Hold On To Me
Against All Odds Series, bk #2
By Elisabeth Naughton
Blurb:
He thinks he’s finally found the one.
Mitch Mathews never believed in love—at least not the happily ever after kind. Then he met Simone Conners. Just one night with the sexy lawyer made him reevaluate his priorities and look toward a future he never planned. The only hang up is making her see it too.
She’s almost ready for a second chance.
What started out as a casual hookup with a rugged geologist has turned into something a whole lot more. Simone’s on the verge of handing over her heart, but fear over what Mitch will say and do when he learns who she used to be holds her back.
The past could destroy their future…
Just when Simone is about to take a chance on forever with Mitch, the mistakes of her past catch up with her. Suddenly it’s not just her safety on the line anymore, it’s his too. Forced into hiding, Mitch demands answers, and Simone realizes the only way to protect everything she holds dear is to delve into a past she’s spent fourteen years trying to forget. As they search for the truth, they discover secrets, lies and a rekindled passion that burns hotter than before. But they also uncover a conspiracy that threatens the very fabric of society. One that could cost them more than just their future…it could cost them their lives.
thin points, and a vehemence Simone had never seen before reflected in their
depths. “You came all the way over here in the middle of the night to tell me
something. Go ahead and say it.”
her—anger, heartache, disbelief—but the one that won out was betrayal, even if
a tiny voice in the back of her head said she had no right to feel that way.
You have no idea what I’ve been
through. I came here to explain, but there’s no point now.”
down the hall toward the door and freedom. Somewhere deep inside she knew she
was being irrational. She’d broken
things off with him. Whatever and
whoever he’d done since had nothing to do with her, and yet even though her
head understood that, her heart was having a really hard time accepting it.
Because for her, things hadn’t been over. And she doubted they ever would be.
around to face him in the entry hall. Moonlight spilled in through the
sidelights by the front door, illuminating his enraged features and
disbelieving eyes, the t-shirt molding to his muscular chest, the loose-fitting
jeans and his gorgeous, bare feet against the hardwood floor. “You’re the one
who ended things. You’re the one who said you didn’t care. As I recall, your exact
words were, ‘I don’t love you.’ So why the fuck would I believe you’d do
anything for me when I already know you just don’t give a shit?”
hurt the way she was hurting, to tell him he was right, that she really did no
longer give a shit. But before she could get the words out, the glass in the
far sidelight shattered, sending shards flying through the entryway.
the ground face first and covered her with his body. Pain echoed through her
hipbones and hands and anywhere she hit the hardwood. But the sound of
something small and hard digging into the siding, the door, shattering windows
and pinging off metal echoed all through the house, distracting her from the
pain.
her firmly to the ground. “Stay down,” he growled. “Those are bullets.”
I was never one of those people who knew they wanted to be an author at the age of six. I didn’t have imaginary friends. I didn’t write stories in my journal or entertain my relatives by firelight after Thanksgiving dinner. For the most part, I was just a normal, everyday kid. I liked to read, but I wasn’t exceptional at it. And when my teachers complimented me on my writing abilities, I brushed them off. I did, however, always have a penchant for the unique and absurd. And as my mother told me all throughout my childhood, I should have been an actress—I was a drama queen before my time.Years ago, my husband bought me Scarlett: The Sequel to Gone With The Wind. If you ever saw the book, you know it’s a long one. I sat and read that thing from cover to cover, and dreamed of one day being a writer. But I didn’t actually try my hand at writing until years later when I quit my teaching job to stay home with my kids. And my husband? After that week of reading where I neglected him and everything else until I finished Scarlett, he vowed never to buy me another book again. Little did he know I’d one day end up sitting at a keyboard all day drafting my own stories.
I have not read it yet, but it is certainly on my list.