New Adult Contemporary Romance/Suspense
Sexual content and mature subject matter, including domestic violence and abuse.
This will be a two book series, but both books in The Beaumont Brothers can be read as a standalone.
After a not-so-wonderful young adulthood—shuffled from one foster home to another—Lena Benton had hoped marriage would be her ticket to happiness. Wedded a year after high school graduation, Lena was certain she’d found her knight. But when Troy Harington’s true colors surface shortly after their glorious day of elopement, things aren’t quite as rosy as Lena had envisioned. When an unforeseen event turns ugly, all she can do is ... run!
But does she run far enough?
Jackson Beaumont prides himself on being a nature-loving, guitar-strumming carefree sort of guy, known for his eagerness to help injured animals find their way back into the wild. When Lena Benton walks into his bar, he’s once again swept off his feet with concern and desire to help the wounded. Will he risk having his heart torn apart again when the memory of the fawn he rescued as a child resurfaces?
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I hesitated, not sure what to do. Jackson stood too close to me, his voice just a whisper next to my ear, and maybe sort of sexy. I wasn’t sure what sexy sounded like, and I wasn’t sure why I even had that thought. I wasn’t feeling sexy. I still felt ugly, and I wasn’t used to the tenderness. My eye was healing and not completely black and blue anymore. More greenish now, but makeup didn’t cover much, so I’m sure I looked very plain and unattractive. My heart pounded in my chest as he stared into my eyes. I couldn’t move, or didn’t want to move. Afraid to breathe, I stood still, not wanting the moment to end. I didn’t want him to think I wanted him that way. I didn’t want him to think I didn’t want him that way. My mind became a jumble of confusion. I did want him I thought. I wanted to be in his arms, to feel his lips on mine. I wanted to know if they were as soft as they looked. I wanted to know if he would taste sweet like the red wine we were drinking. I wanted his touch on my skin, to feel his fingers graze up my arm, but I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that intimacy. As though he could sense my thoughts, he ran his thumb down my forearm and turned my hand over. Taking my hand into his, he seemed to study the lines in my palm. His thumb made little circles over them, and his eyes flicked to mine. “It’s okay,” he said. Though I didn’t know what he meant. I swallowed hard, wondering what was about to happen. Then, all of a sudden, Troy’s scary and dangerous eyes flooded my mind. My splayed hand looked dwarfed against Jackson’s broad chest as I shoved him out of my way and ran from the room.
I stood in the kitchen for a moment, not understanding why I was even there. I glanced around at the gold and black speckled granite counter, searching for a reason. The opened bottle of wine we’d been drinking stood right next to a little picture frame holding a photo of Jackson and Brodie, and another man I guessed might be their uncle. The family resemblance was strong. It might have been their father. Jackson never told me what happened to his parents. He and Brodie didn’t appear to be much younger than they were now in the snapshot, the scene around them festively adorned with a Christmas tree behind them and other decorations; their arms casually draped around each other as they all stood grinning at whoever snapped the picture. They looked so … normal. I sucked in the sob that wanted so badly to escape, and took a deep breath. Not like Troy.
Jackson was not Troy.
Jackson was not Troy.
I silently repeated that simple little sentence several times as I breathed in slowly through my nose, out through my mouth, praying Jackson wouldn’t come in and find me so unhinged.
I managed to pull myself back together just as Jackson entered the kitchen, and the horror on his face almost undid me again. No, not horror … pity. He pitied me, and that made me sick to my stomach. Only needy people were pitied, and I never wanted to be placed in that category.
“Are you okay?” Jackson asked, standing inside the doorjamb, acting reluctant about entering his own kitchen. God, I hated myself right then.
I daydream often. If I didn't write, I think my mind would explode from an overload of fantasy and weirdness. To the annoyance of my friends and family, my characters sometimes become a part of my world. During my childhood, I would frequently get in trouble in school for daydreaming. Eventually, my vivid imagination paid off and I had the privilege of writing and co-directing my sixth-grade class play--a dreadful disaster; though not from my writing, of course, I must blame it on the acting. The craft of writing, although dormant for years, never really left me. Many years later, and with the help of technology, I let my imagination run wild again.
Born in a small town in Pennsylvania, I enjoy writing about characters living in small quaint towns. I tend to lean toward the unusual and spooky. I read all genres but I love reading paranormal romance and like writing in that genre.
My paranormal playing field delves into a different milieu, abandoning vampires and werewolves, but not discounting them. Someday I might like to write a novel about vamps and those furry creatures. But for now I like the bizarre mixed with romance. A strong hero or heroine confronted with extraordinary forces of nature, powers and capabilities gets my blood running.
I live in Northern California with my very romantic husband, my small yippy dog, Riley, and my humungous black cat, Saké. My family consists of his and her children; four wonderful sons, one beautiful daughter, and seven grandchildren. My greatest love in life is my family and those large and ever growing holiday dinners.
I enjoy traveling. I hate running, but do it once in a while. Reading and writing are my favorite pastimes.