Tag: Your Mess is Mine

Release Day Blitz ~ Your Mess Is Mine ~ by ~ Stephanie Alba

Title: Your Mess Is Mine
Author: Stephanie Alba
Release Date: May 31, 2016
Add on Goodreads
I don’t trust people who follow their hearts. Hearts are peculiar things. They’re necessary muscles that keep us alive by pumping blood and oxygen into our veins. Hearts are also compulsory, often making us foolish. They pull us towards others with a force that aches, burns, and satiates you all at once. Before you know it that mass of tissue is no longer yours.
Maybe mine never was.
In my case, that draw came from a stranger that left my heart feeling both fulfilled and consumed.
I didn’t expect to fight her for the last standby seat to New York City. I didn’t plan on letting her get under my skin. Or the way her vulnerability tore me up inside and compelled me to care for her. She didn’t plan on letting me witness her chaos.
Her anxious heart and my perfectionist mind let things get messy.
And though we didn’t plan for it, our interrupting of each others’ lives was exactly what we needed.
Sometimes the mess is the most beautiful part of life.
We opted for dessert wine and some cheese instead of traditional sweets. The more wine she had the more unfiltered Margo became. She wasn’t exactly holding back in the first place, but her last semblance of restraint melted away.
After paying for dinner, we walked out into the cold fall night. I wanted to take Margo somewhere I knew would make her nervous. Mostly, I wanted to push her to that point of no control to see if I could at least hold her again in some way. Any touch was better than none.
Sure, it was fucked up of me to purposely make her nervous, but I was desperate. And where in the past I would have blatantly flirted and tiptoed over lines with women, I didn’t want to do that with her. I wanted her to come to me. There was something about letting things unfold naturally that pushed me to be on my best behavior.
It wasn’t easy though. She’d lick her lips, beckoning me to look at them. Her tongue danced over her crimson lips, inducing a jolt of arousal that shocked through my entire body and ended in my cock. Images of what her naked body and imaginings of how she sounded when she came flooded my mind. I couldn’t take it any longer. If I got her in bed, I wouldn’t need foreplay. I probably wouldn’t last very long either. Wouldn’t that be painfully unfortunate?
In her tipsiness, she allowed me to put my arm around her waist as we walked. We’d done so in silence till I continued down some subway stairs. She jolted to a stop at the top and shoved against my arms. “Fuck no!”
Despite trying to pull her forward, she slithered out of my grasp. “Come on, you gotta do it if you’re going to live here, Margo.”
I took two steps down, leaving us at eye level.
Her eyes turned glassy, and they couldn’t focus on me. She’d dart from my eyes to the half-lit buildings, or at the people ignoring her odd reaction. “I don’t have to do it today, Hudson. I may not move at all….”
“Do you trust me?”
She hesitated, again looking around at her options for running away before eventually giving in.
“Then come here, I’ll take care of you,” I said, the truth of my words surprising me.
Reaching out to her, I waited for her to join me. She tilted her head and assessed me, staring into my eyes before lowering her gaze to my lips then throat. Was she that afraid of the subway? Or was it the offer of my hand?
I think it was my words. On the plane the night before, Margo looked at me with such surprise. Sure, we’d bickered, but I’d helped her, and she probably hadn’t expected that. Maybe she’d never trusted anyone and didn’t know why she wanted to trust me. Just like I didn’t know why I wanted her so desperately, or struggled with that same unexpected confusion I couldn’t silence.
Clasping my hand, she followed me to the automated machine downstairs where I purchased two one-way tickets. We approached the platform, and every little noise startled her. It was kind of cute to see her conquering her fears, but what impressed me was her need to prove herself to both of us. We boarded the over-filled train and had no option but to stand towards the back of the cart. With so many people around, we were squashed close together. I could feel the warmth radiating off her flawless skin. I could smell the remains of her incense and roses perfume that tempted me to lean in and press my nose and lips against her soft throat. The wine had also left me a little unhinged, stealing touches here and there. And she let me. Not once did she address my hand gripping her lower back whenever the train turned.
