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New Cover + Exclusive Excerpt: ON DUBLIN STREET by SAMANTHA YOUNG

September 7, 2018

Synopsis:On Dublin Street by Samantha Young

Jocelyn Butler has been hiding from her past for years. But all her secrets are about to be laid bare …

Four years ago, Jocelyn left her tragic past behind in the States and started over in Scotland, burying her grief, ignoring her demons, and forging ahead without attachments. Her solitary life is working well – until she moves into a new apartment on Dublin Street, where she meets a man who shakes her carefully guarded world to its core.

Braden Carmichael is used to getting what he wants, and he’s determined to get Jocelyn into his bed. Knowing how skittish she is about entering a relationship, Braden proposes an arrangement that will satisfy their intense attraction without any strings attached.

But after an intrigued Jocelyn accepts, she realizes that Braden won’t be satisfied with just mind-blowing passion. The stubborn Scotsman is intent on truly knowing her . . . down to the very soul.

On Dublin Street by Samantha Young
Chapter 1 – from Braden’s POV

Sighing, Braden shrugged his shoulders back and looked up at the sky, squinting against the sunlight. Decked out in a three-piece suit on a hot day like this didn’t ease his growing frustration with his plan to sell La Cour. No one knew he was thinking of selling La Cour except Thomas Prendergast, a fellow restaurateur. A successful one. If any of his business associates knew Braden was selling La Cour they’d think he was nuts. The restaurant had a world-class chef and a stellar reputation. And it made money.
In truth, Braden was just stretched too thin and not interested in La Cour. All his concentration and focus was going into making his nightclub Fire a success, developing properties that turned profits, and of course he still had his father’s estate agency to keep up with, as well as a successful Scottish seasonal restaurant he co-owned with the chef, Frazier Allie, down on the Shore.
La Cour as it stood was a nuisance, a nuisance Braden felt obligated to attend to since his father worked so hard to make it the success it was. But his father had always told him that when business became a nuisance rather than a challenge, and was no longer satisfying, it was time to move on to greener pastures.
Thomas was dragging his feet with an answer.
He glanced back at the restaurant. Come on, Thomas, make up your mind, man.
Braden’s phone beeped in his pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the digital reminder informing him he had a meeting in twenty minutes with one of his managers at Douglas Carmichael & Co, the estate agency his grandfather built up from the ground up to become one of the primary agencies in the Lothians.
Shit. He’d spent longer with Thomas Prendergast than he’d meant to. Scowling, Braden walked toward Bruntsfield Church, his pale blue eyes trained on the road ahead, willing a cab to make an appearance. Only seconds later one turned around the corner and he stepped out onto the curb with his arm raised. To his relief the taxi pulled up to him. He’d make his meeting.
Reaching for the handle on the passenger side, a clean, fruity smell drifted towards him seconds before a warm, small and very feminine hand collided with his.
Braden dipped his head and looked down into the face of a woman, her skin bright from the sunlight, her eyes narrowed to slits as she squinted against the sun behind his head. There was a surprised disgruntlement in her expression. Clearly she assumed this was her black cab. Braden prepared to disabuse her of the notion but stopped. His father taught him that reading people, and by that he meant all the things they didn’t say with their mouths but did with their bodies and eyes, was the key to success in business. Braden read stubbornness in her features he could make out and in the obstinate tension she held in her shoulders. He was in no mood for stubbornness or fighting over a bloody cab after his meeting with Thomas had come to no satisfactory conclusion.
For the sake of expedience Braden asked, “Which way are you headed?”
He heard the words ‘Dublin Street’ and did what he always did: maneuvered things to his liking. “Good.” He pulled the cab door open. “I’m heading in that direction, and since I’m already running late, might I suggest we share the taxi instead of wasting ten minutes deciding who needs it more.” He placed a hand on the small of her back and nudged her into the cab.
Relieved she didn’t stall them, Braden got in after her and immediately gave the cab driver their first destination. His sister, Ellie, lived on Dublin Street in a flat he’d renovated and then gifted to her. Ellie was his half-sister—they shared the same father. She’d never had it particularly easy from their dad. That was putting it politely. Douglas Carmichael was a negligent bastard and despite the fact that he and Braden had finally become friends of a sort before he died, Braden had never forgiven him for his treatment of Ellie. The guilt Douglas should have felt transferred to Braden, and he’d done everything he could to make sure her life was easier, and that she knew he cared. Giving her the flat meant she could concentrate on that PhD she was studying for. Braden might think the PhD impractical, but it made her happy, and in the end that was all that mattered. He also liked having her close to the estate agency which was on Dundas Street. Anytime he was in the area, which was more often than not, he could drop by to see Els. Braden was lucky to call Ellie not only his sister, but one of his closest friends, and it was nice to escape the stress of his business life at least for ten minutes when he stopped by for a coffee with her.
Braden decided he’d get the cab driver to stop at the top of Dublin Street, burl around and come back toward Dundas Street. It would be easier to drop him off first but it was ingrained in him to never let a woman pay for anything, so he’d drop off the unexpected passenger so he could pay the fare.
“Thanks I guess,” the woman answered from his left, the words sardonic. It wasn’t the tone that drew his attention. It was the husky, sexy voice and the American accent.
Glancing in interest at her, Braden almost did a double take. She was attractive. Very. So busy checking her out he asked somewhat stupidly, “You’re an American?”
She turned to him and as soon as their eyes met Braden felt his blood heat with the impact. Jesus fucking Christ. Intelligent, exotic, feline gray eyes appraised him as she tucked a loose strand of dark-blonde hair behind her ear. Her hair was long and pulled back in a pony-tail, giving him an unhindered view of a graceful neck and an arresting face. For some reason he couldn’t look away.
Watching her eyes drop to his body, drinking him in, Braden was intrigued. He was used to women looking at him. He was a big guy and he worked out and he’d had no complaints from women. He wasn’t, however, used to a woman appearing so consternated by the fact that she was checking him out. He raised an eyebrow, curious about her.
“Yeah, I’m American.”
That voice. He shifted in his seat. She really did have the sexiest voice he’d ever heard. He wanted to hear it again. “Just visiting?” Braden murmured.
“Nope.”
“Then you’re a student?”
Whatever she heard in his tone it made her tense. Braden envied her casual, light clothing in this heat and thanked God for throwing her in his path on a day so hot in Scotland it had caused the American to wear those tiny shorts.
