Today we have the blog tour for Distracted by Her by Caitlyn Blue.
Check out this fantastic contemporary romance and grab your copy today!!
Distracted by Her Synopsis
Windy City Millionaire Devlin Stone is about to discover that love and revenge don't mix.
Fifteen years ago my father went to jail for crime he didn't commit. Now, I'm back to take revenge on the man who sent him there. He believes himself untouchable, and for the most part, he is. His daughter, however, is very touchable and well within my reach.
I remember her as a sweet kid, who took piano lessons from my mother. These days she's a complicated woman, who has a knack for distracting me from my retribution.
She wants to save me. I intend to ruin her. Things are going to get interesting.
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Excerpt
I
turn off the engine and ponder my options. Without the air conditioning
running, the car grows stifling in under a minute. Calling the police seems
extreme before I check out the situation. I push open my car door and get out.
As I set my foot on the first step, a half-naked man emerges from the shadows
beyond the doorway. My pulse kicks into overdrive. Sweat-streaked skin glistens
in the late morning sun. My mouth goes dry as I take in his wide bronze
shoulders and athletic thighs.
Holy shit.
“What
are you doing here?” He doesn’t wait for my answer before pummeling me with a
second question. "Are you following me?"
Following
him? Well, no. But he'd definitely be worth chasing after if I did that sort of
thing. For a long moment, lust and confusion keep me rooted in place while
humidity slicks my nose, making my glasses slide down my face. Who the hell is
this guy? If I could unglue my eyes from his abs long enough to check out his
face, I might find out.
“I’m
here to drop off some tile and flooring samples for Samantha Robbins…” My voice
trails off as he sets his hands on his hips, unconsciously applying downward
pressure to his faded running shorts. The action bares more of his lean,
muscled torso. Awareness flares to life, strong and unbidden. I wrestle the
sensation into submission, but it's stronger than anything I've faced in a
really long time. “They’re in the back of my car.”
“Samples?”
Something
about his voice tickles my subconscious. As I focus on why, I’m at long last
able to tear my attention away from his body. I suck in a breath when I
recognize him.
Devlin
Stone.
Even
as the thought surfaces, my mind short circuits again. His strong cheekbones
and chiseled mouth inspire a storm of illicit cravings. When I ran into Devlin
at Kathryn’s party, he’d been cold and aloof. Today he hums with magnetic,
crackling energy that sparks a thrilling chain reaction inside me.
“Tile.
Granite. Marble.” I sound as if I’d sprinted the five miles from the design
store. I'm dizzy and short of breath. “Samples.”
Long
masculine fingers burrow into black-as-sin hair. Freed from its careful
styling, the length almost obscures the temperamental violence simmering in his
dark brown eyes.
“Why
are you bringing them?” he asks.
"Sammy's
my aunt."
Whatever
had sparked his annoyance fizzles and dies. “Fine. Just set everything in the
foyer.” His tone carries no inflection whatsoever.
He
pivots and vanishes into the house. The abruptness of his departure puts an end
to our conversation. From somewhere in the neighborhood comes the roar of a
lawn mower and the buzz of a leaf blower. Heat creeps up my legs from the
paving stones beneath my feet as I retreat to the Volvo to get the samples.
Step by cautious step I advance onto the front porch. White paint flecks off
the stout wooden door flanked by narrow sidelights.
Common
sense shrieks at me to do as he requested and dump the samples inside the front
door. I can't explain why, after I set everything down, I advance further into
the house. Decay and disuse swamp my senses. The house is a lot worse off than
I imagined it would be. Unrelenting heat gives way to the cloying press of dust
as I shuffle forward a few steps. After the bright sunshine, my eyes take a
moment to adjust to the home’s dim interior.
The
inside looks like a B-movie set. The only things missing are screaming
teenagers and a maniac with a bloody knife. Cobwebs span the gaps in the
staircase spindles. A tarnished chandelier hangs like a bad omen above the
two-story foyer. Neglect shows in the faded wallpaper and dusty wooden floors.
