Headfirst Falling Read online

  Headfirst Falling

  By Melissa Guinn

  Falling in love. It doesn’t seem to fit, like falling shouldn’t be used in conjunction with love. We don’t fall gracefully. In fact, there’s nothing graceful about it. We crash into things—hit them hard, bounce around, give ourselves cuts, bruises or break bones... And it’s never planned. It takes you by surprise. You lose control.

  Charlie Day fell in love with Jackson Stiles a long time ago. But that was before he and her brother enlisted and went to Iraq. Before Jackson came back different. Before they told Charlie her brother would never come back at all.

  A lot of things have changed since then. But when Jackson takes a job at the company where Charlie works, she discovers that one thing hasn’t changed—the spark between them. She’s not sure she can love this new Jackson, or forgive him for the part he played in her brother’s death. It’s too bad for Charlie that, with love, you don’t always have a choice.

  97,000 words

  Dear Reader,

  Usually I begin these letters with some chatty information, but I’m departing from my norm this time to give you the opportunity to talk to me. At Carina, we’re always discussing our books and making sure we’re meeting your needs—not just with story and content, but also in the way they’re put together. This month, I’d like to reach out to you and ask your opinion on how the Carina Press books utilize the front and back matter. Do you like having the dear reader letter in the front? Would you prefer if it were in the back? Is there something more—excerpts, book lists or other information—we could be providing after the books? We welcome your comments and hope you will reach out to us with your thoughts at [email protected].

  In the meantime, it’s business as usual here at Carina Press headquarters, and that means a lineup of excellent books (no bias here!) for the month of September. We welcome author Jael Wye to Carina Press with her science-fiction fairy-tale retelling, Ice Red, in which the tale of Snow White plays out on the deadly and beautiful planet Mars 300 years in the future. Joining her in launching a new series is return author Nico Rosso, who grabbed my attention the first time he pitched this series to me as “demon rock stars.” Misty is thrown into rock star and immortal demon Trevor Sand’s supernatural world of music, monsters and passion in Heavy Metal Heart.

  More unique voices this month include urban fantasy author R.L. Naquin’s newest Monster Haven novel, Fairies in My Fireplace, as well as Agamemnon Frost and the Hollow Ships, book two of Kim Knox’s male/male science-fiction trilogy.

  Sandy James wraps up her Alliance of the Amazons series with The Volatile Amazon. The Water Amazon leads the Alliance as they face their archenemy in their last and greatest fight. Veronica Scott joins Sandy in the paranormal category with Egypt-set Warrior of the Nile.

  We have multiple releases in the erotic romance genre this month, including Love Letters Volume 5: Exposed, in which the Love Letters ladies strip away everything but the hot truth, and four couples see each other in a tantalizingly revealing new light. Forbidden Obsessions by Jodie Griffin features Bondage & Breakfast owner Gabe McConnell, who finally gets his chance at love when he meets a novice submissive who touches a part of his dominant heart no one else ever has. In Lynda Aicher’s Bonds of Hope, former America’s sweetheart Quinn Andrews has an opportunity to revive her career by playing a sexual submissive in a highly anticipated new TV series. Quinn is ready to throw herself into the role, and sex club The Den is the ideal place for a crash course.

  Also in the erotic romance genre, we’re pleased to welcome author Lise Horton to Carina Press with Words of Lust. A career spent teaching erotic literature does not prepare brainy Professor Serafina Luca for NYC construction foreman Nick Stellato, but his lessons in lust promise to fulfill her wickedest desires, and his promise of love, her wildest dreams.

  For historical romance fans, Alyssa Everett offers up A Tryst with Trouble. The arrogant heir to a dukedom and a blunt-spoken spinster take an instant dislike to each other, but must join forces to solve a murder mystery in this clever regency romp.

  Kaylea Cross returns with another edge-of-your-seat romantic suspense novel, Lethal Pursuit. An air force pararescue jumper and a female security forces officer are locked in an intense battle of wills, but when they’re captured by an enemy warlord, it takes everything they have to survive and fight their way back to friendly lines together. Check out the other books in this series, Deadly Descent and Tactical Strike.

  We’re excited to present Corroded, the next book in Karina Cooper’s St. Croix Chronicles. Now fixated on revenge, bounty hunter Cherry St. Croix must bend all her intellect on catching a murderer—no matter whose help she must ask, and to whose demand she must submit.

  Last, I’m thrilled to announce the release of three debut authors this month. Rebecca Crowley’s contemporary sports romance, The Striker’s Chance, gives us passion on and off the pitch when ambitious PR manager Holly Taylor has to revamp the playboy image of sexy, stubborn professional soccer player Kepler de Klerk. Michelle Witvliet breaks onto the romantic suspense scene with Breaking Protocol. She can’t let go of a tragic past; he faces an uncertain future; so they live in the moment and discover all they really need is each other. And in our new adult lineup, debut author Melissa Guinn offers a new adult romance novel about first love, second chances and learning to let go in Headfirst Falling.

