February 23 2016

Nobody’s Princess Super Book Blast @SarahHegger @GoddessFish

Nobody’s Princess

by Sarah Hegger

 

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ROOM WITH BOOKS encourages our readers to follow the tour and leave comments.

 

GENRE: Contemporary Romance

 

About the Book

Tiffany Desjardins has a plan. Well, she had a plan, until her past and all its complications came back to haunt her. Her not-quite-ex-husband, Luke, is missing, and suddenly everyone needs to find him–including Tiffany, if she wants to marry the true man of her dreams. Then there’s Thomas Hunter, Luke’s brawny friend, who won’t take “no road trip” for an answer–and who won’t stop showing up in her daydreams…

Thomas couldn’t care less about Luke’s personal life, but he needs to find him if he’s going to make his fledgling minerals and metals company a reality. And if that means following Tiffany, who’s taken off in Luke’s rare Lamborghini Miura, he’s more than willing–especially if there might be a chance to negotiate some of Tiffany’s lovely curves. As Tiffany and Thomas speed along without a map, the only destination that seems certain is being together…

 

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Excerpt

Blondie stood there giving the other models a thorough eye scan. Gay. What a shame.

She shook her head at herself. What did it matter? She was practically an engaged woman.

Blondie hovered at her side.

Clichés sucked, but some of these boys had no brain beneath all that brawn. Hooking her hands beneath the hem of his T-shirt, she tugged. “You have to take this off for makeup.”

“Are you taking my clothes off?” Blondie folded his huge paws around hers and stopped her. He had a great voice, like hot chocolate laced with rum. The sort of voice that would do great bedtime stories.

She hauled back on her thought path. “You have to strip.”

He looked right at her. Not past her or around her, but right at her as if he wanted to see straight into the center of her.

“Strip?” Up went one eyebrow.

Something she didn’t want to name crackled through the space between them. Sweat prickled her palms. Her hands were still fisted around his shirt, exposing about two inches of stomach. He had a garden path trail of hair disappearing below the low-slung waist of his jeans. That would have to go. Pity. Tiffany dragged her stare off his navel and focused on the writing on the front of his T-shirt: Never trust an atom—they make up everything.

Cool shirt. She and Blondie were probably the only two people in the world who thought it was funny. “Yes, strip.”

She pulled at the shirt and his hands tightened over hers. Tiffany glared up at him. Following up on late with an attack of modesty? Unbelievable. Did he think he would be modeling undershirts and long johns? “You have to take it all off.”

“Normally I get dinner first.” Those bad-boy eyes danced at her, inviting her to share the joke. For a second, she badly wanted to.

“Tiffany, sweetie.” Tyrone appeared beside her. “That’s not your model.”

“What?” Tiffany stared at Blondie. Of course he was her model, because otherwise she was stripping . . . A whimper caught in her throat.

He looked back at her.

Tyrone took her by the shoulders and spun her around. “That’s your model.”

He pointed to a beautiful Rocky (as in the Picture Show, not Sly) look-alike talking earnestly to Piers. Piers lapped it up, waving one hand through the air and patting the pretty blond boy on the arm.

“I . . .” Tiffany peered over her shoulder. Please let the last two minutes be a figment of her imagination. Her figment grinned at her and tucked his hands into his back pockets.

 

About the Author

Born British and raised in South Africa, Sarah Hegger suffers from an incurable case of wanderlust. Her match? A hot Canadian engineer, whose marriage proposal she accepted six short weeks after they first met. Together they’ve made homes in seven different cities across three different continents (and back again once or twice). If only it made her multilingual, but the best she can manage is idiosyncratic English, fluent Afrikaans, conversant Russian, pigeon Portuguese, even worse Zulu and enough French to get herself into trouble.

Mimicking her globe trotting adventures, Sarah’s career path began as a gainfully employed actress, drifted into public relations, settled a moment in advertising, and eventually took root in the fertile soil of her first love, writing. She also moonlights as a wife and mother.

