“Love is an earthquake. It comes when you least expect it. It rips the ground clear away. Right out from under you.”
The day Lia Smart met Grayson Walker, eight years ago, was the day she fell helplessly in love with him. Coincidentally, it was the same day Grayson fell in love with someone else: Lia’s smarter, sexier, superior-in-every-way older sister, Alex.
Now, nearly a decade later, Alex and Grayson are long over and twenty-two-year-old Lia has finally managed to forget all those lonely nights she spent pining after her sister’s boyfriend. But when Grayson unexpectedly arrives back in town with Alex for Labor Day weekend and the two announce that they’re not only back together but engaged
, all the feelings that Lia buried suddenly come bubbling back to the surface.
But Lia is no longer the awkward, gangly tomboy she was at fourteen. Far from it. And Grayson is conflicted by the lustful thoughts he’s now having for her. He knows he could never act
on those thoughts, however. Grayson has always prided himself on being one of the “good guys.” But as the weekend wears on, he’s finding this new grown-up version of Lia more and more impossible to resist...
Heartbreaking and sexy with a dash of humor, Sophie Swift crafts a passionate, unforgettable tale about desire, growing up, and the kind of love that shakes us to the core.
“Thanks,” Grayson says, setting the bag of ice against his hand, cringing as the cold settles into his skin. “It’s been a long time since I punched someone in the face. I forgot how much it hurt.”
Is that what happened last night? Did he get in a fight?
No. That’s not possible. No one has ever fought over me.
Alex. Alex gets fought over. She has the face that launched a thousand punches, or whatever.
I’m not worth fighting over.
He must read the confusion on his face. “You don’t remember that part, do you?”
I shake my head.
“How much do
“I...” I start to say.
But I can’t do this. I can’t talk about this. Not here. Not while he’s dressed like that
. Or shall I say, not
dressed like that. I was kind of hoping we could just move on like it never happened and forget about it. But it’s pretty obvious he
wants to hash it out. Right here. Right now.
So I take a deep breath and, battling to keep my voice steady, say, “Look, I’m really embarrassed about what happened last night and I kind of want to just forget about it and move on. I realize this may not be the mature thing to do but to be honest, at this point, I’m not sure I can handle the mature thing.”
His eyebrows furrow as he takes in what I just said. Or more like just rambled
“You’re embarrassed,” he verifies, “because you got drunk and called me to come pick you up?”
“Because it seems like every time you’re around I somehow always need to be rescued!” My soft, tentative whispers have turned into throaty, breathy cries. “Because I’m like some perpetual damsel in distress who always needs saving.”
When I finish, he just stares at me, his gaze intense and searching. Then a reticent smile makes its way to his lips.
“I like saving you,” he admits quietly.
Of all the things I was expecting him to say in response to my tirade, this
was certainly not one of them.
He takes another step toward me. His proximity is intoxicating. Stronger proof than any alcohol. More debilitating than any drug.
“I said,” he replies, his voice deliberate. Determined. “I like
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