, a top executive position at an international entertainment firm, an insane amount of money, and a gorgeous boyfriend. But when Cami catches the boyfriend in the act with another woman, it triggers all the anguish from years of neglect by her parents, and she realizes she never learned how to love or be loved. Cami flees to the remote tropical island of Tarah, but she can’t avoid facing her problems any longer when she meets the man of her fantasies…
TRISTAN MICHAELS, one of Hollywood’s hottest new stars, has come to Tarah to ride out a storm. His girlfriend of five years has been caught on camera cheating, and she’s determined to make Tristan stop the story from breaking. But Tristan’s done cleaning up her messes. He needs to escape all things Hollywood for a while–and especially the firm that represents him–until the whole thing blows over. What he doesn’t count on is meeting an irresistibly beautiful woman, a woman who just so happens to be the CEO of the firm he’s trying to avoid.
Can Tristan and Cami help each other learn to trust and love again, or will their histories of betrayal tear them apart?
This story contains Tattoos, Piercings, a Hot Movie Star and a Sexy Heroine. No rich guy poor girl story here, just a story of what it’s like to learn to love.
This book contains adult situations and strong sexual content and is not recommended for anyone under the age of 18.
Calvin, my driver, stops in front of the Hawaiian Airlines section of LAX. I step out of the car, and the warmth of the sun kisses my bare shoulders; I’ve traded my button-up and sneakers for a tank top and heels on the way to the airport.
I’m blown away by the number of photographers and reporters surrounding the departure area. There are about six of them heading back to the larger group inside the media area. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen this while coming and going from LAX.
As I walk along the terminal, I see several young women with cameras around their necks. My guess is that some major celebrity is expected, so they’re camping out. The fandom is unreal. I watch as security hurries over to them. No doubt to tell them to move along.
I make my way through the rest of the departure terminal and into the first class lounge, passing through the security checkpoint there and bypassing the long public lines. One of the many perks of flying first class.
I enter a private room that’s reserved for me. The room is decorated in olive green and various shades of brown, surprisingly un-tropical for Hawaiian Airlines. In the center of the room are a square table and four very old-school office chairs. I sit in the one that faces the window overlooking the parking garage, my back to the door. Within a couple of minutes, a lounge attendant brings me a turkey sandwich, pickle, and chips. It isn’t much, but I don’t care. I’m not that hungry.
As I eat, I browse through the latest online edition of Entertainment Now magazine. The contents aren’t very interesting, but there is a really nice red carpet picture of Tristan Michaels. Dressed in a suit, he really is stunning. The black skinny tie, white dress shirt, and black pants and jacket really bring out his physique. The caption reads, “Tristan Michaels, outside Nokia Theatre at the premiere of friend Travis Jackson’s latest movie Rebound, wearing Armani.”
“I could have told you that,” I mutter to myself. Looking at Tristan’s eyes I feel the familiar tingle crawl up my spine, a sensation that makes me feel like he is really looking at me. “Gah!” I mutter, and close the magazine.
If I’m really going to be honest with myself, I’m only trying to avoid the drama of the last twenty-four hours. Especially what happened this morning at the gravesite. Then, of course, my embarrassing daydream during that board meeting. My emotions are all over the place, and I just need to get clear of everything that is driving me insane of late.
Suddenly there’s a lot of commotion outside in the lobby: camera flashes going off and a bunch of people talking at once. It sounds like they’re asking questions. Very abruptly, the noise is cut off and the silence returns. I shrug and pull out my iPod and headphones. Placing the earbuds into my ears, I am quickly distracted by the sounds of Chris Daughtry, which effectively block out all else.
Will this madness ever end? I know the answer and it’s rather stupid of me to ask myself that question.
“You all right?” I hear Tyson ask.
“Yeah. Fucking people, I swear. They act like they’ve never seen a celebrity at the airport before. Though the EN reporter was a little too curious about some things. Obviously he was fishing for a comment from me.” I take a deep breath.
“Yeah, he was a bit insistent.” He turns and looks at the woman approaching us.
“If you will follow me, I have a room down the hall for you. We’ve made arrangements to have you escorted to the gate once boarding has completed.”
“Thank you.” I nod as she turns and starts down the hall. We approach a room on the right with the door slightly ajar. I stop dead in my tracks and stare at the woman sitting at the table. Her black hair is up in a ponytail that trails down her back and over one shoulder. The other shoulder is exposed and shows off a tattoo of blue, purple, and silver tones. It looks like a puzzle made of hearts and stars. But what really catches my attention is sprouting from the center of her shoulder blades. Done in some of the brightest ink I’ve ever seen: black and purple wings – fairy wings to be exact – just visible above the line of the tank top she’s wearing.
“Tristan,” Tyson whispers in my ear. Slowly I turn toward him, tearing my gaze away from the woman’s back.
He extends his hand, gesturing for me to follow the lounge attendant.
I look back at the fairy woman one more time and then continue on down the hall.
For the next few minutes she is all I can think about, and a pretty big part of me is hoping against the odds that she’s on my flight.
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