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Unbroken Melody Grace Epub

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We regret to inform you,,, The words blur with a sudden sting of tears. I angrily swipe them away, crumpling the letter into a ball and hurling it to the ground before I can read another word. I don't need to.

They're all the same. I've been secretly applying for internships for months now, sending out my portfolio to every designer and clothing line I can find. I'm not crazy, I know the best I can hope for is a basic assistant gig--fetching coffees and running fabric samples--but that's just fine with me. Anything to get my foot in the door, and start working my way up to one day designing my own line.

But every single application comes back with the same, impersonal letter. Sure, they're polite, but after reading the first dozen, I got the message written between the lines: You don't have the skills, or the qualifications, or the fancy fashion school credentials to even get a foot in the door. We don't want you. I turn to find him in the doorway, watching me with a concerned look on his face.

I swallow back the sting of disappointment. It's too late to take it back, so I just add the guilt to the whole mess of emotions I'm carrying, heavy and sharp like a steel knife blade in my gut. My phone buzzes in my back pocket, and I pull it out, glad for the distraction. It's from Trey, a guy I've been hooking up with these past couple of weeks. We met in a bar a couple of towns over.

One drink led to another until we closed out the night in the backseat of his beat-up old Chevy. It's turned into a regular late night thing, my one good distraction to take my mind off another long night of nothing here at the bar. And tonight, I sure as hell need distracting. Real romantic. I tuck my phone away with a small grin.

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Trey and his dirty talk have done the trick; now my latest rejection letter is just another in the stack, one more thing to forget about and move on from. I take a deep breath, and remind myself: I'm the one in control. All those fancy fashion lines may not want me, but I can get Trey panting with nothing but a wink and a flash of red lace from under my tank top. Out there in the world, I may be nothing, but put me in a room full of guys with one thing on their minds, and they'll want me.

They're always going to want me for that. I sweep aside my disappointment and head back out to the bar, adding a swing to my hips and some strut to my stride in my chunky lace-up boots.

Garrett gives me another look of concern so I just flash him a fake smile and keep moving, loading up my tray with waters and going to bus some empty tables in back. You've got this, Brit. You'll be just fine. I see a new group enter the bar: I grab a stack of menus, about to go over to welcome them, when the door swings open again.

Despite myself, I smile. I guess he couldn't wait until I finished my shift. He's dressed up, I notice: The last few times we met, it was a late-night thing: We both know I'm a sure thing either way, but it's nice he made the effort for me.

Guys never do. He doesn't even look in my direction. Instead, he walks straight over to the far table, and the family who just walked in. He slides in next to the blonde girl and drapes an arm around her shoulder. I freeze. The girl smiles up at Trey, and he leans to drop a kiss on her lips. She reaches up to touch his cheek, and that's when I see it: My blood runs cold. Trey still hasn't seen me. He's smiling, easy, joking with the girl's parents.

Unbroken by Melody Grace

They're all having a ball of a time, as if ten hours ago he wasn't grunting in my ear, cursing under his breath as he groped at every inch of flesh on my body.

Funny, he forgot to mention his fiancee. Rage comes, hot in my veins. I shouldn't be surprised anymore, how this goes. How it always goes. But after that letter from the design company, this is like a ton of salt dumped on the wound. All my rejection comes boiling up again, sharp and bitter with regret. I guess I'm only good enough to fuck. I stalk over there before I have a chance to reconsider.

I look to Trey for some kind of reaction: But instead, he has the nerve to smile at me and wink, like we're in this together. Without the tequila blurring my vision - and good judgment - I can see he's just a beefed up jock with a bad goatee. Jesus, why did I even waste my time on him? Because there was nothing better to do. The voice in my head answers for me. Because he helped you forget, just for a little while, what a dead-end your life has become.

I push the voice back, and glare at Trey, like I could strip the skin off his bones with just one look. Trey scowls at me while the rest of the table blinks in confusion. Trust me, it comes real quick. The mess of cheese and guacamole and beans smears down his face and drips, slowly to the floor.

There's silence. The rest of the table gasps at me in shock. I snort. Better get tested, sweetheart. I sure as hell will. Y'all have a nice night. I stride away, victory surging in my veins.

That'll teach him not to use me like some piece of ass, then go running back to Little Miss Perfect the minute daylight comes.

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I can hear him now behind me, begging and groveling to them all. She's just a crazy slut. She's nothing. Now that my rage is fading, I realize the whole bar is staring at me.

I can see their faces, wide-eyed and scandalized. Then the whispers start, gossiping tones drifting out to me as I hurry across the bar.

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As far as everyone here is concerned, Trey isn't the one who made a fool of himself just now. No, that was me, lashing out, flying off the handle, causing some huge scene. And for what? I bypass his apartment on the first floor, and keep climbing, even when the staircase narrows into a winding spiral. Finally, I heave open the rusted fire escape and push outside into the crisp night air. The rooftop is empty, home to a couple of old lawn chairs and an ancient grill.

