Blog Tour: Someone Like You By Donna Alward
SOMEBODY LIKE YOU
By Donna Alward
A kiss to last a lifetime
Aiden Gallagher was
only five years old when he appeared in a photograph on the Kissing Bridge. The
town of Darling, Vermont, has used Aiden’s image on the famed bridge—local
legend has it that a kiss there results in everlasting love—as part of its tourism
campaign. Now, twenty years later, Aiden is asked to recreate the moment with
the woman he once kissed: Laurel Stone.
Recently divorced,
there’s nothing Laurel wants less than to pretend happily-ever-after with
Aiden. As teenagers, their romance was no fairy tale—and Laurel has never quite
forgiven Aiden for breaking her heart. But now that she is back in her
hometown, and keeps bumping into police officer Aiden, Laurel can’t deny that
there’s still a strong flicker between her and her old flame. Could it be that
the Kissing Bridge is working its magic on Laurel and Aiden—and that all true
love ever needed was a second chance?
EXCERPT
By the time they were through, it was nine
o’clock and time to open. Being a Saturday, business was brisk. Her dad dropped
off the supplies and offered to stay to help cover the tagging, but with the
heavy shopping traffic, Laurel decided to wait until things died down. For now
the tarps covered the tags, and she’d focus on her customers. Otherwise her
anger would get the best of her and that was bad for business. By six p.m.,
things had slowed considerably.
Laurel had been going flat out for ten hours,
stopping for only fifteen minutes to run to The Purple Pig for a sandwich. Her
stomach growled, her feet hurt, there was dirt beneath her nails and she
really, really wanted a shower and a glass of wine—in that order. Laurel had
just dragged out the hose to water the fruit trees when a half- ton truck drove
into the lot and parked in an empty space.
The driver hopped out, and her heart slammed
against her ribs as she immediately realized how she must look. Dirty jeans,
mannish golf shirt that did nothing for her figure, scrubby ponytail through a
Ladybug Garden Center ball cap, and probably smudges of dirt on her face and
arms. Not that she was trying to look nice for Aiden or anything, but it was
him getting out of the truck, looking sexy as hell in faded jeans and a T-
shirt that stretched across his chest and shoulders.
She could pretend she hadn’t seen him.
Resolutely she turned on the hose and started watering the apple trees.
“Hey, Laurel,” he called out, and that erased
any hope of avoiding him.
She turned off the hose and faced him.
“Aiden. What brings you by? Looking for a shrub or tree or something?”
Keep it businesslike, she reminded herself.
The last thing she needed was for him to know that he had the ability to
fluster her.
“I heard about what happened.”
Of course he had.
“Don’t even. I’m still pissed.”
“I know it’s not what you needed. Did Crystal
tell you that you weren’t the only one hit?”
Crystal must be the officer from this
morning. “She did.”
“Well, that must make you feel better.”
She stared at him. “Better? Seriously? Since
I opened a month ago, I’ve had to have the driveway re- graded, I’ve had to
replace shrubs that were stolen from out front, deal
with a break-in and vandalism, and now tagging. Trust me, Aiden, the
only thing that would feel better is if you actually did your job and found out
who was doing this.”
She turned the hose back on.
He waited. He waited a long time. Several
seconds, maybe thirty. Which was really not that long at all but definitely
felt that way. She was watering the third tree when he sighed. “You’re upset.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
He met her gaze, and his eyes were soft, even
though she’d basically just accused him of not doing his job. The understanding
she saw there made her stomach churn. She didn’t want to lash out, but that was
what she did when she was hurt. Angry.
Stopping by was kind and thoughtful. She kept
trying to make him out to be a bad guy, and he kept being nice. It definitely
made it difficult for her to hate him. Particularly since her biochemistry
betrayed her at every turn. Even now, when she was utterly preoccupied with the
day’s events, she seemed to notice everything. His hair, his eyes, the breadth
of his chest, the armband tattoo that looked like some sort of Celtic braid,
peeking just below the hem of his T- shirt sleeve. The shape of his lips . . .
He muttered something that was as creative a
curse as she’d ever heard, and sounded suspiciously Irish. She couldn’t help
but laugh, and tried to clamp her lips shut again. But not before he saw and
heard, and his eyes took on an impish gleam.
“You’re not fine. You’re tired and upset and
rightfully so. You’re also just as stubborn as you always were.” He put his
hands on his hips. “I take it you’re not adverse to help, just help from me in
particular.”
Her face heated. Dammit.
