My Review: I don't think I have enough words to describe how I feel about this book. All I can think of is a high pitched squeal of pure joy and excitement. I have loved every book of this series, but this one beats the previous two by a mile. And I'm not sure what I thought was better, the romance itself, or Kristen Callihan's understanding of anxiety and depression. As someone who has both of those things, I nearly cried, because I was seeing these characters dealing with the same things I have. I know how they felt. It was so well done, and so real.
I could write pages and pages on how well this author treated mental illnesses in her writing, but I'm going to stick with what I said above - so, so well done. But it wasn't just that that made this book a winner, there was so much more. I loved John and Stella, their mannerisms, interests, emotions.. all felt so genuine. Add in that "family that you make for yourself" feel that John has with the band, and this book is a home run!!
Cover Lovin': I'm melting!
Recommendation: The band is close, so it helps having some of their back story, but this can be read without prior knowledge.
Final Rating: FIVE out of FIVE stars (5/5)!!! I laughed, I cried, I added this to my favorites shelf!
The first time I met Jax Blackwood things went a little sideways.
In my defense, I didn’t know he was Jax Blackwood—who expects a legendary rock star to be shopping for groceries? More importantly, a blizzard was coming and he was about to grab the last carton of mint-chocolate chip.
Still, I might have walked away, but then he smugly dared me to try and take the coveted ice cream. So I kissed him. And distracted that mint-chip right out of his hands.
Okay, it was a dirty move, but desperate times and all that. Besides, I never expected he’d be my new neighbor.
An annoying neighbor who takes great pleasure in reminding me that I owe him ice cream but would happily accept more kisses as payment. An irresistible neighbor who keeps me up while playing guitar naked–spectacularly naked–in his living room.
Clearly, avoidance is key. Except nothing about Jax is easy to ignore—not the way he makes me laugh, or that his particular brand of darkness matches mine, or how one look from him melts me faster than butter under a hot sun.
Neither of us believes in love or forever. Yet we’re quickly becoming each other’s addiction. But we could be more. We could be everything.
All we have to do is trust enough to fall.
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The air between us shifts. I’m filled with a strange giddiness, wanting to laugh for the fun of it, but I’m also too warm, my limbs oddly heavy as if simple movements might be too much for me.
His tone turns soft and cajoling, teasing the truth out of me. “Are you going to tell me what you do?” When I say nothing, the corners of his eyes crinkle. “I see. You’re going to torture me a bit.”
The warm, fuzzy feeling grows as I shrug. “Torture feels apropos in this scenario.”
He hums again, taking another step toward me. “What makes you think I won’t like being tortured by you?”
The heat of his body and the scent of his skin makes my head light and my pulse pound. How did it get to this point where the highlight of my day is flirting with Jax Blackwood? Despite the thrill, I know I’m in over my head. I haven’t gone out on a date in months because I form attachments, I get emotional, and then I hurt when they inevitably leave. And this man will leave. He is as bright and fleeting as a camera flash. I’ll be left with the image of him seared into my memory and nothing more.
I tell myself all of this, the voice in my head as stern as possible. But it doesn’t make me back away. It doesn’t stop my body from somehow straining toward his without even moving. Because it might be stupid of me, but I want to feel something that isn’t planned. Something, for however briefly, that’s real.
He’s too attuned to me not to notice. John’s lids lower as his attention slides down my body before easing back up to my face. Slowly, he rests his forearm on the wall beside my head. “Tell me, Stella,” he murmurs.
“No,” I whisper back, flirting, even though I shouldn’t.
His biceps bunch as he leans in, a smile dancing on his lips. “Tell.”
My breasts graze his chest, and I feel it in my toes.
“You’re crowding me.” I hate how breathy I sound.
“Can’t help it.” His voice is a rumble, the heat of his breath playing over my skin. He ducks his head, drawing close until our lips nearly brush, and when he speaks again, his tone is almost conversational, except for the husky quality that touches deep within my core. “You smell like strawberries. Fucking delicious.”
