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In the questions in love and death, where does the truth lie?
Entangled Love by Cait Jarrod
A fresh start…
Emma James is on a mission to rebuild her life after the loss of her husband. When her childhood friend offers an innocent getaway to Santa Monica, she accepts thinking fun in the sun will be a great way to start fresh.
A man waiting for the right moment…
Retired professional skateboarder, Ryan Cross is a gorgeous, lovable, ladies’ man. With two skateboard parks and a fat bank account, he’s on top of his game. What could make him happier?
Chaos and life-threatening obstacles.
Chapter 1 first three pages:
A dark figure darted in front of Emma James’ watery vision. Adrenaline pumped through her veins. She slammed her foot on the brake. Skidding sideways, the car fishtailed into oncoming traffic. She screamed and controlled the wheel.
A tractor-trailer blasted its horn. The passing SUV driver stuck his hand out the window, and raised his middle finger, flipping her off, and maneuvered around her. Tires screeched and marred the road until she stopped. “Holy crap!” Her hand hit her chest. Dazed, she stared at the California highway, searching for the person amongst the palms and pavement, and attempted to control her erratic breathing, a metallic taste filling her mouth.
Were they trying to kill themselves?
On the side of the road under a palm tree, a figure cloaked in a long coat and hood, their face concealed, stood near a compact car. As if watching a slow motion movie, an arm stretched out and pointed a finger gun at her. A second later, the form climbed inside the vehicle and drove away.
“What the shit is going on?” Her hands trembled on the steering wheel. She shifted her foot to the gas pedal and drove toward the party. Memories from a year ago blindsided her: the phone call from Ryan, the police arriving, and the dreadful news that brought her to her knees. Her husband’s death still hurt as much today as it had then.
She shook herself, snapping to the present, and wiped away tears, then stretched to check her make-up in the rearview mirror. Today, a year after her husband’s death was the last day she would allow herself to mourn. She hit her palm against the steering wheel. “I will move past this.”
Another wave of memories sliced through her like a knife. Her breathing hitched. “Dear God, make the pain go away,” she said and turned the wheel into her best girlfriend’s driveway.
Rows of parked cars lined the front of the house. She inched past them toward the glowing lights and inevitable conversations yet to come.
“Eric would not want you to sit home and wallow on the anniversary of his death,” Amy said into the phone this morning.
“Someone murdered him,” she responded.
“There’s no evidence,” Amy was quick to say. “Come on, the fundraiser will take your mind off of Eric, besides Ryan will be here.”
By the end of the conversation, she agreed to attend the charity she helped plan, but her heart wasn’t in it. A bottle of wine and her sofa was where she wanted to spend the evening.
Indistinct jazz music played from the yard heightening her already intense desire to run. She parked next to a red Mercedes, and closed her eyes.
No, I need to do this.
She swung open the car door. The previously muffled noise became clear with the saxophone booming, filling her with longing for Eric and their intimate dances.
Waterworks threatened to emerge. With a heavy heart, she leaned against the car and observed the sky. “Why?”
“It’s not a question that can be answered. It is what it is.”
Her eyes widened.
The deep baritone voice, comforting and gentle, gave her a sense of safety, security. She’d give a limb to fall into her husband’s arms again, for everything to be a horrible dream.
She turned, searching and hoping against what she understood to be true.
Golden hair, instead of dark hair, fell over the tan skin on his forehead, and a grin stretched across his face. Not the man she wished back, but the one who stayed with her at every shitty turn life dished out.
He progressed toward her, a glass in his hand. His tone muscles flexed through the designer dress shirt and pants. Green eyes bored into hers. “Hello, love.”
Six feet of gorgeous male and one of the best skateboarders in the country, worth millions, he had every woman in San Francisco and Santa Monica vying for his attention.
Warm lips touched her skin, his five o’clock shadow scraping her cheek. Years passed since a man other than Ryan had come this close. Her lids fluttered closed, enjoying his warmth before forcing them open. No. She shoved away her body’s desire for wanting such a dear friend. Depression made a person do strange things.
Contact or follow Cait Jarrod:
Facebook Fan Page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Cait-Jarrod-Author/500705936640529?ref=hl
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