Book Spotlight!
Synopsis
In
the instant international sensation Just One Night, sensible Kasie
Fitzgerald unleashed her passions—and found herself—through an explosive
affair. In Just One Lie, we meet Kasie’s wild and tortured sister,
whose impulsivity and lack of self-control has set off a chain of events that
changes her family forever.
Melody Fitzgerald is the opposite of the “perfect” daughter. The lead singer of an indie rock band, she is impulsive and creative, with a rebellious streak that both defines her and becomes her greatest enemy. Her lover, the enticing and unpredictable Ash, shares her free spirit and penchant for trouble. On the face of it, he seems to be her perfect match.
So why is she so drawn to her soft spoken, reliable drummer, Brad Witmer? How can a man who wears polo shirts and reads the financial section of the paper be of any interest to her at all? And why on earth does someone like that appear to be so captivated by her?
Before she knows it, Melody finds herself on a path of self-discovery, passion, and affairs of the heart. But will a dark secret from her past derail it all? Or will its exposure be the very thing that unburdens her heart and allows her to seek a future with the one man who loves her completely?
Melody Fitzgerald is the opposite of the “perfect” daughter. The lead singer of an indie rock band, she is impulsive and creative, with a rebellious streak that both defines her and becomes her greatest enemy. Her lover, the enticing and unpredictable Ash, shares her free spirit and penchant for trouble. On the face of it, he seems to be her perfect match.
So why is she so drawn to her soft spoken, reliable drummer, Brad Witmer? How can a man who wears polo shirts and reads the financial section of the paper be of any interest to her at all? And why on earth does someone like that appear to be so captivated by her?
Before she knows it, Melody finds herself on a path of self-discovery, passion, and affairs of the heart. But will a dark secret from her past derail it all? Or will its exposure be the very thing that unburdens her heart and allows her to seek a future with the one man who loves her completely?
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Excerpt
It is the
perfect moment…until I spot him standing near the corner of the room. He’s
almost entirely in the shadows, his features barely visible, but still, I
recognize him. There’s something about the way that man holds himself. Right
now he’s leaning against a beam, his arms crossed over his chest, chin up. Like
with a lion, it’s difficult to tell if he’s on the verge of sleeping or
attacking. The first time I saw him-when was that, a year ago? No, over
thirteen months since we met-I couldn’t stop staring. I loved his high,
chiseled cheekbones and his lightly tanned skin that hinted at a possible
Native American heritage, or maybe Latino. But then his bright green eyes
insisted that the story wasn’t so straightforward. Oh, and I loved his tribal
tattoos and the way his full lips curved into a slow, sensual smile when he saw
me for the first time at that club in Seattle. An aspiring musician is how he
described himself, but that night, when he sang to me, I could see that his
talent was a lot more than aspirational.
His first name is Ash-maybe it’s short for Asher or Ashley, I don’t
know, and at the time I didn’t care. I just recall thinking that a
man with a name like that had to have a story to tell, onethat involved
passion and adventure and yeah, okay, maybe a little destruction. We talked for
hours and I had felt like I understood him in a way that I had never understood
anyone else. And then, later, I realized I didn’t know a thing about him. All
our words and intimacies had left us strangers.
Ash is the stranger who took my life.
One night
with him, one night of rapture. That’s all it took to put an end to
Melody Fitzgerald.
And as if killing me wasn’t enough, this son of a bitch has reappeared and he’s
fucking with my moment!
I pull my eyes away and find Rick, the owner of the club, standing at the edge
of the bar. Next to him is a couple. A man with light brown hair and chiseled
chin with his arm wrapped around an ironed-straight blonde with the sinuous
figure of a runway model. All these beautiful people are here to see me!
That’s what I have to focus on. Not him. Never, ever him.
And yet, even as I refuse to bring my eyes back to Ash, my mind can’t seem to
leave him.
The music pushes me forward, forcing me to continue even as I feel my chest
tighten. There’s not enough air in here for this. How could I have not noticed
that before? Tonio jumps into his guitar solo and I use the opportunity to take
a deep breath, inadvertently inhaling the unmistakable scent of marijuana
floating up from somewhere on the dance floor. Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter.
None of this can matter, nothing but the music and what it can do. With new
resolve I fall back into the song, attacking it with even more ferocity than
before. The crowd hears it and loves it.
And now it’s me that’s moving, across the stage and back again, running,
screaming, and the crowd screams right back. This is everything. But then
there he is, leaning against that beamn,just…watching me. Has he followed me?
Isn’t one death enough for him? The question stirs up some rage I’ve
been trying to set aside since our last meeting. Impulsively I knock the
microphone stand to the ground with the smack of my open palm. The crowd thinks
it’s part of the act and so I go on, finding that I can rejoice in anger as
much as any other emotion. As we reach the last stanza, Traci’s and Tonio’s
voices join mine, and the sound is an assult on anyone who would ever dream of
challenging us. Maybe tomorrow they’ll say I’m a cross between Courtney Love
and Fiona Apple. Maybe they’ll say the whole band is destined for fame and
greatness. Yeah, that’s what they’ll say, those who are sober enough to
remember. But right now they just cheer as our song comes to an end.
“Thank you,” I whisper into the mic. I look back at Ash. Even from here I cans
see that he’s clapping, but it’s a slow, purposeful movement. He puts his hand
to his mouth, kisses his palm, and then extends his arm leisurely toward me.
It’s not so much that he’s blowing me a kiss as he is offering it to me.
