Happy Release to Elle Aycart!
Heavy Secrets is NOW LIVE!
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1eGOcif
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1dfivuw
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1Jgm3sd
Loose ID: http://www.loose-id.com/heavy-secrets.html
Christy Sheridan has come a long way from the physical and
emotional wreck she used to be. She's made Alden her home and is happily
engaged to a man who loves and accepts her for who she is, curves, quirks, and
geekiness included. Life is good. Until mommy dearest blows into town to
"help" her clueless daughter seal the deal.
Cole Bowen is experiencing a world of firsts: first time in
love, first engagement, first Valentine's, first in-laws. He's found the woman
of his dreams, so he figured dealing with Martha Sheridan was a small price to
pay. That is before his monster-in-law plants herself in their home and inside
Christy's head, stirring up old demons and destroying her newly regained
self-esteem. And while his hands are full with trying to neutralize their
meddlesome guest, a mysterious phone call turns his world upside down.
With ghosts from the past resurfacing and threatening to
tear Cole and Christy apart, can they make it to the wedding they both so
desperately want, or will heavy secrets send their relationship to the breaking
point?
Excerpt
Chapter One
“How many years do you think I’d get for offing my mom?
Because honest to God, if we’re talking single digits, I’m willing to risk it,”
Christy said while leaning back on the lounge chair after getting a full-body
massage that had left her totally gooey.
They were at the spa, wearing fluffy bathrobes and sipping
tea, except for Christy, who was nursing a diet soda.
“Just name a time and place, and we’ll be there with a
shovel. No questions asked,” Annie said, and Holly and Tate assented.
“I could claim temporary insanity.” Heck, emotional
self-defense too.
“Don’t worry, we’ll vouch for you. No jury in its right mind
would convict you,” Holly stated. “I thought you were exaggerating, but boy,
were you understating. What a…character.”
Ha. That was one way of putting it.
Annie nodded in commiseration. She’d met Martha a long time
ago, when the girls were in college. Christy had gone for an East Coast
institution, hoping it would be out of her mom’s range, but going away had been
useless. There was no place far enough.
Crazy had its own methods of reaching her.
“Where’s the Grand Diva now?” Tate, Christy’s future
sister-in-law, asked.
“Checking out wedding dresses. She arranged an appointment
at a bridal shop. I stood her up.”
Her whole posse turned to her, looking stupefied.
“She’s picking out a wedding dress without the bride?”
Yeah, typical Martha stunt.
“I know I should be there, but why, really? She won’t listen
to anything I say. I might as well save my breath.”
And a whole lot of pain and abuse in the process.
The girls pondered for a second and then nodded.
“Oh, and remember,” Christy added, reaching for her diet
soda. “I’m not here. I’m in the middle of a massive twelve-car accident. Well
and healthy but stuck inside the vehicle and waiting for the firefighters to
come and cut the roof open to rescue me.”
That her mom hadn’t rushed to her side when Christy called
her—and that Christy had known she wouldn’t—already said it all.
“And when your mom realizes your car is intact? Then what?”
Tate asked, to which Christy couldn’t help snorting.
“That would imply she remembered our talk. It won’t happen.
A total impossibility.”
Christy would bet anything, her first unborn child
included—and her second and third—that her mom wouldn’t even mention it. That
was the advantage of being disappointed one too many times; no way in hell to
harbor false illusions.
Martha’s number-one priority was…Martha. Followed by
whatever man she was screwing with at the moment. How she’d managed to marry a
decent guy and keep him for several years was beyond Christy. Then again, Fred
was too kind for his own good. That or he had a hell of a lot of bad karma from
a previous life.
For a split second, she’d considered going to the bridal
shop, but then she’d discarded the idea. Defaulting to her
smile-accept-and-walk-away technique, she’d nodded and kept quiet. And had run
in the opposite direction at the first chance. Let her mother get her kicks.
Just let her do it far away from Christy. Besides, there was no damage Martha
could do; Christy had told the shop assistant not to reserve anything without
her consent.