  I hope you enjoy this month’s releases as much as we have, and find them satisfying, remarkable and memorable!

  We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

  www.carinapress.com

  www.twitter.com/carinapress

  www.facebook.com/carinapress

  Dedication

  For Josh, who believes in me even when I don’t.

  Thanks for telling me to go buy a desk—I love you.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to the entire team at Carina for everything they’ve done. Special props to my editor, Rhonda Helms, who whipped me into shape. You truly are gifted. Thanks for not strangling me. I know it wasn’t easy.

  Cerian Griffiths and Jill Bailin, I can’t thank you enough. Both of you helped make this story what it is.

  For Samantha and Addison, I cannot even. Thanks for being ridiculous—and sometimes stupid—with me. And hugs to all the friends on Twitter who kept me sane—you know who you are :3

  And to my beautiful, gorgeous, hot-bodied husband, who wrote his own acknowledgment and who I sometimes want to slap but usually want to kiss. Thanks for being putty in my hands.

  Last but not least, Benson. Thank you for being my Oliver, my Hank and my Beau. And my best friend.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

 
; Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Trudging across the barren land, I wish I could escape the desert heat, even for just a moment. I would be happy to have an inch of shade, but there isn’t any shade here—not in this area, anyway. There aren’t even clouds. There isn’t anything in this desert: no trees or buildings. Nothing worth looking at really...except the picture in my pocket. But that belongs to me, not the desert.

  My boots are too heavy for my feet after a fourteen-hour shift of patrolling. I just want to rest and escape the damn sand for a few hours. It gets in your hair, your eyes and even your lungs. It piles up quickly and on everything in sight. I know because I ate it with my breakfast this morning, and my lunch. It gets in the water supply and affects day-to-day operations.

  When conditions are right—or wrong, rather—it becomes a monster, spinning into a dust storm from hell. Sometimes it takes days for the sand to settle. Part of me believes that it never actually does. Like it’s part of the atmosphere here, attached to the oxygen and nitrogen, inhabiting the ambiance.

  The sand is the most annoying part of Iraq. It’s not like the dirt back home in Texas. It’s less dense and has the consistency of powder. You can’t escape it, because it has the uncanny ability of following...into your bunk, your bed, on the pillow where you rest your head at night. No doubt I’ll take pieces of this earth home with me. Home. When I get there, maybe I’ll feel clean again. But even then, I’ll still remember the way it tastes, the way it smells. Hell, it’ll probably be part of the blood in my veins, the marrow of my bones by then.

  I cuss as I struggle to pry open the door of our combat housing unit. Piece of shit. The rusted latch finally gives way, and I stumble through the narrow door frame.

  “Hey, bro.” Adam Day glances up from his bunk. “Have a good night?”

  I let my pack fall to the ground with a thud. “It wasn’t bad.” I pause and then add, “No one died.”

  Adam’s laugh is forced, and instantly I regret my comment. On Sunday we lost three soldiers. Morale is low, and the increasing number of deaths is making coping difficult. In fact, I feel numbness where I should feel pain. Apathy where I should feel fire. I’m losing my mind—if I haven’t already.

  I clear my throat and attempt to steer the conversation to a better, safer place. “What are you working on?”

  “My last letter home,” he answers, like he’s filling in the blanks of a simple crossword puzzle.

  I nod slowly; many soldiers write a just-in-case letter with things they’ve never said, emotions they’ve failed to convey, that kind of thing. Me? I’ve never written one, because the truth is, I wouldn’t know where to start.

  I cross the space of our housing unit in four big steps and flop down onto my bunk. “You don’t need to write one of those, Adam.”

  He shrugs. “You never know.” He folds the letter a few times and stuffs it into an envelope. Then he hands it to me. “This is for Charlie. I want you to keep it.”

  Hearing her name makes my heart skip a beat or two in my chest. “Don’t you want to write one to Claire?”

  He shakes his head. “No. It’s Charlie I’m worried about.”

  I leave that one alone and go back to my original point. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

  He sits up on his bunk, rests his elbows on his knees and leans forward. “I need to ask a favor.”

  I wave my hand through the air, noting that he’s ignoring my statement and jumping to something else. It’s not uncommon. “Ask away.”

  His eyes grow sober. “Seriously, Jackson.”

  I raise my eyebrows at him. “Okay, seriously. Let’s hear it.”

  “You’re my closest friend...I need you to promise me that if anything happens to me here, you’ll take care of things back home.”

  “Adam, nothing is going—”

  He cuts me off. “Promise me.”