She currently lives in Littleton, Colorado, with her teenage daughters, two Golden Retrievers and aforementioned husband. Part footloose buccaneer, part quixotic observer of life, Sarah’s restless heart is most content when reading or writing books.

She loves to hear from readers and you can find her at any of the places below.

Connect with the Author

Website: http://sarahhegger.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/sarahheggerauthor/?ref=hl

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Sarah-Hegger/e/B00KC50U9Y/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1449772560&sr=8-1

Twitter: https://twitter.com/SarahHegger

Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sarahhegger

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/sarahheggerauthor/

 

Giveaway

THE PRIZEs THAT THE AUTHOR WILL BE GIVING AWAY:

5 x paperback copies of Nobody’s Princess

5 x ebook copies of Nobody’s Princess

1 x $50 Amazon Gift Cards

2 x $20 Amazon Gift Cards

3 x $10 Amazon Gift cards

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

August 17 2015

Sweet Bea Book Blitz @SarahHegger @BookEnthuPromo

Sweet Bea book blitz

Book Blitz

Sweet Bea Copy

Book Title: Sweet Bea
Author: Sarah Hegger

Genre: Historical Romance (Medieval)
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

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Book BlurbIs anything sweeter than revenge?

In a family of remarkable people, ordinary Beatrice strives to prove herself worthy. When her family is threatened with losing everything, she rushes to London to save them. Unfortunately, she chooses as her savior the very man who will see her family brought low.

Garrett has sworn vengeance on Sir Arthur of Anglesea for destroying his life when he was a boy and forcing his mother into prostitution for them to survive. He has chosen as his instrument Sir Arthur’s youngest daughter, Beatrice.

Can Beatrice’s goodness teach Garrett that love, not vengeance, is the greatest reward of all?

excerpt

Time to be wooed. Wooed with honeyed words and sweeter touches. Delightful tingles spread to Beatrice’s fingertips, rushed back again, and pooled in her stomach.

Spring filled the air with scents of new grass and wildflowers. The sun beamed from a cloudless arc of blue above her. Birdsong serenaded her, as cornflowers merrily bobbed beside the path. Even the insects buzzed encouragement. Only one thing was missing.

Garrett.

She dare not tarry much longer. Someone from the keep would soon come looking for her. Beatrice shifted her basket to the other arm and investigated a patch of what might be vervain. From the keep, anyone would see her picking wildflowers. Just as she intended.

A footpath disappeared between the dense green beech thickets. It crossed a small stream before meandering through the trees and down to the village below. Was he still down in the village? She tried to picture what he’d be doing. Working at the forge, perhaps?

She gave up on the plant and straightened. She wouldn’t know vervain from, well, anything. Opposite the village, a path shot straight as an arrow through the meadow toward the castle. For certain, Garrett wouldn’t come from that direction. Perhaps he wasn’t coming at all. He’d made her no promises. There was no understanding between them. But, she dearly hoped all the same.

Hoping, however, didn’t make him appear.

The sun blazed down harsh on her face and she’d freckle.

“Wish, wish, planted a feather and wished a bird would grow.” Nurse’s voice

sang in her head. It was nonsense, pure and simple. Nonsense, like lingering alone on a path, pretending to pick wildflowers, whilst waiting for a man she barely knew to appear. A man with dark and mysterious eyes that whispered of secret places and forbidden pleasures. She was a goose. When she pictured the scene in her mind, it went thus. A beautiful maiden, garbed in her finest blue samite, engrossed in the gentle occupation of picking flowers by the roadside. The sun gleamed off her flaxen hair and brought roses to her alabaster cheek. Her slender form, bent like a reed to her feminine labors…

Roses be damned, she was sweating beneath her silk. It would leave stains on the fabric. She’d never hear the end of it from Nurse.

A soft whistle jolted her.

Her heart leapt.

There he stood, by the thicket.