Holly poured herself more tea. “Doesn’t she know you don’t
want a traditional dress for your summer wedding?”
“She knows. She just doesn’t care.” They were talking about
a woman who had gotten married four times, once with a beer-can tab as a ring.
Appointments at high-scale bridal shops were a dream come true for her. “I feel
like a shitty daughter, but I’m so ready for her to leave.”
Martha had come for Christmas with her husband and stayed a
couple of days. It had gone rather well, probably because Cole was scary enough
and Martha hadn’t worked herself up to be…well, herself. This time around,
she’d been in Alden for three days, without Fred, and Christy was ready to face
the gallows for a chance to get rid of her.
Fate had thrown Christy the mother of all curve balls when
it chose Martha as her sole parent.
Their relationship had always been complicated, to say the
least, with Christy spending all her life putting out fires—Martha’s—and eating
to cope. Eventually she’d gotten her food addiction under control, but changing
her mom and her nasty ways was something out of her reach.
And having Martha living with her without Fred as a buffer
was bringing up all sorts of feelings and automatic coping mechanisms that
Christy had thought she’d left behind.
Lora, Christy’s former sponsor, had been right: nothing
guaranteed recovery, and they were always one upset away from relapse.
“What about Cole?” Tate asked, taking Christy out of her
reverie. “Isn’t he putting her in her place?”
He would if he knew. Apparently Martha was learning subtlety,
at least in front of a 240-pound, uncompromising ex-marine. It also helped that
Christy had asked him not to interfere. Cole was a black-and-white kind of
person. Intransigent and not inclined to put up with moronities. Left to his
own devices, he would have kicked Martha out the first day.
“She’s…contained around him. I think she’s scared of him.”
“She and half the world, sister,” Holly mumbled.
Christy rolled her eyes and, after reaching inside the
pocket of her bathrobe, fished out a sugar-free cherry lollipop. “Come on. Cole
is a harmless sweetie.” Who liked macho power tripping and playing with cuffs,
but a sweetie nonetheless.
They’d been together for six months, and although they’d
clashed several times, he’d kept his word and hadn’t shut her out. He’d leave
to cool down—sometimes he went to his brother James’s; sometimes she saw him
pacing up and down the yard, muttering under his breath—but he always came back
and they always found middle ground.
“To you he’s harmless,” Holly corrected as Christy unwrapped
the candy. “Wait until he finds out about the pole-dancing classes. Mike
already told Kyra to up her insurance. And to make sure there are no guys
lurking around during said classes.”
Cole and his men had started working on Kyra’s dance studio right
before Christmas and had gotten it ready in no time. Anything to get the exotic
aerobics and the horde of giggling women in tight thongs out of Haddican’s, the
local gym, and away from so much bubbling testosterone.
“It’s all Annie’s fault,” Christy shot back, giving her
friend the evil eye. “She signed me up without asking.”
Christy wasn’t much for showing herself off, and pole
dancing was exactly that, but Kyra had been so excited to have her and Tate on
board that it had been impossible to get out of it without hurting Kyra’s
feelings.
On the plus side, Martha hadn’t found out about her
daughter’s new hobby. She would have made fun of Christy or joined the classes.
Either way, no number of twelve-step meetings would have helped Christy get
through that trauma. Her mother was many things, but ugly and clumsy she
wasn’t. That her ass and boobs were still perkily pointing north and that she
moved perfectly to capitalize on that also helped. Working a pole under her
reproving stare would have killed Christy and her shaky, newly developed
self-esteem. For all Martha’s dumb decisions in her personal life—and boy, were
there plenty—she had a witty tongue and knew how to deliver killer putdowns.
“Duh, you would have said no,” Annie replied, bringing her
back to the present. “And I owed you one after you got me into exotic
aerobics.”
“You know I can’t quit the exotic aerobics. I needed
company.” Christy had gone there just on a whim, but then Cole saw her and, in
one of his my-way-or-the-highway stunts, had tossed her over his shoulder and
stomped out of the class. Now she couldn’t quit, just on principle. She needed
to stand her ground with Cole, especially when he was being a control freak and
attempting to fuck her into submission, which was very often.
