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TITLE – Worthy of Love? SERIES – standalone AUTHOR – J. Lea GENRE – NA romance PUBLICATION DATE – July 31st LENGTH (Pages/# Words) – a little over 70.000 words PUBLISHER – selfpublished (Amazon) COVER ARTIST – Najla Qamber designs
BOOK SYNOPSISThey say everything happens for a reason. Maybe they are right, but I don`t really agree.
When I was 14, the life I knew, turned upside down. I was devastated.
Every time I looked myself in the mirror, I saw this ugly girl looking at me. Love obviously wasn't a part of my plan anymore. How could it be?
But then I met him. And it happened. Suddenly and without a warning. I want him. I crave him. Every fiber of my being yearns for him. He is the one who makes my heart sing, and the one who hunts my dreams at night. But I can never have him. After all, he is forbidden...
Elias and I grabbed our drinks and joined our friends. Rick pulled me to his side right away, so I had to squeeze into a tiny corner beside him. But I didn’t mind. I enjoyed my friends’ company and even Rick’s flirting attempts didn’t stop me from having fun. Even more, his terrible pick-up lines soon had me doubled over with laughter, and took my mind off Parker, if only for a few minutes. I tried to prove to Rick that he could win over a girl even with less corny lines, but Rick wouldn’t be Rick if he didn’t disagree.
“Wanna bet?” he challenged me. I looked at him with interest and instantly agreed.
“Hell, yeah!”
“Pick a girl, any girl,” he said cockily. “I guarantee you, I’ll get her number.” I looked around the club, my eyes settled on a gorgeous woman, leaning on the table next to ours. She was playing idly with the cocktail pick in her drink. She appeared slightly older than us, no more than 10 years, and I was certain she’d be an even bigger challenge since she’d probably heard all the corny pick-up lines before.
“Her.” I pointed my finger. Rick’s gaze traveled up her long, shapely legs, small waist and generously sized chest. He smirked at me, saying, “She’s smoking hot. You’ve got yourself a bet.” We shook hands, and as he took two steps toward her, I remembered we hadn’t talked about the terms of our bet.
“Hey, wait,” I yelled at his retreating back.
He jerked around. “What? Did you change your mind? You’d rather have me all to yourself?” His eyebrow shot up.
Rolling my eyes, I chuckled, and our friends laughed right along with me. “We haven’t said anything about the rewards. What do I get when I win?” I challenged him with a wide grin.
“Dream on, kitten. Before you can blink three times, I’ll have her eating out of my hand.”
I laughed so hard tears filled my eyes. “We’ll see about that.”
Rick confidently strutted over to the woman at the next table, and we all turned heads after them, and perked up our ears so we could hear the conversation.
“Hey, sugar,” Rick winked at the woman, who gave him a look from under her eyebrows.
“Uh-huh,” she muttered, uninterested.
“Do you know how to work with a sandpaper?” he shot out, and our table exploded in laughter.
“If she doesn’t slap him right now, then the world might just as well end,” I said.
The woman frowned at him. She asked him what he meant by that, and Rick replied.
“Because I could use someone to rub my wood.”
“Oh, god, he did not just say that,” Jon clamped a hand over his mouth. “I can’t believe he just said that.” He shook his head incredulously. But to our surprise, the woman started laughing. Out loud. When she finally calmed down, she put her hand on his shoulder.
“I’ve had a shitty day, and you just made it better. Thank you for that. Come, let me buy you a drink.” Rick turned to us with a wide grin on his face, and flipped us the bird before disappearing in the crowd with the woman on his arm.
“What the hell just happened?”
“That was pure luck,” Carmen, one of our classmates, said. I was completely shocked. I couldn’t believe she fell for such an awful, cliché pick up line.
Five minutes later, Rick returned to the table, a scrap of paper between his index and middle finger. He threw it on the table, a smug expression on his face, and turned to me. “You were saying earlier?”
J. Lea is an avid reader and writer of sexy stories. Her other loves include her family as she is also a mama of a little boy and girl who keep her busy when she's not writing hot books. Lea also loves spending time outdoors with her family--skiing, hiking, and more.
Her novels include Because of You, Once Again, Never Again, and Worthy of Love.
AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE FACEBOOK TWITTER
Yes! I can offer an ecopy of Worthy of Love?
He came to stand behind her and cleared his throat. “I ha’ been meaning ta thank ye for what ye did for me that first night, and fer sharing th’ blood ye collect. Ye’re verra kind.”“It was nothing. You would have done the same.” He was too close.
“Ye dinnae know that.” He shifted awkwardly. His eyes were light in the darkness of the tower room. Did he feel his mistake in standing too close? Would he move away?
“Yes I do.” Her body was reacting as if it had been struck by the lightning that illuminated the loch. The thunder was rolling farther away now. Or maybe that was just the thumping of her heart in her chest. Her thighs were slick. She had been running from the feelings he raised in her ever since he got here. But in truth, she wanted very much to know what it would be like to make love to Callan Kilkenny.
“Ye must ha’ thought me churlish no’ ta thank ye and yer father.” He, too, looked out over the loch so he wouldn’t have to look at her.
“No. I didn’t think you churlish...” She took a step toward him in the darkness. She could feel his ragged breathing. And what of her own? She took a breath. It is an experiment. She only wanted to see how the physical act of making love with a vampire, in her new vampire state, compared with her experience, human to human, with Tom Blandings. That was all it was. She felt his reluctance, and yet she was sure he wanted it, too. Was it his honor that kept him from taking her in his arms?
She knew he was honorable, for all his pretense of callousness. “I thought you didn’t think yourself worth helping. That’s different.”
“I might ha’ been right.”
Jane had to get some distance here, or she was going to just throw herself at him.



