La Vie en Rose (Life in Pink)
by Lydia Michaels
Publication date: April 12th 2016
Genres: Adult, Romance
Sometimes the greatest scars
are worn on the inside.
BLURB
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.
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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.
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Author Info
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
Author Links:
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