London Lover Series
By Amy Daws
London Lovers # 1
The dreaded friend-zone… The last place I ever want to be with college basketball God, Jake LaShae. I am losing my mind trying to figure out what this gorgeous and confident man wants from me. I need to break through his walls. What is it about me that makes him not go there? What am I lacking? When a mind-blowing betrayal knocks the wind out of me, and I think I can’t feel any lower…Brody stumbles into my path-barefoot no less, and sexy as hell. His direct and mouth-watering swagger is a breath of fresh air. The feelings this man gives me are like nothing I’ve ever experienced. But Brody has a past. A past that makes it nearly impossible for him to trust me and let us become us in whatever capacity that may be. Just when Brody and I truly connect, just when I think that finding my soul-mate in college isn’t a total joke, Jake comes back into my life…and messes things up…possibly for good.
Sexy young couple kissing and playing in bed.
I pull away from his lingering embrace. He scrapes his chair against the wood floor, moving closer to me with his legs spread around my chair.
“What? What’s the deal?” he asks, seeming confused at my sudden change in body language.
“Just say it, Brody,” I whisper, looking down at my open textbook.
“Well, I’m feeling like it’s a bad idea now, with how you’re reacting, but…”
I turn to look at him, suddenly feeling courageous. He swallows hard and I see a muscle in his jaw tick rapidly twice. That’s something I’ve not seen on him yet.
“I heard some shit on campus today about you and that Jake guy, the basketball player.” My lips part in shock. This was not where I was expecting him to go. “I don’t know what’s true and what’s not, but screw it. I’m just going to lay it out there because I told you I’d be real.”
“I can’t freaking…” I start.
“I want you to not date anyone else.” He cuts off my sentence before I have a chance to finish.
“What?” I ask, feeling like I didn’t hear him right.
His voice is quiet and low, “I want you…to not date anyone else. Especially that Jake guy.”
“You’re asking to be exclusive?” I feel the heavy, uneasiness lifting off of me in slow swoops.
“Yeah, I mean. I don’t know where you’re at, or how available you even are. Are you like, seeing him or something?” There’s that tick in his jaw again.
I shake my head, my eyes wide in amazement.
“Well, were you? ‘Cause I heard he slept with your friend behind your back or something.” His face is surly.
“Oh, my God, would you please stop?” I ask, placing my hand over his lips.
“Well, I just need to know,” he mumbles against my hand, barely coherent.
“Don’t ruin this,” I say, widening my eyes seriously at him. When he relaxes, I remove my hand.
“I don’t want to see anyone else. And I need you to want that too,” he adds, sullenly.
“I’m in,” I say, nodding my head with a grin and threading my fingers with his.
“Are you sure you’re ready or whatever?” He looks down at our hands with a sad expression on his face. “‘Cause I don’t want to be strung along again. I can’t take it. And I can’t take the idea of you still having a thing for that guy. If that’s the case, you need to tell me now because I’m serious about this, Finley. I’m serious about us.”
“You asked me out for the first time with a frown. And now you’re asking me to be my boyfriend with a frown. Is this really how our relationship is going to be? If so, I need to have a word with my boyfriend,” I say, my eyes wide in challenge.
He attempts to conceal a smirk. His face looks so damn sexy, I can’t help myself. I grab his cheeks and lay a hard, smacking kiss on him.
“If it means you’ll keep saying yes, I’ll be a pouty bitch as often as it takes,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“You’re lucky you’re hot.” We both laugh and he pulls me into his chest.
“I like you calling me your boyfriend,” he says smugly. Relief washes through me at the clear label he just put on us. The uncertainty of our relationship is gone. We are defined. And it feels damn good.
A Broken Us
London Lovers # 2
The moment those words come out of the doctor’s mouth, I feel sick.
The life I have dreamed of…obliterated.
How will he look at me?
How can he accept me?
He’ll know what I hid from him.
He’ll know everything.
It’s over. It’s completely over. I can’t tell him “I love Us” anymore.
Even though I do.
Even though it will kill me.
I can’t tell him anything. Everything is ruined. Pummeled. Broken.
I have to leave him. I have to give up us.
I know he’ll come after me.
I just have to do something to make him not want to.
I open the door and steam comes rushing out. I quietly undress and toss my clothes in a heap on the floor next to his. I draw back the curtain and Brody is standing under the shower spray with his hands on the tiled shower wall and his head hanging low. He looks so sad, so defeated. I hate it.
He hears the rustle of the shower curtain and turns. His eyes rove down my body and return to my eyes and a second of excitement ignites within them. I step into the tub and he turns to face me completely, his dark blue eyes locked on mine.
We stand before each other for a moment, having a serious but silent conversation. His eyes are boring into me with intensity, pain, passion, and desire. Mine are boring back into his with remorse, need, and want.
I reach out and drag my hand down his chest. He grabs my hand and holds it against his heart. I can feel it pounding rapidly beneath my palm.
“I’ve missed you so much, Brody,” I say, softly.
