Meet
Hawke and Abby in the newest standalone in the Sphere of Irony Series.
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Blurb
Hawke
Evans is the drummer for the Grammy winning Sphere of Irony. The quiet,
tattooed and pierced hottie behind a pair of geek chic glasses is hiding a
seriously troubled adrenaline junkie with a death wish.
Abby
Kessler is studying psychology at UCLA. Her desire to help those fighting
mental illness stems from a life-changing incident in her past.
When
Abby meets Hawke backstage at a local club, she’s instantly attracted to his
bad boy good looks. But when she discovers the damaged man beneath the
beautiful exterior, she’s compelled to make up for past mistakes.
How
long will it take for Hawke to realize his reckless behavior isn’t only
endangering him, but the hearts of those around him? How long will it take for
Abby to see that she can’t help someone who has no desire to be fixed?
***This
is book 4 in the Sphere of Irony Series. It can be read as a standalone. This
is a spin-off of the Famous Series***
Review - 4 Stars
Tragedy,
pain, blame, destruction, recklessness. Is it possible to move past these
things? Or will they control every aspect of your life? This is the challenge
that Hawke and Abby struggle with for years.
Abby
is instantly attracted to the bad boy rocker the moment that she lays eyes on
him. Only she has every reason to believe that her feelings are unrequited.
After seeing Hawke with a slew of women she decides that it's time to
move on. But Hawke has no intention of letting another man move in on his
territory.
Hawke catches
feelings for the bombshell that happens to be the best friend to one of his
closest friends. She is beautiful, sweet, and perfect. Everything that he is
not. The only thing that he is sure of is that he is not good enough for her.
"The Desire to
walk over there, grab her in my arms, and suck on that spot until I leave a
mark claiming her as mine, is nearly impossible to ignore."
His
need for her grows tighter and tighter until his resolve snaps. He shocks her
when he makes his feelings for her known. They spend and hot night exploring
each others bodies. Little do they know that this is the start of seven
painfully turbulent years.
Hawke can't
get passed the guilt of losing his family in an accident that leaves him
scarred on the inside and outside. He deals with the pain and guilt the only
way that he knows how. By hurting himself and living on the edge. The only time
he really feels alive is when he is risking his life.
Abby
has the need to fix everyone in her life. Her past is dark just like Hawks, and
she is dealing with her own demons. She wants to saveHawke but the last
thing that he wants is to be saved.
For
years they struggle with codependency, with fighting their demons, with being
in love with another soul that is just as broken as their own. As they grow and
mature, life causes them to face and embrace hard decisions.
Will
they remain on their destructive paths or will they get the help that they
need?
"... I can't fix
you, Hawke. I can't keep trying. I'll never succeed and it's killing me to
watch you destroy yourself."
This
book deals with serious issues including PTSD and Bipolar Disorder.
The characters really have to work on themselves before they achieve their
happily ever after. I felt their struggle as they fought to hold on to each
other and deal with their demons at the same time.
Heather
C. Leigh did an awesome job of mixing fun, playful and ridiculously hot moments
into the story
"The wide grin slowly
melts off his face. His gaze goes from playful to intense, holding me
captive... Hawke parts his lips, his breath hitching as he speaks. 'I missed
you.'"
I
was dragged through a rocky emotional roller coaster. Sometimes I was in love
with the characters (especially Hawke), sometimes I hated them. At times I
wanted to hug them and tell them that everything would be okay and at others I
wanted to shake them and demand that they pull themselves together.
*4 Wrecked Stars!"
**\Review by Jessica W
Excerpt
“Go
away, Evans. I’m talking this nice girl.” This prick has no idea how close I am
to snapping or what Abby means to me. The way Brad says ‘girl’, combined with
the obvious ‘fuck off so I can get laid’ look in his eyes, seals Brad’s fate.
Blinded
by rage, I pull back my arm and drill my fist right into his smug face.
“Fuck!”
Brad cries out. He touches his mouth to find his lip split open and bleeding.
“Oh
my god, Hawke! What is your problem?” Abby shouts. I move to punch the bastard
again, but Abby steps between us, grabbing my hand. “Stop!”