True, she wasn’t his usual type. Most of his girlfriends, including his current girlfriend Holly, and his ex-wife Analise, were tall, slender platinum blondes. The American was the opposite of every woman he’d ever dated.
And yet… she was beyond appealing.
She had surprisingly large breasts for such a delicately built woman—big boobs, wee waist, and another surprise were those gorgeous legs of hers. They were shapely and long despite her small stature. Hot blood rushed southwards.
Bloody Nora.
When Braden finally dragged his eyes up to her expressive face he noted the raised eyebrow. He’d been caught eating her up and she did not look impressed. Amused, he grinned at her. Usually this would incur a responding grin. Instead the brat rolled her eyes at him.
“I was a student,” she answered, and Braden’s ears warmed to the purr of her dulcet voice. “I live here. Dual citizenship.”
“You’re part Scottish?”
She gave him a barely-there nod and seemed intent to not look at him. He smiled inwardly, feeling anticipation he hadn’t felt in a while, and definitely not over a woman. It was the anticipation of a challenge. Women came quite easily to him and it certainly made life less difficult. Life was stressful enough in business. But he couldn’t argue with what this strange, inexplicable feeling toward the American.
He’d never felt instant attraction like it.
Braden eyed her and grew even more dangerously hot at the idea of turning that willful glint in her stunning eyes soft with need as he explored every inch of her.
He shifted in his seat again, disappointment settling over him when he belatedly remembered he was seeing someone else. Since he wasn’t the kind of man to ask for another woman’s number while he was in a relationship that meant he’d have to ignore whatever was between him and the American.
Bugger.
The timing was fucked.
He couldn’t have her. Eyeing her mouth, despite knowing that conversation—or anything—was pointless, he found himself asking, “What do you do now that you’ve graduated?”
She shot him a look out of the corner of her eyes and it seemed to hold more than a hint of disdain. “What do you do? I mean, when you’re not manhandling women into cabs?”
It occurred to Braden that a man knew he was really bored with life when he got a kick out of a woman’s condescension. “What do you think I do?”
“I’m thinking lawyer. Answering questions with questions, manhandling…”
“I’m not a lawyer. But you could be. I seemed to recall a question answered with a question. And that,” he gestured to her full mouth, wondering how she’d taste, “That’s a definite smirk.” His voice was thick with want and he knew she heard it in the way her eyes flared as their gazes met.
Yeah, she felt the heat too.
The air in the cab was suddenly heavy with sexual tension. An undeniable, incredible electricity that Braden really fucking wanted to explore.
As awful as it was, he was cursing the existence of Holly, his current girlfriend, to hell in that moment. What he had with Holly wasn’t special. It was just fun. But it was exclusive.
Shit.
The American not only looked away but seemed to deliberately lean her whole body away from him as she stared out at the passing traffic. As he watched her attempt to create a distance between them with silence, his eyes caressed the sharp sweep of her jawline and the smoothness of her olive skin. She had great skin. Skin that told of her age, and it suddenly occurred to him that the American was quite young, probably ages with Ellie. He hadn’t realized at first because she had seemed attractively self-possessed.
Now she seemed uncomfortable… perhaps inexperienced?
It should have put him off.
It didn’t.
Whoever she was, however she was, Braden was intrigued.
He wanted to work her out.
“Are you shy?” He asked trying not to sound like a condescending prick.
She turned to him with a bemused smile. “Excuse me?”
Not shy then. He eyed her carefully. She wasn’t as easy to read as he’d first thought. He liked that. “Are you shy?” he repeated to be polite, already knowing the answer to that question was no. She was something, but it wasn’t shy.
“Why would you think that?”
He decided to see just how self-possessed she really was. “Most women would be taking advantage of my imprisonment in the taxi with them—chew my ear off, shove their phone number in my face…as well as other things.” His eyes instantly lowered to her lush breasts, letting her know he thought they were well worthy of the attention.
Anticipating either a blush or a scowl when he drew his eyes back to her face, Braden was taken aback to find her grinning at him. Fuck. Her smile hit him with more of an impact than her sexy body. She had one helluva sweet smile. “Wow, you really think a lot of yourself.”
He grinned back. “I’m just speaking from experience.”
“Well, I’m not the kind of girl who hands out her number to a guy she just met.”
Even though he couldn’t ask for her number he was immediately disappointed by her answer. He’d begun building an idea of who she was in his head and prudish girl next door was definitely not it. “Ahh,” he looked away. “You’re a no-sex-until-the-third-date, marriage-and-babies kind of woman.” Not exactly his type.
“No, no, and no,” she answered, seeming affronted by the idea. So affronted in fact that he suddenly wondered if the opposite was true. Was he in the presence of that rare creature? A woman afraid of commitment?
“Interesting,” he murmured.
“I’m not giving you my number.”
Unfortunately Braden couldn’t seduce her number out of her. “I didn’t ask for it. And even if I wanted it, I wouldn’t ask for it.” Fucking lie. “I have a girlfriend.” Unfortunately, true. Braden mentally slapped himself across the head for that ungentlemanly thought. Holly was a good girl and deserved better than that.
“Then stop looking at me like that.”
“I have a girlfriend, but I’m not blind. Just because I can’t do anything doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to look.” A crying shame if you asked him. He wanted to look. He wanted to look past the cynical eyes and through the sweet smile and find out which one of them was her. Maybe she was both. Maybe she was neither. He didn’t know. At all. And he wanted to. Jesus—
“Here’s good, thanks.”
What? His fascination with her mystery was suddenly brought to an abrupt halt by her direction to the driver. They weren’t at Dublin Street yet. They still had… Braden looked outside. They were at Queen Street Gardens, only seconds from her destination. And why was he panicking? She was off limits.
The driver pulled up to the curb and she handed him fare and reached for the door.
“Wait,” Braden found himself saying.
She turned to him, her expression impatient. “What?”
Braden sensed he had seconds here. He could either tell her to take her money back and offer to pay for the entire cab fare as he intended. Or he could ask her the one thing that had been itching at him since they met.
“Do you have a name?”
She smiled and Braden automatically found himself smiling with her. “Actually, I have two.”
What?
She jumped out of the cab and despite the loss of her he found myself chuckling at her cool reply.
It was his own fault. He’d asked a smart woman the wrong question.
Just as abruptly as she’d left him, Braden’s amusement fled. He realized he’d probably never see her again. Now that really was a crying shame. His father was right. His intuition was what made him a successful businessman, and his intuition was telling him he’d just let a great opportunity pass him by.
Swallowing his disappointment, Braden directed the cabbie to turnabout and head toward his meeting… in an even worse fucking mood than he’d started out in.

