Better by Carey Heywood
Contemporary Romance
Release date: February 17th, 2014
Hosted by Book Enthisiastic Promotions
Available at Amazon / Barnes & Noble
Aubrey is embarking on a bucket-list
trip around the world, the last wish of her Aunt Ally. It was supposed to be
the trip Ally would have taken when she got better. Now, it’s just a chance for
Aubrey to say good-bye.
Adam escapes in his solo trips
overseas, working just enough to fund the next one. When the opportunity to
circle the globe falls in his lap, he can’t refuse. The only catch is that he
won’t be traveling alone this time.
Unable to hide from each other, Adam’s
overprotective nature thwarts Aubrey’s desire to find her own way. Can they
move past initial assumptions to find something better?
Excerpt:
“What are you doing in
here?" I stammer.
He’s on his knees by the bed,
reaching under. "This bed is a trundle. There's no way I'm sleeping on
that sofa."
"But I'm sleeping in
here," I argue.
I watch as he pulls the trundle
out. It's smaller, maybe twin sized.
"Yes, and I'm sleeping
here." He makes a wide sweep with his hands over the smaller bed.
I remember how awkward it felt,
sleeping so near him the night before. At least the trundle is low to the
ground. My mouth drops as he depresses a lever and raises it to the same height
as my bed, and the way it's made, we'll be face to face with maybe an inch
separating his bed from mine.
I gulp.
He turns to look at me. "Um,
I was going to get changed."
"Oh, don’t mind me."
"Out," I order him.
His eyes travel lazily down me,
and I shiver. His mouth twitches before he turns to leave, closing the door
behind him. I hurry over to it and lock it, sagging against it. I had been
looking forward to a night away from him. I quickly change, unlock the “door,
and climb into bed. I hear the door open and shuffle further under the covers.
When I wake the next morning, I'm
facing him. Wiping sleep from my eyes, I watch him. He's shirtless, his sheet
draping low across his hips. I lick my lips, mesmerized by the rise and fall of
his chest. I quietly slip out of bed and out of the room, taking my clothes for
the day with me. I need distance. I can't stay in that room any longer. It
smells like him, a mixture of Irish Spring, his cologne, and something just
him.
I shower and get dressed. I'm in
the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets for something to snack on when he
walks out. He's still shirtless. Why can't he put on a shirt?
"Hungry?" he asks,
scratching the back of his head.
"A bit," I admit.
"Give me a minute. I saw a
bakery close by."
"Okay."
He walks back into the room and
shuts the door. A couple minutes later, he walks back out, now in jeans and a
vintage looking M*A*S*H t-shirt.
"Nice shirt."
He laughs. "It was my
dad's."
"You're wearing hand me
downs," I joke.
"Just trying to live the
green life."
I don’t give him the satisfaction
of a chuckle even though that was funny as I follow him out of the flat.
"What about Abe?"
"He can get his own
breakfast," he says, grabbing a set of keys that are hanging on a hook by
the door. I give him a look.
"Don't worry. I'll bring him
something back." He holds the door open for me. I tuck my hair behind my
ear and hurry down the stairs. I wait for him at the bottom, not sure which
direction to go. He comes up beside me, tilting his head to the right. We turn
together and walk.
"I saw you."
"Excuse me?" I stop.”
He's now a step ahead of me. He
looks back at me.
"I saw you watching me this
morning."
"I wasn’t," I stammer, looking
away.
"If you say so," he
says as he continues to walk.
I follow him but stay a step
behind on purpose. I can't believe he saw me.”
Meet the Author:
Carey Heywood is a self-published New York Times and USA
Today bestselling author with six books out and many more to come.
She was born and raised in Alexandria, Virginia. Ever the
mild-mannered citizen, Carey spends her days working in the world of finance,
and at night, she retreats into the lives of her fictional characters.
Supporting her all the way are her husband, three
sometimes-adorable children, and their nine-pound attack Yorkie.
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