I taste mold in the air, stronger now as the fresh air dissipates.
A
board creaks beneath my foot, the sound loud in the heavy silence. I freeze,
listening. In my mind I hear the faint tinkle of piano keys. Happy birthday
to you. I’d played it as an accompaniment to the crowd gathered to
celebrate a fourteen-year-old boy’s special day. My first performance on the
piano in front of an audience.
I
look around for Devlin, but the house has swallowed him. Directly in front me
stretches a long hallway with doorways that open left and right into the empty
dining and living rooms. I remember Josephine Stone’s graceful hands splayed
across ivory and black keys and her patient smiles. Her dark brown eyes, framed
by the longest lashes I’d ever seen. I’d loved sitting next to her on the piano
bench and staring at those lashes, all the while wondering why my mother’s
weren’t as pretty.
Memories
lure me to the left. The living room walls, now papered in some hideous
flowered print, seem to absorb what muffled light slips past the fraying drapes
that cover three large windows. Footprints mottle the dusty oak floors. I
advance into the room and stumble as my toe catches on a buckled board.
“My
mother loved this house.” Despite its low pitch, Devlin Stone’s voice echoes
powerfully through the large, empty room.
I
spy him standing in the doorway leading to what had been the music room.
Thankfully, for my peace of mind, he’s donned a gray Notre Dame T-shirt. He
might not be less daunting fully-dressed, but he’s certainly less distracting.
A bottle of water dangles from his fingers. I tell myself to leave. He’s made
it clear that he doesn’t want me around. But then his gaze flows over me and I
find myself lured into the room by what I glimpse in his expression.
“It
used to be so beautiful,” I say.
On
my first visit, I’d run through decorated rooms heedless of the antiques and
delicate pastel figures that tempted a little girl to touch. My mother’s sharp
tone had beckoned me to her. I’d flinched when her fingers had bitten into my
shoulder in a silent command to behave.
“She’d
be pretty appalled that someone painted the trim and the fireplace aqua.” I
don’t know why I’m still talking. Maybe I’m hoping my attempt at levity will
inspire the glint of the mischief that had once been an integral part of his
youthful expression. But his features remain mired in grim lines. And like a
damned fool, I keep babbling. “Don’t worry. By the time Sammy’s done, it will
be a showplace.”
Everything
sensible warns me to get the hell out. Instead, I hear myself asking, “How’s
your mother?”
“She
died a year ago.”
“I’m
sorry.” Thinking to offer comfort I take a step in his direction. He turns away
so abruptly that I feel foolish. “She was such a wonderful person. I missed her
a lot after you moved away.”
He
strides past me, crossing to the windows. I flinch as he tears the curtains
open with a clash of metal against metal and sunlight floods the room. His
action sends dust whirling through the air. I throw up my hand to block the
light, blinking away moisture. As my eyes adjust, I locate the man who remains
cloaked in shadow.
“Is
there something you want?” There’s a snap in his voice that screams irritation.
“No.”
My own temper rises at his rudeness. “I’m just trying to be nice. Our families
were close once.”
“Close.”
He fills the word with derision. "Do you really expect me to act friendly
toward you after what happened fifteen years ago?”
I
shake my head in confusion. What is he talking about?
“I’m
sorry,” I say. “I know things got awkward between our families. I was so upset
when my mother refused to let me continue my piano lessons after what happened
with your dad.”
“Piano
lessons?” He gives a short mirthless laugh. “You really have no idea what your
father did.”
I’m
almost afraid to ask. “What did he do?”
“He
uncovered the documents that led to my dad being arrested for embezzling.”
Devlin glares at me. “Thanks to your father, my dad died in jail.”
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About Caitlyn Blue
Voracious reader with an overactive imagination, chocolate addict, lover of fancy cocktails and tasty edibles, sucker for adventure movies and any music with a beat. When not writing, Caitlyn loves to connect with her readers for whom she's extremely grateful. Join her VIP list to stay up to date on giveaways and exclusive offers.
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