Author: Alessandra Torre
Release Date: February 7, 2015
Genre: Erotic Romance, Mystery
More Info: Goodreads
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I was happy in my small town. In my life as a single, thirty-two year old woman. I had a good job, wonderful friends, my independence.
I also hadn't got laid in three years. Hadn't been on a date in two. Had stopped counting calories and wearing makeup... a while ago.
Then Brett Jacobs waltzed in. Caressed my thigh, dug rough fingers into my hair, lowered his soft mouth to my skin, took sexual control of my mind and stirred it all around with what he packed in his pants. He flipped my quiet life upside down and crawled into a place in my heart I thought was dead.
The issue is his secret.
The issue is her.
The issue is that I don't even know she exists, and he thinks she's dead.
The issue is that shit is about to hit the fan and I can't hold on to him tight enough.
Author: Alessandra Torre
Genre: Erotic Romance
Cover Design: Judi Perkins
Photography Credit: Maksim Gorbunov
Release Date: February, 7th 2015
I laugh. It may have been a mistake. His eyes flash in a way I’ve never seen. A new level of anger. A shriek of surprise comes out when he picks me up, underneath my knees and arms, curling me against his chest and shouldering us through the crowd, my kicking heels bumping strangers, my left hand hooking around his neck to protect my head while I pound on his chest with my other hand. “Let me down!” I yell in his ear, his face unresponsive, dark stubbornness on it as he plows through the crowd.
We break through the bodies and he backs through a door set into the wall, the music muffled in the dark hall we now reside in. I am finally free, his hands unceremoniously dumping me to my feet before he pins me against the wall, his other hand braced against the wall next to my head. He waits for the door to swing shut, the hall quieting to a level where shouting is not necessary.
“Now,” he speaks slowly and tightly. “Tell me what the fuck you planned to accomplish by coming here tonight.”
I bristle, trying to straighten off the wall, his hand pressing against my chest and easily keeping me in place. “I didn’t think I needed a reason to come see my boyfriend.”
“You think this is a game?” he thunders. “Girls disappear from this resort all the time. Just now, I carried you through that crowd while you were screaming bloody murder and not ONE person gave it a second look. What if it hadn’t been me? What if it had been someone else? Someone who carried you into this hall and raped you? Killed you?” His gaze moves down me, my face flushing at the realization that my dress, due to his carry, has ridden up to almost my waist.
“Jesus Christ Riley,” he groans, his voice softening, his hand leaving the wall to run up my thigh. “I can see your fucking panties.” He slips his hand underneath the dress, caressing the skin of my hip before moving to the front, my hand grabbing his wrist before it moves lower. If he touches me, I’m done. I know it, it’s happened too many times before. He’s learned every button I have and just how to push them. If he wants to, he can fuck me right here in this hall and I won’t be able to say a word to stop it. Despite if I’m mad at him. Despite if I don’t want to want it.
“Stop.” I press on his wrist, resists its movement.
His head came up, his eyes meeting mine. “Tell me you don’t want it.”
“I don’t want it.”
He steps closer, sliding his fingers under the top of my panties, my fight against the movement futile, my strength no match for his, his eyes tight on mine the moment when his fingers slide over the thin patch of hair and press inside of me. I close my eyes, sink a little against the wall, my legs spreading slightly on their own accord.
“Liar.” He whispers. “Open your eyes, beautiful. Open your eyes and tell me why you are here.”
It’s very rare that I go into a story blind. Even though this book had a synopsis, I still felt like it was vague, especially the ending. And let’s be honest; it was the last few sentences that probably grabbed most of us. Because Alessandra Torre is a master of erotic suspense. She’s proven this time and time again, each book honing her craft more and more. I was riveted in my seat while reading her last release, Black Lies. So going into this one, I hoped for the same magic. And while I wasn’t disappointed, I was slightly underwhelmed. Not enough to distract me, mind you, and it was definitely still a five star read, but there was that little something more that I kept hoping for that never materialized. I can’t even pinpoint what it was necessarily, but just know that I DID love the story.
This definitely wasn’t a black and white book, but in a way it was. I had many theories throughout, and was so certain one of them would come to fruition. The one theory that was so obvious idled in the background, and I kept telling myself no way. Even at 85%, when it all comes to a head, I was thoroughly confused, because Torre makes you think. She makes you question what you have come to believe and know in your soul to be true. You are taken on a roller coaster of emotions unsure of where the end of the ride will be. And these, folks, are the best kinds of stories. I don’t want something obvious. I don’t want something I can figure out a few pages in. I want to be left guessing, even when the last page is turned. Tight accomplishes that in spades, as I am still pondering the outcome as I write this review.
Torre adapts an interesting timeline throughout the chapters, which only heightens the mystery. At the time, I’ll admit, this had me leaning towards other directions. And I think that’s the point of it all, to misdirect from what your head and heart tell you. Like Kitten, you don’t want to have hope, because in the end, as so often happens in these types of stories, there’s never a clear cut maximum outcome. Even if the desired happens, characters are damaged beyond belief, and these scars take years, if ever, to fully heal. So even though the words were telling me one thing, my heart was hoping for something else. This was a solid story for me, and beneath it all was true love. Love after not one, but two unspeakable tragedies. Love that can heal wounds. Love that can heal each other. Another home run for Torre, but then I suspect she knows how to do no different. The woman is literary gold!
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