Coming on October 9th from Samantha Young!

A series of chance encounters leads to a sizzling new romance from the New York Times bestselling author of the On Dublin Street series.

The universe is conspiring against Ava Breevort. As if flying back to Phoenix to bury a childhood friend wasn’t hell enough, a cloud of volcanic ash traveling from overseas delayed her flight back home to Boston. Her last ditch attempt to salvage the trip was thwarted by an arrogant Scotsman, Caleb Scott, who steals a first class seat out from under her. Then over the course of their journey home, their antagonism somehow lands them in bed for the steamiest layover Ava’s ever had. And that’s all it was–until Caleb shows up on her doorstep.

When pure chance pulls Ava back into Caleb’s orbit, he proposes they enjoy their physical connection while he’s stranded in Boston. Ava agrees, knowing her heart’s in no danger since a) she barely likes Caleb and b) his existence in her life is temporary. Not long thereafter Ava realizes she’s made a terrible error because as it turns out Caleb Scott isn’t quite so unlikeable after all. When his stay in Boston becomes permanent, Ava must decide whether to fight her feelings for him or give into them. But even if she does decide to risk her heart on Caleb, there is no guarantee her stubborn Scot will want to risk his heart on her….

Categories : College, Cover Reveal, New Adult, Romance, Women's Fiction Tagged : Excerpt, On Dublin Street, Samantha Young

EXCLUSIVE Excerpt: Fall from India Place (On Dublin Street #4) by Samantha Young

June 10, 2014

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We are thrilled to welcome Samantha Young today with an EXCLUSIVE excerpt from Fall From India Place, her latest release in the On Dublin Street series! Enjoy!

Synopsis

The New York Times bestselling author of On Dublin Street, Down London Road, and Before Jamaica Lane returns with a story about letting go of the past and learning to trust in the future….

When Hannah Nichols last saw Marco D’Alessandro five long years ago, he broke her heart. The bad boy with a hidden sweet side was the only guy Hannah ever loved—and the only man she’s ever been with. After one intense night of giving in to temptation, Marco took off, leaving Scotland and Hannah behind. Shattered by the consequences of their night together, Hannah has never truly moved on.

Leaving Hannah was the biggest mistake of Marco’s life—something he has deeply regretted for years. So when fate reunites them, he refuses to let her go without a fight. Determined to make her his, Marco pursues Hannah, reminding her of all the reasons they’re meant to be together….

But just when Marco thinks they’re committed to a future together, Hannah makes a discovery that unearths the secret pain she’s been hiding from him—a secret that could tear them apart before they have a real chance to start over again….

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Excerpt

I told him I had essays to mark but that didn’t deter him. We ate dinner and then Marco camped out on my couch and let me get on with my work.

My resolve had weakened.

I could feel it.

He just had to push me and . . . I dropped my gaze from his handsome, sleeping face and resolutely attempted to concentrate on my work. The next essay I picked up was Jarrod’s, which made ignoring Marco even harder. But I did it, because Jarrod deserved my focus.

His revised personal essay moved me. For all Jarrod’s seeming laziness with the other teachers and obvious issues with the father who had abandoned him, he had found strength that not many boys his age had by looking after his little brother, Harvey, and helping to raise him…

It wasn’t easy for someone with Jarrod’s pride to put all that on paper, and he’d made me promise that only I and the examiner would read the essay.

It was a shame that I’d made that promise. I wanted to shove the paper in Rutherford’s face and demand that he see that the boy he thought so little of wasn’t a boy at all. He was a boy in age, but he’d been forced to become a man in spirit in order to give his brother the emotional support he himself had never had.

I sighed heavily, wishing there was more I could do to help Jarrod see his self-worth.

“What’s wrong?”

I lifted my head from my work at Marco’s rough voice and question. His eyes were open, his low-lidded gaze affecting me emotionally as well as physically.

That rush of tenderness I felt clearly translated in my returning gaze because Marco suddenly grew more alert.

Resolve weakened further. Just one push . . .

My heart was pounding hard, but I tried for nonchalance, tapping my pen casually against the papers in my hand. “I’ve got this kid in my fourth-year class. Jarrod.” I set the essay aside with the others. “He reminds me of you.”

“Yeah?” Marco slowly sat up, his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned toward me. “You must have a soft spot for him then.”

I laughed. “So sure of yourself these days.”

Marco didn’t answer; instead, his eyes darkened, glittering in the low light as he lowered himself onto the floor. The thundering heart banging away in my chest sped up even more and I unconsciously licked my lips as he moved toward me.

My breathing grew shallow, my mind screaming Stop him! while my body happily gave in as he nudged my legs apart, putting himself between them, and moving his torso into mine so I was forced to lean back on my hands to create space between us. Marco wasn’t having any of that. Instead he leaned farther into me as my head tilted back, one hand flat on the ground at my hip, the other sending the hair on the back of my neck up as he cupped my face.

“I know you still care.” His words whispered across my lips, his mouth almost touching mine. I shivered, my breath stuttering. “And, babe,” he continued, “I don’t think I can pretend any longer that I don’t think about being inside you nearly every hour of every day.”

His words were almost the equivalent of his mouth between my legs.

