"Emotively moving - gripping and sensual..."
From New York Times and Top 100 bestseller Marata Eros, comes a powerful love story drenched in secrets, second chances and first awakenings.
First there was Him.
He was my rock, my life's navigator – my everything.
I shut my eyes for
Just.
One.
Moment.
When I wake there's nothing but cold. Pebbled asphalt abrades my skin. The rain is cool on my flesh – washing the blood away; my husband's death. The pregnancy he never knew about.
Then there was Her.
My savior is unrefined. Temperamental. Strong. Deliberate.
And... beautiful.
My husband is gone. I don't want anyone to replace him. I don't need anyone else.
Except Her.
Full-length novel.
I am a mid-list author who has 11 series/70 novels with half the [11]series having ranked #1 in their respective genres. I'm also a NY Times and USA TODAY bestselling author.
Glass roars like a tornado inside our car as the windows simultaneously break.
Disoriented—I violently float—landing with a harsh impact that, much later, I'll never remember, no matter how hard I try.
I don't think anyone wakes up on the day of their death and believes they're going to die. Especially on their wedding anniversary—with the most important news of their life left unsaid.
Ultimately, the car murdered my husband. His 1971 second-gen Camaro.
That, and the black ice.
Even in death, James saved me because he went through the windshield first.
I followed. Not because I wanted to but because I was flung in the same trajectory.
But I can't think about that right now.
Slapping a hand on the wet pavement, I push off and scream, clutching my hand to my side.
Can't breathe.
I lie back down, and that's when I see him.
James lies supine as though sleeping. If it weren't for the pool of blood spreading around him, I'd think he was waiting for me.
Waiting for news he won't ever hear.
Reactively, my gut coils at the vision—the knowledge of what that still body of my husband means.
Dry heaves begin to wrack my body, and I shriek as the pain in my ribs robs me of oxygen, every breath feels like crushed glass.
My eyes move back to James, latching onto the profile of his face. I've always told James his face is like a Greek god. Square jaw, Roman nose—aquiline features.
But there he lies like a shattered, life-sized doll.
So much blood, I think as his life's liquid spreads like black ink across the road.
Doing a frantic visual hunt of the bridge I lie on, I search for people—help.
A noise penetrates the fog of my consciousness. Turning my head, I whimper at what the movement costs me.
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Portuguese
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Unavailable for translation.
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Enrique Laurentin
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Author review: A consummate professional; from translation, to formatting the MS, as well as communication. Highly recommend. |
