The Here and Now Series
By Lexi Ryan
“Do you
know what retrograde amnesia is? Because I just learned about it and
I have this story idea…” This was few years ago on call with my
critique partner. The conversation was supposed to be about the book
I was finishing, but I was distracted by this shiny new story idea.
The kernel
of the idea was there, born from my fascination with retrograde
amnesia. A woman wakes up in the hospital and is engaged to a man she
remembers (though she doesn’t remember getting engaged…doesn’t
remember anything from the last year, in fact). She’s in the days
approaching her wedding…but there’s this other guy. This guy who
seems to know things about her life that no one else does. This guy
who’s in love with her and doesn’t want her to marry her fiancé.
This guy she doesn’t remember and
yet feels connected to somehow.
I carried
this kernel of a story idea with me. I wasn’t sure what I was going
to do with it or whose story it was. I never know much about my plot
when I start writing. Instead, I start with emotion and character,
and I was fascinated with how it would feel to wake up and think you
had to perfect life, think you’d finally gotten everything you
wanted…but have no memory of how you got there.
Meanwhile,
I was also carrying the character of Hanna with me. Hanna who has
struggled with her weight her whole life, who’s totally in love
with a guy she grew up with but believes herself to be completely
unworthy. I met Hanna while I was first writing Maggie’s story (now
Unbreak Me), and I
knew from the beginning she needed her own story.
Then, one
day while I was writing a scene in Wish I May
that had Hanna pining for Max, the puzzle
pieces floating around in my head clicked together. Since I’d
already written about Max and already “met” Asher’s musician
friend Nate Crane in my mind (I know, writers are weird), the rest of
the premise fell into place. I knew not only that I needed to write
this sexy amnesia love triangle for Hanna but that it had so many
twists and turns it was going to take me more than one book to tell
it. And so the Here and Now series was born—a series where the main
character has to choose between the two incredibly sexy guys that
want her. How do you make the right choice for your future when you
can’t remember your own secrets?
I hope
you’ll check out Lost in Me,
book one of the Here and Now series.
Amazon US | Amazon UK | iBooks | Kobo | Barnes and Noble
LOST IN ME
is on SALE for just .99 cents the first week of release as a fan appreciation
from the author!
LOST IN ME is the
first book in the Here and Now series, a spin-off of the New York
Times and USA Today bestselling New Hope series. This
sexy amnesia love triangle is intended for mature readers.
The last thing I remember is having drinks at Brady’s
and trying to avoid eye-contact with my life-long crush—the gorgeous,
unattainable Maximilian Hallowell. They tell me that was a year ago, but I have
no memories of anything since then. What I do have is this ring on my finger
that Max says he gave me, and this much-thinner body I’ve dreamed of most of my
life. Aside from a case of retrograde amnesia, everything seems almost…perfect.
But the deeper I immerse myself into this new world of
mine—planning a wedding to a man I don’t remember dating, attempting to run a
business I don’t remember starting—the clearer it becomes that nothing is as it
seems. Do I have the life I’ve always wanted or is it a facade propped up by
secrets I don’t even know I have?
I need answers before I marry Max, and the only person
who seems to have them is the angry, tatted, sexy-as-sin rocker Nate Crane. And
Nate wants me for himself.
LOST IN ME is not a standalone novel, as the story
continues in Here and Now book two, FALL TO YOU, releasing in June.
My Thoughts:
Wow this book was better then what I had expected. I thought it was going to be cheesy and it wasn't at all. I loved the characters. The story line was interesting. This book was well written. It was full of suspense, I kept wondering what was going to happen when her memories come back. I had my guesses but none of it turned out to be true to this book. I loved that this book wasn't predictable I especially surprised towards the ending and with an ending like that its no surprise that I want to get my hands on the next book to see what happen next. I highly recommend you lovely readers check out this book! 5 of 5 stars!