I wanted him. I wanted him so much I was struck mute with the fear that if I spoke I’d deny myself.
Marco took my silence as acquiescence.

His thumb stroked my cheek in tenderness, his eyes dropping to my mouth.

Breathless, I waited.

His head dipped, crossing the minute distance between our lips, and my eyes fluttered closed at the brush of his mouth over mine. My lips tingled, and I sighed, excited for more.

His kiss continued in gentle seduction, a touch of lips against lips, the pressure increasing in increments as my skin grew hotter and hotter.

I’d never been kissed like this. No guy had ever taken such sweet time with me, as if needing to sample every last inch of my mouth. Every time I thought he was going to deepen the kiss, he pulled back, dusting butterfly touches against the corner of my mouth or nibbling on my lower lip.

The tingling was delicious. “Only yours,” I pulled back a little to say softly, sounding almost desolate and wondering if in amongst the lust there wasn’t some truth to that tone.

Marco watched me as if he were trying to read me. Tenderly, he tucked my hair behind my ear. “Only mine what, Hannah?”

“Your kiss. My lips tingle when you kiss me.” I smiled sadly. “Real, honest-to-God tingling. No one else has ever made me feel that.”

A dark triumph entered Marco’s eyes. “Good,” he answered gruffly, before lowering his mouth to recapture mine.

Posted by arrangement with New American Library, a member of Penguin Group (USA) LLC, A Penguin Random House Company. Copyright © Samantha Young, 2014.

About the Author

Samantha Young
New York Times bestselling author Samantha Young is a 27 year old book addict who graduated from the University of Edinburgh. She lives in Scotland. Connect with her online at:samanthayoungbooks.com, Twitter at https://twitter.com/SYoungSFAuthor, Facebook at Facebook.com/OnDublinStreet, and www.goodreads.com/author/show/4167378.Samantha_Young

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Categories : New Adult Contemporary Tagged : Fall From India Place, On Dublin Street Series, Samantha Young

RELEASE DAY BLITZ and GIVEAWAY: OUT OF THE SHALLOWS (INTO THE DEEP) by SAMANTHA YOUNG

April 15, 2014

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HAPPY RELEASE DAY TO SAMANTHA YOUNG AND BOOK 2 IN THE INTO THE DEEP SERIES – OUT OF THE SHALLOWS!!!

Fashion model with bright make-up.

 

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SynopsisFrom the New York Times bestselling author of Into the Deep

LIVE YOUNG. LIVE HARD. LOVE DEEP.

Charley and Jake’s story concludes in Out of the Shallows…

Somehow, after everything they’ve been through, Jake Caplin and Charley Redford made their way back to one another. But finding each other and staying together are two completely different things.

When Charley’s world is flipped upside down, she begins to question the choices and decisions she’s made since her arrival in Edinburgh, and in an effort to grip onto what she holds most dear she believes she must sacrifice her love for Jake.

Returning to the States for her senior year, Charley struggles to find peace and happiness. While everyone else seems to be finding themselves in college, Charley is terrified that, along with almost everything else that’s important to her, she’s lost herself.

While friends and family deal with their own tumultuous lives, there is one person resolved to uncover the reason behind Charley’s sudden defection and unhappiness. Refusing to give up without a fight, Jake believes he is the only one who can truly understand what Charley is going through, and this time he’s determined to prove he’s there for her no matter what obstacles are thrown in their way.

However, as Charley strives to make it through the biggest personal journey of her life thus far, there is no guarantee that the woman she is becoming will still need Jake as much as the girl she once was did…

ExcerptI couldn’t actually dispute any of that, which made me even more pissed, hurt, defensive, scared and … confused.
I started to shiver. “I … I can’t do this.” I turned away.
I hadn’t taken two steps when I felt his hand wrap around my wrist. Jake tugged me, forcefully, pulling me around so I stumbled into his chest. His lips crashed down on mine, his kiss hungry, desperate, angry …
For a moment I forgot everything else but the hard pressure of his mouth on mine, the smell of his cologne, the feel of his body. I was surrounded.
Drowning.
And I let it happen.
His lips moved from my mouth to my chin, along my jaw, as his hand slid up my waist, his thumb just grazing my breast. I sighed, my body arching into his. I was hot. Hot and wanting. Nothing else mattered but the way I felt when he touched me.
His voice was ragged in my ear. “I’ve missed you so much. I love you so fucking much.” He squeezed my waist and pulled me closer, his mouth reaching for mine again but those three little words had broken through the spell of lust created by Jake’s proximity and the four beers I’d had.
“Stop,” I whispered, pushing gently on his chest.


Book 1 in the Series – Into the Deep


into the deep

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sale_IntotheDeep

SynopsisLive young. Live hard. Love deep.

Charley Redford was just an ordinary girl until Jake Caplin moved to her small town in Indiana and convinced her she was extraordinary. Almost from day one Jake pulled Charley into the deep and promised he was right there with her. But when a tragic incident darkened Jake’s life he waded out into the shallows and left Charley behind.

Almost four years later Charley thinks she’s moved on. That is until she takes a study year abroad in Edinburgh and bumps into none other than Jake Caplin at a party with his new girlfriend. The bad-boy-turned-good attempts to convince Charley to forgive him, and as her best friend starts spending time with Jake’s, Charley calls a truce, only to find herself tumbling back into a friendship with him.

As they grow closer, the spark between them flares and begins playing havoc with their lives and relationships. When jealousy and longing rear their destructive heads, Charley and Jake struggle to come to grips with what they mean to one another.

And even if they work it out, there is no guarantee Charley will ever trust Jake to lead her back into the deep…

into the deep teaser

AboutTheAuthorsamantha youngnew
Samantha Young is a New York Times, USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author from Stirlingshire, Scotland. She’s been nominated for the Goodreads Choice Award for Best Author and Best Romance for her international bestselling novel ON DUBLIN STREET. ON DUBLIN STREET is Samantha’s first adult contemporary romance and has been sold in twenty six countries.