Inviting me to climb down from my pedestal and take it from him. Again I inhale
deeply. “So, I gotta ask you guys something,” I continue. “It’s the end of an
era and you’re bringing in the new millennium at Apocalypse listening to a band
called fucking Resurrection. Is that tripping anyone else out?” There were
yells of approval and at least one person cries hell yes! “By
the way,” I add, “it’s really just Resurrection, only our parents
call us fucking Resurrection.” General laughter and one woman
screams out, “Parents suck!”
Ooh, if these guys only knew how much I agree with that one. “Incase you
missed it, this stud on the guitar is Tonio.” Tonio strums out a few wrenching
chords as the crowd cheers. “The hot chick in the leather mini is Traci.” Traci
plays the opening piano notes of “Sympathy for the Devil.” It’s doubtful that
this crowd recognizes it even as they whistle and scream for her, but I do, and
the reference makes me laugh. “And allow me to introduce our new drummer!
Brad’s only been with us for a week and he’s killing it, am I right?”
The crowd roars as Brad launches into a drum solo that is so intense, so
aggressive, and so beautiful I turn my back on the audience, momentarily
forgetting all of them, even my killer, as I lock eyes with this man who must
have sold his soul for this kind of talent. His lips curve into a little half
smile as his sticks fly across the stretched membrane surfaces. Physically he
doesn’t seem to fit with the rest of the group-too athletic, too clean cut, too
aristocratic-but the rest of his viciously beautiful rhythm is downright
sinful.
When he ends with a perfectly executed clash, I realize for the first time that
I’ve been holding my breath. The crowd cries out, solidifying the triumph as I
match his smile with my own and slowly pivot back to the room. “And of course,
I’m Mercy. I…” but I give up on continuing as the crowd erupts again, drowning
me out with their cheers, chanting my name.
My new name, a choice I made for myself only months ago, now reverberating
through the room: Mercy, Mercy, Mercy. It’s on the lips and tongues
of everyone in this room…except for his. Beneath the harmonious hum of voices,
like an insidious undercurrent, I can hear his silent accusations: That is
not who you are. You are not Mercy.
I swallow and look into the spotlight, letting the light assault my vision,
temporarily turning the entire club into a murky blur as the crowd quiets
enough for me to speak again. “So we got”-I turn and point to the large red
numbers projected by a laser clock onto the wall behind my head-“fifteen
minutes until the four horsemen arrive. I’m thinking we better stop wasting
time and get back into this!”
The crowd cheers again. I spot Rick giving me a thumbs-up as the rugby guy next
to him pumps his fist in the air. And again Tonio strums the strings of his
guitar. And again my voice rises high then low, elating the crowd and giving me
the fortitude to turn my thoughts away from the beast who watches me from the
shadows.
And when it’s 11:59 we stop midsong. I hold my hands up in the air
and point to the numbers. “It’s almost Y2K time, people!” I cry and glance back
at Rick, who is staring intently at his watch. And then he lifts his hand and
begins to tick off the seconds with his fingers as I count them down into the
mic, “Ten, nine, eight…”
The crowd’s counting with me. “…seven, six…” The beautiful black man has raised
his glass in the air; a young woman behind him scrambles on top of the bar with
a small video camera in her hand. “…three…” The muscle boy is bounding his fist
against the stage. “…two, one!”
And the room erupts. Confetti flies everywhere and the kind of fragmented light
that comes from a disco ball splashes across the celebrants. Tonio pops a
bottle of cheap champagne he’d been hiding in the wings and douses everyone in
the band with it before passing it around. I let the bubbles tickle my tongue,
then turn back to the microphone and launch into a happier, more celebratory
tune. The people standing beneath us have woven together like vines against the
wall, limbs tangled with limbs, lips against lips. There is no separation, no
individual distinctions. They all have become a snarled mass of exhilaration
and lust.
Except for Ash. He continues to just stand there, apart from all of
it. He’s simply watching me. Waiting for me to come to him and claim my kiss.
Author Spotlight
Other Books in the Series
Book 1
You
should sleep with a stranger, her best friend whispered in her ear—and so
begins the intense, erotic journey of Kasie Fitzgerald in Book One of the Just One Night series, a blockbuster
bestseller and “an uplifting story in which sex is presented both as freedom
and as a metaphor for power” (Publishers Weekly).
Kindle: http://amzn.to/1Dea6Uw
Amazon Paperback: http://amzn.to/1LUbnBK
Nook: http://bit.ly/1gs4Pio
iBooks: http://apple.co/1MAJkJe
Book 1.5
The romance that began with the runaway New York Times bestseller Just
One Night continues with the Just Once More. Download it
now!
Kindle: http://amzn.to/1MAIPij
Nook: http://bit.ly/1I8OkSR
iTunes: http://apple.co/1K5PtfH
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1GufrCq
About the Author
Kyra
Davis is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Just
One Night, Pure Sin and Sophie Katz series as well as So
Much For My Happy Ending. Just One NIght has been optioned for
television by Anonymous, (the producers of True Detective)
Before
publishing her first book, Sex, Murder And A Double Latte in 2005
Kyra supported herself and her son as a marketing manager for a sports club and
before that was a department manager at Nordstrom’s Savvy department. She
studied at The Fashion Institute Of Design and Merchandising and Golden Gate
University.
Kyra
now lives with her husband (director and screenwriter, Rod Lurie), her teenage
son (proud science-geek and Hawaiian-Shirt-aficionado), dog (champion
eater and guardian of the backyard…no squirrel will dare set foot in it) and
gecko (the gecko doesn’t do much).
Author Links
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