“Move,”
I hiss, shooting a murderous glare over Abby’s shoulder at Brad, who is still
holding his hand up to his mouth.
The
rest of the room has gone silent, everyone stopping to stare at the disruption,
eager to watch a good fight. Dax must have either left or is holed up in his
room with Kate, otherwise he’d be right in the middle of things, using his
enormous muscles and underground fighting skills to put an end to the
confrontation.
“Don’t,”
Abby begs, forcing me to look at her by stepping into my line of sight. When I
meet her eyes, shimmering with tears and betrayal, all of the rage I felt for
Brad turns into frustration with Abby for drinking and putting herself in the
situation with Brad to begin with.
“Leave,”
I bark at Brad, pointing at the front door. Before she can protest, I grab
Abby’s wrist and haul her to my room. She stumbles behind me on her high heels.
Using my foot, I slam the door shut with a bang.
“Ouch,
Hawke!” Abby twists out of my hold, turning to glare at me. “What is your
problem?”
“My
problem?” I shout. “I’m not the one getting drunk and letting Brad piece-of-shit
Vargas touch my ass!”
Her
mouth drops open and her eyes bulge. “Are you kidding me right now?”
I
step forward, crowding her in a corner of the tiny space I share with Gavin.
“Oh, I’m far from fucking kidding, Abby. He’s a slimy douchebag who wants
nothing more than to get you drunk and fuck you.”
“So
what? It’s none of your business who I sleep with!” Abby puts her hands on her
hips and scowls. It’s almost adorable, until she continues her rant, going
straight for the jugular. “I don’t say anything about the whores you bang every
night!”
Anger,
shame, raging desire—they all battle inside my chest, clashing until they
detonate in a huge fireball of uncontrollable emotions. “I don’t want them!” I
shout, my hands going to my hair, fisting huge hunks.
I
step closer, Abby’s back now pressed against the bathroom door. I lean forward,
dropping my hands to cage her in on either side of her head. Her breathing
picks up and I drop my gaze to drag up her sinful body, ending at her heart-stopping
eyes. “Don’t you get it, Abby?” My voice lowers as I finally confess what I’ve
held inside for too long. “I don’t want Brad touching you. I don’t want anyone
touching you! I want you. You’re mine.”
Abby
gasps, either in shock at my declaration, or with desire. I don’t wait to find
out because at that moment, I lean closer, letting my hips press against hers
so she can feel exactly how much I want her. Abby’s eyes fall to my mouth, her
thick lashes fluttering against flushed skin. When her pink tongue darts out to
lick her lips, any remaining willpower I possessed dissolves into nothingness.
I
tilt my head to see if that mouth tastes as sweet as she smells, but Abby holds
me back with a hand to my chest. A fist squeezes around my heart. Of course she
doesn’t want me. Why would she? I’m a fucked up mess and she knows it.
Abby
inhales a shaky breath, drawing my attention back to her eyes once more.
“What’s your real name?” she asks.
“What?”
I pull my brows together.
“Your
real name. I… I don’t want my first time to be with someone whose name I don’t
know,” she whispers, her cheeks blazing red with embarrassment.
I
huff out a laugh. “Henry. It’s Henry Walker Evans.”
“Like
Gavin Walker?”
I
shake my head. “No relation.”
“Henry,”
she says, smiling as she trails her trembling fingers up my chest, over my
collarbone, to wrap around the back of my neck. “Kiss me, Henry.”
Without
hesitation, I lift my hands from the door to cup her flushed cheeks, letting my
full weight press against her body. Abby’s tongue darts out to wet her lips,
sending a rush of blood straight to my groin. I groan in pleasure. “God, I’ve
been wanting to do this forever.” Before she can answer, I lean in and our
mouths connect.
Abby
melts against the door, her muscles going limp, allowing me to control the
kiss. When I slide my tongue against the seam of her lips, she lets out a
throaty moan that vibrates all the way to my toes. Her mouth parts on a soft
exhale, the sound sending little sparks of electricity dancing across my skin.
I’m so turned on, so desperate to taste and feel every part of her, that my
brain turns off and instinct takes over. Primal, animal instinct to possess, to
claim, to make her mine.