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Categories : Book Blitz, Giveaway, New Adult Romance Tagged : Out of the Shallows, Samantha Young

Down London Road Excerpt from Chapter 1 (On Dublin Street #2) by Samantha Young

March 28, 2013

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Samantha Young will publish the sequel to On Dublin Street on May 7th. Here is an excerpt of Chapter 1 from Down London Road!

Pre-order here:

Chapter 1

Edinburgh, Scotland

I looked upon the piece of art and wondered what the heck I was looking at. To me it was just a bunch of

lines and squares in different colors with some shading here and there. It looked familiar. In fact, I

thought I had a picture Cole had drawn me when he was three years old tucked away somewhere that bore a remarkable resemblance to it. Although I doubted I could expect anyone to pay three hundred and seventy -five pounds for Cole’s drawing. I also doubted the sanity of anyone who would pay three hundred and seventy-five pounds for the piece of canvas that looked like it had been sitting next to a railroad at the exact time a train full of paint careened off the rails and crashed.

However, chancing a glance around me, I could see that most of the people in the gallery liked the artwork. Maybe I wasn’t smart enough to get it. In an effort to appear more sophisticated for my boyfriend’s sake, I adopted a pensive expression and moved on to the next canvas.

“Um, okay, I don’t get it,” a low, husky voice announced beside me. I would have known that voice anywhere. Its American -accented words were disturbed here and there by a lilt, or the sharper consonants of a brogue, all a consequence of its owner having lived in Scotland for almost six years.

Relief flooded me as I brought my head down to meet the gaze of my best friend, Joss. For the first time that evening, I smiled brightly. Jocelyn Butler was a straight-talking, ballsy American girl who tended bar with me at a pretty swank place called Club 39. It was a basement bar on one of the city center’s most famous streets—George Street—and we’d been working together for five years now.

Kitted out in a designer black dress and Louboutins, my vertically challenged friend looked hot. So did her boyfriend, Braden Carmichael. Standing behind Joss, his hand resting possessively on her lowerback, Braden exuded confidence. Drool-worthy, he was the kind of boyfriend I’d been searching for, for years, and if I didn’t love Joss so much and Braden didn’t adore her past all reasoning, I would have trampled over her to get to him. Braden was almost six and a half feet tall, which was ideal for someone of my height. I was a striking five foot ten—that made me more than six feet tall in the right heels. Joss’s boyfriend also happened to be sexy, rich, and funny. And he loved Joss to distraction. They’d been together for almost eighteen months. I could feel a proposal brewing.

“You look amazing,” I told her, eyeing her curves. Unlike me, Joss had big boobs, along with hips and an ass that wouldn’t quit. “Thank you so much for coming. Both of you.”

“Well, you owe me,” Joss muttered, her eyebrow arching as she glanced around at all the other paintings. “I’m going to have to do some serious lying if the artist asks me what I think.”

Braden gave her waist a squeeze and smiled down at her. “Well, if the artist is as pretentious as her art, why lie when you can be brutally honest?”

Joss grinned back at him. “That’s true.”

“No,” I interjected, knowing that if I let her she would do just that. “Becca is Malcolm’s ex-girlfriend and they’re still friends. You go Robert Hughes on her ass and it’s my ass that gets kicked to the curb.”

Joss frowned. “Robert Hughes?”

I sighed. “He was a famous art critic.”

“I like that.” Joss grinned evilly. “You know they say honesty is next to godliness.”

“I think that’s cleanliness, babe.”

“Of course it’s cleanliness, but surely honesty is a close second?”

The stubborn glint in Joss’s eyes caused my throat to almost close up. Joss was a force to be reckoned with, and if she had an opinion or wanted to say something, there was little you could do to stop her. When I first met her she was an incredibly private person, preferring not to get involved in her friends’ personal affairs. Since meeting Braden she’d changed a lot. Our friendship had grown, and Joss was now the only one who really knew the truth about my life. I was thankful for our friendship, but in moments like these I sometimes wished she was the old Joss, the one who kept her thoughts and emotions locked up tight.

I’d been dating Malcolm Hendry for almost three months. He was perfect for me. Kind, laid-back, tall—and wealthy. Malcolm was the oldest of all my “sugar daddies,” as Joss jokingly called them.

Although at thirty -nine, he was hardly old. He was, however, fifteen years my senior. I didn’t care.

Convinced that he might be the one, I didn’t want Joss jeopardizing the progress of our relationship by insulting his good friend.

“Jocelyn”—Braden gripped her waist again, eyeing me and my growing panic—“I think it best if you practice the art of artifice tonight after all.”

Finally reading my expression, Joss placed a reassuring hand on my arm. “I’m kidding, Jo. I’ll be on my best behavior. I promise.”

I nodded. “It’s just . . . things are going well, you know.”

“Malcolm seems like a decent guy,” Braden agreed.

Joss made a sound at the back of her throat, but we both ignored it. My friend had made her opinion clear on my choice of boyfriend. She was convinced I was using Malcolm and he was using me. It was true that he was generous and I needed that generosity. However, the bigger truth was I really cared about him. Ever since my “first love,” when I was sixteen years old, John, I’d fallen for charming providers and the idea of security for me and Cole. But John had gotten fed up with playing second fiddle to my family, and after six months he’d dumped me. It had taught me a valuable lesson. It had also given me a new requirement in a boyfriend—he had to have a good job, be driven, hardworking, and have a good income. No matter how hard I worked, with my nonexistent qualifications and lack of any real talent, I was never going to make enough money to secure a stable future for my family. I was, however, pretty enough to secure a man with good qualifications and talent.

About a year after I pieced myself back together from the heartbreak of my failed romance with John, Callum entered my life. Thirty, a well -off solicitor, gorgeous, cultured, sophisticated. Determined to make it last, I became what I imagined was the perfect girlfriend to him. It was a habit, becoming someone else, especially since it seemed to work. Callum thought I was perfect for a while. We were together two years—until my secretiveness about my family and my inability to “let him in” drove too deep a wedge between us and he left me.