As if the universe could hear my plea, the train pulled out of the next station with a quick jerk and Margo’s body propelled into mine. I caught her and wrapped my arms awkwardly around her waist. We were sealed together: her breasts on my lower chest, her torso leaning against my stomach and belt, the apex of her legs just barely cupping the center of my groin. I started hardening immediately, and I doubt it went unnoticed. All my hard edges were at home against her softness.
I couldn’t help myself.
I pressed my lips to the top of her head and leaned over her. Holding my breath, I waited for her reaction to my brash affection, but she gave me back something I hadn’t expected. She looked up at me and smiled. It was wide and brazen like her others, but it was also laced with a twinge of sadness. She whispered one thing. “You.”
To which I replied, “Me?”
Margo nodded and pulled the collar of my shirt down before pressing her lips against my neck. They opened and left wet traces of her along my skin. It felt like fire—painful, searing, and warm. I wanted all of her, and I hoped that was Margo’s way of telling me she wanted the same.
The train stopped and so did she. When she saw Times Square again, she inhaled deeply, the way someone does after swimming underwater for too long. With a squeeze of her shoulder, I led her straight into our hotel; the sooner I got her in private, the better. The elevator music was accompanied with my heartbeat and the machinery groaning around us. I could see all the ways I wanted to please her so clearly in my head, and every nerve ending in my body was burning with the need to touch her.
But I couldn’t. I wasn’t sure I could go through with it.
Have you ever had a moment so perfect that you don’t want to do anything to fuck it up? That night with the girl in the dress and Chucks was a string of perfect moments all dangling together in my mind. Despite assuming I’d never see Margo again, I still didn’t want to risk messing up the image I’d always have of her. It just didn’t seem right, at least not if I initiated it. I didn’t want her rejection to taint the pedestal she’d earned in my mind.
While I watched her walking ahead of me, I thought about making any move I could. I thought about kissing her again and seeing where it went. I considered just bluntly telling her I wanted to be inside her. Maybe she’d have liked that. But as she slid the key into her room door, I remained frustratingly mute. Margo turned and looked at me with heavy eyelids and flushed cheeks. In a raspy whisper, she said words I’d been dying to hear.
“Do you want to come in?”
“Really?” I stepped back. The desperation I had for her sincerity was drowning me in doubt.
Margo moved closer, pressing her soft center against my firm one. With her hand against my throat, feeling my pounding heartbeat beneath my stubble-laden skin, she looked up at me. Her gaze was penetrating and flooded with desire.
“Hudson, we’ve been eye-fucking each other all night, let’s be honest now. I’m dying to know what you’ll do to me if I let you.”
With that admission, I became someone else. An animal. A tempted addict. A man craving only her. Grabbing her arm, I pushed her in and shut the door by slamming her against the back of it. She looked up with the most evocative grin and hummed in approval. Looking down at her, I grabbed her neck and wrapped my fingers around it.
“You have no idea what I’ve imagined tonight thanks to this fucking dress and that delicious mouth.”
Before she could reply, I sealed my lips against hers. There was no turning back.
TBRreview
This is unlike your normal romance but that just makes it that much better!  Hudson and Margo meet under normal circumstances but events from that are anything but normal.
This book is more than “guy meets girl, guy falls in love” etc.  There’s twists, turns, surprises and just things you don’t expect.  I won’t give away more than that except to say I love Hudson!  And you should all read it and love Hudson too!
5 stars!
Stephanie Alba lives in Miami, Florida with her husband, her toddler and their two dogs, Milo and Van Gogh. She’s obsessed with Disney, British history, traveling, romances novels, movies, and Halloween. When she’s not glued to her laptop or writing in her notebook, she’s either: running, planning her next vacation, binge-watching Netflix, reading, or chasing her toddler. 