Besides, she liked that class. And defying Cole.
Annie pursed her lips. “A pregnant woman wiggling her ass
around a chair and pretending to be sexy is…definitely not.”
“I’m pretty sure Max feels otherwise,” Holly said. “I’ve
seen him watching you. No way to disguise that look.”
“What look?”
“That tight expression. The
she’s-mine-everyone-back-the-fuck-off glare, mixed with
wait-till-I-get-a-closed-door-between-us-and-the-rest-of-the-world.”
Tate laughed. “That’s the standard Bowen look.”
Damn right. Christy had seen it on Cole’s face many times.
Before and after fucking her senseless. Heck, while too. She loved that
proprietary look. It said she was beautiful and he needed her. For someone
who’d battled self-esteem issues all her life, it meant the world. Cole meant
the world to her.
“As soon as the baby pops out,” Christy said, pointing at
Annie’s seven-months-pregnant belly, “you’re marching into the pole-dancing
classes with me. No frigging excuses.”
Annie shook her head. “I have shitty coordination. I’d kill
myself.”
“Sure. And the swing up in Max’s room?”
They were all rosy from their facial massages, yet Annie
visibly flushed. “Hmm, that’s for yoga?”
Christy couldn’t stifle the giggle. Neither could Holly or
Tate.
Yeah, because Max was such a yoga type.
Christy dipped her sugar-free lollipop on her diet soda. “If
I’m making an ass out of myself and Kyra is risking the integrity of her new
business, you’re joining us after recovering from childbirth.”
Annie grimaced, pointing at Christy’s glass. “That’s gross.
I thought you were cutting back on your weird stuff.”
Yeah, she’d thought that too. Until her mom blew into town.
“Cola-flavored cherry lollipop or cherry-flavored soda. Not
weirder than scooping Nutella with bacon.”
“True, but I’m hormonal.”
Ha! Pregnancy hormones had nothing on the spike of anxiety
that Martha created.
“By the way, Tate,” Holly chimed in, “did you get a pole
installed in the bedroom?”
Now it was Tate blushing. “Yes.”
“And?”
She blushed even harder. She was six months pregnant, and
although she had some limitations where the movements were concerned, Christy
had seen her dance. Tate really knew how to make it work. She kicked ass.
Pregnant and all.
“James loved it. As in really loved it.”
“On a scale of one to ten?” Holly asked, wiggling her
eyebrows.
“Thirty. And don’t worry,” Tate hurried to appease Christy.
“I made him promise he won’t say a word to Cole about the classes.”
Good, because Mike was right. If Cole found out, Kyra was
going to need top-of-the-line insurance, especially with Amantis’s dancing crew
and the security detail snooping around.
“Although I don’t see the big issue. It’s for Cole. Whenever
you’re ready, he’ll be the one enjoying the result of the classes, right?”
“Right,” Christy mumbled. She’d started liking it, but
considering how klutzy she felt at pole dancing, it was going to take a couple
of decades before Cole got to see her.
Holly turned her inquisitive gaze to Annie. “And your, uh,
yoga swing? Scale of one to ten?”
“Thirty,” she answered after a long pause, red as a frigging
tomato.
“Wow. Swings, dancing poles. The pregnant ladies here like
their toys,” Holly said with a grin.
Christy glanced at Annie and Tate, both fanning themselves.
“We should change the subject. Before the kinky pregnant ladies faint.”
“You’re a fine one to talk. And the cuffs tucked in the
drawer in your nightstand?”
“Annie!”
“What? I’m being tactful. The cuffs were the only objects I
recognized.”
Okay, they were so banned from each other’s bedrooms.
“Really?” Holly asked, looking intrigued as hell. “What kind
of objects?”
“We are deviating from the subject, people. We were talking
about how to off my mom, remember?”
Tate waved around. “That’s easy. We bring her here, lock her
in the sauna, and turn it to high.”
