Rachel Firasek spends her days daydreaming of stories and her nights putting the ideas to ink. She has spent a dull life following the rules, meeting deadlines, and toeing the line, but in her made up worlds, she can let the wild side loose. Her wonderful husband and three children support her love of the written word and only ask for the occasional American Idol or Swamp People quality hour.
She has a philosophy about love. It must devastate or it isn't truly worth loving. She hopes that you all find your devastating love and cling to it with all your heart!
Find Rachel online:
http://www.rachelfirasek.blogspot.com
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4736939
Rachel_Firasek
http://www.amazon.com/Rachel-Firasek/e/B004TLV5X2
Rachel brings her hot off the press new release Drowning
"I dare you."
Those
words would change adrenaline junkie, Alice Harrison's life forever. She's a
party girl that doesn't believe in love until she meets a man that only writes
about it.
Seth
James escaped his overbearing father and moved into one of the James family's
vacant condos, hoping to create the music he loves in peace. But the fragile
calm he's envisioned shatters when a tiny woman with a world full of energy
bounces out of the elevator and nearly takes him out.
Read an excerpt from Drowning
Alice
I race to the elevator, stab the
button and it pings open. We live in an eight level condo with all the finery
you can ask for. My “father” dabbles in oil, and Molly and her mother reap the
benefits. Although, if Row had her way about it, Molly would be in a home right
now and I’d be on the streets.
The floor drops beneath my feet
and my stomach hiccups with the fall. I love it. It’s the same feeling I get
when I jump. Cliff diving, sky diving—when I could afford it—even that time I
jumped off the Sampson Street bridge onto the train and rode it through town
gave me the same hiccup, only bigger. Much bigger and way more satisfying.
I’m still riding the sensation
when the elevator doors glide open, and without waiting for a clear view, I
rush out and smack into a wall of solid muscle only to immediately fall back
into the closing doors. One strong forearm wraps around my waist while another
zips past my face to keep the doors from shutting on my head. A firm thigh,
still in a lunge move, cradles my hip. We pant in a diagonal position. I glance
at his wide chest, up to his neck where veins bulge, and on to his chiseled
chin covered by a dark stubble surrounding a perfect bottom lip that twitches
but doesn’t lift.
Holy damn, he’s fucking beautiful
and I’m jumping again. Jumping or falling. Not sure which is scarier.
He glances down and I freeze
under his intense blue eyes. They aren’t glacier, cobalt, or any other pretty
color. Just intensely blue. His gaze roams over my face, landing on my pierced
eyebrow and he frowns.
Well, what do I care if he
doesn’t like it?
I squirm, twisting against the
heat of his abdomen, trying to right myself and leave the awkward comfort of
his grip. “Uh, thanks.”
The air whooshes out of my lungs
when he pulls me closer and helps me stand. “You should watch where you’re
going.”
Really? Maybe he shouldn’t be
freaking gorgeous. Then my body wouldn’t want to stay pressed against his. “And
maybe you shouldn’t stand that close to the elevator doors.”
One dark brow arches. “Is that
so?”
I shrug and edge past him. I
don’t have time for a lecture and sure as hell won’t take one from a stranger
that doesn’t have the sense to move out of the way for exiting traffic. I cross
the foyer with the weight of his gaze on my back.
Don’t turn around. Don’t turn
around.
I want to so bad.
The shiny silver lockboxes have
never looked better. I stab in the key and slip out the three small letters
from our slot.
Bill. Bill. Something from my
father addressed to me.
He never speaks to me anymore—it
seemed that as soon as I’d found my own will to stand my ground, he didn’t like
me near as much as he used to proclaim. I palm the short stack and head back to
the elevator where he waits.
He’s reclining against the
buttons, one foot kicked back resting on the wall like he doesn’t have a care
in the world, and he’s watching me. A frown tips down the edges of his bottom
lip. I stop and tilt my head, matching his scowl. He crosses his arms over his
chest and it further defines the muscles in his forearms, bare beneath his
short sleeved t-shirt.
I slam my hand on my hip. “What?”
I think I’m more pissed with myself for letting him get to me.
“Are you going to apologize?”
Was he serious? “For what?”
“You ran into me.”
“You were in the way. Besides,
you weren’t hurt.” I tap my toe, growing more restless under his stare—and
growing hotter with each spark blazing in his gaze. “Are you going to move?”
“No.” His lips lift up at the
corner, but not all the way into a grin. He is enjoying this power play. Well,
news flash buddy, I don’t do those. Unless I’m on top.
Add the book on Goodreads here:
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17668038-drowning
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17668038-drowning
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