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He stands on the stairs with the ocean lapping his boots. His dark hair is dry, and tousled by the wind. His fists hang clenched at his sides, and on his face is a look of such harsh desire that I both fear and long to be its object.
“Come back.” He speaks the words to the wind. Almost, I obey.
For all that he is human, he is like the sea—deep and dark and dangerous; unfathomable and unforgiving. And like the sea, I know that what he takes, he will keep. If I go to him, I will be as lost as a sunken ship upon the ocean floor, lost to the world that birthed me. Lost to everything I have ever known.
Bettie Sharpe is a Los Angeles native who enjoys romance novels,
action movies, comic books, video games, and every other entertainment product her teachers said would rot her brain. She loves to write almost as much as she loves to read. For info on Bettie’s backlist and upcoming titles, visit her website at www.bettiesharpe.com
Website
action movies, comic books, video games, and every other entertainment product her teachers said would rot her brain. She loves to write almost as much as she loves to read. For info on Bettie’s backlist and upcoming titles, visit her website at www.bettiesharpe.com
