The Space Between(Book One in The Book of Phoenix
Series)
By Kristie Cook
Release Date: April 5, 2013
Genre: New Adult Paranormal
Romance
When Life Falls to Pieces, Answers Lie in the Space
Between After a month-long dance
tour through Italy, 20-year-old Leni Drago returns to Georgia to care for her
great-uncle, only to find him gone, the home they shared empty and any evidence
he ever existed wiped out. All that’s left is a journal she can’t
open.
Jeric Winters has been searching for a piece of his past for
over a year, only to reach a dead-end in Georgia. When an urgent and magnetic
pull draws him out of his hotel room, he comes face-to-face with the beautiful
dancer who’s been haunting his dreams day and night.
Jeric’s one to
stay away from—a bad-boy, hit-it-and-quit-it type—but Leni can’t escape the
fervent feelings between them. As their own existences begin to crumble around
them and shadowy forms that are more monsters than men attack, they realize
there’s more to the connection between them than physical
fascination.
To solve the riddle their lives have become, they must embark
on a journey that requires them to face their pasts and release their true
souls. And they must do it fast—dark ones from another world are closing in, intent
on killing them. Permanently.
Excerpt:
LENI – The overhead
lights fell dark for the last time as I opened the dressing room door. The back
exit stood open at the end of the hall, allowing in enough light from the
streetlamp outside to show my way. I inhaled slowly, cherishing the musty smell
of an old theater mixed with the odor of dancers’ sweat and the fragrance of
white roses. I silently said my goodbyes as my feet carried me
outside.
“Thank you, Uncle
Theo,” I whispered as I left the theater for the last time. Only because of him
did I even have this opportunity. I couldn’t wait to tell him all about
it.
A large, muscular body
flew at me, swept me into his arms and twirled me around as though we were
still on stage. Laughter bubbled out of my
chest.
“You ready to
celebrate, cara mia?” Alberto asked as he set me
down.
“Celebrate that you’re
finally getting rid of me?” I teased.
He clapped his hand
over his heart, and his face fell into an exaggerated expression of pain. “Oh,
Leni, you do not know how I will miss you and your mane.”
He swatted playfully
at the bottom of my curls. He had no idea how I would miss the way he said my
name, drawing out both syllables, “laaaay-kneee,” like only an Italian could
do.
“But you won’t miss my
heels on your toes or my arm in your face?” I said in mock
disbelief.
He took my hand and
danced me down the cobbled street toward the plaza at the center of town. “You
are a stunning dancer, cara mia. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” He spun
me under his arm, my duffle bag banging me in the butt the whole time. “Of
course, you have become much better since becoming my partner. But everyone
does.”
He winked at me before
dropping me into a dip. My bag slid off my shoulder and a hand darted beneath
me to catch it. Alberto swung me up and around so that I came face-to-face with
the most unbelievably stunning vision I’d seen my whole time in Italy. Which was
saying a lot. His eyes—blue, I thought, though the light from the corner post
wasn’t enough to be sure—enraptured me. He held my bag out with a small smile
that hinted at dimples.
“Grazie,” I said breathlessly as I wrapped my
hand around the strap of my bag. He gave me a nod almost deep enough to be a
bow, his shaggy blond hair falling in his face. Then, without a word, he turned
and walked away. My mouth fell open. “How
rude.”
“Must be American,”
Alberto said. I punched him in the arm.
“Who goes out of their
way to catch a falling object and then can’t even say ‘you’re welcome’?” I
asked absent-mindedly as I stared after the retreating body that rivaled
Alberto’s. No, scratch that. It totally beat out Alberto’s even on his best
day.
“What an ass,” Alberto
muttered.
“Rude, yes, but I
don’t know if I’d go that far.”
“No, I mean what an
ass that man has.” He let out a low whistle.
I laughed and admired
the view as well. “I can agree with that.”
“He’s going to
Alonzo’s. Lucky us.”
~ ~ ~
JERIC – I flipped to
the picture I’d drawn a couple of weeks ago during my search in Italy. I’d
woken from a dream, one I’d been having for years, and as I had previously, I’d
felt the need to sketch the girl who had me waking with a painful boner. Now that
I’d met her in real life, I couldn’t deny the girl in my sketches was
Leni—curly hair, exotic green eyes, full lips and breasts, her skin … as if the
absolute best features of both African and European blood had been blended
together and given to her. The Leni I’d just met would probably never wear the
leather bra, miniskirt, and knee-high boots I’d drawn her in, but damn if she
wouldn’t look hot in them. The vision came to me clearly. Too clearly. I had to
place the book over my lap to hide the full-blown wood pressing against my
jeans.
I needed a
distraction. I needed to get her out of my head. I bought several little
airline bottles of rum and dumped them in my Coke, but they weren’t enough to
blur the image of Leni’s face in my mind. When the smoking hot flight attendant
ran her finger over my arm then dropped a napkin with a message on my tray
(“Meet me upstairs?”), I couldn’t resist. I snuck up the spiral staircase to
the empty upper level and found her in the bathroom wearing nothing but heels
and thigh-high stockings, tendrils of bottle-bleached hair barely hiding her
fake tits. Flight attendants like this had made me a lifetime member of the
mile-high club—they wanted nothing more than something to make the
transatlantic flight more interesting. My perfect kind of
girl.
Unfortunately, my eyes
only saw Leni’s body under my hands.
About The Author:
Kristie Cook is a lifelong writer in various genres, from
marketing communications to fantasy fiction. Besides writing, she enjoys
reading, cooking, traveling and riding on the back of a motorcycle. She has lived
in ten states, but currently calls Southwest Florida home with her husband,
three teenage sons, a beagle and a puggle.
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Susan Mac Nicol (Sue to most people) was born in Headingly, Leeds
in the United Kingdom. When she was eight years old, her family emigrated to
Johannesburg in South Africa, where she remained until her and her family¹s
return, with husband and two children, to the UK in December 2000.
