~~~~~*Little Conversations Synopsis*~~~~~
Eighteen-year-old Devin McKay is a complete and total emotional wreck. Fresh out of high school and on her own for the first time in her life, she’s reeling from rejection of a relationship gone very, very bad. Emotionally battered and tormented by the pull of her narcissistic first love, she wants to make a clean break in a small mountain town where he is everywhere… with his new girlfriend.
Ronin Andrews is still battling his own cataclysmic ghosts. He recoils from anything heartfelt, choosing instead to work hard and live wild. Outside of his job, parties and causal hooks-ups are his life until Devin walks in. With her short skirt and her sad green eyes, he can’t help but want her… badly. His protective streak wants to provide her with a haven, to shelter and sustain her.
Through a flash of torrid intensity, they struggle to be friends… just friends. She relies on him to nourish her shattered soul and shield her heart from the clawing, gnawing loss that has consumed her. Before long, the attraction proves too tenacious, and the passion between them becomes undeniable. But will the shadows of the past prove too much to overcome?
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About Sibylla Matilde
Sibylla Matilde grew up in the mountain valleys of Southwest Montana, and grew up exploring the alfalfa fields on the back of a horse. She attended a two-room schoolhouse 1st through 6th grade where she had same teacher the whole time. Beginning at about age 12, Sibylla discovered historical romance, feeding off of work of Jude Devereaux, Lisa Kleypas, and Karen Robards. She loves a book that can make the reader run the gamut of emotions, from the sweet glow of new love to gut-wrenching heartache. She always has stories floating around in her head, living in some fantasyland until she writes them down to free them. She is a true romantic, a bit of a Pollyanna, and a deeply emotional soul.
Music is her emotional trigger. Growing up with a Wagnarian-opera-loving mother, Sibylla grew up with music that digs deep into her soul and pulls out emotion. The soundtrack to her life includes different genres and generations. She looooooooves Thirty Seconds to Mars (rather obsessively, actually) with a little Kings of Leon to mix things up, and pimps them out regularly to all her friends through Spotify. She also enjoys watching Met Opera HD broadcasts at her local movie theater, and hopes (listening Met?) to someday see Diana Damrau reprise her role as Mozart’s Queen of the Night in Die Zauberflöte – The Magic Flute.
Sibylla lives with her husband, Mike, a man who she firmly believes saved her from her self-destructive, hot mess self. He makes her laugh every day, even when things seem to be falling apart around them, and has proved to her that love really can heal a shattered soul. In 18 years, they have never had a fight, but argue regularly with their two teenage kids who have, unfortunately, inherited their father’s quick wit (unfortunate as it is a quick wit that Sibylla, herself, definitely does not possess – there is a reason she is a writer and not a stand-up comedian), and live a quiet life with their two weird little rescued Chiweenies. Wait… teenagers and little yap-dogs? Okay, maybe not so quiet. 🙂
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From Chapter 4
Thank God! His truck was there.
Reenergized, she hopped up his front steps and knocked. Nothing. Feeling a little disgruntled, she knocked again. And nothing. Once more, one last time, she knocked. Okay, she pounded. Beat the ever-loving hell out of the door.
“Just a sec,” she heard Ronin call faintly.
Yay! The door swung open and… Ooooohhhhh!
Standing a step or two down from Ronin, her eyes first hit the small white towel wrapped around his waist. The faint scent of masculine soap enveloped her senses as her eyes traveled down to his bare feet, and back up. Yep, that’s really only just a little white towel. With an embarrassingly audible gulping sound, her vision slowly traveled up to his bare chest. It was mouthwatering… broad with a light dusting of hair over his pectorals. Firm and solid, lightly tanned muscles of a physical, hard-working man. A little higher and she saw the reason for his undressed state. Shaving cream spread across the lower half of his face. Somehow, the shaving cream made his hazel eyes appear to glow, and her fingers tingled with the desire to smooth the white foamy layer along his strong jaw.
“Um, sweetheart? Did you need something?” Ronin asked, a slight grin appearing beneath the soapy layer.
“I… um… car ticking… and… not starting…” she stuttered, unable to form a single coherent thought.
Ronin wasn’t helping, either, just standing there with a half-smile and waiting for her to spit out something… anything. Finally, she just had to forcefully rip her eyes away. Focus on the truck. You need liquor, and he can go get it in his truck.
“Could I, um… Amy, Joanie, and I need some booze. Would, um, would you be willing to run to the liquor store for me?” She could barely look at the guy, and her voice practically squeaked when she talked. What the hell was wrong with her?
Ronin seemed to enjoy her discomfort, his eyes narrowing a bit. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned up against the doorframe totally relaxed with his near nudity. As he crossed one foot in front of the other, the motion pulled slightly at the bottom of the towel to reveal an upside-down V of skin which drew her eyes back to the scant covering. Devin realized her jaw was hanging open, and she snapped it closed, glancing up to see his smile had broadened. Damn.
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