Destination Connelly (34 page)

T
he
Regent Vampire Lords
series
:

T
he Colloway Brothers
series
:

H
ave
you met the other Colloway brothers yet? If not, start at the beginning of a series reviewers are raving about!

“
T
his series is absolutely amazing
. Brilliant. Intense. Passionate. Suspenseful. K. L. Kreig really brought her all when she introduced us to the Colloway brothers." ~ Renee Entress's Blog

“
T
he Colloway brothers
are some of the most swoon-worthy, panty-soaking, endearingly flawed men in contemporary romance today. They are full of grit, intelligence, and sex appeal that will leave you breathless and begging for more.” ~ Rachel Caid, Author of the Finding Home series

T
his is bittersweet
. The end of a series, which I spent months conceptualizing and writing. Each story, while very different, carried the same overarching theme: forgiveness, second chances, and alpha men who knew what they wanted from the word go. What would life be without those? I can’t tell you how much these brothers mean to me and how much I’ve enjoyed sharing them with you. I hope they will forever be a part of your lives, just as they will be mine. Who knows…maybe somewhere down the road, we’ll meet them again. I have a couple spin-offs in mind. We’ll just have to see where they may go.

I
f you noticed
my musical inspiration, you may nave noticed a theme. I wrote this entire series to Red, a band I happened to stumble across on Octane one day—a Christian rock band, I would come to find out later! Their words spoke to me exactly as if these characters did. Their feelings became my characters’ emotions. Give them a listen, maybe. They’re awesome and their lyrics are meaningful.

T
he stats
I gave around lung cancer are all true, sadly. It’s such an underdiscussed disease and so very hard to detect until it’s almost too late. A nonsmoker, my mother-in-law, Alice, died of lung cancer at a horribly young age of sixty-seven. And she was also the inspiration for Barb Colloway. She was a selfless, amazing woman, the likes of which I doubt I’ll ever meet again. Her life left an impression on so many and I can only hope to be half the woman she was. I miss her every single day.

W
riting a book is a solitary process
. Producing it, however, takes a village and I have so many people to thank.

N
ikki
, your fantastically tight editing blows me away. Your education on comma placement is endearing but wasted! You’re worth every penny I pay you.
Heather
, your friendship, support, and encouragement on down days is always the kick in the pants I need.
Rachel
, my sounding board, you may like Miller Light, but I can look past that one little character flaw. Love you to pieces, my friend.
Angie, Desirae, Trena, Kay Su, Michele, Sophie
,
Tina
and countless other blogger friends who have reached out to me individually about these boys. Thanks for your unconditional support and pimping of me. It doesn’t seem like enough, but it’s all I have.

F
riends
, family, bloggers, authors, betas, pimpers, and most importantly MY READERS: if you had a hand in this, if you supported me in any way, shape, or form, you know who you are and you know I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I am nothing but sincerely, eternally grateful for your belief in me.

F
inally
, after forty some years, I have found my true passion in life. I may never be a best seller, I may never win writing awards, I may never be able to make a true living at doing what I love, but I don’t even care. Every message and each e-mail I get from someone who wanted to personally reach out to me and praise me for how my work touched them in some way is
truly
a surreal feeling and
that’s
why I do this. Because you all encourage me. For that, I thank you.

F
or the love of God
…help an author out! LEAVE A REVIEW on Goodreads, Amazon, or wherever. Even one or two sentences or simply rating the book is helpful for other readers. Reviews are critical to getting a book exposure in this vast sea of great reads.

T
his is the hardest part
…talking about myself.

I’m just a regular ol’ Midwest girl who likes
Game of Thrones
and is obsessed with
Modern Family
and
The Goldbergs
. I run, I eat, I run, I eat. It’s a vicious cycle. I love carbs, but there’s a love-hate relationship with my ass and thighs. Mostly hate. I like a good cocktail (oh hell…who am I kidding? I love
any
cocktail). I’m a huge creature of habit, but I’ll tell you I’m flexible. I read every single day and if I don’t get a chance…watch the hell out, I’m a raving bitch. My iPad and I: BFFs. I’m direct and I make no apologies for it. I swear too much. I love alternative music and in my next life, I want to be a badass female rocker. I hate, hate, hate spiders, telemarketers, liver, acne, winter, and loose hairs that fall down my shirt (don’t ask, it’s a thing).

I have a great job (no…truly it is) outside of writing. My kids and my husband are my entire world and I’d never have made it this far without them. My soul mate husband of over twenty-eight years provides unwavering support and my two grown children know the types of books I write and they don’t judge their mom anyway (and my daughter is a beta reader even…yes, that can be awkward…very).

