Carnal Beginnings by Reily Garrett
An impulsive decision can alter
the course of your life.
Adara’s enigmatic and
sexy boss asks her a simple question. “How are you going to celebrate your
twenty-first birthday?” Sounds innocent enough, until he suggests she go to
Ambrosia, the infamous BDSM club. To volunteer for scars and bruises is not on
her to-do list. When Julien invades her personal space, her body goes into
panic mode and fails to respond appropriately. Since her adoptive parents died
six years ago, she’s endured horrific tortures at the hands of her sadistic and
perverted uncle and cousin. Her long-awaited birthday, and inheritance, are
days away. She longs for and plans to escape. Julien Crofton is an ex-Special
Forces private investigator. Since he hired Adara six months ago, her subtle
signs of ongoing abuse have tied him in knots. And not the good kind. Time and
again, he’s encouraged her to open up and talk to him. After disastrous results
in a previous case where a client refused his help, he’s determined history
won’t repeat itself. Surely he could help her and keep his heart intact. The
fact she’s as beautiful as sin should have no bearing on his intent to teach
her to not fear men. When he resorts to an underhanded tactic to crack her
invisible suit of armor, he’s unprepared for the tidal wave of lust and
protectiveness that swamps him. Even while evading her family and an unknown
psychopathic stalker, passion ignites. In progressive increments, Julien fans
her spark of infatuation into a raging inferno. Can Adara learn that perhaps
not all men are evil and maybe…whips can be fun?
Carnal Beginnings Excerpt
The setting sun reminded him her
husband would be off work soon, probably carry his rage home looking for a
target. Lord, this brought back some of his own buried memories. No time for that now.
A combination of ignorance and
nonchalance framed the bull’s eye she wore on her forehead. He’d advised her to
leave home two days ago. They could handle legalities later but not if she
lacked a pulse. Stubborn woman insisted
on returning. Her late morning call today surprised him, finally ready to
pack and leave. Failure to meet him at his office did not.
This woman needed help, even if
she didn’t realize it. As a private investigator, he’d seen this scenario
rehearsed many times. For reasons unknown, human nature’s broken record played
out on the Mobius strip, fate having trapped him in the loop.
The steady slap and scrape of
his windshield wipers whisked the few drops of rain from his windshield,
evidence that heaven cried for its angels. He stomped the accelerator. His
Mazda ate up the miles as he tried to focus his mind. The closer he got to her
house, the more his mind screamed with recriminations…Too late. You should have come to her house this morning.
Stones skittered into the grass
bordering her driveway as his car slid to a stop in front of her bungalow. The
one with the front door ajar. Oh God, I
am too late. Not again. He had little recollection of getting
out of his car or running into her house. He knew in his gut, he’d failed. He’d
promised her he’d help, and he failed. It didn’t matter that she’d ignored his
advice.
In the middle of the living room
floor, she lay face down, remnants of pain still etched in her expression.
Naked, blood pooled under her abdomen in an ever-widening arc. Spatters of red
adorned the surrounding wall cabinets, TV, and sofa. Her hair, burnt copper in
the fading light streaming through the bay window, didn’t cover her wide
staring eyes. His heart pounded in his chest, sweat beaded his forehead. With
shaking fingers, he bent and touched her neck, a pulse, a weak one, fast and
thready. She’ll never make it, his
subconscious roared through his head
as he snatched up his cell to dial nine one one.
The universe he bellowed his
pain to felt colder than her body. The warmth of her soul flowed out, staining
the carpet with wild abandon. He could smell the residue of gunpowder. The
yapping of her ankle biter at his feet didn’t register in his mind until he saw
its footprints surrounding the woman’s thin frame, written in her blood.
There were no second chances. His excuses wouldn’t comfort
her now.
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