Alexia Keith, self-proclaimed nerd and potty-mouth, is a beautiful, scotch drinking, complicated mess. In other words, she has issues, and the last thing she needs is her boss, Jaxson Ryan, CEO of Ryan Acquisitions, messing with her issues. She finds him hard and even harder to resist, but she must, he’s off limits.
One of New York’s most eligible bachelors, Jaxson Ryan, is the poster boy for the tall, hot, conceited self-proclaimed manwhores. The only thing he wants is Ryan’s, Risk Manager, Alexia Keith.
What happens, when a man with a bedpost-notching waiting list, a man who thought he had it all, wants the only woman he can’t have…?
Alexia Grant wanted the happily-ever-after, the fairytale ending. What she got, was her heart shattered into 5.689 million pieces.
It’s been over two years, 936.5 days to be exact, since she last laid her eyes on Jaxson Chase Ryan. She thought she was ready to see him, but now that he’s just feet away, in a crowded elevator, she realizes she’s not. Maybe she’ll be ready to see him in another 12.135863024 months, maybe never.
She’s moving her family and Grant International headquarters to New York. What was she thinking? How can she live in the same state, or even on the same continent with the man who wrecked her and still owns her shattered heart?
Jules and Nick are getting married, in Vegas. Jaxson Ryan is the best man; Alexia Grant is the maid of honor. He came to her hotel, for answers, for closure. What was he thinking? Now that she’s standing just feet away, in a crowded elevator, he knows there will never be closure, because he still wants and needs her more than his next breath.
Alexia Grant was so close to her happily-ever-after, all she had to do is reach out a grab it…
Jaxson Ryan was so close to having the woman, the life, he’s always wanted. But that was before…
Alexia—The broken part of me—is me. It’s my blood, my flesh, and my bones. It’s cancer in remission, not to be disturbed. If it is, it will metastasize, it will kill me.
Jaxson Ryan—We’d gone beyond, over the hurdle that had pushed us apart so many times before. I was close to touching that place she hides from everyone, even herself, but now…
The Layer Series is written for adults, by an adult (this is questionable). In contains adult language, and adults doing adult stuff like, hot sex and drinking scotch. It’s written for those who like to laugh and maybe shed a tear or two.
Years after the tragic death of her fiancé, Samantha Grant finds herself on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. She needed a break from her crazy-busy life, but she finds… Oh, so much more.
xoxo xoxo xoxo
I sit my ass in one of those low-rider beach-chair thingies. You know what I’m talking about? The kind where your ass floats an inch from the ground, and you wonder why you even bothered. My ass is floating an inch above pea-sized razor-rocks. One wrong cheek shift and my crack could be sectioned like a grapefruit.
The sand is smoother farther down the beach but this is the perfect place for my now daily ritual. What daily ritual, you ask? Watching sex-on-a-kabob run past my cottage, of course. He runs by twice a day. Once at 7:00 a.m. then again at precisely 3:15 p.m. Oh, how this girl loves a prompt man.
For the last few days, Mr. Sexkabob and I have been playing a smexy little game of Flirtopoly, aka, “I’ll show you my tit if you show me your tat.”
Is it possible to be cursed? I was born twenty-eight years ago, the twentieth of July, 10:52 p.m. Was it at a time when Uranus, Mars, and the moon aligned and their gravitational pull stopped time for a nanosecond, and that nanosecond altered my universe? Was my lucky star sucked into a supermassive black hole in the middle of a galaxy ten trillion miles away? Did I step on too many cracks or walk under too many ladders? Or maybe it’s as simple as not owning a pair of lucky socks, panties, or bra?
Maybe I’m not cursed but I curse others? What do you think? My parents and kid brother were killed in a car accident one mile away from my boarding school. On a ski holiday in Switzerland my best friend and roomie, Hanna, skied into a tree. She died instantly. Karen Ames, a woman who was like a mother to me, died after a long battle with breast cancer just hours after my visit. My best friend in graduate school, Drew, was crossing the street when a drunk driver ran him down. He died on his way to the hospital. My flatmate in London, Joan, was diagnosed with a rare form of bone cancer. She died three months later. A crazy woman shot my fiancé, Lane, in the heart—dead. And my best friend and beloved sister, Alexia, has tried to leave me twice. I’m not sure she’s done trying.
Cursed or curser, there’s one common denominator: I loved them. Each of them owned and took away a piece of my heart. How many pieces of heart can one lose before it stops beating? How many do you dare love, knowing your love could be their end?
My sister once told me pain kept her going, kept her sane. Fear is my thing. It doesn’t keep me going or sane, it consumes me, devours me. I can count on one hand the number of days I remember living without it. I fear wanting, fear needing, fear loving, and fear losing. So I love who I must, then I close my heart to all others. It’s called surviving; it’s called my life.