Rose Lange has been in love with the written word since she was little. At fourteen, a Julia Quinn novel inspired her to try writing her own. She lives in Southeastern Wisconsin where she was born, raised, and currently lives with her family.
She writes spicy, contemporary romance, and is a member of Romance Writer’s of America (RWA).
She’s a Clark Gable girl, addicted to reading, chocolate, shopping, Pinterest (her latest vice), and watching old movies from the 40s and 50s. She watched Gone With the Wind once when she was five, and has been hooked on romantic stories since.
Emma saw him once, and that was it.
He was the boy next door, and it didn’t take long for her to fall in love with Patrick. Even if it didn’t make sense, she loved him, and giving him her body, heart, and soul was never a second thought. She loved him despite the pain, and heartache he’d caused after their weeklong fling in college. Then, six years later, and one day on an elevator, changed everything.
Patrick never expected to fall in love with her.
Her sweet, wholesome beauty captured him one night at a college party, and that was it. She’d been the neighborhood girl who’d help him shovel snow, and watch him from her bedroom window from above. He’d screwed up after the trip, giving her the cold shoulder, even if his heart told him otherwise. He knew after those nights in Greece, things would never be the same for him again. Years later, and one ride on an elevator, would change everything.
Aware of his nearness, she kept her eyes averted, and knew if she turned her head, she’d come face to face with him. The thought scattered goose bumps across her arms, and she nonchalantly brushed them away.
“Just a little.” She lied, too ashamed to admit the real reason.
He removed his jacket, and she turned toward him, allowing him to drape it over her shoulders. His scent surrounded her. Old Spice, cologne, fresh laundry, and Patrick, a heady combination she found completely irresistible.
Her mouth parted as magnetic, beautiful emerald greens drew her in, and he continued holding her gaze. She felt wanton, carefree, but desperately wanted the night to end with a good morning. Even as dark memories of her past loomed, she dashed them away.
“Is that better?” he murmured.
Her mouth felt dry, like parchment paper sitting out in the sun. “Much,” was all she could manage, licking her lips in a vain attempt to draw moisture.
Moonlight and Patrick was an intoxicating combination.
His eyes drifted toward her mouth, and he placed a finger underneath her chin, tilting her mouth toward his. She leaned closer and took the unspoken invitation. Thankful for the shadows of the night, she pressed her body against his, and claimed his lips. Wrapping her arms around his neck, he continued to tease. His mouth hungry against hers, and she decided right then and there.
His kisses would kill her.