Looking into the mirror, he wondered what Rory saw when he took off his sunglasses. Her initial reaction had been similar to most people when they saw his eyes for the first time.
As a child, he was viciously teased for having what the kids called “vampire eyes.” They were eyes he would never have wished for, but inherited from his mother. His eyes were so green and sensitive they hurt when exposed to bright sunlight without sunglasses, further purporting the rumor he wasn’t really human, but some kind of vampire or creature from space. But he was a man, pure and simple. The blood running through his veins was red like everyone else.
All he wanted was to find a nice comfortable life and enjoy it to the maximum, and if he could find someone special enough to share it with, so much the better. But with this want came a nagging fear. Having lost his mother so early in life and sharing a distant, even guarded relationship with his father, he wasn’t sure he knew how to love anyone in the way they needed and deserved. It wasn’t because he was cold or cruel; he honestly didn’t know how to express his emotions, and that scared him.
How could you sustain a relationship if you didn’t know how to make someone happy, or live up to their expectations of you? His parents barely tolerated each other’s presence until they divorced. Even though he was young at the time, it stuck firmly in his memory how unhappy they really were, and how they made every effort to make each other as miserable as possible, before they finally separated.
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Beatrix motioned Langley to a chair. He looked mulish for a moment. Then practicality intervened and he sat stiffly. As he moved, she saw a slight bulge at his shoulder. Ahhh. The bleeding wound she sensed was in his shoulder and it was bandaged. Not a new wound, then. He definitely looked pale now.
“Symington, a glass of brandy for Lord Langley?” But her ever-discerning majordomo already hovered with a salver laid with brandy.
Southey, the pedestrian poet laureate, pushed to the front of the crowd. “I can hardly credit footpads in Hay Hill Street.” Castlereagh and Chumley hung over Langley as well. Beatrix had lost the attention of the room.
She took the opportunity to observe Langley. He gulped the brandy and the color came back into his face. He was deft with their questions, answering but not answering. It was if he wanted them to doubt his story of being set upon by footpads. Once she saw the twinge of pain as he eased his shoulder. He had been set upon in Hay Hill, but his assailants hadn’t made the wound in his shoulder, only opened it, she guessed. Ah, perhaps he wanted his listeners to make up other stories more in keeping with his reputation as the most debauched man in London. What a devious way of achieving it! If he wanted to shock them, why didn’t he tell them about the wound bleeding even now in his shoulder and what adventure had occasioned it? Beatrix’s senses were heightened by the scent of blood. Lord, she would need to feed again tonight at this rate!
She got to her feet almost without realizing, and took the brandy decanter from Symington. The young men parted for her, unconsciously, as people always did. She stood over Langley. He looked up at her. The green eyes were jaded. They had seen much for one of his tender age and were disgusted by it. How old was he? Not yet forty, she wagered. She gestured with the decanter and he held up his glass. She poured, but her gaze kept returning to his face. He had determination. He thought he was implacable. Silly man! Implacable was the onward march of time, the loneliness, the endless repetition of small failures and large ones in people, in the world, in herself. John Staunton, Earl of Langley, was not implacable.
He was ... What was he? All she knew was that Langley was not what he seemed. Intriguing.

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I feel a hand in my hair, brushing a soft strand away and I roll into his touch, wanting more. "Joel?" I whisper with shut eyes and a smile. When did he get home? I feel coarse rough hands slide down my neck and my stomach tenses. Something feels off. Joel's hands are smooth. My eyes flash open, seeing an unfamiliar short chubby male figure looming over me. His breath smells like rancid milk. The room is dark from the sun setting and the lights off, but I can still make out enough features for a lineup.
His hands forcefully pin mine above my head, giving me no time to try and retrieve my gun across the room. I need to fight back. My eyes widen as my adrenaline kicks in.
"Where's the baby?"

"Ella?" He knocks on the door across the hall, my chambers.
Both of us grow silent, not wanting Alexander to find us. I squeeze Hannah's hand tight, afraid to let go. I know I'm a princess and possibly now a queen, but that doesn't change the love I feel for Hannah and the trust I implore her with.
His knock grows louder, more insistent. "Ella, are you in there?" He tries again. Getting no response, I hear the door across the hall squeak open. Obviously I hadn't locked it because I wasn't in the room. His boots stomp through the corridor and away from our chambers.
I keep my voice low, not wanting to alert anyone stepping into the hall that Hannah's room is occupied. "Now what?" I ask her. I'm terrified of the man I married. He's a man with too much power. I was warned of such princes's existing in their quest for the crown. Had I been wrong judging Alexander when we first met? He'd intentionally swept me off my feet and charmed my parents letting him take me away in a whirlwind. I should have delayed the wedding, gotten to know him better. Did he have any siblings? Were they too murdered so he could ascend the throne? My stomach aches and I feel as though I may never be able to eat again. How will I face Alexander with what I know? I've never been very good at pretending. How will I lie beside him at night and act like I'm falling in love with him? Last night it came easy, but now that I know what he's capable of, I fear for my life.