Smiling to warm her from the inside, one shoulder propped against a tree, arms folded across his broad chest.
Meet the Author

Bio Pic

Born British and raised in South Africa, Sarah Hegger suffers from an incurable case of wanderlust. Her match? A hot Canadian engineer, whose marriage proposal she accepted six short weeks after they first met. Together they’ve made homes in seven different cities across three different continents (and back again once or twice). If only it made her multilingual, but the best she can manage is idiosyncratic English, fluent Afrikaans, conversant Russian, pigeon Portuguese, even worse Zulu and enough French to get herself into trouble.

Mimicking her globe trotting adventures, Sarah’s career path began as a gainfully employed actress, drifted into public relations, settled a moment in advertising, and eventually took root in the fertile soil of her first love, writing. She also moonlights as a wife and mother.

She currently lives in Salt Lake City with her teenage daughters, two Golden Retrievers and aforementioned husband. Part footloose buccaneer, part quixotic observer of life, Sarah’s restless heart is most content when reading or writing books.

Sarah is the recipient of the 2015 EPIC Award for Historical Romance.

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August 13 2015

Nobody’s Angel Sales Blitz

nobodys angel sales blitz

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10802047_326709390859890_3127289731744936390_n

Book Title: Nobody’s Angel (A Willow Park Romance)
Author: Sarah Hegger
Genre: Contemporary
Release Date: March 31, 2015
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

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Book Blurb

In this evocative new series from author Sarah Hegger, a woman returns home after a long absence–and wonders if two wrongs really can make a right. . .

Nine years ago Lucy Flint ran away to Seattle, taking her friend’s boyfriend and leaving her high school sweetheart without a word of explanation. Now she’s back in Willow Park, Illinois, to help care for her ailing father–and it’s no surprise that her ex, Dr. Richard Hunter, is still angry.

Still, she’s a different Lucy now. Sober, wiser, ready to make amends to the long–make that very long–list of those she mistreated during her wild younger days. Falling for Richard all over again would mean wreaking havoc in both their lives and possibly squandering her opportunity for redemption. But here, in the place where everything went wrong, is the one person who always felt right, and a second-chance that could be the best mistake she ever made. . .

excerpt

Silence hung heavily over the phone lines. “Lucy? Lucy, are you all right?” “Um, I am.” Lucy peered into the gathering gloom nervously.

Her heart sank. Nothing outside the car had changed. The dark thing spread across the snow was definitely human shaped. The object near the human thing, wheels spinning senselessly, was the bicycle it had been riding. Riding, until someone had opened their door on it. And that someone was her. “I’ve gotta go.”

“What was that noise?”

“I doored a cyclist.”

“You what?” There was nothing dulcet or dreamy about Mads and her smoky vocal chords now.

“It seems I doored a cyclist. I’m going to have to go now.”

“Is the cyclist okay?”

“It’s moving.” Lucy stepped from the car, shut her door, and took a ginger step forward.

A soft noise rode the steady sibilance of the wind. “And I think that’s it groaning.” She held the phone out nervously at the bipedal stain in the snow. “Can you hear it?”

“I can’t hear anything but this howling noise. That’s not it, is it?”

“Nope.” Lucy was reasonably sure on this point. “That’s the wind.”

“Fuck, Illinois.”

“I know, right?” Lucy took a half shuffle closer. “I think it’s a him.”

“How do you know it’s a him? Can you see its face?”

“Nope.” Lucy blinked away a sloppy snowflake. “But it’s either a man or a very large woman, with a butt that looks like a man.” And she certainly noticed the taut, muscular lines of his thighs and ass. She tilted her head to the side to get a better look. Those were male and not too bad, current situation aside. The Thinsulate pants could not be doing much good against the cold, because they left very little to the imagination. The figure on the ground moved again and rolled carefully onto his back. Yup, that was very definitely a he and not a she.

“Uh-huh, it’s a him,” she clarified for Mads without taking her eyes off the cyclist. “Excuse me? Are you all right?”

The cyclist cursed softly.

