Between Here And The Horizon

By Callie Hart

Release Date: October 18 ,2016

Pre Order: Amazon / Amazon UK / B & N / ITunes / Kobo

Synopsis:

“You think you know me. You think you want to know me. But trust me, Miss Lang. Pursuing me will be the worst mistake you ever make. I’m broken beyond repair…

…and I take great pleasure in breaking everyone else around me.”
Ophelia Lang needs money, and she needs it bad. Her parent’s restaurant is going under, and ever since she lost her job teaching third grade elementary, scraping enough cash together to pay the bills has proven almost impossible. Her parents are on the brink of losing their home. The vultures are circling overhead. So when Ophelia is offered an interview for a well-paid private tutoring gig in New York, how can she possibly say no?

Ronan Fletcher is far from the overweight, balding businessman Ophelia expected him to be. He’s young, handsome, and wealthy beyond all reason. He’s also perhaps the coldest, rudest person she’s ever met, and has a mean streak in him a mile and a half wide. A hundred grand is a lot of money, however, and if tolerating his frosty temperament, his erratic mood swings and whatever else he throws at her means she’ll get paid, then that is what Ophelia will do.

Her new boss is keeping secrets, though. Awful, terrible secrets.

The ghosts of Ronan Fletcher’s past are about to turn Ophelia’s future upside down, and she can’t even see it coming.

Excerpt

The door flew open before I’d even had a chance to climb out of the car, and he stood there, one hand resting on his stomach, the other braced against the door jamb, staring at me with the wide-eyed look of someone about to encounter aliens for the first time.

“What the fuck?” he mouthed.

“You tell me,” I mouthed back. I didn’t want to get out of the car now that I’d seen the shitty expression on his face. His hair was crazy, standing on end, and his jaw was marked with dark stubble that made him look both unkempt and well put together at the same time somehow. He was wearing a tight, gray, long-sleeved shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and yet another pair of scruffy black jeans. He was pale and there were shadows under his eyes, which made him look haunted.

Slowly, still pressing one hand to his stomach, he hobbled out of the doorway and came and stood in front of the driver’s side door, looking at me through the window. When I didn’t buzz down the window, he lifted his hand and rapped a knuckle against the glass.

Didn’t really seem like I had much of a choice after that. Down the window went. He considered me for a moment, considered the car in general, then said, “I don’t suppose…that this is a coincidence?”

“You left your meds at the center.”

He turned and walked away. “I’m not taking that shit.”

“It’s pain medication, Fletcher. They wouldn’t have prescribed it to you if they didn’t think you needed it.”

“I don’t need it. How do you know they’re pain meds anyway?” Slowing, he looked back over his shoulder, frowning. “You been snooping in my shit?”

“I was surprised they weren’t anti-psychotics actually,” I snapped. “And no, I wasn’t snooping in your shit. Gale offered up the information before she handed over the bag.”

“Ha! Gale.”

“Yeah. Your girlfriend isn’t the brightest bulb in the box, huh?” I got out of the car and followed after him.

“You know all too well she isn’t my girlfriend.”

“You implied it.”

“Which doesn’t mean anything, really, does it?”

“Why are those signs stacked up by the side of the house, Fletcher?”

“To stop nosy busybodies from showing up at my place, unannounced.” Stopping at his front door, he turned and barred the entrance with one arm. “Shame. Didn’t seem to work in this particular instance, did it?”

“I’m just trying to do the Good Samaritan bit, you asshole.”

“I’m not a Christian.”

“What?”

“The Good Samaritan. He was from the bible, right?”

“You don’t need to be a Christian to be a good person.”

“I’m sure it helps. Look, it’s fucking freezing and I have four cracked ribs. Can we please do this some other time?”

