Carnie Ride

Can you fix a big mistake by taking a bigger risk?
3D-carnie-rideLightie’s life is off the rails. Once the toast of her small southern town, Lightie is now an exhausted waitress and a lonely single mother. She’s been responsible for so long, it’s turned into fear of new experiences.

Deemer is the booth worker who can’t tear his gaze away from Lightie when the traveling carnival comes to town. He’s an Apache Indian with a dominating presence, blazing green eyes… and prison tattoos.

On a hot southern night, Lightie and Deemer make an unlikely connection. They’re gun-shy and utterly unalike, but each sees a kindred spirit in the other.

What if your big mistake is what prepares you for true love?

I got this book in a sample package that i got from allromanceebooks.com. i loved it. i love how it shows the point of view of a pretty person. most times people see pretty people and think they are spoiled or assume life is easier for them because their pretty. it was nice to see a different view. the same with the male lead. not all large tatted up men are dangerous. looks and actions are different. i got two more of her books because i like her storylines, flow of words and character build. the stories are good as well. —Amazon review

3D-carnie-ride

“So peek already,” Sweets said.

Lightie finally peeked over her shoulder and found the Carnie. He was hard to miss. In the milling sea of people, he stood stock still twelve feet away. He stared at them, maybe mesmerized by the display Sweets was putting on. Ripped white T-shirt, engine grease on his arms, a Carnival ID hanging from a lanyard around his neck. The Carnie’s neck and shoulder were tattooed. He had blazing green eyes and long, straight, Apache hair.

“Shit.”

“Wow, right? A latter-day Viking from Gothworld.” Sweets ran her finger over Lightie’s lips next. “Your kissers are dry. Good. We can fix you.”

Chapstick appeared in Sweets’s hand. She traced it over Lightie’s lips, her own mouth a luscious red O of concentration.

Lightie felt caged by the attention. “Fuck, Sweets…”

“I just want to kiss that dirty talk out of you.”

“I hate you.”

Sweets’s hand slowed. Her mouth quirked sideways. “Lightie.”

So now she listened? “Shit. Don’t mind me, Sweets.”

“I just wanted to tease the Carnie. I just wanted to make you look pretty.” Her eyes were glassy. Tears were moments away. That was Sweets the second you pushed back: She bruised like a peach. “I—I guess I hate you too.”

“You don’t hate anybody. You can’t.”

Sweets backed away. “People change. They change when you’re not looking.”

In three steps she was back with Lan and his friends. He saw her face then looked at Lightie. He was no longer smiling.

The front of Lightie’s body felt cool without Sweets pressed against it.

Just… Fuck these people. 

Lightie spun on her heel and strode away. Right into the Carnie with the blazing green eyes. It was like hitting a wall. His chin started above her forehead, so her face imprinted on his damp T-shirt.

For a moment she had the impression of immense, slow strength. A kind of quiet in the Carnie’s posture. He didn’t need to shift his balance with Lightie against him—he was rooted to the earth.

“Thanks, but no,” Lightie snapped. “I don’t want a prize.”

“I wasn’t offering,” he said.

The carnival swirled around them like a snow globe filled with running children and gaudy lights. The game booths fought each other with Top-40s music turned way past what the crappy boom-boxes could bear. It all happened outside Lightie and her green-eyed Carnie, like something they could watch. Inside, between them, it was peaceful. She could hear him down to his breathing.

She pushed off his chest, noticing how his torso and ribs felt under her palms. Detailed. Scarred. His green eyes took her apart. In return, she hunted for an unforgivable flaw—he was a trashy Carnie, after all. She wanted to scorn his torn, low-rent T-shirt, but it wasn’t as if she’d made any effort herself.

She averted her gaze from the tattoo that covered the front of his neck, as if it was a bad skin condition. On his chest below his collarbone—above his heart—he had a small tattoo which read, “Apache Nation”. Her fingers left that last. She released the torn v-neck of his T-Shirt, and the fabric slid back over his chest again.

She patted her hair, but Lightie had pulled it back and she couldn’t hide behind it. She had nothing to put between herself and the Carnie. She turned and fled.

Hot American Indian Men for ya.

(You would see a cool display here but my webhost, Arvixe, is being spanked by pinterest.)


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