A second chance Hollywood romance featuring Myf from the Blue Phoenix series
I woke this morning expecting to marry the man I loved and ended the day married to somebody else.
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Release Date May 9th
Jilted by her fiancé on their wedding day, actress Myf Roberts runs from the situation and takes an unscheduled trip to Vegas with rock band, Blue Phoenix.
The night wasn’t supposed to end with her married to Hollywood A-lister, Tate Daniels.
Why did it have to be Tate Daniels? The man Myf knew years ago hasn’t changed. He’s still the charming bad boy who leaves broken hearts in his wake. And Tate’s still the man Myf denies has an effect on her she’s never shaken.
Tate is no stranger to scandal and has been warned to keep his nose clean if he wants to keep his lucrative role in the newest network drama. Now he’s discovered his fake Vegas wedding isn’t so fake after all, and he has one huge problem to fix.
But Myf is the girl who filled Tate’s world six years ago. The one who got away. And this time she doesn’t get to call the shots.
When she’s cast as lead actress opposite her unwanted husband in his new show, Myf can’t refuse the career opportunity she’s waited for. But can Myf keep the sizzling chemistry between her and Tate onscreen? Or will she surrender and give her heart to the man she swore would never win?
And what happens when the world discovers the celebrity secret of the year?
A Hollywood, second chance romance from USA Today bestselling author, Lisa Swallow.
Read on for an Excerpt
My fiancé lies on the floor, blood from his nose smearing his perfect white shirt. Dylan Morgan stands over him, fist ready to strike again and mouth twisted with anger. I haven’t seen Dylan with an expression like this since I caught him beating the hell out of a boy who broke my heart when I was sixteen.
“Dylan! What the hell did you do to Miles?” I yell as I charge over to grab Dylan’s hand. The best man, Rick, kneels besides Miles, face pale. “What happened?” I ask them.
“Uh.” Miles runs a hand through his usually carefully coiffed, and now dishevelled, hair. Not only is his white shirt smeared with his blood, but it’s untucked and partially unbuttoned. “Uh…”
Dylan growls beneath his rapid breath as Miles looks at me with desperate eyes. The small sunroom at the back of Dylan’s house isn’t where I expected to find three key members of the wedding party, half an hour before the ceremony. And I definitely didn’t expect one of my best friends to smack Miles in the face.
“Dylan?” I ask, panic growing. “What’s happening? Why did you hit him?”
Dylan and Miles have never disagreed. Not once, and that’s unusual for Dylan. Dylan’s protectiveness pisses me off because it’s usually unwarranted; I wish he had a bloody sister of his own so he didn’t need to project his brotherly needs onto me.
“Tell her!” he snarls at Miles. “Tell your bride what you did and who with.”
Miles glances at Rick who refuses to look at any of us and realisation crashes from the sky, pushing me heavily to the floor.
“Did he… have you… Who? Not a bridesmaid, Miles! You fucking cliché.”
“Try the best man,” Dylan retorts.
“Don’t be stupid, Dylan!” I snap back.
But who’s the stupid one here? The last couple of months, I’ve felt pushed out by the amount of time Miles spends with Rick. Rick turned up at our apartment one day, an old friend from drama school, and they talked all night. Literally. He’s a nice guy, moved in, helped out around the apartment and never caused any issues. Miles and Rick, the biggest bromance I’ve come across evidently stepped beyond a bromance.
Since the comedy show I had a minor recurring role in was cancelled, I’ve worked hard pursuing auditions, and extras work. Miles takes my absences in his stride; he understands my determination to succeed in the crazy industry, even though he gave up trying a year ago. He now works part-time in an art gallery, doing who-knows-what because he’s not an artist. We live on the money I made the last twelve months; not big bucks, but enough.
The wedding plans steamed along, and when Dylan offered his LA place as a venue, as a wedding present, the last piece of our relationship’s puzzle clicked into place.
Wrong. Now the last puzzle piece has been jammed in, and the picture isn’t what was on the box.