Lucy inched a little closer, ready to launch a heroic retreat into her childhood home if the injured party got pissed at her, the front steps of which loomed tantalizingly close. Coward. Lucy tried to master her yellow streak. “Should I call nine-one-one?”

“Does he look like he needs an ambulance?” Mads asked.

“I’ll ask him.” Lucy raised her voice. “Are you hurt? Should I call nine-one-one?”

The man on the ground moaned and struggled into a sitting position.

Her victim didn’t look all that injured or dangerous, yet.

He stretched out his legs with a hiss.

“I think he’s getting up,” Lucy whispered into the phone.

“Then he can’t be too badly hurt, right?” Mads sounded hopeful. “Any blood? Exposed bones? That sort of thing?”

“I don’t see any blood.” Lucy leaned forward and peered. Now that the cyclist was moving she didn’t want to risk getting any closer. “No bones either. I think that means he might be all right.”

“I can hear you,” he spoke.

“He can hear me,” Lucy reported to Mads. “Oh.” She stopped talking and stared.

“That’s good.” Mads kept it positive.

“I think he’s going to be okay,” Lucy whispered.

The cyclist ignored her and started unbuckling his helmet.

“It’s a good thing he wore a helmet,” Lucy reported into her phone.

“Why?” Mads whispered back.

“Because it’s sort of . . . busted up.”

“And his head?”

“Seems fine.” Lucy stood on her toes for a better look. “Are you sure you’re all right?” Her voice shook slightly as she risked speaking to the cyclist.

“No thanks to you.” The man examined his helmet. He shook his head angrily.

“I didn’t see you.” Lucy kept her tone conciliatory. “You came out of nowhere.”

“Then perhaps you should stop talking on the phone and concentrate on what you’re doing.”

Lucy froze. She knew that voice. “Ah shit.”

The cyclist whipped off his goggles and tucked them into his helmet in short, angry movements.

“This is going to get ugly.” She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until Mads replied.

“Well,” Mads huffed, outraged on her behalf. “Okay, I know you hit the guy with your door. But for the love of God, what kind of dork rides a bike in a snowstorm?”

The wind dropped just then and Mad’s voice squawked out of Lucy’s phone loud and clear. The cyclist jerked his head up and Lucy swore again. All the way west in Seattle, Mads had no idea. Lucy ignored the steady stream of rationalizations coming through the phone as her stomach sped south, into her boots.

“Bye,” she whispered and hung up.

The man in the snow had gone dead still. His gaze locked on her like a heat-seeking missile. And Lucy knew he knew that she knew and he knew that she knew he knew. Or something. Her mind went blank. There must be something to say in situations like this, but she had nothing. She stared at him and he stared right back.

“What the hell are you doing here?” All things considered it was a very reasonable question. His tone and the glare he bent her way shot to hell any vague hope she might have held that Richard had learned to forgive and forget.

“Hello, Richard.” Her voice hit the loaded air in a strangled squeak.

His voice was deeper than she remembered, but she would have known it anywhere. Nine years was not long enough to forget any of the small details she could now make out.

Snow powdered one side of his face and stuck to his eyelashes. His face was leaner and the bones stronger and more decisive, but he was still Richard. Handsome in that Cary Grant, clean-cut, one-of-the-good-guys way. It had played havoc with her teenage heart and hormones. Her grown-up hormones were not dead to the appeal either. His eyes were the same pure, unadulterated cobalt. He blinked to clear snow from the dark veil of his lashes.

Lucy watched him with the helpless certainty that the light at the end of the tunnel was an oncoming train.

His head dropped forward almost onto his chest. He’d propped his elbows onto his knees.

She should say something to ease the tension, but she was clueless. She tucked her chin deeper into her scarf and waited.

“Tell me it’s not you,” he said, eventually.

She huddled deeper into her coat and tried a friendly smile. “I didn’t see you when I opened my door.”

“Ah, Christ.” A big man, he was surprisingly graceful as he rose to his feet, brushing snow off his butt and legs.

She should have recognized those. An hysterical bubble of laughter caught in her throat.