“It won’t work. She’s from LA. And she lived in Georgia for
a while, chasing after some crocodile hunter. The heat’s nothing for her.”
“Or now that we have plenty of props,” Holly said with a
wink, “we could plant Tate’s dance pole somewhere in the forest and cuff Martha
to it. Leave her for the wolves.”
Poor wolves. Her mother would have them committing suicide
in no time. Christy couldn’t do that to them.
“Must be a simpler way. Can’t you just send her to hell?”
Christy shrugged. It was easier said than done. Her mom had
the nasty habit of doing something nice whenever Christy was reaching critical
mass. She couldn’t send her to hell in good conscience.
The girls couldn’t understand. Annie had a kick-ass mom.
Tate too. Holly’s she didn’t know, but the messages between mother and daughter
were hilarious, so she imagined their relationship was solid. People with great
parents had no clue how difficult it was to deal with bad ones.
“How long until she leaves?”
“Still a while. Thirteen days, nine hours”—Christy reached
for her cell—“twenty-five minutes and thirty-five seconds, to be exact.”
Annie chuckled. “You keeping track?”
“I have a countdown set.” Every twenty-four hours, an app
sent her a yay-you-can-do-this message. “She’s leaving four days before
Valentine’s Day. She wants to be in LA then, so that she can prepare for it.”
“Four days in advance?” Holly asked. “What’s she planning on
doing for her husband?”
“For Fred? Nothing. She goes to make sure he gets her all
that she wants.”
“Oh boy.”
“You can say that again. How he puts up with her, I don’t
know.”
Her smile-accept-and-walk-away technique was failing her
big-time now that they were both under the same roof. Or maybe it was that she
had gotten a taste for normal and supportive with Cole, and going back to
mental was hard.
“We should call Fred and get some pointers,” Holly
suggested. “Thirteen days is a long time. Spending your and Cole’s first
Valentine’s Day in jail wouldn’t be too much fun.”
“Run to Vegas ahead of schedule. You’re going there anyway
for your annual convention, right?” Annie asked.
Tate frowned. “What convention?”
“The geeky version of Valentine’s,” Annie said. “I was there
once with her. Memorable. Not going ever again.”
Christy rolled her eyes and turned to Holly and Tate.
“There’s a Star Trek convention held in Vegas the weekend before Valentine’s
every year.” Plus this year they had the premiere of a new Star Trek movie.
“And no, I’m not going. Cole wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like that. I’ve
been dropping hints about it for a couple of months already, but he isn’t
biting.”
Holly patted her on the arm. “So no hanging out with your
nerdy friends and stuck with your mom. That sucks.”
Yep. Totally.
Bowen Series Reading Order
More than Meets the
Ink (Bowen, #1)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1BHLGvQ
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1AddDA2
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1DjeSLD
iBooks: http://bit.ly/1BLgSg5
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1yVS0xC
Heavy Issues (Bowen #2)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1ymbIUo
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1yZFYrN
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1vn91q6
iBooks: http://bit.ly/1tN4oEo
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1DjiFbW
Inked Ever After (Bowen, #2.5)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1yVIYkq
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1AddNYq
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1DshXJJ
iBooks: http://bit.ly/1HB27mj
Kobo: http://bit.ly/16duB52
To The Max (Bowen, #3)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1zSQoJ6
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1AgchDW
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1SVfbFg
iBooks: http://apple.co/1No8poi
All Romance ebooks: http://bit.ly/1KMsQZp
About the Author
After a colorful array of jobs all over Europe ranging from
translator to chocolatier to travel agent to sushi chef to flight dispatcher, Elle Aycart is certain of
one thing and one thing only: aside from writing romances, she has
abso-frigging-lutely no clue what she wants to do when she grows up. Not that it stops her from
trying all sorts of crazy stuff.
While she is probably now thinking of a new profession, her
head never stops churning new plots for her romances. She lives currently in
Barcelona, Spain, with her husband and two daughters, although who knows, in no
time she could be living at the Arctic Circle in Finland, breeding reindeer.
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