Over his shoulder, I could see a room in disarray, and a television on a stack of books, its screen turned to static. White noise popped and crackled, rustling low. I should have just left. I shouldn’t have come in the first place; as soon as I’d found out he’d refused treatment at the medical center and gone home, I should have left him to his own devices. But he looked terrible. A clammy looking sweat had broken out across his forehead, and his hands were shaking. He hadn’t taken any of his damn pain medication, and now he was telling me he had four broken ribs. God, how the hell was I meant to just drive away now? It would be easy enough to do. It’d feel great slamming the car door and speeding off, leaving him behind in the dust. I wouldn’t get further than a mile before the guilt set in, and I had to turn back, though.

“Damn it, Sully. Just let me inside so I can fix you up with something to eat and something warm to drink. Set my mind at ease. Then I’ll be on my way, I promise.”

Sully cocked his head to one side. His breathing was shallow. Shallower than it should have been. “You’re quite the little do-gooder, aren’t you? What was the chick’s name from The Sound of Music again? The nun that wouldn’t quit that infernal singing? You know, the one who saved those children from the Nazis? You’re just like her. So…sunny.” He used the word as if it were an insult.

I folded my arms across my chest. “I’m nothing like her. Can we please just go inside? You’re right, it is freezing, and I don’t feel like catching hypothermia right now.”

Both his eyebrows lifted at once. “That’s funny.”

Okay, so that was a pretty dumb thing to say on my part, but there was no need for him to be such an ass. “Fletcher. Come on. Please.” Lord, I was begging him to let me inside his house so I could take care of him? How had this come about? Really, it categorically, absolutely made zero sense.

He sighed, allowing his arm to fall. “All right. You can come in. On two conditions.”

“Which are?”

“If you step foot inside my house, do not even think about trying to tidy anything. Move one book, one plate, one mug, and you’ll be back out of the door quicker than you can say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.”

He looked so damned pleased with himself that I couldn’t help wipe the smile from his face. “That’s from Mary Poppins, not The Sound of Music.”

“I don’t care what it’s from. You mess with my shit, you’re gone. Copy?”

I held my hands up. “Fine. I won’t tidy.”

“Second condition. There won’t be any of that hot tea bullshit. If you’re coming in here, you’re drinking whiskey.”

“What? Why am I drinking whiskey?”

“Because I’m drinking whiskey. And that’s just the way it is.”

“I have to drive.”

He shrugged. “Take it or leave it, Lang.”

How much would it hurt him if I jabbed him in the ribcage right now? A lot, probably. Enough to make him behave himself? I wasn’t going to hold my breath. “Okay. Fine. Whatever. Just let me inside already. My feet are going numb.”

This was going to be a disaster.

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Meet Callie Hart:

Callie Hart is an obsessive romantic who loves throwing a dark twist into her stories. Her characters are imperfect, flawed individuals who dictate when she eats, sleeps and breathes. Callie’s Internationally Bestselling Blood & Roses series has garnered well over 1000 5 star reviews.

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Today we are revealing an excerpt for BETTER LOVE by Daisy Prescott that is releasing on November 1st. This book is a standalone, romantic comedy, and it is the 4th book in the Wingmen series. Check out the exclusive pre-order link on iBooks for BETTER LOVE and links for the previous books in the series!

BETTER LOVE by Daisy Prescott
Releasing November 1, 2016 (Wingmen, #4)

ADD BETTER LOVE TO GOODREADS

BOOK BLURB:

Maybe that old song got it right.

Maybe love can be better the second time around.

When one of my wingmen needs help, I’ll do anything for him, including calling in a favor with the one person I swore I’d never speak to again.

Not after I walked away from that life five years ago and ditched the trappings of my success. The keyword being trap.

I left it all behind.

Including her.

Now the ambitious, brilliant, talented, and undeniably beautiful Roslyn Porter is back in my life. I’m not the same person she knew. I’m trying to be a better man.

No man is an island, but Dan Ashland comes close. He’s content with his quiet life on Whidbey, a world away from the rat race on the other side of the ferry.

Dan has three great loves in his life: solitude, pizza, and Roslyn Porter.

Better Love is a standalone second chance romance featuring Dan Ashland and the fourth book in the Wingmen series.