I’m
sincerely
humbled by each and every like on my Facebook page or sign up for my newsletter or outreach from someone who has read and loved my books. I still can’t get over the great support. The romance book community is a wonderful and supportive one. I’ve made more friends since I started this journey than I’ve made in my life and I’m a pretty affable person. It’s surreal. I’m pretty sure it always will be.

In short, I am blessed…and I know it.

If you’re a stalker, the first step is to admit it. After that, you can find me in a lot of places, all of which I use with irregular frequency.

In this day and age, with so many great authors and so many new releases, it’s challenging to keep up with it all, so if you don’t want to miss when my next book is releasing, sign up for my newsletter
here
. Promise, no spamming and you’ll only get it when I have something important to say.

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Twitter

TSU

On Instagram and Pinterest as klkreig

E-mail:
[email protected]

L
ivia

I
see
him across the room. I’m utterly breathless.

My heart races.

My stomach flutters.

My soul disintegrates into a pile of scattered ashes once again.

I’m a complete fucking mess. No muscle will obey my command to move, even my eyelids. They refuse to take away his image for even a second.

Why is he here?

I shouldn’t be taking this risk. I shouldn’t be openly ogling him, but I can’t look away. Holy mother of perfection…he’s everything I remember and more. As breathtaking as the very first time I laid eyes on him. He’s every woman’s fantasy, probably men too. I see other women watching him and I want to scratch their eyes out. Some blatantly stare, as I do. Some sneak sly glances so their spouses or dates won’t notice.

Foolish.

Of course their dates notice a textbook male specimen such as him in the room. All other men are busy pissing in a circle around their women to ward him away.

As if sensing my weighty stare, his eyes lock with mine. Neither of us moves.

The woman dripping off his arm, hanging on his every word, seems oblivious to our connection. Every sound fades away as we stare into each other’s eyes from across the ballroom. Eyes I’m all too familiar with but haven’t seen in what seems like a lifetime. Eyes that haunt me.

God, I miss him with a raw ache that intensifies daily.

“Wow, look at that fine piece of ass. He’s fuckable,” whispers one of my best friends, Kamryn, following my stare.

The best of my life.

He starts across the room in my direction, his date all but forgotten as he leaves her in his dust. She’s calling after him, but he simply waves his hand in dismissal, not bothering to look back. His angry eyes never leave mine, his full lips drawn in a tight thin line.

Oh shit
. Time to go.

“Kam, I’m not really feeling well, sweetie. I’ll call you in the morning after my interview.” I’m frantic to escape. I turn to leave, heels clicking as I quickly walk toward the exit. Kamryn practically runs to keep up.

“Let me call my driver for you, hon.”

I call over my shoulder as I race toward my escape. “No, no. It’s fine. There are plenty of cabs out front. I’ll just hop in one and be home in no time. Really, it’s fine.”

Her grip is like an iron fist around my arm as she maneuvers me back to face her. Kam frowns, clearly not believing the blatant lie I threw her way. Whatever. Over her shoulder I estimate he’s just fifty feet from where we now stand and moving at a clipped pace. As if by divine intervention, he’s stopped by a buxom blonde whose nipples are ready to fall out of her slutty dress any second. One deep breath and pop, they’re free. He shakes her off, heading in my direction once again. Can’t blame her for trying.

Crap, Livia. Get. Out. Now.

“I think I may be sick, Kam. I’d really like to get home before I lose those little shrimp thingies I just ate.” Not so much of a lie this time. My stomach
is
doing somersaults.

I turn and flee. I hear Kam call after me, but keep going this time. Making it to the safety of a cab before
he
reaches me is paramount.

Damn Kam and her insistence that I wear her four-inch Louboutin heels. So what if the fire engine red is a perfect complement to my also borrowed black leather strapless sheath. The shoes are still half a size too small and pinch my feet, making a hasty escape nearly impossible.

I should ditch the damn things like Cinderella. I bet she didn’t even ‘lose’ her glass slipper. She was no doubt trying to escape this supposed Prince Charming because he was an arrogant asshole, and it fell off in her urgency to get away. In traditional antifeminism fashion, a man weaved an elegant story about how much better a girl’s life would be with a boy in it. He would swoop in and save her from her persecuted life and they would live happily ever after.

Bullshit. All of it.

There is no happily ever after. Not for me anyway. That childish fantasy was ruthlessly shattered over five years ago.

I make it out of the ballroom, down the stairs and have the front hotel door halfway open when a strong hand clamps down on my shoulder, effectively stopping my forward movement. An electric current runs through my body and I feel him everywhere. His hand may as well be between my legs for all my body cares.

Damn you, Louboutin and your impractical shoes.

“Hello, Livia,” a deep sensual voice drawls behind me. His voice and touch combined almost make my knees buckle. After all these years, he still has the same effect on all of my senses like the day we met. He sounds the same, albeit a bit more grown up. And a
lot
more sexy.

