an artist. She was his muse.
To everyone in town, Abel Adams was the devil’s spawn, a boy who never should
have been born. A monster.
To twelve year-old Evie Hart, he was just a boy with golden hair, soft t-shirts
and a camera. A boy who loved taking her picture and sneaking her chocolates
before dinner. A boy who made her feel special.
Despite her family’s warnings, she loved him in secret for six years. They met
in empty classrooms and kissed in darkened church closets. Until they couldn’t.
Until the time came to choose between love and family, and Evie chose Abel.
Because their love was worth the risk. Their love was the stuff of legend.
But the thing about legends is that they are cautionary tales. They are made of
choices and mistakes. And for Abel and Evie, the artist and the muse, those
mistakes come in the form of lights, camera, sex.
NOTE: This is NOT a paranormal or a priest romance.
Abel drops his head on my shoulder with a sigh and places soft but wet kisses on my collarbone.
“The minute you turn eighteen, I’m picking you up, throwing you over my shoulder and driving you down to the nearest courthouse so you can say I do,” he rumbles, still kissing me, tattooing those words on my skin.
My hands bury themselves in his hair as my back arches toward him, craving the rough terrain of his chest against my soft, rounded breasts, shooting sparks all over.
“You haven’t even asked me n-nicely, yet,” I whimper, baring my throat to his exploring mouth. He hasn’t. It’s been over a year since he brought it up at the treehouse and I told him no. Since then, he likes to joke about it but he’s yet to ask me formally.
“I don’t have to. I already know the answer.”
“A little too cocky, aren’t you?”
“Oh yeah, that’s definitely what I am.” He chuckles, sucking in the skin of my neck, making me shiver and blush. Oops. Double entendre.
The way he’s tugging on my skin is translating into a melty tugging down below. “Abel, no. That’s gonna leave a mark.”
He growls and looks up. The brown of his eyes is completely gone, a drop of honey drowned by a black lake of desire. “One day I’m gonna kiss you in the front of the whole world and if they don’t like it then fuck them.”
I read the frustration in his tone, the suppressed anger, and it hurts my heart. No one should be made to hide their love. No one. It’s too pure, too beautiful to ever keep hidden. I caress his pulsing jaw. “Okay. Kiss me at our wedding, then. In front of the whole world.”
A slow smile spreads over his lips and I want to fill my mouth with it. “So, you saying yes?”
I shake my head at him and give him a smirk. “Maybe.”
He plants a hard kiss on my mouth. “Kidnapping you it is, then.”
“Oh my God, you’re crazy.” I laugh.
But he swallows it up with his mouth. He’s kissing me, really kissing me. Like, he’s lost all patience with me and he can’t be a good guy anymore. He needs to be bad. He needs to suck both my lips into his mouth and drink my flavor straight from the tap. He needs to bite into my flesh to get to it, dig his way inside the pores and fuse us together.
Writer of bad romances. Aspiring Lana Del Rey of the Book World.
Saffron is a big believer in love (obviously). She believes in happily ever
after, the butterflies and the tingling. But she also believes in edgy, rough
and gutsy kind of love. She believes in pushing the boundaries, darker
(sometimes morally ambiguous) emotions and imperfections.
The kind of love she writes about is flawed just like her characters. And she
hopes by the end of it, you’ll come to root for them just as much as she does.
Because love, no matter where it comes from, is always pure and beautiful.
She is represented by Meire Dias of Bookcase Agency