“This cannot be happening to me,” he rumbled without looking at her.

She really wanted to ask which part, but was equally sure she didn’t want to hear his answer. “Sorry,” she said, shrugging again. “I didn’t—”

“See me, yeah, I get it.” His beautiful blue eyes were colder than the snow seeping through her cheap boots. “What are you doing here, Lucy?”

It was like something out of Wuthering Heights. The wind howled, the snow drove against her face, and the large, lurking former love of her life glowered at her in a very Brontë-esque manner. Kate Bush started wailing her lament to Heathcliff in a dark corner of Lucy’s mind.

“I came for my mom.” She dropped her eyes first. “My dad is sick.”

Richard made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “So, you rushed home to take care of Mom and Dad?” He didn’t wait for her reply, but bent to grab his bike and hauled it upright. He leaned over to examine it. Then gave up with a snarl of exasperation. “Perfect, fucking perfect.”

“My mom needs me.” It sounded lame. Richard shot her a look of clear skepticism. Okay, he thought so too. She was tempted to set him right and opened her mouth to do that. She shut it again. There was no easy explanation to this one.

He gave her one last scowl before he turned and stomped away. His feet drove small divots into the snow as he went, dragging his bike behind him. He didn’t look back, but strode toward the house next door. He tossed the helmet to one side. It hit the boards of the front porch with a broken splat. Lucy winced. The door slammed behind him with a resounding bang that made her jump. This was so not good.

Teasers

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Book Trailer

Meet the Author

Bio Pic

Born British and raised in South Africa, Sarah Hegger suffers from an incurable case of wanderlust. Her match? A hot Canadian engineer, whose marriage proposal she accepted six short weeks after they first met. Together they’ve made homes in seven different cities across three different continents (and back again once or twice). If only it made her multilingual, but the best she can manage is idiosyncratic English, fluent Afrikaans, conversant Russian, pigeon Portuguese, even worse Zulu and enough French to get herself into trouble.

Mimicking her globe trotting adventures, Sarah’s career path began as a gainfully employed actress, drifted into public relations, settled a moment in advertising, and eventually took root in the fertile soil of her first love, writing. She also moonlights as a wife and mother.

She currently lives in Salt Lake City with her teenage daughters, two Golden Retrievers and aforementioned husband. Part footloose buccaneer, part quixotic observer of life, Sarah’s restless heart is most content when reading or writing books.

Sarah is the recipient of the 2015 EPIC Award for Historical Romance.

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Buy the Book

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July 1 2015

Nobody’s Angel Book Blitz

nobodys angel book blitz

Book Blitz

10802047_326709390859890_3127289731744936390_n

Book Title: Nobody’s Angel (A Willow Park Romance)
Author: Sarah Hegger
Genre: Contemporary
Release Date: March 31, 2015
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

Goodreads Button with Shadow

Book Blurb

In this evocative new series from author Sarah Hegger, a woman returns home after a long absence–and wonders if two wrongs really can make a right. . .

Nine years ago Lucy Flint ran away to Seattle, taking her friend’s boyfriend and leaving her high school sweetheart without a word of explanation. Now she’s back in Willow Park, Illinois, to help care for her ailing father–and it’s no surprise that her ex, Dr. Richard Hunter, is still angry.

Still, she’s a different Lucy now. Sober, wiser, ready to make amends to the long–make that very long–list of those she mistreated during her wild younger days. Falling for Richard all over again would mean wreaking havoc in both their lives and possibly squandering her opportunity for redemption. But here, in the place where everything went wrong, is the one person who always felt right, and a second-chance that could be the best mistake she ever made. . .

excerpt

Silence hung heavily over the phone lines. “Lucy? Lucy, are you all right?” “Um, I am.” Lucy peered into the gathering gloom nervously.

Her heart sank. Nothing outside the car had changed. The dark thing spread across the snow was definitely human shaped. The object near the human thing, wheels spinning senselessly, was the bicycle it had been riding. Riding, until someone had opened their door on it. And that someone was her. “I’ve gotta go.”