 

Cover Reveal ~ Your Mess Is Mine ~ by ~ Stephanie Alba

Title: Your Mess Is Mine
Author: Stephanie Alba
Release Date: May 31, 2016
Add on Goodreads
I don’t trust people who follow their hearts. Hearts are peculiar things. They’re necessary muscles that keep us alive by pumping blood and oxygen into our veins. Hearts are also compulsory, often making us foolish. They pull us towards others with a force that aches, burns, and satiates you all at once. Before you know it that mass of tissue is no longer yours.
Maybe mine never was.
In my case, that draw came from a stranger that left my heart feeling both fulfilled and consumed.
I didn’t expect to fight her for the last standby seat to New York City. I didn’t plan on letting her get under my skin. Or the way her vulnerability tore me up inside and compelled me to care for her. She didn’t plan on letting me witness her chaos.
Her anxious heart and my perfectionist mind let things get messy.
And though we didn’t plan for it, our interrupting of each others’ lives was exactly what we needed.
Sometimes the mess is the most beautiful part of life.
Chapter 1
Hudson
The airport felt like a claustrophobic beehive. People swarmed and whizzed past me, completely disregarding my personal space. As if travel didn’t already suck, as if the process of taking off shoes and going through X-ray machines where some dude sees the outline of your dick wasn’t miserable enough. The experience might’ve been better with a gorgeous woman to impress, but of course, I always got stuck with bearded, hefty men.
Truthfully, I didn’t hate traveling. Not by a long shot. Traveling can change your view of the world. For some people, it can make it seem a lot bigger, filled with cultures and places you can only imagine. For others, it cinches the circumference of the Earth like a belt tightens around your waist. I loved the idea of discovering the world. Unfortunately, my late twenties consisted of traveling for work at a constant rate, which left little time for me to plan vacations I’d hoped for as a college student. But I guess I was lucky to be where I was when I was. Though I never believed in being in the right place at the right time, I learned the truth behind that notion that October evening.
Gate C3 in San Francisco International Airport was booming. Sitting there, I had no idea that I’d be traveling nonstop for the next five months, or that my life was going to radically change. My planet was suddenly going to feel connected and small, yet devastatingly large. Most importantly, I had no clue that the change was going to come with a pair of gray combat boots.
My flight to New York City was overbooked, but the accounting firm I worked for liked saving money, which provided me the torture of waiting on standby. Luckily, I usually had the good fortune to get on the plane despite being on a waiting list. And things were definitely looking up. The sexy, red-headed attendant winked when she said I was first up if someone didn’t show.
Seeing as my flight didn’t leave for another hour, I decided some caffeine would help me work during the flight. I’d be meeting with Daniel Ellis the following morning, a client who had been our big catch for years now. This was my chance to prove myself as a CPA in hopes of making partner at the company. I’d clawed my way up from the bottom, from taking care of tedious residential taxes to kissing every client’s ass. Coffee was absolutely necessary to ensure I didn’t fuck things up.  
Walking to the food court, I considered how airports never really close and how difficult it must be to keep them clean. They sometimes feel like an awful combination of restrooms and jail cells. People come in and out, bringing their germs along with them, leaving that trail of bacteria for the next lot to pick up. It’s filthy if you really think about it. And then you get stuck there with a bunch of bitchy people trapped in a large holding room till you get shut into a metal tube towards your next destination.
Dunkin Donuts was my solution to being stuck there. Of course, the line was never-fucking-ending. If I didn’t desperately need the caffeine, I would have turned my ass back towards the gate. As I browsed through e-mails on my phone, I overheard different tenors and tones ordering their fix: nonfat cappuccino, coffee–black, iced mocha latte, etc. Each one brought me closer to the counter. Finally, with only one person ahead of me, I looked up.
Petite, toned legs stood before me in skintight black leggings that led to scuffed combat boots. Impulsively, my eyes trailed up the rest of her body, noticing her luscious ass contrasting her thin waist. She had squared yet feminine shoulders—a dancer’s body, and a perfect one at that. My blood heated as I started imagining what I’d do to a body like that. She wouldn’t know what hit her. But then she spoke, and that dark-haired beauty let out words in a deep, sensual voice. It sounded like pure seduction and sweetness tangled together. I suddenly needed to match a face to that sound. Desperate wasn’t something I did, but with her it began with just the sound of her words.
“Hi, an espresso, please,” she said, putting her weight on one foot while eyeing the donuts. “Oh,” she hummed, and the tight moan sent a jolt of blood to my groin, causing me to readjust myself. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’d reacted as such to plenty of women, but not because of their voice, and certainly not while they stared at sweets. But she was a curious little thing. “And an old fashioned donut too.”
Moving closer, I tried catching a glimpse of her features, but it was no use. The only way I’d see her was if I was willing to risk looking like a creep, and I was already getting stranger-danger glances from the guy next to me. He was probably trying to do the same. Judgmental asshole. I waited, the two minutes dragging as she paid. Finally, she moved for me to order and I was able to take in her profile.
Fuck me.
I unavoidably understood the word stunned, because this girl was stunning. My body became stiff, each of my functions inept. All I could do was look.
Her fair skin contradicted her dark, almost black mane. Her lips were plump, yet delicate, the bottom one slightly fuller than the top. The pervert in me instantly imagined what they’d feel like all over my skin, specifically where I was currently throbbing. She must have felt me watching, because she turned to look right at me and caught my blatant staring. That delectable mouth offered me an acknowledging smile. I didn’t pay it much attention. Correction: I couldn’t pay it much attention. All I could focus on were her hypnotic, amber-colored eyes. They burned through my skin the way whiskey burns your throat on the way down, but warms your chest. It hurt. It seared my gaze to hers. That stare left me dizzy.
My lips parted, and I nervously shifted my weight. My clumsy movement left me bumping into the man beside me. His scalding coffee poured down my back and into my ass crack. I’d like to say I played it cool, but there was nothing cool about the burning skin that forced me to emit a pathetic screech.
Yes, a screech. You know, the same sound girls make when they see spiders. Now, mix that in with the forward hip thrust I did to avoid more coffee on my ass, and well, I was just the quintessence of masculinity. Fucking Thor right there.
When you get embarrassed, your first reaction is not to check if you’re okay. No, it’s to see how many spectators witnessed you making a complete idiot of yourself. The guy behind me apologized profusely, while the people in line behind me all stared—some wincing, others trying to suppress laughter.
It was incredibly awkward. No big deal. It’s not like anyone of value saw it… Except her.
My eyes darted to find her staring, and that’s when I felt another kind of burning all over my face. Like some neurotic asshole, I turned and strutted to the bathroom. I could’ve pretended it never happened, but the way she’d looked at me before my mortifying moves had left me exposed. She’d studied me with what appeared to be equal interest in my body. I wanted that look again, wanted to take in the way she perused my height, my face, and softly hummed to herself in what seemed like an approving assessment. It had turned me on. But I couldn’t fucking go back, not after that debacle.
I wanted more, but I didn’t even know where to begin. Ironically enough, I wouldn’t have to go far.
Stephanie Alba lives in Miami, Florida with her husband, her toddler and their two dogs, Milo and Van Gogh. She’s obsessed with Disney, British history, traveling, romances novels, movies, and Halloween. When she’s not glued to her laptop or writing in her notebook, she’s either: running, planning her next vacation, binge-watching Netflix, reading, or chasing her toddler.