I
step forward, putting one foot between hers to kick her feet apart. Once
there’s enough room to maneuver, I push my stiff dick against the junction of
her thighs. Abby gasps and comes to life. The girl who was content to be
passively carried along through our kiss, threads her fingers through my hair
and grips tight. The streak of pain across my scalp shreds my last vestiges of
rational thought.
Panting,
I break away, dizzily gulping down oxygen. “Off. Now.” I grab the hem of her
silky tank top and yank it over her head, revealing two perfect, round breasts
supported by a lacy white bra. “Fuck.” I palm my hard-on through my way too
tight jeans, the ache nearly unbearable.
Abby
stares at me, her eyes wild, pupils dilated. Desire has put crimson streaks on
her cheekbones and turned her throat and chest a deep shade of pink. “Your
turn,” she says, clawing at the bottom of my own T-shirt. I reach over my head
to pull it off, but hesitate when my fingers grip the material.
The
scars. I’ve haven’t had sex with anyone without a shirt on since the accident,
usually not even getting my pants all the way off. It’s always been quick
backroom hook-ups or blow jobs. My pulse races, fear overtaking desire,
pricking my skin uncomfortably.
“Henry.”
Abby caresses my cheek, her thumb brushing across the silver stud in my bottom
lip. “I don’t care. I want you, all of you. You’re perfect the way you are.”
Our
eyes lock, and I know she’s telling the truth. This is Abby. I can trust her.
She skims her hands down my ribcage, hooking her fingers into the waist of my
jeans. In a bold move, Abby tugs me forward and arches her back off the door,
grinding against my aching cock.
I
nod, knowing right now, I’ll give her whatever she wants. I fist the collar of
the shirt and pull it over my head, balling it up in my hands between us, using
it as my final shield. Without breaking eye contact, Abby covers my hands with
her own and slowly removes my fingers, taking the shirt from me. She tosses it
to the ground, blue eyes still fixed on mine. Abby slides her hands around my
waist and I flinch.
“Don’t
be afraid,” she murmurs, skimming her hands up my torso, her fingers exploring
every inch. They brush across my abs to my chest, where she gently flicks her
thumbs across my nipples. “I’m not. I know you’ll take care of me.”
“Jesus,
Abby.” My head lolls back from the pleasure of her touch.
Abby
winds her hands behind my head and pulls my mouth back to hers. Our tongues
slide together, wet and hot and so fucking perfect. She stops to catch her
breath, fumbling with the button on her own jeans. As I stare, entranced, Abby
shoves down her pants and underwear and reaches behind her to unsnap her bra,
letting it slide down her arms to the floor. She’s so beautiful, I stop
breathing to stare at her naked body, snapping out of it only when she speaks.
“Make love to me, Henry.”
Check
out the Beautiful NEW COVERS!
Incite
(Book One) The Sphere of Irony Series FREE
Strike
(Book Two) The Sphere of Irony Series
Resist (Book Three) The Sphere of Irony Series
About
the Author:
Heather
C Leigh
Heather
C. Leigh is the author of the Amazon best selling Famous series. She likes to
write about the 'dark' side of fame. The part that the public doesn't get to
see, how difficult it is to live in a fishbowl and how that affects
relationships.
Heather was born and raised in New England and currently lives outside Atlanta, GA with her husband, 2 kids, and French Bulldog, Shelby.
She loves the Red Sox, the Patriots, and anything chocolate (but not white chocolate, everyone knows it's not real chocolate so it doesn't count) and has left explicit instructions in her will to have her ashes snuck into Fenway Park and sneakily sprinkled all over while her family enjoys beer, hot dogs, and a wicked good time.
Heather was born and raised in New England and currently lives outside Atlanta, GA with her husband, 2 kids, and French Bulldog, Shelby.
She loves the Red Sox, the Patriots, and anything chocolate (but not white chocolate, everyone knows it's not real chocolate so it doesn't count) and has left explicit instructions in her will to have her ashes snuck into Fenway Park and sneakily sprinkled all over while her family enjoys beer, hot dogs, and a wicked good time.
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