Rachel Blaufeld - Redemption Lane Release Day
Rachel Blaufeld
Redemption Lane
Release Date: February 19th, 2015
Blurb:
Sometimes the past bleeds into the future.
Bess, a wild party girl running from herself, literally falls victim to her demons when she collapses in the most unexpected of places.
Lane, a tightly wound, up-and-coming CEO who can’t seem to stop enabling his brother, doesn’t know what hit him when Bess falls at his feet and into his life.
It was a night she doesn’t remember, and one he can’t forget.
But rather than stay and help the needy college coed, Lane decides to teach his brother a long overdue lesson––a decision that later comes back to haunt him and only adds fury to the transgressions of his past he is already fleeing from.
Years later, Bess and Lane meet again. She doesn’t know him, and he doesn’t share that he knows what happened on that ill-fated night when she almost died. After all, he has a web of complicated lies from his own youth to protect.
Both are seeking salvation in the arms of others and ignoring the truth—that the only road to redemption lies in confronting your past.
When the past and present collide, is there any chance at redemption?
Goodreads:
Graphics Attached:
-Release Day Banner
-Available Now Graphic
-Cover (front & full wrap)
-Pic of Rachel
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About Author
Rachel Blaufeld is a social worker/entrepreneur/blogger turned author. Fearless about sharing her opinion, Rachel captured the ear of stay-at-home and working moms on her blog, BacknGrooveMom, chronicling her adventures in parenting tweens and inventing a product, often at the same time. She has also blogged for The Huffington Post, Modern Mom, and StartupNation.
Rachel Blaufeld is a social worker/entrepreneur/blogger turned author. Fearless about sharing her opinion, Rachel captured the ear of stay-at-home and working moms on her blog, BacknGrooveMom, chronicling her adventures in parenting tweens and inventing a product, often at the same time. She has also blogged for The Huffington Post, Modern Mom, and StartupNation.
Turning her focus on her sometimes wild-and-crazy creative side, it only took Rachel two decades to do exactly what she wanted to do—write a fiction novel. Now she spends way too many hours in local coffee shops plotting her ideas. Her tales may all come with a side of angst and naughtiness, but end lusciously.
Rachel lives around the corner from her childhood home in Pennsylvania with her family and two dogs. Her obsessions include running, coffee, icing-filled doughnuts, antiheroes, and mighty fine epilogues.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/@rachelblaufeld
Quotes & Teasers
“Lane’s beard tickling the inside of my thigh in all the right places.” – Bess
A brand spanking new fantasy rolled through my head––visions of a lonely, yet seductive waitress, dressed in navy slacks and a little matching vest, her long hair spread down around her neck… - Lane
I had no choice, so I spent the dinner perfecting Lane Wrigley, the overly involved hotel business man, getting to know Bess Williams, the unimpressed, fragile, mysteriously beautiful waitress… - Lane
Setting my magic pills on the dresser, I stripped out of my smelly clothes from the night before. As they fluttered to the floor, I watched their descent, remembering my own extremely real downward spiral.
___________________________________________________________________
I couldn’t be upset…the girl next to me was smoking hot. Intrigued, I took in her long wavy brown hair that she was twisting into a messy bun, small tits in a bright blue halter top, and tight hips and a round ass poured into tight black yoga pants. The disappointing thing was she fucking stank, and my eyes began to water from the stench wafting my way, like booze and stale sweat.
This girl smelled like a bar after a long Saturday night.
Was she drunk? Was she even legal?
___________________________________________________________________
“Excuse me? Do you want a table,” I asked.
He flipped the paper down, peering over the top of it, and his crystal-blue eyes sharpened. A series of expressions flitted over his face, first hurt or sadness, then morphing into what looked suspiciously like lust. In the end the man continued to stand there, saying nothing and looking bewildered.
Weird.
Unnerved, I stared back at him for much too long but his gaze mesmerized me, capturing my body, mind, and soul in a way I wasn’t familiar with. It left me wanting to stare forever.
What the eff, Bess? Stare forever? Just seat the damn guy.
“Are you ready to sit for breakfast,” I asked, using my professional tone as a shield. I wasn’t on the menu, and definitely wasn’t one of the specials.
He cleared his throat and said, “Yes. Table for one.” Then he added, “Please.”
“Right this way.”
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AJ:
“It doesn’t have to be that way, Bess. You don’t have to be alone. You’re not alone. You have friends…and me.”
His eyes searched mine, begging me to understand the hidden meaning behind his words. I didn’t really have friends. And we were nothing more than sponsor and sponsee.
I didn’t really have him. Or did I?
“AJ…” I breathed out his name slowly, looking up but hesitating to meet his eyes.
________________________________________________________________
Licking his lips, he ran his hand through his dark hair and leaned close once more. “As for why I’m back here with you, I can’t really say. I only know I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since our unbelievably boring dinner in the tavern…or the coffee we shared in the back room the morning after.”
His expression softened. “There’s just something about you, Bess. You’re sweeter than the aroma of the blueberry muffin I devoured with you, prettier than the sun setting over the ocean back home, and tangier than the lemons you squeeze into your water. Something I can’t put my finger on pulls me in and makes me want to be close to you, probably the same thing that makes you want to run. Hell, it makes me want to flee so fucking fast, but I’m not. So…just don’t.”
___________________________________________________________________
My orgasm tore through me like a five-alarm fire through a wooden cabin.
I floated off to somewhere I didn’t recognize. It was an island of bliss, a place where I’d never been on Molly or coke, a destination that a steady diet of alcohol and pot would never transport me to. And I never wanted to leave.
Exhilarated, I wanted nothing more than to pack my bags and permanently move to this unknown zip code.