Sometimes the greatest scars are worn on the inside.
La Vie en Rose
{Life In Pink}
L Y D I A M I C H A E L S
Emma Sanders has always dreamt of being a bride, wearing fancy gowns,
pretty pearls, and—of course—falling madly in love. Then life happened.
Finding herself one fiancé short of her happily ever after, she leaves
the fairytales behind. Some days are simply too perilous for pink gowns
and pearls.
Riley Lockhart is the sort of man who can make a woman lower her gaze
with only a smile. That he doesn’t realize his charm makes him all the
more enchanting. Determined to save Emma the pain of her breakup, he
steps in as a friend, but soon finds himself wanting more.
She was just a girl, but she somehow winds up being the strongest
woman he’s ever known. Losing her is not an option and when life can’t
be tied neatly in a pretty little bow, he holds tight to all that he
loves—his Emma. His hero.
EXCERPT
It was amusing how the girls on the subway watched Riley. Emma
supposed he was above-average handsome, but since he was Rarity’s older
brother she never looked too hard.
Now, seeing him in his element, riding the subway in a Pet Shop Boys
T-shirt, jeans, and battered chucks, she recognized what the other women
on the train were seeing. Riley was hot.
His brown eyes were so clear they shined as though they were blue.
Sloppy chestnut waves curled in perfect careless disarray, complimenting
his naturally tanned olive skin. He even had the five o’clock shadow
down to an art.
Scanning the surrounding female passengers, she counted six of them
gawking at him, begging with their eyes for him to glance their way.
Amazing. The pheromones could choke a prostitute.
Skimming the male passengers, she frowned. Not a single one was looking at her.
What if
she was Riley’s girlfriend? They were standing close enough, but the other girls didn’t seem to notice her at all.
She rolled her eyes.
Invisible. Meanwhile, Riley scratched
his nose with his thumbnail—it was practically a casual pick—and three
of the six leering women sighed as if he read a verse of poetry.
So unfair.
“Wait until you taste some of the food there,” he whispered in her ear.
Her chest filled with warmth as his voice sent a thrill of excitement
tearing through her belly. It wasn’t sexual. It was what being feminine
was all about. Who cared what he said? He was talking to
her;
the guy every other girl was drooling over was talking to her. And in
that moment, the other women finally registered her presence. Every
stink eye she got was so totally worth the thrill of attention.
Ha! Not only does he talk to me, he lives with me. I’ve seen him in his skivvies. Take that, ladies.
As the ride continued, her pride mended with each spiteful glance
tallied in her favor. Not used to this catty need for attention, she
chalked it up to recently being dumped. It was against her nature to
behave like a clingy girlfriend, but with Riley it was all make believe,
a temporary tonic for her battered ego.
Sometimes it was nice to be seen, though a great deal of her life had
been conducted as a wallflower. Perhaps her affability gave her fiancé
the impression that she wouldn’t mind him delving into another woman’s
panties. Or maybe he’d already lost interest…maybe she wasn’t good at
sex. Oh dear God, was she vanilla? A wallflower in bed?
Again, the emphasis she placed on other people’s perception concerned
her. Riley didn’t care what anyone thought and people loved him. Even
when they were in school, he was always a popular guy. Teachers loved
him, jocks loved him, and, of course, women adored him.
Rarity was popular by default, because she was Riley’s sister.
Publicly kissing girls promoted her to a novel level of cool only
genuine lesbians could achieve in high school, but she’d always been
cool by proximity first.
Emma was drawn to their energy like planets to the sun. No one was
immune. They were simply attractive people. And as the permanent
sidekick that existed in the cool guy’s sister’s shadow, it felt nice to
have a bit of Riley’s innate popularity rub off on her as they stood
together on the subway.
You’re pathetic. Those girls only know you exist because you’re
pretending to be something you’re not. Oh, well! Self-esteem is in the
gutter and pretending is helping.
She arched a brow at one of the gawkers.
“What are you grinning about?” he whispered.
Her attention jerked to his smiling russet eyes. He was almost a foot
taller than her. Should she tell him? Would he laugh at her? Deciding
she didn’t care, she whispered, “You’re inadvertently inflating my ego.”
Confusion tightened his brow so she tipped her head at the other
passengers. Shockingly, it seemed the first time he noticed the other
women.
“They all assume I’m with you. They hate me.”
He glanced at the other woman, each glare transforming to a seductive
pout the moment his attention fell upon them. With his hand gripping
the rail above her head, he leaned close. “And them hating you is a good
thing?”