  I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “Okay. I promise.”

  He leans back on his bunk and laces his hands behind his head, smirking. “Good.”

  I watch him curiously. What’s with all the sudden intensity? Our tour is close to being over, which means we’ll be home soon. He shouldn’t be worrying about this sort of thing. “Why are you asking me this now?”

  “Because. If anyone’s going to make it back home, it’s going to be you.”

  I shake my head and laugh. We’ve been friends since we were six. He’s the luckiest guy I know and he’s clever, really clever. In a place like this, the odds are stacked in his favor. I could argue with him, but it won’t do me any good, so I lie back on my own bunk and take Charlie’s picture out of my pocket.

  “You’re not looking at that picture again, are you?”

  I chuckle under my breath. “I am.”

  He shakes his head. “You’ve got it bad, and for my sister no less.”

  I grin but don’t reply, content just to look at the picture in silence. In the photograph, she’s smiling, and if I stare at it long enough she almost becomes real.

  Her long brown hair falls around her face in untamed curls. I can remember the way her shampoo smells, like roses just after they’ve bloomed. Looking at the picture makes something tug in my chest. She’s beautiful. High cheekbones, a slender nose and sweet dimples—and her lips, I could never forget that mouth. Her lips are a dream, but her eyes are my favorite part of her. They’re light green, like the inside of a kiwi fruit. Always vivid and full of expression. It’s funny how the eyes can tell someone’s secrets.

  God, I miss her...so much it hurts. Physically. The weight wrapped around my heart is a constant reminder of the mistakes I made with her. If I ever make it home, I’ll fix things. Only a fool would let her walk away. And I’m more than a fool, because I didn’t realize what I’d lost until I was halfway across the world.

  I close my eyes and let my mind wander into memories of time spent with her. Right now, I don’t mind the sand so much.

  If I ever make it home.

  Chapter One

  My roommate, Taylor, stands at my closet door and taps her foot impatiently, checking and rechecking her watch like it’ll somehow speed up time. “Charlie,” she says, her voice forced and calm. “We have to go. Like, now. Right now.”

  There’s a lot to be said about Taylor Hastings, the most important being that she puts up with me, which even I admit isn’t easy. She’s short and blonde, though up until the seventh grade she was one inch taller than me, and that’s something she’ll never let me forget. She’s got the most perfect set of teeth on the planet and a smile that makes it possible for her to, quite literally, get away with everything she does. She’s bossy, and some days I want to kill her. But most days we laugh more than we speak actual words, and that’s what I love most about her.

  “What’s the rush, Hastings?” I smile smugly at her, inching into my pumps at a snail’s pace. I’m in no rush. In fact, I would rather not go anywhere tonight. I would be perfectly content sitting at home, in my bed, in my pajamas, eating ice cream straight from the container.

  “You’re going,” she warns, practically reading my mind.

  “I would rather not.”

  “We both would ‘rather not,’ but that doesn’t mean we can just skip out.”

  I sigh, exasperated with the situation. Why can�
�t we just skip out? I could be sick. I could have the flu. That’s believable. My car could run out of gas on the way. Anything could happen, really.

  We could so skip out, but that sort of thing doesn’t fly with Taylor. She’s honest. And she always insists on doing the right thing: honoring your promises, maintaining good karma...blah, blah, blah.

  This is a little ridiculous, I decide. I mean, I’m twenty-one, not twelve. I should be able to do as I please. I cross the room to assess my outfit in the full-length mirror that hangs on the wall. I stare at myself for longer than I should. It’s the same girl who was there yesterday. Nothing’s changed. Long, brown and rather bland-looking hair, and wide green eyes that are too big for my face.

  I smile, because it’s my favorite feature. I’ve discovered that a good grin is generally advantageous. It hides the most glaring of imperfections and works to take the ordinary and turn it into something interesting and beautiful. A good smile is something worth having, and thanks to braces and taunt-worthy headgear as a child, I’ve got a decent one.

  My least favorite part of my face is by far my nose. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a pretty normal-looking nose—small and straight, free of imperfections for the most part—but I don’t like it. I haven’t since the day my father pinched it between his fingers and said, “You’ve got your mother’s nose, you know that, kid?”

  “Charlie Day!” Taylor barks, snapping me back to attention. “Are you even listening?”

  I blink a few times, my expression blank. “Not really.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I said, I’m going to drop a bomb if you don’t stop dragging your feet.”

  I pull my eyebrows together and cock my head to the side. “A bomb? That’s a little dramatic.”

  She narrows her eyes as her right foot continues its steady thumping against the hardwood floor. “Don’t start with me right now. You’re going. I’m going. We’re both going. End of story.”

  “Okay, okay,” I mutter. “Let’s get it over with then.”