It took me months to scrape myself back together after Callum . . . and when I did, it was to run into the arms of Tim. Horrible decision. Tim worked for an investment company. He was so mind -numbingly self-absorbed that I actually dumped him. Then there was Steven. Steven was a sales director for one of these annoying door-to-door sales companies. He put in long hours, which I thought might work in our favor, but it didn’t. Joss thought Steven had dumped me because of my inability to be flexible about anything because of my family obligations. The truth was I dumped Steven. Steven made me feel worthless. His comments about my general uselessness brought back too many memories, and although even I thought there was little to recommend me other than my looks, when your boyfriend said the same and ultimately made you feel like a paid escort, it was time to call it quits.

I took a lot of crap from people, but I had my limits, and the older I got, the narrower those limits became.

Malcolm was different, though. He never made me feel terrible about myself, and so far our relationship was moving along nicely.

“Where is Lotto-Man?”

I shot a glance over my shoulder and searched for him, ignoring Joss’s sarcasm. “I don’t know,” I murmured.

With Malcolm I’d literally hit the jackpot, as he was a solicitor-turned-lottery-winner. He’d won the EuroMillions three years ago and given up his job—his career, in fact—to begin enjoying a new life as a millionaire. Used to being busy, he’d decided to try his hand at property development and now had a portfolio of properties he owned as a landlord.

We were standing in an ancient redbrick building with its dirty windows made up of rows of small rectangles that you’d be more likely to see on a warehouse than an art gallery building. Inside was a different matter altogether. Outfitted with hardwood floors, amazing lighting, and partition walls for the art, it was the ideal gallery spot. Malcolm had divorced a year before his win, but of course a goodlooking, wealthy man attracted young women like me. He’d soon encountered Becca, a savvy twenty -sixyear-old Irish artist. They’d dated for a few months and remained good friends even after they broke it off. Malcolm had invested money in her art, renting a gallery a few blocks away from my old flat in Leith.

I had to admit the gallery and the art show were impressive. Even if I didn’t happen to understand what the art was saying to me.

Malcolm had managed to gather a group of private buyers to attend this special opening of Becca’s new collection and thankfully the art was speaking to them. As soon as we’d arrived, I’d lost my companion for the evening. Becca had come hurrying toward Malcolm and me in metallic leggings and an oversized sweater, her bare feet slapping against the freezing-cold wooden floor. She’d given me a flustered smile, grabbed Malcolm, and demanded that he come introduce her to the people who had shown up. I then proceeded to walk around the gallery wondering whether it was that I had no taste for art or that this art was just atrocious.

“I’d thought about buying something for the flat, but . . .” Braden gave a low whistle as he saw the price tag of the canvas we were standing in front of. “I make it a rule not to overpay when I’m buying shit.”

Joss snorted and nodded in absolute agreement. Deciding it best to change the subject before one of them encouraged the other to be openly rude, I asked, “Where’s Ellie and Adam?”

Ellie was a sweetheart and could put a positive spin on anything. She also managed to temper the blunt tongues of her best friend and her brother, which was why I’d specifically invited her.

“She and Adam are staying in tonight,” Joss replied with a quiet seriousness that concerned me.

“Today she got the results from the MRI. Everything’s all clear, of course, but it brought it all back for her.”

It had been just over a year since Ellie had had brain surgery to remove benign tumors that had been causing physical symptoms and seizures. I didn’t really know Ellie at the time, but Joss had crashed at my old place once during Ellie’s recovery, and I knew from what she’d told me it had been a pretty hard time for them all. “I’ll try and pop round to see her soon,” I muttered, wondering if I could squeeze in the time

to do that. Between my two jobs, looking after my mum and Cole, and accompanying Malcolm whenever he wanted me somewhere, my life was pretty hectic.

Joss nodded, a crease of concern between her brows. She worried about Ellie worse than anyone.

Okay, maybe not worse than anyone, I thought, shooting a glance at Braden, whose own brows were knitted together in a troubled expression.

Braden was quite possibly the most overprotective brother I’d ever met, but since I knew all about being overprotective of a younger sibling, I had no room to make fun.

In an attempt to pull them out of their dark thoughts, I joked about the utterly crap day I’d had at work. Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday nights, I worked at Club 39. On Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday during the day I worked as a personal assistant to Thomas Meikle, an accountant at Meikle &Young’s accountancy firm. Mr. Meikle was a moody bastard and since “personal assistant” was really just a posh word for “gofer,” I suffered constant whiplash from his colorful temperament. Some days were fine and we got along well enough;; other days, like today, “I didn’t know my arse from my elbow”—directquote—and was utterly useless. Apparently my uselessness had hit a new record today: There hadn’t been enough sugar in his coffee, the girl at the bakery ignored my instructions to take the tomatoes off his sandwich, and I hadn’t mailed out a letter Mr. Meikle had forgotten to give me. Thankfully, tomorrow was my day off from Meikle and his vitriolic tongue.

Braden once again tried to persuade me to leave Meikle and come work part-time at his estate

agency, but I declined to accept his help, just as I had refused Joss’s many offers of help in the past.

Although I was grateful for the kindness, I was determined to always make my life work on my own.

When you relied on people you cared about, put your trust in them with something huge like that, they

inevitably disappointed you. And I really didn’t want to be disappointed by Joss and Braden.

Obviously feeling more persistent tonight, Braden was relaying the benefits of working for him.

Suddenly I felt the hair on the nape of my neck stand on end. My muscles tensed and I turned my head slightly, Braden’s words becoming muffled as I checked out who or what had caught my notice. My eyes flickered across the room and then my breath hitched as my gaze paused on a guy who was staring at me.

Our eyes met, and for some absolutely bizarre reason the connection felt physical, like acknowledging each other’s presence had actually locked me in place. I felt my heart rate pick up, the blood rushing in my ears.

There was a fair distance between us, so I couldn’t make out the color of his eyes, but they were thoughtful and probing, his brow creased as if he was just as confused by the static between us as I was.

Why had he caught my attention? He was not the kind of guy I usually responded to. Aye, he was pretty good-looking. Messy dark blond hair and sexy stubble. Tall, but not as tall as Malcolm. This guy was probably six feet tall and no more. I would stand a few inches taller than him in the heels I wore tonight. I could see the muscles in his biceps and the thick veins on his arms because the idiot was wearing a T-shirt in late winter, but he wasn’t built like the guys I dated. He wasn’t broad and beefy. He was lean and sinewy. Mmm, “sinewy” was a good word for it. And did I mention the tattoos? I couldn’t tell what they were, but I could make out the colorful ink on his arm. I didn’t do tattoos.