Didn’t he get it? “They’re jealous of me. Not many people are.”
The train rattled and slowed. People got off as new passengers
climbed on and settled into seats as it whistled back up to speed.
His scrutiny heated her cheeks as he unabashedly studied her. “I can play that game,” he whispered.
“What game?”
Rather than answer, his mouth hooked in a half smile and he winked.
She flinched as he dragged his curved knuckle down her bare arm, making
the fine hairs rise in its wake. His fingers laced with hers and she
watched, amazed, as every female followed the motion.
Her belly tightened with the thrill of exhibitionism. Her feet
pointed toward the aisle. His pointed to her, his hip angled at their
audience. Shifting a step closer, still holding on to the bar above, he
spoke loud enough for the others to hear. “I caught you.”
Her eyes traveled past his lips, no longer shaped in a smile, and
landed on those dark eyes. Her brow knit in confusion, unsure what he
was doing.
“Looking at me,” he clarified. “You know how that makes me crazy.”
Oh, my God. She should have never told—
“It’s like this morning, when we were spooning in bed, my body
pressed tight against yours, flesh to flesh, belly to back, nook to
cranny. Everything was fine until I pressed that one kiss on the back of
your neck right here.”
Her body tensed with awareness as his finger touched an extremely
sensitive spot behind her ear. She couldn’t remember anyone ever
touching her there.
“The second I kiss that spot you turn to liquid in my arms, soft and
wet, and I can’t help but drink you up, taste every square inch of you
on my tongue. My lips. Everywhere. When I catch you looking at me like
that, it’s my kryptonite,
my secret neck kiss.”
She swallowed and glanced at the women watching them. They were
literally gaping, some even appeared to be quietly panting. Holy crap he
was slick. “Um…”
Thank God he didn’t let her say anything. She didn’t have his skill.
“Next time you look at me like that…” He tucked a curl behind her ear as
chills raced over her shoulders. “I can’t be held responsible for what
happens.” His fingers squeezed hers tightly and the train hissed and
whined to a stop. He winked. “Let’s go. I’m suddenly ravenous.”
He tugged her off the train and into the loud subway. Musicians
played for coin and people bustled through the underground world, racing
to get where they needed to go. She saw it a thousand times before, but
now it was brand new, her senses overstimulated and raw.
As they climbed the stairs to the street her heart pounded wildly.
Wafts of traffic, people, and city food greeted them under the August
heat. Voices and motion mingled into a cacophony of commotion until she
was standing above sea level, fighting to catch her breath. What the
hell had he done to her?
Laughing, he released her hand and turned—a totally unaffected grin on his charming face. “That was fun.”
“Y—yeah.” It wasn’t fun, it was thrilling and telling, and in some
secret way, quite embarrassing. He’d been toying with those women,
putting on a show, yet in those few seconds of phony attention, his
artificial reverie trumped every
real experience she had. She needed to get a grip.
Demanding her emotions go back into the shadows, she focused on their purpose. “So where’s this Smorgasburg?”
“Can’t you smell it?” He breathed deeply and grinned as his chest
expanded, raising his broad shoulders. Weird. She didn’t want to keep
cataloguing his every masculine trait, yet she couldn’t stop.
“Ah, it’s
just past the bridge. Let’s move.”
The snap of her flip-flops put a melody to their strides. As the
impressive Brooklyn Bridge stretched before her, she had one of those
out of body moments that reminded her she lived in one of the coolest
cities on earth. “I don’t appreciate New York the way I should.”
Walking beside her, a pleasant set to his mouth, he sent her a sidelong glance—not bothering to disagree.
“Becket and I never walked around like this. Once he took me to
Tiffany’s, but we were in and out. I’m not even sure what he was picking
up.” Probably something for his mistress. “He never stopped for street
meats or pretzels. We only dined at restaurants that held reservations.”
“You can’t plan New York through a concierge. It’s meant to be
experienced. It’s alive, pulsing, like an animal. We can only observe it
and let ourselves be led by its verve. The minute we try to control it
we miss something spectacular, like with nature. It really is the
world’s largest organism. There are so many people setting its rhythm,
better to experience it organically.”
“I never thought of it that way.” The scent of ethnic faire grew
thick in the air; tempting her appetite out of hiding and drawing her
steps toward the mouth-watering aroma of succulent meats grilled over
open flames.
