My Image of You
Ballantine Group; Loveswept | On Sale: September 19th, 2017 | ISBN: 9780399180941 | Pages 345 | Price: $4.99
A globe-trotting bad boy chases the one that got away in this addictive novel from the New York Times bestselling author of The Contract.
My name is Adam Kincaid, and I’m the best at what I do. After losing my parents, I decided to follow in their footsteps, and now I’m the most daring freelance photographer in the world.
Maybe some think I’m a loner, but I don’t care. All that matters is the shot: braving danger and devastation in search of a single image with the power to tell someone’s story. But as good as I am, accidents happen—and thank god for that, because it’s what leads me to her . . .
Alexandra Robbins. My nurse. My savior.
With her fiery red hair and crystal-clear blue eyes, the camera loves her . . . and I have to have her. We soon find that we’re perfect together. We just fit, physically and emotionally. And yet something isn’t right. Something from her past is haunting her, and no matter what I do to help her break free, I lose her.
Today is the day I try to win her back. Not only do I need an explanation, I need her in my bed once again. I don’t just want a damn picture—I want her. Because what we have is a love that never fades away . . .
Google Play: http://bit.ly/2s2I6Qd
“Then why are you still here?”
“I had coffee with another nurse. I was leaving and I saw you standing here, holding up the wall. Or is it holding you up?” She shot back.
I ignored her remark. “You could have come to tell me you were leaving.”
She crossed her arms. “No, I couldn’t, Adam. We aren’t supposed to fraternize with the patients, and I wouldn’t risk my job. I was going to call you later and see how you were, though.”
My fingers itched to touch her cheek. I wanted to know if her blush warmed her skin. Her words, however, grabbed my attention.
“You were going to call me?” I asked, surprised. “How’d you get my number?”
“Off your file,” she admitted.
“I was gonna give it to you. And ask for yours,” I murmured, and gave in to the feeling, cupping one of her cheeks as I stroked it with my thumb. Her skin was incredible—silky, smooth, and yes, so very warm.
She didn’t back away from my caress. Our eyes met and held. So many emotions were in her wide, expressive gaze that looked more green than blue in the dim light. There were shadows of exhaustion under them, and the sudden need to care for her hit me. I blinked at the sensation—I had never once in my life experienced anything like it. I stepped back, my sudden movement making me dizzy, and I leaned back into the wall for support.
“You need to go home, Adam. You should have stayed until they released you,” she admonished.
“Yeah, this head thing is messing me up.” I huffed in frustration, unused to feeling so weak. “I need to grab a cab.”
“I’ll drive you.”
I looked at her in surprise. “Yeah? You sure?”
“You’re not a serial killer, are you?”
I arched my eyebrow. “As if I’d admit that when you were falling into my trap so easily?”
She grinned, her dimples deep. “Well, 6B drove me crazy all night, maybe you could take out your homicidal tendencies on them instead.”
I laughed at her humor. “I’ll try and resist.” Then I frowned. “Wait, what room was I in?”
Her grin widened and I knew who had driven her crazy. I grinned back, liking her teasing.
“Okay. My car is right there.” She pointed to a gray Honda parked at the curb. “Do you need help?”
“I can manage.”
I slung my bag over my shoulder and pushed off the wall carefully. I didn’t want to embarrass myself any more than I already had by falling.
Slowly, I followed her, watching her hips sway as she walked.
She was a pretty girl to look at, but the view was damn awesome from the back, as well.
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Melanie Moreland lives a happy and content life in a quiet area of Ontario with her beloved husband of twenty-seven-plus years and their rescue cat, Amber. Melanie delights in a good romance story with some bumps along the way, but is a true believer in happily ever after. When her head isn’t buried in a book, it is bent over a keyboard, furiously typing away as her characters dictate their creative storylines to her, often with a large glass of wine keeping her company.
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