When his eyes lowered under their lashes, I inhaled at the shock-like feeling that jolted through me as his gaze traveled down my body and back up again. I felt like squirming, overwhelmed under his flagrant perusal, though usually, if a guy checked me out like that, I would just smile back flirtatiously.

The moment his eyes came back to my face, he offered me one last searing look—a look that I felt like a callused caress down my body—and then dragged his gaze away. Feeling dazed and decidedly turned on, I watched him stride off behind one of the art walls that divided the gallery into sections.

“Who was that?” Joss’s voice broke through my fog.

I blinked and turned back to her with what I imagined was a stupefied look on my face. “I have no idea.”

Joss smirked. “He was hot.”

A throat cleared behind her. “What was that?”

Her eyes twinkled mischievously, but when she turned to face her scowling partner she had schooled her expression into one of innocence. “I meant from a purely aesthetic point of view, of course.”

Braden grunted but pulled her tighter into his side. Joss grinned back at me and I couldn’t help but smile. Braden Carmichael was this no-nonsense, straight-talking, intimidating businessman, and yet somehow Jocelyn Butler had managed to wrap him around her pinky finger.

I think we stood there for about an hour, drinking the free champagne and discussing everything under the sun. Sometimes I felt intimidated when the two of them were together because they were so intelligent and knowledgeable. I rarely felt I had anything profound or interesting to add to the conversation, so I just laughed and enjoyed them teasing the hell out of each other. When I was by myself with Joss it was different. I knew Joss better than I knew Braden, so I was confident that she would never want me to feel like I had to be anybody other than myself. It was a nice change of pace from the rest of my life.

We chatted with some other guests, trying not to seem confused by their enthusiasm for the art, but after an hour Joss turned to me apologetically. “We have to go, Jo. I’m sorry, but Braden’s got a really early meeting tomorrow.” I must have shown my disappointment because she shook her head. “You know what? No, I’ll stay. Braden can go. I’ll stay.”

No. Absolutely not. I had seen myself through situations like this before. “Joss, go home with

Braden. I’m fine. Bored. But fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

She gave my arm an affectionate squeeze and took Braden’s hand. He gave me a nod, and I returned it with a smile and a “Good night,” then watched as they walked across the gallery to the clothes rail where all the guests’ coats were hanging. Like a true gentleman, Braden held Joss’s coat for her and helped her shrug it on. He kissed her hair before he turned to pull on his own coat. With his arm wrapped around her shoulders, he led her out into the cold February night, leaving me inside the gallery with an unfamiliar ache in my chest.

I glanced down at the gold Omega watch Malcolm had bought me for Christmas, and as always when I checked the time, I bemoaned the fact that I couldn’t sell it yet. It was possibly the costliest gift I’d ever received, and would do wonders for our savings. There was always the hope, however, that my relationship with Malcolm would turn into something more significant and selling the watch would no longer be an issue. But I never allowed myself to get my hopes too high.

It was nine fifteen. My pulse picked up a little and I riffled through my tiny fake Gucci clutch purse for my phone. No messages.

Dammit, Cole.

I had just pressed SEND on a text message reminding Cole to call me as soon as he arrived home, when an arm slid around my waist and the woodsy, leathery smell of Malcolm’s aftershave filled my nostrils. Not needing to tilt my head back to meet his gaze since I was wearing my five-inch heels, I turned and smiled, covering my worry for Cole as our eyes met. I’d gone for sophisticated in the Dolce & Gabbana red pencil dress that Malcolm had bought for me on our last shopping trip. The dress showed off my trim figure to perfection. I loved it. I would be sad to add it to my eBay pile.

“There you are.” Malcolm grinned at me, his brown eyes bright as they crinkled attractively at the corners. He had a head full of lush, dark hair with a sexy sprinkling of gray at the sides. He wore suits all the time and tonight was no exception, the Savile Row tailoring exquisite. “I thought your friends were coming tonight or I wouldn’t have left you all alone.”

I smiled at that and placed my hand on his chest. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. They were here, but they had to leave early.” I looked at the phone still curled in my hand Where was Cole? Little gremlins awoke in my stomach to nibble anxiously at my insides.

“I’m buying one of Becca’s paintings. Come and pretend with me that it’s brilliant.”

I chuckled and then immediately felt bad, biting my lip to stall the sound. “I’m so glad I’m not the only one that doesn’t get it.”

His eyes darted around the room, his lips curled in amusement. “Well, thankfully these people know more about art than we do, so I’ll at least get a return on my investment.”

He kept his arm around me and guided me through the gallery and behind a couple of walls, where Becca stood under a huge monstrosity of splashed paintwork. I almost tripped over my own feet when I saw who she appeared to be arguing with. Tattoo Guy. Crap.

“You okay?” Malcolm glanced down at me, frowning as he felt the tension in my body.

I smiled brightly. Rule number one: Never let him see you as anything but positive and charming.

“I’m great.”

Tattoo Guy was grinning at Becca, his hand on her hip, trying to pull her to him, his expression bordering on appeasing. Willfully, I ignored the catch in my breath at the flash of his wicked white smile.

Becca still looked a bit put out, but I totally understood when she stepped into his embrace. I thought any woman would have forgiven the bastard anything when he smiled at her like that.

Averting my eyes from Tattoo Guy, I followed Malcolm as he came to a stop and the couple turned to us. Becca’s cheeks were flushed pink, and her eyes sparkled with excitement. “Just ignore me and Cam. We’re just fighting because he’s an eejit.”

I didn’t look at him, but I heard him chuckle. “No, we’re fighting because we have different taste in art.”

“Cam hates my artwork,” Becca said with a huff. “He can’t be like other boyfriends and lie at least.

No. Brutally honest, this one. At least Malcolm likes my work. Did Mal tell you he’s buying my painting, Jo?”