Voices traveled, rising in volume as they stepped into a mass of
people patronizing what appeared to be a market of New York’s cleverest
food venders. How had she not known about this event?
Riley rotated, a phenomenal grin on his face as though he’d entered man heaven. “Where should we begin?”
“You’re my captain. I trust your instincts.”
Canopies and makeshift booths formed long aisles for people to
wander. Steam clouded the various sites, eliciting attention with each
peculiarly pleasant aroma.
Chefs acted as street performers, enchanting patrons, drawing them
near with careful explanations for pairing fermented spices and
specialized condiments with seared meats. It was a sort of live gallery,
showcasing the artistry of New York cuisine.
Servings were sometimes dainty, offering a sampling of what could be
the world’s most eclectic menu. The selection was endless, filet mignon
sliders, fresh pecan bread sold by the slice, doughnuts the size of
grapefruits, and even specialty booths for vegans and other diets she’d
never heard of before.
“Oh, we have to start here,” he veered to the right and she followed.
When the walkways became clogged with people, he reached through the
crowd and pulled her to his side. “Watch this, Em. This is how meat
should be treated.”
It was indeed a performance. The vendor tossed a steaming brisket
onto the wood surface and unwrapped the charred foil covering. Juicy
morsels of fat were trimmed away to unveil perfectly cooked, tender,
pink beef. As the peddler made a show of slicing the meat in precise
portions, it fell apart and her mouth watered.
Riley’s voice turned gravely. “Oh my God, we are so eating that.”
She grinned at him, loving the glazed lust in his eyes. Only men got
that way with meat. She supposed beef and pork were to a guy what shoes
and purses were to most women.
As the chef prepared their sandwich, Riley asked questions about the
smoking process. The vendor was very friendly and informative. “You want
everything on it?”
“What’s everything?” Riley asked.
“Cheese, pickles, hot peppers, sweet sauce.”
He glanced at her. “You afraid of hot?”
“No.” She wanted to taste the sandwich the way the creator intended it.
Riley grinned. “Give us the works.”
The man dressed the small sandwich until it was bursting with meat
and dripping with sauce. Riley paid and she followed him to the side of
the booth where coolers held the vendors’ supplies.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked, eyes set with excitement.
“You taste it first.” She wasn’t sure what would be more enjoyable,
watching his exhilaration or actually tasting it for herself.
“You sure?”
She nodded as he carefully held the messy sandwich and took a bite,
bits of cheese and meat falling from his fingers. “Oh my God,” he moaned
over a mouthful. “You have to try this.” She reached out, but he shook
his head, still chewing. “Just open. It’s too messy.”
Opening wide like a ridiculous baby bird, she let him shove the
corner of the sandwich in her mouth and bit down. “Oh my God!” she
echoed.
“I know, right?”
An exquisite blend of flavors burst over her tongue. “It’s amazing,”
she mumbled, holding her fingers over her lips so food didn’t fall out.
“I could eat twenty of these.” He took another bite.
“We so should.” She opened as he held the rapidly shrinking sandwich out for her again.
They didn’t waste time talking for the next few minutes as they
devoured the most delicious sandwich she’d ever tasted. When they
finished, Riley snagged some napkins and passed her several to wipe her
mouth.
As they journeyed onward they sampled maple bacon cupcakes,
Bangladeshi street cuisine, and even shared a pumpkin spiced S’more
cooked under the flame of a blowtorch. It was an incredible festival of
food.
“Do you like oysters?” he asked as they approached a merchant standing before a bowl of crushed ice.
“I don’t know.” She’d never tried an oyster before.
“Wanna try one?”
“Sure.”
As the chef sliced open the rocklike case and revealed an opalescent
inner shell, she tried not to be revolted by the goopy booger looking
mollusk inside. He shucked the blob loose, leaving it resting on half a
shell, and placed it in a bed of crushed ice.
“What do they taste like?” she asked.
The chef continued to shuck. “Briny, like the ocean. If you’re
virgins I can dress them in a mignonette sauce to soften the taste. I
have a nice ginger cucumber one.”
“What do you suggest?” Riley asked.
“I’m a purist, sir. I like them with a bit of pepper and lemon and that’s it.”
Riley glanced at her.
“I think I should try it with the sauce.” The more she stared at the
little glob the more unappealing it became. These were considered
delicacies? If she was remembering correctly, they were also
aphrodisiacs. She didn’t see anything sexy about them.
“Ready?” Riley asked, holding his lemon oyster while offering her the one dressed in the ginger sauce.