My lids flutter, and I swallow hard. “Ordinarily, I’d call you out on that cliché but since I’ve been eating strawberries, you aren’t exactly wrong.”
His chuckle is slow and easy, as he eases back and his gaze slowly travels over my face. “Were they sweet, Stella Button?”
He’s looking at my mouth like he might try to find out. My lips tremble in response, and John tracks the movement, his breathing getting deeper, faster. “You have two freckles on your lips. One on the top lip and one on the bottom corner.”
Those damn freckles. They were the bane of my adolescence. I hid them with lipstick and silently cursed whenever someone mentioned them.
Freckles don’t have any feelings, but I swear it’s as if he’s touching them.
“You’re just noticing this?” I try to make it sound like a joke, but it comes out weak and thready.
His own lips quirk. “Oh, I noticed. It’s distracting as hell. They’re like two little dots of butter toffee. Makes me want to lick them, get a taste.”
Oh, God. Lick them, please. I can almost feel it. I want to feel it.
No. Bad Stella. Behave.
John’s lips part a fraction like he just might take that taste.
“Back off,” I whisper. And yet somehow my traitorous hands find their way to his sides, running over the waistband of his jeans, holding him there.
John makes a sound deep in his throat and tilts his hips, pressing them against mine. A distinctly thick bulge nudges my belly. Both of us lose a breath, and then he’s closer, his cheek touching my temple. “You’ll have to let me go first.”
My thumbs slide under the edge of his shirt and find smooth, taut skin. A tremor goes through his body. I try to think, search for what the hell we’ve been talking about.
His lips brush the crest of my cheek as he murmurs against my skin. “Tell me what you do, Stella. You know you want to.”
My smile feels illicit. Somehow the action is directly tied to all my happy parts, making them draw hot and tight. “I don’t think I do.”
Another hum. “Liar. You’re dying to.”
Kristen Callihan is an author because there is nothing else she’d rather be. She is a three-time RITA nominee and winner of two RT Reviewer’s Choice awards. Her novels have garnered starred reviews from Publisher’s Weekly and the Library Journal, as well as being awarded top picks by many reviewers. Her debut book FIRELIGHT received RT Magazine’s Seal of Excellence, was named a best book of the year by Library Journal, best book of Spring 2012 by Publisher’s Weekly, and was named the best romance book of 2012 by ALA RUSA. When she is not writing, she is reading.
Whitney Gable is the kind of woman you fight to the death to protect.
To keep.
To cherish.
I’ve finally learned my lesson, and it’s time to prove I’m the man who’s worthy of her.
I don’t care what it takes, because failure is not an option.
No matter who or what stands in our way—this time, she’ll be mine forever
From New York Times bestselling author Meghan March comes a brand new saga of forbidden love and second chances.
A Riscoff and a Gable can never live happily ever after. Our family feud is the stuff of legends.
Ten years ago, Whitney Gable caught me off guard with her long legs and grab-you-by-the-balls blue eyes.
I didn’t know or care what her name was.
Like any Riscoff worth the family name, I went after what I wanted. We burned like a flash fire until she married another man.
She hates me, and she should.
I objected on her wedding day.
Now she’s home, with those same long legs and man-eater stare, but there’s no ring on her finger.
They say a Riscoff and a Gable can never live happily ever after . . . but I’m not done with Whitney Gable.
I’ll never be done with her.
Guilty until proven innocent.
That’s the way the world works, right?
I’m tired of being convicted without evidence, all because my last name is Gable.
The Riscoffs might own this town, but I’m done following their rules.
If only I could forget just how easily Lincoln Riscoff can drag me under his spell.