——–

PRE-ORDER EXCLUSIVELY ON IBOOKS

CLICK HERE TO PRE-ORDER

EXCERPT:

In the end, I agreed to help out with the Naked Whidbey calendar.

For a good cause. How could I say no?

I lied to myself it wasn’t to see Roslyn again.

Most definitely wasn’t motivated by testing her reactions to me being naked.

Not that I’d be full frontal in front of Cari or anyone else.

Unlike a few of the other “models,” I wasn’t an exhibitionist.

Still.

I wanted to know if she’d show up.

If she’d ogle or look away.

I needed to know if I could get a reaction out of her.

If I could crack her professional facade.

I had to know if somewhere beneath her armor, I could still make her heart beat a little faster.

We scheduled the shoot for early on a Sunday when the restaurant would be closed. Cari kept talking about the morning light and a golden hour. Whatever that meant. All I knew was Erik promised to bring coffee. Lots of coffee.

Once the lighting and her camera had been set up, Cari shooed everyone from the kitchen before instructing me to disrobe. The heat from the brick oven warmed my chest and arms. I’d suggested the apron around my waist for the “more is less” approach.

When I fired up the oven, I’d made a few prop pizzas, not knowing how much of the pizza man persona Cari wanted or needed for the photo.

I stood with the pizza peel in one hand and my back to the camera, following her commands to shift and change my position for maximum… something.

I felt the cold air hit my backside when the door opened.

“Sorry, I’m late! I missed the ferry by three cars and had to wait for the next … bo …oat.” Roslyn’s voice sputtered out on the last word, turning it into two syllables. “Ohmygod. I didn’t mean to walk in on the shoot. I—“

A loud crash followed her words then a few soft bumps of a body hitting a chair and possibly a wall. Metal screeching from chair legs scraping across the cement floor and the soft splash of liquid hitting the ground rounded out the symphony of sounds before I turned around.

Beyond the bright studio lights set up behind me, I couldn’t make out more than silhouettes. Shading my eyes, I blinked into the dimmer light beyond the camera.

“Everything okay back there?”

Cari let loose a loud cackle. “That’s what happens when you show up late.”

Muffled words barely carried to where I stood, thankful for the apron slung low around my waist.

I waited for a sign nothing had been broken or damaged in the tornado of Roslyn’s arrival.

“It’s fine. We’re all fine. Everything’s okay,” Roslyn’s shaky and definitely not normal voice called out. “Carry on with what you were doing. I’m going to crawl outside and find a quiet place to die.”

“Don’t go on my account.” I stepped away from the oven, feeling a little bit like a hospital patient whose gown didn’t close in the back. “Don’t hurt yourself. I’m not even naked. More like pantsless and breaking a slew of health codes.”

————–

PREVIOUS BOOKS IN THE SERIES

Get READY TO FALL (Wingmen #1) for FREE!

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CONFESSIONS OF A REFORMED TOM CAT (Wingmen, #2)

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ANYTHING BUT LOVE (Wingmen, #3)

Amazon | iBooks | Kobo | B&N

————–

AUTHOR INFORMATION:

USA Today Bestselling Author Daisy Prescott writes romantic comedies about real love.

Her Modern Love Stories feature characters in their thirties and forties finding and rediscovering love in unexpected and humorous ways. Her Wingmen books star regular guys who often have beards, drive trucks, and love deeply once they fall.

Born and raised in San Diego, Daisy currently lives in a real life Stars Hollow in the Boston suburbs with her husband and an imaginary house goat. When not writing about herself in the third person, Daisy can be found traveling, gardening, baking, or lost in a good book.

To learn more about Daisy and her writing, sign up for her mailing list here (copy and paste this link): http://smarturl.it/daisysignup . Send her an email at: daisyauthor AT gmail DOT com Or chat with her on Twitter (@daisy_prescott) and Facebook: /daisyprescottauthorpage, and follow her on Instagram: /daisyprescott

AUTHOR LINKS:
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