“Maybe this could be my penance,” he
suggested, giving her a quick grin. And she wished she could take him
seriously, but he always seemed to be teasing. It was one of the things she’d
really liked about him and hated at the same time. Particularly now, when she
wanted to be, if not mad, completely unaffected. And she wasn’t. He was trying
to cajole her out of her mood and it was working.
“It’s Saturday night. Don’t you have a hot
date or something?” She turned on the hose again. Focused on the large plastic
pot holding a cherry tree.
“Nope. Free as a bird.”
Dammit again.
“Come on, Laurel. Peace offering. Manual
labor for you to stop hating me.”
She glanced over at him. “Why do you care so
much?”
He was quiet for a moment, and to her
surprise the teasing expression left his face. After a while he answered, his
voice a little lower. “I don’t know why I care what people think so much. I
always have. I don’t like anyone to be mad at me. Maybe it has something with
being one of the younger siblings in the family. I don’t know. I just know that
I don’t like it that you’re still so angry.” His intense blue gaze locked with
hers. “It’s starting to become a personal mission to win you over. To atone for
past sins.”
“Good luck,” she said dryly, more touched
than she wanted to admit.
His boyish grin was back. “Come on, Laurel.
You know you can’t hold out forever. You think I’m hot.” He had the audacity to
wink at her.
She rolled her eyes.
“You do. You have a thing for gingers. And
you have to admit, I grew up kinda good.” His hands were still on his hips and
he tensed his muscles so that his shoulders and chest tightened beneath the
thin T- shirt.
“I think you’re a bit taken with yourself, to
be honest,” she replied. And tried not to smile. She didn’t want to be charmed,
but he was incorrigible.
“Laurel.”
Damn, his voice was all silky- smooth now.
“Yes, Mr. Narcissist?”
“You know damn well you want to hate me and
you can’t. Besides, I saw your face just now. Maybe if I took off my shirt . .
.”
“Would you like to go somewhere private to be
with yourself?” she asked, biting the inside of her lip. She shouldn’t be
enjoying this so much. And she wouldn’t be, if she thought he was serious. But
he was teasing her.
Like he used to do when they were friends.
And today . . . she swallowed against a ball of emotion. Today she needed a
friend, and all she’d had were well- meaning customers.
She looked over at him. “Jeez, Aiden. You’re
looking a little flushed. I think you could stand to cool off.” And before he
could reply, she flicked her wrist and aimed the spray of the hose right at the
center of his chest.
The abrupt shock on his face was gratifi
cation enough, but then he grinned and reached to take away the hose. She danced
away, still spraying him, admiring how the shirt now clung to his skin and the
little droplets lit up his face and hair. A laugh bubbled up through her chest
and out her mouth as she darted around the trees, dragging the hose with her.
But there were too many pots and not enough room to maneuver and within seconds
he caught her, wrapped one strong arm around her and wrenched the hose away
with the other, spraying her in the process.
Cold water dripped from her nose, down her
neck, over her bare arms. Aiden held her close against his body, close enough
she could feel the hardness of his muscles, and thrilled at it. Their breaths
came fast, their chests rising and falling with both laughter and the exertion
of the struggle over the hose. But it was the way he was looking down at her
right now that made her feel as if the lack of air was strangling her lungs.
All it would take was the tiniest move and he’d be kissing her. Her gaze
dropped to his lips— he’d always had fine lips— and she swallowed, nervous and
scared at her reaction and turned on as hell.
She looked up, which was a mistake. Because
he was staring at her lips. And his arm tightened just a little bit at the
hollow of her back. Oh God . . .
A car horn honked and Laurel jumped back. He
let her go, but the gravity of the moment remained.
Copyright
© 2017 by Donna Alward and reprinted
by permission of St. Martin’s Paperbacks.
DONNA
ALWARD BIO:
While bestselling
author Donna Alward was busy studying Austen, Eliot and Shakespeare, she was
also losing herself in the breathtaking stories created by romance novelists
like LaVyrle Spencer, Judith McNaught, and Nora Roberts. Several years after
completing her degree she decided to write a romance of her own and it was true
love! Five years and ten manuscripts later she sold her first book and launched
a new career. While her heartwarming stories of love, hope, and homecoming have
been translated into several languages, hit bestseller lists and won awards,
her very favorite thing is when she hears from happy readers!
Donna lives on
Canada’s east coast with her family which includes a husband, a couple of kids,
a senior dog and two crazy cats. When she’s not writing she enjoys reading (of
course!), knitting, gardening, cooking…and is a Masterpiece Theater addict.
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