I walk slowly to the edge and lean out over the railing. Why do you always do this? The scene replays in my mind, but I don't see Trey's smug face staring back at me. No, I see the blonde girl instead.

Sweet, and pretty, and so damn naive. Sitting there with her perfect family, it never crossed her mind for a second that Trey could betray her. I can't tell if she's lucky or just another fool.

He didn't take me to dinner. They never do. I'm not that girl, you see: I'm the one they screw up against the back wall of a club in a neon-lit alley; who they text at 2: I always told myself it was better this way.

No use believing in a dream that would only fade to ashes in the end. Blue eyes focus on me, her dark blonde hair pinned back from a heart-shaped face—which right now is frowning in annoyance. This is why I always wear flats. The woman looks amused. She flails a moment, then grabs hold of my shoulders for balance. I look up. Not in the way I usually find women beautiful.

Perfectly in synch with my career and goals. This woman is none of those things. Still, I feel a powerful rush of something. Some heat or strange awareness just looking up at her, framed there in the streetlights like a classical painting. Botticelli, or Raphael. A car horn breaks through my thoughts. It speeds past, barely a few feet away, followed by a stream of traffic, barely slowing as the cars pass us here in the middle of the street. Wake up! I scold myself. Musing about pre- Raphaelite paintings is going to get the both of you killed.

She inhales sharply, and suddenly, my touch seems intimate.

Her skin is soft and smooth. Her ankle seems delicate in my hands.

I lift slightly, and move the heel of her shoe back and forth to dislodge it from the grate. You go ahead to the party.

Suddenly, her shoe pulls free. She stumbles off balance, and I have to quickly stand and grab her before we both go tumbling into oncoming traffic. We both freeze. My arms are locked tight around her, pressing her warm body against my chest. She gasps, her face just inches away, lips parted wordlessly, those blue eyes wide in surprise.

Not just blue, I realize now. Her eyes are almost a warm grey, fringed with pale lashes. I stare at her, thrown for a moment. She blinks. Suddenly, kissing her is the only thing I want to do.

I calculate every risk and weigh every consequence, thinking four steps ahead before I ever make a single move. Nothing but this stranger pressed against me, her lips parted invitingly, her cheeks flushed—and a telltale flash of desire in her eyes.

I want her. With a spark of determination, I tilt her head up towards me and close the distance between us, claiming her mouth in a deep, hot kiss. In an instant, her arms are up around my neck, and her body is melting even closer against me. Heat surges between us, and just like that, this wildfire of a moment is raging out of control. I grip her waist tighter, crushing silk under my palms as I bring her hard against me and demand more.

Her mouth parts eagerly to taste my lips, and I groan, sliding my tongue deeper into her mouth.

She tastes of cinnamon and honey, sweetness cut with an intoxicating spice. Desire pounds in my bloodstream as I drink her in, savoring every moment even as my body demands more. Ignore reason and logic, totally overpowered by raw animal need.

I could lose myself in her. Willingly abandon all self-control. I catch myself, too late. I wrench away from her, panting, to find the world spinning on as usual: It all comes crashing back in, and I wonder how the hell I managed to block out reality for these few dangerous moments.

How I completely forgot myself. I release her, and put a safe few feet between us.

Dangerous as hell. The stoplights change again down the street, providing us with a break in the traffic. She laughs suddenly, bright and carefree. Every instinct is screaming at me to ask her name, take her number, flag down a passing cab and invite her back to my apartment.

I want to lock the bedroom door, strip off that cocktail dress and spend the next forty-eight hours ravishing her amazing body. It would be a bad idea, I know. But damn, I would enjoy losing this devilish game. Before I can say a word, she makes the decision for me. With another carefree smile, the woman flutters a wave.

That was a close call, I tell myself, slowly climbing the steps. A narrow escape. Because despite the fever that raged in my bloodstream for those few crazy moments I held her in my arms, I already know that fevers never last. They come on strong, destroy every sense of reason, and then break in the night, leaving you with nothing but a cold sweat and lingering unease.

This woman was a distraction from the business at hand, nothing more. And I never allow myself to be distracted. Noelle I hurry blindly through the front entrance of the museum, my heart pounding. What just happened?Komentarze do: Dream Like Nothing's Impossible. Favorite Paperbacks: connection last until the morning light? I bite down against the swell of tears rising, but I refuse to cry for her-not when I've wasted so many tears already.

The town feels emptier now, but there are still some tourists browsing the quaint stores, kids downloading ice-cream, their legs sandy from the beach. All books are in clear copy here, and all files are secure so don't worry about it. Cinderella , Sleeping Beauty - I must have heard them a hundred times over, but still, I couldn't get enough.

MERLIN from Bonita Springs
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