Sleeping With the Lights On




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ISBN Print: 978-1-60154-724-8
Page Count: 240
Word Count: 67167
Rating: Sweet (G-PG)


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After two failed marriages and countless relationships, Sandra Holiday thinks she's met the man to end her years of less than perfect choices; choices that not only derailed her travel-related career plans but also left her single and broke.

Carson Holiday, a Las Vegas country crooner with swoon-inducing good looks, spent his adult life pursuing a recording contract and love, never holding on to either. After eighteen years, he drops back into Sandra's life, reigniting an attraction he can't deny.

When Carson reappears, Sandra must choose again. Only this time, nothing's as it seems. A secret admirer, a redheaded stalker, and an eccentric millionaire throw her on a dangerous path, with Carson her only truth.

As life confronts her with yet another turning point, will her decisions find her eternally sleeping with the lights on --- or will she finally discover a way to turn them off?

(Pages 240) Sensual

Excerpt:

"When do you go back to Vegas?"

He hesitated. "In a day or two."

"You sound rather vague." And still elusive. What could be the big secret about this charity gig he couldn't divulge?

"I have a few more things to find out. I'll be out of here as soon as I get all my questions answered. It's complicated."

"Carson, honestly, how complicated can a gig--"

Pulling me around, he stopped, facing me. My head said run like hell, but my legs wouldn't respond. Mushy from wine or the result of Carson and moonlight. I couldn't be sure which.

"Have lunch with me tomorrow, darlin'." His fingers slipped from mine to gingerly brush along my forearm. The moonlight caught in his eyes. "Another hour of your time with a long lost friend?"

"Yes." My voice went all husky and come-hither. I wanted to kick myself for being so easy.

"Good." Grasping my hand again, he led me toward the door. "What's the address of your office?"

I struggled to shake off the moon shadows and to remember where I worked. Once inside the building, I took a scrap of paper from my purse and wrote the address.

"I'll walk you to your door and say goodnight," he said, tucking the scrap of paper in his pocket. "Unless you want to have me in for a goodnight drink." I didn't answer. If he'd only known the extent of my uncertainty at that moment, a little persistence might have made me cave.

"Okay, then--" His mouth gaped.

I followed his bewildered look to my apartment door.

TRAMP




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