A New York Times, #1 Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author of over twenty novels, Meghan March has been known to wear camo face paint and tromp around in woods wearing mud-covered boots, all while sporting a perfect manicure. She’s also impulsive, easily entertained, and absolutely unapologetic about the fact that she loves to read and write smut. Her past lives include slinging auto parts, selling lingerie, making custom jewelry, and practicing corporate law. Writing books about dirty talking alpha males and the strong, sassy women who bring them to their knees is by far the most fabulous job she’s ever had.
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MIMI JEAN PAMFILOFF is a USA Today and New York Times bestselling romance author with over a million books sold worldwide. Although she obtained her MBA and worked for more than fifteen years in the corporate world, she believes that it’s never too late to come out of the romance closet and follow your dream. Mimi lives with her Latin Lover hubby, two pirates-in-training (their boys), and the rat terrier duo, Snowflake and Mini Me, in Arizona. She hopes to make you laugh when you need it most and continues to pray daily that leather pants will make a big comeback for men.
EXCERPT:
The bell dings, and I reach for my small handbag and answer the door.
Brody’s eyes start at my face and slowly meander down my body to my sandal-covered feet, and if I’m not mistaken, his jaw clenches.
Just friends, Brooke.
“Hey.”
I can’t help but take my own perusal of the man standing before me. Jesus in a basket, he fills out a suit nicely. His shoulders are broad, and his arms muscular.
Yes, this does things to me.
“Can I come in?” he asks with a small smile on his lips.
“Of course.” I step back and he walks inside my small house.
“This is nice,” he says, but his eyes are still on me.
“Thanks. I’ve been here for a couple of years.” I glance around, wondering if Brody and I have the same tastes, and then I glance back to him and bust out laughing.
“What?” he asks.
“Turn around.” He complies, and I reach up to pull the tag that’s poked out of the neck of his jacket. His hair is soft against the back of my fingers, and I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like as I fist it while he does amazing, sexy things to me.
I take a deep breath and hand it to him with a laugh. “Wear it every day, my ass.”
He tucks the tag in his pocket. “I didn’t bring a suit to Montana. I had to improvise.”
He bought it just for me.
And according to the tag, it wasn’t cheap.
Now I feel bad. I shouldn’t have pushed the issue. He spent a bunch of money that he didn’t need to, all because I gave him a hard time.
“I thought we could eat at Ciao tonight,” he says as he leads me out of the house to his rented convertible. The sun broke out a couple of hours ago, and it’s the perfect temperature now. But I just did my hair.
I think about asking him to put the top up, and then decide, fuck it.
I reach into my handbag and pull out a hair tie, twist my hair on top of my head, and grin as I sit in the fun car.
“I could have put the top up.”
“And that would have been a waste on a day like today,” I reply smoothly and have to physically restrain myself from reaching over to brush my fingertips through that soft hair at the nape of his neck.
We drive through town in silence. Rather than park in front of the restaurant, he drives past, and I frown over at him.
“Having second thoughts?”
“No.” He sends me a smile. “Before we go in, I’d like to know why you got so quiet.”
I bite my lip and look out my window, then turn to him and say, “Did you buy that suit just for me?”
“Seems I do a lot of things for you lately,” he replies with a grin. “It’s not a big deal, Brooke.”
“I’m sorry,” I reply. “I was just goofing around this afternoon. I didn’t mean for you to have to do all of this.”
“All of what?”
“Buy that gorgeous suit, take me to dinner. I feel like I hijacked your day, and I feel bad.”
He pulls over, whips his seatbelt off, and turns to me.
“Look at me.”
I comply. He drags his knuckle down my cheek again, and that’s all it takes to set my body on high alert.
About Kristen Proby:
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Kristen Proby is the author of the bestselling With Me In Seattle and Love Under the Big Sky series. She has a passion for a good love story and strong, humorous characters with a strong sense of loyalty and family. Her men are the alpha type; fiercely protective and a bit bossy, and her ladies are fun, strong, and not afraid to stand up for themselves.
Kristen lives in Montana, where she enjoys coffee, chocolate and sunshine. And naps.