“Finley.” His deep voice echoes in the small bathroom.
Losing all control now, I fall into him and take his mouth with mine. He grips his hands tightly beneath my behind and hoists me up onto his hips. He turns and presses my back against the tile side of the shower. I cry out at the cold wall but he swallows my cries with his mouth.
“Tell me again, Finley,” he says, roughly.
“What?” I ask, distracted by the intense feeling of his hips pressing against my center.
“Tell me how much you’ve missed me. Tell me how much you want me.”
I move my hips against him, desperate for him to feel how much I’ve missed him.
“I’ve missed you, Brody. I want you so much right now,” I say, breathing loudly. “I’ve wanted you the whole time I’ve been gone.”
My hands run down his back to his butt and I feel him clench his buttocks in response. Our kiss is fast and fierce as we frantically attempt to make up for lost time.
“More,” he growls against my lips.
“I’ve dreamt about you, Brody. I’ve dreamt about you coming here and making love to me. You’re all I want,” I moan out.
London Lovers Series #3
***After falling in love with “us” in the first two installments of the London Lovers Series, now…it’s Leslie’s turn in this spicy series stand alone.***
When Leslie Lincoln, a spunky, red-headed American, suffers an awkward moment with an arousingly-sexy British man—she thinks her life can’t get any more pathetic.
She’s done with men.
She doesn’t need them.
She especially doesn’t need their muscular thighs.
No siree, she’s going to forget all about the brooding, complicated, and seductive “Theo” who captivated her on the dance floor of a London nightclub.
Keep telling yourself that, Lez…..
Immersing herself into a new type of romantic cleanse, Leslie thinks she’ll never lay eyes on Theo again. But somehow, he’s managed to bulldoze his way back in—her cheetah-print onesie pajamas be damned.
He wants more.
She wants to run.
But he can’t seem to let her go.
Both of them have a past—and neither want to share.
How can love possibly survive in darkness?
Theo is quiet the entire drive. When we arrive at his house, he silently takes my hand and leads me into his flat and into his master bath. He flips on the shower and removes his glasses and all of his clothes, silently gazing at me the entire time. He strides over to me and pulls my t-shirt over my head and undoes the string on my cotton pants, pulling them down as he does. We’re both standing before each other completely naked and silent, the shower steam swirling around us.
He grasps my hand again and leads me into his glass walk-in shower. He proceeds to tilt my head back into the water and watches me quietly. Leaning in and pausing, he breathes heavily against my skin before dropping feather-light kisses along my neck, collarbone, and shoulders. I bring my head back down and stare deeply into his eyes. I’m trying to figure him out but the raw vulnerability that stares back at me brings tears to my eyes.
He bites his tongue to the side and grabs the soap, squirting some into a sponge. He turns me away from him and begins washing me, reverently—gently and protectively covering every inch of me with the soapy bubbles. It’s overwhelming. The intimacy of it all—it’s all too much. Tears bubble up and fall down my wet cheeks.
Theo feels my shoulders shuddering beneath his hand and he turns me around to face him again. His pale brown eyes flash quickly between my green ones. As if consciously choosing to use actions instead of words, he tilts my head sideways and presses his lips to mine. He moves us back so the water is pouring down over our faces and between our mouths. It’s a waterfall of lips, tears, tongues, and ragged breaths. Feeling everything he’s telling me without words, I pour every single tear and ounce of angst I have into this kiss. All my fear, anxiety, pain, grief…all of it is swirling deeply within this soul-shattering kiss.
He pushes me back against the wall and pulls my legs up onto his hips as our kiss grows frenzied and desperate. He slides into me in one languid push and holds himself there, just letting our bodies connect in the most carnal and natural way.
He stops kissing me and looks deeply into my eyes. The vulnerability there on display for me to see—to accept—to love. I can feel it. I can touch it. Every single part of him—physically, emotionally, he’s offering it to me. It’s all I can do to accept it all.
Can I possibly love this man?
Amy Daws is a goof of epic proportions. She enjoys making dumb videos and laughing at herself…a lot. It gets awkward. She thinks she should have tried her hand at improv theater but figured she’d learn how life looks behind the lens of a camera first.
She also thinks talking about herself in the third person isn’t awkward at all.
Amy lives in South Dakota with her husband, Kevin, and their miracle daughter, Lorelei. The long-awaited birth of Lorelei is what inspired Amy’s first book, Chasing Hope, and her passion for writing.
Amy’s contemporary romance books are a part of the The London Lovers Series and currently have three installments out with more to come. Her writing style is emotional and self-deprecating with awkward humor sprinkled in. Basically, if she makes you cry happy and sad tears…she’s achieved her goal. Extra points if you have to blow your nose.
Amy’s inspiration for writing is and always will be her six precious angel babies and her daughter, Lorelei. On most nights, you can find Amy and her family dancing to Strawberry Shortcake’s theme song or stuffing themselves inside children’s-sized playhouses because there is nothing they wouldn’t do for their little miracle.