Timidly, she reached for the shell.
Their eyes met and he counted off. “One… two…three.” His head tipped back and her mouth filled with—
Oh my God. What the fuck is in my mouth?
“Not bad.” Riley grinned then started laughing. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head, booger mollusk sliding around her tongue, and desperately searched the table for a napkin.
You gag and it’s all over.
“Swallow it!” he shouted, laughing at her.
The vender passed her a napkin.
“No, don’t spit. Swallow!”
Oh my God, she was going to kick him if he didn’t shut up. People
stared as they walked by and she spit the disgusting thing into the
napkin and balled it up.
Riley shook his head. “Oh, Emma, I’m disappointed. Good girls swallow.”
“Shut up,” she snapped, her face burning.
He laughed and nudged her, tossing a few dollars on the table and directing her into the crowd.
“That was disgusting. Now I can’t get the taste out of my mouth.”
He stopped and ordered a cup of cranberry Brooklyn soda. “Here, you big tissue.”
“I’m not a tissue. I tried it.”
“Let’s sit for a while.” He led her to a stout cement barricade along the jetties and they sat facing the East River.
They’d walked miles in a matter of hours so she was grateful for the
respite. The short wall was warm from the afternoon sun. “Today was
really fun, Riley. Thanks for bringing me here.”
“I had fun too. It’s nice to waste a day taking advantage of
everything the city has to offer. We can get immune from living here.”
She smiled, her cheeks tingling under the moist wind off the river.
“There’s so much I’ve never experienced. I’ve never even been to the
Empire State Building.”
“What?”
She laughed at his shock. “I know. I’m the worst New Yorker in the world.”
“You gotta get out more, Em.”
“I want to.” Letting out a deep breath, she relaxed. “I’m so sick of
being me. It’s so tedious, always doing what everyone else thinks I
should do.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I think you were right. I don’t think I loved Becket.”
“Conceivable.”
“Was it that obvious? Because if I’m being honest, I’m still getting over the shock.”
“Don’t hate me, but Becket was a prick. He didn’t bring anything to the table. You guys were always running off to meet
his friends or attend functions at
his father’s law firm.”
“Well, I do work there.”
“Exactly. You work for
his family. When was it about Emma Sanders?”
There wasn’t an excuse at the ready. “I guess it never was.”
“Yeah, that’s not love. So when you say you don’t think you were in love with him, I can believe it.”
“You’re a pretty deep guy, Riley. Not a lot of men are like that.”
He shrugged. “I’m comfortable with you. I can just say what I feel.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, her mind drifting back to Riley as a tousled
child in grass stained corduroys and wild curls. Although they knew each
other since braces and bike rides, this was the first time they
actually hung out alone. It was strange they never talked about personal
things before, because she really was extremely comfortable around him.
“What do you say we head back and go get that mani-pedi?” he asked.
Her feet were killing her and the idea of a pedicure sounded divine. “Okay.”
He glanced down at her flip-flops and tsked. “I’m not sure they can help those stank walkers.”
She gaped at him. “There is nothing wrong with my feet!”
“Whatever. Where’s your baby toe?”
“It’s right here!” She lifted up her foot.
He leaned forward and squinted. “You can’t call that Darwin freak show a toe.”
“If it’s not then what the hell is it?” Her toes were perfectly normal!
“That’s a nubbin.”
“Whatever.” She stood.
He rose as well. “You think you can manage on you’re deformed hobbit hooves? We got a hike back to the subway.”
She stomped away. “Jerk.” And just when she was starting to think he was nice!
“Wait up,” he called. “Don’t be like that. We don’t have to
wee-wee-wee all the way home. It was a good day at the market, piggy.”
She held up her middle finger and prodded on—laughing under her breath.
About L Y D I A M I C H A E L S
Lydia Michaels is the award winning
author of 23 romance novels. Her novels from the darkly compelling
Surrender Trilogy were iBooks Bestsellers and her work has been featured
in USA Today. In 2015 she was the winner of The Best of Bucks Award and
she has been nominated as Best Author in the Happenings Magazine two
years running [2015 & 2016]. She is a four time nominee for
the prestigious RONE Award. Her books are intellectual, emotional,
haunting, always centered around love. Lydia Michaels loves to hear from readers! She can be contacted by email at Lydia@LydiaMichaelsBooks.com
Webpage: www.LydiaMichaelsBooks.com
Sign Up for Lydia Michaels Newsletter