You’d think I’d be jealous of Malcolm’s obvious affection for Becca, and I know it sounds horrible, but until I saw her artwork I was a little jealous. I wasn’t exceptionally smart, I didn’t draw, I didn’t dance, I didn’t sing, I was just an okay cook . . . Thankfully, I was pretty. Tall with legs that went on forever, I’d been told countless times I had a good body and great skin. Combine those with huge green eyes, long, thick strawberry blond hair, and delicate features and you were left with an attractive package—one that had been turning heads since I was a teenager. Aye, I didn’t have much, but what I did have, I used to my family’s advantage.

To know that Becca was cute and talented had worried me a little. Perhaps Malcolm would get bored of me and go back to her? Actually, though, Malcolm’s less-than-enthusiastic response to her artwork

made me feel better about his relationship with her. Not that that made any rational kind of sense.

“He did. Good choice.” I smiled at him and I could tell he was dying to laugh. His hand slid from my waist down to cup my hip and I moved in closer to him, chancing a glance at my phone. Still nothing from Cole.

“Jo, this is Becca’s boyfriend, Cameron,” Malcolm suddenly said, and I drew my head up quickly to finally study the man I had been avoiding looking at for the last few seconds. Our eyes met and I felt that frisson of excitement ripplethrough me again.

His eyes were cobalt blue and seemed to be stripping me back to nothing as they perused me for a second time. I watched his gaze quickly flicker over me, noting Malcolm’s hand on my waist. I stiffened as Cameron took us in, drew some kind of conclusion about us, and slammed his expression shut with the hard pressing together of his lips.

“Hi,” I managed and he gave me a barely there nod. The blaze in his eyes from earlier had definitely gone out.

Becca started chattering to Malcolm about the painting, so I took the opportunity to check my phone once again. At a disgruntled snort, my head shot up, my eyes clashing with Cameron’s. I couldn’t understand the distaste in his expression or why I felt the sudden need to tell him to go fuck himself.

Faced with animosity or aggression I tended to flinch and not utter a word. In this case, the condemnation and judgment in this tattooed idiot’s face made me want to slam my fist into it and break his already imperfect nose. It had a little bump near the bridge that should have marred his good looks, but instead just added to his ruggedness.

I bit my tongue before I did something out of character and let my eyes fall to his tattoos. On his right forearm was beautiful black script—two words I couldn’t make out without giving away that I was

trying to read them. On his left arm was a colorful and detailed image. It looked like a dragon, but I couldn’t be sure, and Becca moved closer to Cameron’s side, obscuring it from sight.

For a moment I wondered how Becca could go from dating thirtysomething Malcolm in his tailored suits to twentysomething Cameron with his seventies aviator watch and leather bracelets, a Def Leppard

T-shirt that had been run through the wash too many times, and ratty Levi’s.

“Mal, did you ask Jo about the job?”

Bemused, I looked up at my boyfriend. “Job?”

“Becca, it’s fine, really,” Cameron insisted, his deep voice sending a shiver of something I didn’t

want to admit to through my body. My eyes swung to collide with his and I saw him staring back at me,

his expression blank.

“Nonsense,” Malcolm answered good

-naturedly and then eyed me thoughtfully. “You’re still looking

for another bartender at the club, aren’t you?”

We were. My friend and colleague (and my only one

-night stand—I’d been a mess after Callum),

Craig, had left us for Australia. Tuesday had been his last night and our manager, Su, had been

interviewing for a new bartender for a week now. I’d miss Craig. Sometimes his flirting got to be a bit

much, and I never had the balls to tell him to shut up (Joss did), but at least he was always in a good

mood. “Yeah, why?”

Becca touched my arm and I looked into her pleading face. It suddenly occurred to me that even

though she was a few years older than me, she looked and sounded like a little girl, with her wide blue

eyes, smooth skin, and high

-pitched voice. The two of us couldn’t have been any more different. “Cam is

a graphic designer. He worked for a graphics company that does all the marketing and branding for

household names around the country, but they had budget cuts. Last in, first out sort of thing, and Cam

just started with them a year ago.”

I shot Cam a wary but sympathetic look. It wasn’t easy losing your job.

I didn’t know what I or the bartending position had to do with it, though.

“Becca.” Cam sounded annoyed now. “I told you I’d deal with this myself.”

She flushed a little under his penetrating gaze and I suddenly felt a connection to her. I wasn’t the

only one he intimidated. Good. “Cam, let me help.” She turned back to me. “He’s struggling—”

“I’m struggling to find graphic design work.” Cam cut her off, his blue eyes burning with frustration.

It suddenly occurred to me that his apparent bad mood might have nothing to do with me and everything

to do with his situation. “Malcolm said there was a full

-time position open at Club 39 and I have

experience bartending. I need something to get me through until I can find another job. If you could get

me an application form I’d appreciate it.”

Why I decided to be helpful considering I didn’t very much like him, or his attitude, remained a

mystery as I replied, “I’ll do one better. I’ll speak to my manager and I’ll give her your number.”

He stared at me a moment and I couldn’t for the life of me work out what was going on behind his

eyes. Finally, he nodded slowly. “Okay, thanks. My number is—”

At that moment my phone vibrated in my hands and I lifted it to stare at the screen.

I’m home from Jamie’s house. Stop panicking. Cole.

The tension melted from my body and I sighed, quickly texting him back.

“Jo?”

I glanced up and noted Malcolm’s raised eyebrows.

Damn. Cam’s number. I flushed, realizing I’d completely blanked on him when I got Cole’s

message. I sent him a sheepish smile of apology, one that ricocheted off his steely countenance. “Sorry.

Your number?”

Unamused, he rattled it off for me and I typed it into my phone.

“I’ll give this to her tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sure,” he responded in a bored tone, suggesting he didn’t think I had the brain cells to

remember to do that.

His attitude toward me pricked, but I decided not to let it bother me, snuggling more happily into

Malcolm’s side now that I knew Cole was tucked in safe in our flat on London Road.

Categories : Uncategorized Tagged : Down London Road, On Dublin Street, Samantha Young

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