“What was that noise?”

“I doored a cyclist.”

“You what?” There was nothing dulcet or dreamy about Mads and her smoky vocal chords now.

“It seems I doored a cyclist. I’m going to have to go now.”

“Is the cyclist okay?”

“It’s moving.” Lucy stepped from the car, shut her door, and took a ginger step forward.

A soft noise rode the steady sibilance of the wind. “And I think that’s it groaning.” She held the phone out nervously at the bipedal stain in the snow. “Can you hear it?”

“I can’t hear anything but this howling noise. That’s not it, is it?”

“Nope.” Lucy was reasonably sure on this point. “That’s the wind.”

“Fuck, Illinois.”

“I know, right?” Lucy took a half shuffle closer. “I think it’s a him.”

“How do you know it’s a him? Can you see its face?”

“Nope.” Lucy blinked away a sloppy snowflake. “But it’s either a man or a very large woman, with a butt that looks like a man.” And she certainly noticed the taut, muscular lines of his thighs and ass. She tilted her head to the side to get a better look. Those were male and not too bad, current situation aside. The Thinsulate pants could not be doing much good against the cold, because they left very little to the imagination. The figure on the ground moved again and rolled carefully onto his back. Yup, that was very definitely a he and not a she.

“Uh-huh, it’s a him,” she clarified for Mads without taking her eyes off the cyclist. “Excuse me? Are you all right?”

The cyclist cursed softly.

Lucy inched a little closer, ready to launch a heroic retreat into her childhood home if the injured party got pissed at her, the front steps of which loomed tantalizingly close. Coward. Lucy tried to master her yellow streak. “Should I call nine-one-one?”

“Does he look like he needs an ambulance?” Mads asked.

“I’ll ask him.” Lucy raised her voice. “Are you hurt? Should I call nine-one-one?”

The man on the ground moaned and struggled into a sitting position.

Her victim didn’t look all that injured or dangerous, yet.

He stretched out his legs with a hiss.

“I think he’s getting up,” Lucy whispered into the phone.

“Then he can’t be too badly hurt, right?” Mads sounded hopeful. “Any blood? Exposed bones? That sort of thing?”

“I don’t see any blood.” Lucy leaned forward and peered. Now that the cyclist was moving she didn’t want to risk getting any closer. “No bones either. I think that means he might be all right.”

“I can hear you,” he spoke.

“He can hear me,” Lucy reported to Mads. “Oh.” She stopped talking and stared.

“That’s good.” Mads kept it positive.

“I think he’s going to be okay,” Lucy whispered.

The cyclist ignored her and started unbuckling his helmet.

“It’s a good thing he wore a helmet,” Lucy reported into her phone.

“Why?” Mads whispered back.

“Because it’s sort of . . . busted up.”

“And his head?”

“Seems fine.” Lucy stood on her toes for a better look. “Are you sure you’re all right?” Her voice shook slightly as she risked speaking to the cyclist.

“No thanks to you.” The man examined his helmet. He shook his head angrily.

“I didn’t see you.” Lucy kept her tone conciliatory. “You came out of nowhere.”

“Then perhaps you should stop talking on the phone and concentrate on what you’re doing.”

Lucy froze. She knew that voice. “Ah shit.”

The cyclist whipped off his goggles and tucked them into his helmet in short, angry movements.

“This is going to get ugly.” She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until Mads replied.

“Well,” Mads huffed, outraged on her behalf. “Okay, I know you hit the guy with your door. But for the love of God, what kind of dork rides a bike in a snowstorm?”

The wind dropped just then and Mad’s voice squawked out of Lucy’s phone loud and clear. The cyclist jerked his head up and Lucy swore again. All the way west in Seattle, Mads had no idea. Lucy ignored the steady stream of rationalizations coming through the phone as her stomach sped south, into her boots.

“Bye,” she whispered and hung up.