Lost In Me Playlist
Anna Nalick—Breathe (2am)
Barenaked Ladies—Odds Are
Dave Matthews Band—The Space Between
Matchbox Twenty—If You’re Gone
Shakira, Rihanna—Can’t Remember to Forget You
Sarah Bareilles—I Choose You
Jason Mraz—I Won’t Give Up
Nine Inch Nails—Something I Can Never Have
A Great Big World—Say Something
P.M. Dawn—I’d Die Without You
Jason Walker—Down
Macy Gray—I Try
James Blunt—You’re Beautiful
I wake up
to someone climbing into bed next to me, hot, hard muscle cozying up
behind me.
I blink
away sleep. Max is in my bed and I want to enjoy it, enjoy him, but
sleep has such a tight hold on me I can hardly keep my eyes open. I
snuggle as close to him as I can get, but sleep is already tugging me
back down.
“Couldn’t
stay away?” I murmur in the darkness.
“You
know I can’t,” he whispers against my ear. His voice is different
somehow. Deeper? Maybe sleepy? I don’t have time to think about it
because I’m wrapped up in his heat, his bare chest against my back,
one of his hands right between my breasts, and I can’t fight it
when my dreams suck me back in. But somehow, with his heat against me
and his arms around me, my fitful dreams fade away and I don’t just
sleep. I rest.
When I
wake again, the room is still dark, but Max’s mouth is doing
delicious things to the side of my neck. I arch against him and am
greeted by the hard length of his erection against my ass. I have to
bite my lip at the thrill that rushes through me. Not only can I do
that to him, but he wanted me enough that he had to come back
tonight.
Under my
shirt, his fingertips skim the underside of my breasts, and a soft
moan slips from my lips. He cups my breast in his hot hand and grazes
his callused palm against my nipple, toys and teases until it’s
hard and tight under his hand and I am rocking back into him
instinctively.
“Jesus,
I missed you so much.” His voice sounds funny, but I hardly have
time for the thought to register before he’s squeezing my nipples,
sending electric jolts of pleasure from my breasts and right up
through my center. His touch is harder than it was earlier. Rougher.
But I like it. He’s so good at this. He knows exactly how to touch
me, exactly how much pressure I like. I wouldn’t want him to ever
stop touching my breasts if it weren’t for this nearly painful ache
that’s been pulsing between my legs since we were interrupted in my
living room—the ache my own touch couldn’t quite ease.
I circle
my hips and rub my backside against his erection. Thick and wild
arousal buzzes through me, electric and sharp with its intensity. He
wants me as much as I want him.
“Touch
me,” I whisper into the darkness. “I need you to touch me.”
He groans
against my neck and then his fingers are dipping into the waistband
of my sleep pants.
I turn in
his arms just as his hand meets the hot and needy place between my
thighs. Our mouths touch in the darkness, and something niggles at
the back of my mind. Something’s changed between last night and
now. Does he smell different or—
The
thought disintegrates as he slides a finger inside me. I can’t
believe how slick and wet I am. Except that this is Max and I need
his touch.
I rock
against him, letting him touch me the way I touched myself in the
bath. Only this is hotter. Sweeter. More intense. Not just because
it’s him. It’s almost as if he knows what I like better than I
do. His finger moves inside me and his teeth nip at my neck almost
painfully. But I like it. I want more of this unbridled lust, more of
his expert touch.
He
withdraws his finger and replaces it with two, stretching me in a way
that has my body pulsing around him in response.
“Yes,”
I whisper. I want this. Need it.
His thumb
finds my clit and his fingers curl.
“Oh
God…” Am I a screamer? I bite my lip, but holy shit, I can’t—
“Let me
hear you scream,” he growls in my ear, his stubble scraping at the
tender skin of my neck. “Let me feel you pulse around my fingers as
you come.”
I curl my
nails into his forearm, not to stop him, but because this pleasure
inside me is so intense I have to do something, put this energy
somewhere.
His other
hand slides up my side and squeezes right at the bruise on my ribs.
