Part 3 of Summer Flings – a fun, flirty and laugh out loud rom com series of short stories. Ciara would rather be anywhere else in the world than Paris. All the gooey eyed couples and handholding are making her miserable. But Elle doesn't have time for moping – not when she's got the three of them on the guest list of an exclusive club. So Ciara tries her best to enjoy the free champagne, the loft party looking over the Seine and a little harmless sexting – until they realize they've stumbled into a nightmare none of them were prepared for. The ideal summer treat for those relaxing days soaking up the sun! Views: 45
Here, for the first time, is the private and most intimate correspondence of one of America's most influential and incisive journalists--Hunter S. Thompson. In letters to a Who's Who of luminaries from Norman Mailer to Charles Kuralt, Tom Wolfe to Lyndon Johnson, William Styron to Joan Baez--not to mention his mother, the NRA, and a chain of newspaper editors--Thompson vividly catches the tenor of the times in 1960s America and channels it all through his own razor-sharp perspective. Passionate in their admiration, merciless in their scorn, and never anything less than fascinating, the dispatches of The Proud Highway offer an unprecedented and penetrating gaze into the evolution of the most outrageous raconteur/provocateur ever to assault a typewriter. Views: 42
Nicholas Pileggi’s vivid, unvarnished, journalistic chronicle of the life of Henry Hill-the working-class Brooklyn kid who knew from age twelve that “to be a wiseguy was to own the world,” who grew up to live the highs and lows of the gangster’s life-has been hailed as “the best book ever written on organized crime” (Cosmopolitan). This is the true-crime bestseller that was the basis for Martin Scorsese’s film masterpiece GoodFellas, which brought to life the violence, the excess, the families, the wives and girlfriends, the drugs, the payoffs, the paybacks, the jail time, and the Feds… with Henry Hill’s crackling narration drawn straight out of Wiseguy and overseeing all the unforgettable action. Read it and experience the secret life inside the mob-from one who’s lived it. Now with an introduction by Martin Scorcese. Views: 41
Part 2 of Summer Flings – a fun, flirty and laugh out loud rom com series of short stories. The girls are off to a beach house to catch some rays – and if they play their cards right – super hot guys! With drinking games in the name of Gucci, a surprise visit from a very pissed off Zack and hunks galore, Miami is turning into their best stop yet. Not to mention Ciara finally comes up with a way to have her cake and eat it too! The ideal summer treat for those relaxing days soaking up the sun! Views: 39
The epic love story of Clea and Sage comes to its thrilling conclusion in the final book in the Elixir series by multitalented star Hilary Duff.Following the harrowing events of Elixir and Devoted—and the ceremony that almost killed Sage—Clea faces a new reality: With Sage’s soul in Nico’s body, the love of her life looks an awful lot like her best friend’s boyfriend. Can Clea and Sage really be happy under these circumstances?Clea wants to try to enjoy their new life together, but Sage is acting different—angry—and she struggles to keep her friends from finding out what has happened to him. Something is clearly haunting Sage, and Clea is losing control. Can she trust her friends with the dangerous truth, or will she have to risk losing Sage to madness?About the AuthorHilary Duff is a multifaceted actress and recording artist whose career began on the popular Disney sitcom Lizzie McGuire. She has since appeared in many films and TV series, including a guest appearance on Gossip Girl. She has sold more than 13 million albums worldwide and has a clothing line, Femme for DKNY, and a bestselling fragrance, With Love…Hilary Duff, for Elizabeth Arden. Hilary’s humanitarian work is recognized throughout the world, and she is actively involved with many different charities benefitting children and animals. She has served on The President’s Council on Service and Civic Participation and was named ambassador to the youth of Bogatá. She is the New York Times bestselling author of the novels Elixir, Devoted, and True. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.oneCLEAI’ve never been so terrified in my life.I run so hard and fast, my breath scours my throat. I don’t even know how long I’ve been running. Agony spikes my legs with every step, but I can’t stop. I don’t dare.It’s dark, but I don’t want to see. I don’t want to hear, either, but I can’t help it.Screams. High-pitched screams. A little girl, tortured—her soul ripped apart. It’s awful, and it goes on and on and on . . . my God, when will it stop? It has to stop!Another scream. A man. I know the voice, but I don’t want to know it. I don’t want to hear it. I can’t. I keep running.A face leaps out of the darkness, blocking my path. Its size is impossible—as tall as I am, white-pale skin stretching over bloodshot white-orb eyes and a mouth open so wide it could swallow me. I scream, but no sound comes out. I back up, but I can’t turn away. The blank eyes lock on mine, and bloody tears start streaming down its cheeks.I step back into nothingness. The last thing I see is the head exploding into scarlet mist.I fall backward, flail my arms and legs, catch on nothing. The dirt walls of this pit are out of reach, but I can see them, see the twisted faces undulating just under their surface. I see their clawed fingers reaching out to me. Their susurrant voices call to me in a language I can’t understand, but the meaning is clear.These are my dead, and they’re hungry for my company.The voices keen louder as I plummet. I try to plug my ears, close my eyes, but I can’t block them out. They fill my senses until a blinding-sharp pain pierces my spine. I raise my head and see it: a massive metal spike impaled through the middle of my body. I hang on it, twisting helplessly as the dead souls above claw through their dirt coffins and crawl down to claim me as their own. . . .“NO!” I scream.“Clea,” a voice says. “Clea, it’s okay. . . . It’s not real. . . . You’re safe now. You’re okay.”I hear him, but I feel too foggy to understand. The pain in my back is fading, but my face hurts like something’s slicing into it. A rush of cold washes over me, and I don’t want to open my eyes. I’m more afraid now than I was surrounded by the dead, but the reason why floats out of my grasp. All my attention narrows to the strap of pain eating across my forehead, my eye, my nose. . . .A seat belt. It’s a seat belt. I’m in a car. Of course I’m in a car—I can feel it now, the familiar hum and vibration and movement. I must have fallen asleep slumped against the seat belt.I sit up and wince away from the sting. The pain in my face ebbs, but other aches and flames explode all over my body. I open my eyes . . .. . . and see Nico, Rayna’s boyfriend, staring down at me. It’s dark outside, but I can see him in the streaking headlights from cars going in the opposite direction. He’s so tall and broad, he looks stuffed into the backseat, like it’s a clown car. He’s not belted in; he’s braced over me, one hand on the back of the passenger seat and one hand on the seat behind my head, his body tenting mine. Twigs and leaves mat his blond hair and dirt smears his face, but his deep brown eyes grip me. They’re so filled with worry and—Brown eyes.Nico has blue eyes.I gasp as I remember everything. I see it all—the maelstrom in the woods, bullets and branches everywhere. . . . Nico—the real one—with the dagger in his hand, his moment of hesitation as he held it above Sage’s chest . . . I see Ben tackling him, the horror in Ben’s face when he saw the dagger embedded in Nico’s stomach. Then Sloane, leaping up and grabbing the dagger, plunging it into Sage and killing him, killing him, for real and forever.I stare down at my hands and see the shadowy mess of dried blood from cradling Sage’s body. A bubble of agony rises in the pit of my stomach as I remember his face, vacant and empty, his body lifeless in my arms. . . .“Clea,” Nico says. “Look at me. It’s okay.”I do look at him, but only at his eyes. His brown eyes.“Sage?” I ask.He smiles, and I see double. It’s Nico’s face, it is, but that’s Sage’s slow, sideways smile, and Sage’s eyes, Sage’s soul.The relief is so overwhelming I can’t breathe. I try to throw my arms around him, but the seat belt catches and jars me backward.