The man in the snow had gone dead still. His gaze locked on her like a heat-seeking missile. And Lucy knew he knew that she knew and he knew that she knew he knew. Or something. Her mind went blank. There must be something to say in situations like this, but she had nothing. She stared at him and he stared right back.

“What the hell are you doing here?” All things considered it was a very reasonable question. His tone and the glare he bent her way shot to hell any vague hope she might have held that Richard had learned to forgive and forget.

“Hello, Richard.” Her voice hit the loaded air in a strangled squeak.

His voice was deeper than she remembered, but she would have known it anywhere. Nine years was not long enough to forget any of the small details she could now make out.

Snow powdered one side of his face and stuck to his eyelashes. His face was leaner and the bones stronger and more decisive, but he was still Richard. Handsome in that Cary Grant, clean-cut, one-of-the-good-guys way. It had played havoc with her teenage heart and hormones. Her grown-up hormones were not dead to the appeal either. His eyes were the same pure, unadulterated cobalt. He blinked to clear snow from the dark veil of his lashes.

Lucy watched him with the helpless certainty that the light at the end of the tunnel was an oncoming train.

His head dropped forward almost onto his chest. He’d propped his elbows onto his knees.

She should say something to ease the tension, but she was clueless. She tucked her chin deeper into her scarf and waited.

“Tell me it’s not you,” he said, eventually.

She huddled deeper into her coat and tried a friendly smile. “I didn’t see you when I opened my door.”

“Ah, Christ.” A big man, he was surprisingly graceful as he rose to his feet, brushing snow off his butt and legs.

She should have recognized those. An hysterical bubble of laughter caught in her throat.

“This cannot be happening to me,” he rumbled without looking at her.

She really wanted to ask which part, but was equally sure she didn’t want to hear his answer. “Sorry,” she said, shrugging again. “I didn’t—”

“See me, yeah, I get it.” His beautiful blue eyes were colder than the snow seeping through her cheap boots. “What are you doing here, Lucy?”

It was like something out of Wuthering Heights. The wind howled, the snow drove against her face, and the large, lurking former love of her life glowered at her in a very Brontë-esque manner. Kate Bush started wailing her lament to Heathcliff in a dark corner of Lucy’s mind.

“I came for my mom.” She dropped her eyes first. “My dad is sick.”

Richard made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “So, you rushed home to take care of Mom and Dad?” He didn’t wait for her reply, but bent to grab his bike and hauled it upright. He leaned over to examine it. Then gave up with a snarl of exasperation. “Perfect, fucking perfect.”

“My mom needs me.” It sounded lame. Richard shot her a look of clear skepticism. Okay, he thought so too. She was tempted to set him right and opened her mouth to do that. She shut it again. There was no easy explanation to this one.

He gave her one last scowl before he turned and stomped away. His feet drove small divots into the snow as he went, dragging his bike behind him. He didn’t look back, but strode toward the house next door. He tossed the helmet to one side. It hit the boards of the front porch with a broken splat. Lucy winced. The door slammed behind him with a resounding bang that made her jump. This was so not good.

Book Trailer

Meet the Author

Bio Pic

Born British and raised in South Africa, Sarah Hegger suffers from an incurable case of wanderlust. Her match? A hot Canadian engineer, whose marriage proposal she accepted six short weeks after they first met. Together they’ve made homes in seven different cities across three different continents (and back again once or twice). If only it made her multilingual, but the best she can manage is idiosyncratic English, fluent Afrikaans, conversant Russian, pigeon Portuguese, even worse Zulu and enough French to get herself into trouble.

Mimicking her globe trotting adventures, Sarah’s career path began as a gainfully employed actress, drifted into public relations, settled a moment in advertising, and eventually took root in the fertile soil of her first love, writing. She also moonlights as a wife and mother.

She currently lives in Salt Lake City with her teenage daughters, two Golden Retrievers and aforementioned husband. Part footloose buccaneer, part quixotic observer of life, Sarah’s restless heart is most content when reading or writing books.

Sarah is the recipient of the 2015 EPIC Award for Historical Romance.

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