Pain vibrates through me, and I cry out.
“Hanna?”
He pulls away and clicks on the light.
I’m
still wincing at the pain from my manhandled bruise when I look at
him through squinted eyes.
And then I
scream.
I shove
the man off me as hard as I can. My mind gropes for the lessons I
learned in the personal defense class I took in college. I bring up
my knee, aiming for his balls.
He lets
out an airy oomph, and
I flail, backing as far away from him as I can get. I fall off the
bed, and the impact of my already-battered body slamming into the
floor has me crying out.
“Jesus,
Hanna!” the man—who is definitely not Max—says from the bed.
“What the fuck was that for?”
Oh God.
He knows my name.
I’m
trembling.
My phone
is on the bedside table, and I scramble to get to it before he can
take it away.
“I’ll
call the police!” I warn, holding the phone up like it’s a
weapon.
The man on
the bed is white-faced and stricken and looking at me like I’ve
lost my mind.
“You
can’t just come into a woman’s house and get into her bed.”
Shit. Now I’m trying to reason with a sex offender. Jesus. But he’s
just sitting there. Is that normal?
His
expression goes from confused to desolate as he skims his eyes over
my bruised face. “Damn. What happened to you, angel?”
I fumble
with my phone, pressing the button on the side and trying to get it
to light up. Nothing. It’s dead. Why didn’t I charge it before I
fell asleep last night?
He pushes
off the bed, and I back into a corner, arms wrapped around myself.
“Leave. Please.”
He holds
up his hands and takes a step toward me. “Hanna, baby. Tell me what
happened. Tell me—”
I press my
body as close to the wall as I can. I should have locked myself in
the bathroom or something. I am one of those too-dumb-to-live
heroines you see in horror movies. Especially since the thing keeping
me here—keeping me from running to safety—is
the hurt on his face. I’ve always been the kind of person who tries
to make people happy, but this is ridiculous.
Think,
Hanna. Okay, I’ll need a description for
the cops. Tall—taller than Max, maybe—messy dark hair, an
Incredible Hulk tattoo on his right shoulder, some numbers tattooed
above his left pec. God, is he an ex-con? Don’t convicts get
numbers tattooed on themselves?
He steps
closer, and a shudder runs through me.
“Please
don’t hurt me.” I sink to the floor and cross my arms in front of
my face.
His gaze
catches on my left hand, and his jaw goes hard. “I see.” He backs
off and grabs something off the floor. Then he’s tugging a shirt
over his head. It falls into place and covers that amazing body.
Amazing
body? What the eff is wrong with me?
As stupid
as it is, I don’t believe this man is here to hurt me. There’s
nothing intimidating about his body language, and even though his
face has gone hard and angry, there’s no violence in his eyes.
He grabs
his jeans. “You could have told me.”
“I don’t
know what you’re talking about.” My voice cracks.
Jeans
unbuttoned and half up his hips, he’s heading toward the door.
Stupidly, I follow him. My hands are shaking, my head spinning.
He grabs
the doorknob and goes still, but he doesn’t look at me. “When I
was touching you just now”—he swallows—“you thought I was…”
“I
thought you were my fiancé.” The whisper seems to swell in the
small space and vibrate off the walls.
He punches
the wall beside the door. “You and Max have a nice life.” Then
he’s leaving, slamming the door behind him and making the whole
room rattle. And me right along with it.
Once a college English professor, I now write full
time. I live in rural Indiana, where, when I’m not writing, I get to hang out
with my husband and two kids–a six-year-old boy and a two-year-old hellion, er,
girl. Not surprisingly, reading and writing remain my favorite activities,
though both come in bits and pieces these days, not the big hunks of time I
enjoyed before I had children. When I’m feeling virtuous, I like to go running
(I use that word liberally. I’m really, really slow) or do yoga. Don’t worry,
I’m always careful to balance out such activities with a hearty serving of ice
cream or a chocolate martini.
No comments:
Post a Comment