I was hours away from marrying a man who doesn’t love me enough to remain faithful. I don’t give a crap about who he did this with, or why — the cheating scum part is what matters here.
“Get out,” I growl.
Miles mutely looks between Dylan and me. My skin heats with anger; he can’t even open his mouth to apologise.
“Yeah, leave or I’ll really fucking hurt you,” snarls Dylan, stepping forward.
No further prompting is needed as Miles and Rick scramble from the floor. Miles edges around Dylan and reaches out to me. “Myf…”
I stare back at the mess standing above me, at the blood streaked across his face. Dilated pupils betray his fear—of my reaction or Dylan’s fists? Both?
How is this Miles? The man I thought I’d find waiting for me in the summer sunshine, who spent months persuading me to marry him. The person who in one frozen moment reminded me why I shouldn’t believe in happily ever afters.
“Go,” I repeat in a low voice.
The pair manage to pass Dylan and I’m relieved when the next sound is the door closing and not the crack of bone. I stare at my bright red shoes, my legs stretched in front of me as I support myself with arms behind on the floor.
I fan the 50s style wedding dress around me, smoothing the skirt. I adore the beautiful white dress, the red petticoats matching the bouquet on a table outside. My talented maid of honour and best friend, Audrey, spent hours making this, and now it’s wasted.
I need to find Audrey.
The Californian sun shines through the window, across the polished floor to the nearby white leather sofa. Did Dylan find the pair on there?
“Were they… I mean, when you found them?” I ask, not looking up.
“You don’t want to know.”
“I do, actually.”
“Miles was…” He trails off.
“What, Dylan? Just say it.”
“No. Shit, Myf, I’m sorry.”
Oh, crap, I’m going to puke. I hold a hand over my mouth and turn look into the startling blue eyes of the man convinced he’s defending my honour. All six foot and solid muscle of the ridiculously famous Dylan Morgan, the man pursued by the world. The one with swollen knuckles and a red face.
“Huh.” My stomach continues to twist, my head not catching up with events.
“Should’ve ripped his dick off when I saw them.”
“Please, Dylan. Don’t be stupid. I think you’re in enough trouble.”
“Ha. Miles can do what he likes and that had better include staying away from me. He can report me for assault. Whatever. I don’t give a shit.”
“I bet Sky will give a shit.”
His brow dips in concern. “She’ll understand.”
I look back to my skirts and glance at the sofa. Tears refuse to fall because this isn’t happening. Can’t be.
I pull my thick brown hair from it’s carefully pinned and teased updo, and the locks drop across my shoulders, still kinked from careful styling. Dylan sits beside me, and I rest my head against him as he wraps an arm across my shoulders.
“This sucks,” I say.
“Sucks? That’s an understatement.”
“What a bastard, hey?”
“How are you so calm?”
“I’m an actress, remember?”
“You don’t need to act around me.”
“I know.” But the calm layer sitting on top of the building storm of anger and heartbreak holds. Just. “Miles can tell everybody what happened. I’m not going out there to face everybody. I’ll find something better to do with my day.”
“Get very, very drunk.” I stand and smooth my skirts. Yes. “Not here though. Not LA. Not this State. I’ll spend the rest of the day somewhere else.”
“Spend the day where?”
Escape plans run through my head. “Shush, I’m thinking.”
Dylan leans back, arms outstretched and palms on the floor. “Myf, you’re being weird. Can you cry, or shout, or something?”
I’m trapped inside a strange place, watching reality happening on the outside, dizzied and desperate to run. My voice rises. “Why? I’m not wasting my energy on him. And I don’t want to stay here to be humiliated, or listen to a parade of sympathy while people whisper behind my back! I have to find Audrey and get the hell away from here, Dylan.”
Dylan stands to face me and I tuck my shaking hands beneath my arms, terrified he might try to hug me. He can’t. I can’t break down. Not yet. Not now.
“Okay. Where do you want to go?” he says in a soft voice. “I’ll make sure you get there safely.”
An escaped tear touches my cheek and I swipe it away. “Vegas.”
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