“Here,” he says. He reaches across me to gently play out slack in the belt, leaning forward so, for just a moment, his neck and cheek are by my lips. My heart pounds, and I breathe deep to take in his scent.But it’s not there. I smell something musky, with a chemical sweetness. And when he pulls the seat belt loose enough that I could easily lean into his arms . . . I don’t.“Thanks,” I say instead. I don’t touch his hand as I gently take the belt back from him and ease it into place over my chest. “I’m good.”He smiles, but his eyes betray him. He looks wounded, which hurts like a punch, until another image bursts into my head: Sage wrapped in the arms of another woman, kissing her and tearing at her clothes.He severed our soul connection to be with another woman . . . so why is he looking at me like he loves me?“Clea?”It’s Ben’s voice, and it’s as tight as his hands gripping the steering wheel.“Are you okay?” In the rearview mirror, I see his eyes dart to Sage. “Is she okay?”“I’m fine,” I say. It’s not exactly the truth, but there aren’t words to explain how I actually feel. “What happened? The last thing I remember . . .”The last thing I remember is Nico’s ravaged body healing right in front of me. But how did I get from there to here?“You passed out,” Ben says. “We carried you back to the car. Nico—Sage carried you back to the car.”“I passed out?”Sage laughs—a low chuckle that reverberates deliciously in my stomach. “Was I right?”I’m clearly on the outside of the joke, and I don’t like it. “Were you right about what?”“Ben was worried about you. I told him you’d be fine . . . just furious at yourself.”I don’t know if I’m angry at him because I’m offended, or because I’m annoyed that he’s right.“I’m not the passing-out type.”“You’re human, Clea,” Sage says. “It’s okay.” He puts his hand on my cheek, and my skin vibrates at his touch. I don’t even realize I’m leaning into its pressure until he moves it to slowly brush back my hair. He does it gently, barely grazing my bruises.His eyes. I thought I’d never see them again, and now they’re looking at me with so much love I want to cry.“ ‘Human’ is simplifying it,” Ben cuts in. He looks pointedly at Sage between glances out the windshield. “It’s not like she’s Blanche DuBois with ‘the vapors.’ You had a vasovagal response,” he continues, turning his eyes to mine. “It’s one way the body can react to stress. Your heart rate and blood pressure drop, which reduces blood flow to the brain. I have the same thing when I get shots.”“Really?” Sage asks.Even in the darkness I can see Ben’s face go bright red, but his voice stays strident. “I’m just saying, it’s not a sign of weakness or anything. It’s normal.”“Well, that’s good,” I say. “I’d hate to think anything about our situation wasn’t normal.”Sage laughs out loud. “She’s fine.”He stretches back as far as he can in the cramped space and closes his eyes.I stare as each streetlight thrusts him into a momentary glow. A couple of minutes ago I couldn’t bear to move into his arms; now I’m aching to shift next to him and lay my head against his chest.But what would happen if I did? Whatever I saw in his eyes just now, it doesn’t change what he did. He broke the tie between us. Forever. Didn’t he?Another car streaks past, and in its light I see him wince. He looks pale, too, but I can’t really tell—even tanned, Nico’s skin is so light it’s hard to say. Then he takes a long, measured breath through his nose and presses his lips together. The muscle in his jaw flexes as he concentrates.“Sage?” I ask. “Are you okay?”He nods his head, but barely.“He’s having some issues,” Ben says. “He’s been like that most of the ride. He perked up when you started talking, but mostly it’s been that. You know, when he wasn’t yelling at me to pull over so he could puke his guts out.”“What do you mean? What’s wrong with him?”Through the rearview mirror, Ben gives me the driest look imaginable. “I honestly don’t even know how to begin to answer that question.”“Okay, fine. But I mean . . . is this normal?”“Normal for a guy whose soul got torn out of one body and thrust into another one that I’d just killed two seconds before? Gee, I don’t know. It’s not something I deal with every day.”There’s an edge of hysteria in his voice, and I realize he’s struggling to keep it together.“You didn’t kill Nico. You didn’t want that to happen. You were just... Views: 35