Jesus, I don’t think I can do this.

You can do this, Livia.

You
have
to do this.

Be cold.

Be unaffected.

Lie.

I take a deep breath, will the tears back, and steel myself before turning to face him.

“Hello, Gray. Fancy seeing you here.”
Holy…breathe, Livia, breathe
. I am almost taken aback by how utterly gorgeous he is. He had been stunning across the room and he was always beautiful, but up close he’s like a golden angel sent directly from heaven—or hell—to tempt me. His face is no longer boyish, but all man, complete with the sexiest scruffy whiskers I have ever seen. This is more than a five o’clock shadow, but not quite a full beard. I’m a sucker for scruff. Especially on Gray, but he’s never worn it like this. It’s downright sinful.

Double damn.

“What are you doing here, Livvy?”
Livvy
. I haven’t heard that name in over five years. It sounds so damn good I want to weep.

Dig deep, Livia…maintain the façade you’ve perfected so very well.

“I came for the same reason you probably did: the animals.” Bravo for me. I sounded very confident…and very
stupid
. My internal head is shaking at me sadly.

He says nothing, remaining stoically silent, his eyes searching mine for the truth.

Subject change, before he asks too many more questions, for which I’ll have to build lie on top of lie. I’ve told so many lies I need a cheat sheet to keep track of them all. “So, why are you in Chicago?”

His penetrating gaze makes me even more nervous than I already am, and I start to squirm. I never intended to run into anyone I knew here, let alone him. I would have never let Kam talk me into this stupid fundraiser otherwise.

Shit. Shit. Shit
. This is so not good.

“I took over my father’s company, and we moved the headquarters from Detroit to Chicago last year.”

He lives here? In Chicago? My mind is spinning. I’m trying to process the fact that my ex-fiancé lives in the same city as I do and that he took over his father’s company already. I didn’t remember Frank being that old. I shouldn’t be engaging him in conversation, but I can’t help but ask, “Did he retire?”

“No. He died.” I gasp and my heart sinks.

“God, I’m sorry Gray, I had no idea. Your dad was a wonderful man.” He was like a father to me, more so than my own, who essentially sold me to save his own life. I loved that family. They were like my own until they weren’t anymore.

“Of course not, Livvy. How could you possibly when you fucking disappeared over five years ago, without a trace, without a call, without a forwarding goddamn phone number?” His retort is ripe with barbs, and it stings the way it was meant to. I deserve some of his ire yes, but not all of it.

Gray has no clue the living nightmare I’ve endured. What I did for my family or for him. And it will stay that way. I have to get away from him before I do something stupid, like spill my guts. He is my past, and as much as it deeply pains me, he has to stay that way. Too much has happened in the last five years that I simply can’t overcome. I am damaged goods now, and Gray would never want me if he knew the truth. I need to get the hell out of here before I break down. I can’t keep the tears back much longer.

“I have to go. It was nice to see you again, Gray.” I need to get out of here before I throw myself at him and beg for his forgiveness. Because even though I don’t quite deserve it, a small part of me desperately craves it. Gray is my first love. The only man I will ever love. And that young, naïve woman now buried deep inside me will hold tightly to the memory of her first love with her last dying breath. It’s all that has gotten me through the worst days of my life.

And it’s all I have left.

I spin to leave when a strong hand pulls me back once again. Every time this man puts his hands on me, I bend to his will, and right now I feel like a torch has been set to my bones and they are far too pliable. My eyes flit between it and his ever-so-handsome face. He gets the gist and lets go.

Although his voice has softened, his annoyance clearly rings loud when uttering his next words. “How can I get ahold of you, angel? I’d like to have dinner. Catch up.”

My heart skips a beat. I haven’t heard that endearment in so long, I have to blink back the tears threatening to fall. I
want
to agree. I nearly do. But then, common sense slams back into my frontal lobe at a hundred miles per hour. If I spend time with Gray, he’ll pepper me with questions. Questions he has
every
right to have answered. But those are answers I won’t give. I can’t. He can never know.

Gone is the young, naïve, rosy-colored glasses woman he fell in love with. Gone is the carefree, idealistic woman he asked to be his wife. What stands in her place, instead, is a cynical, horribly used, and hopeless one. Shattered beyond all repair.

“I can’t,” I whisper. Then I do turn and flee. Luckily, there are several cabs waiting out front and I hop in the first one, yelling at him just to drive. As I turn around, I see Gray standing on the sidewalk, breathing hard, watching me drive away. Déjà vu cuts me like a sharp knife and I begin to sob silently. These are the first tears I’ve allowed myself to shed in four and a half years.

Once again, I am leaving the only man to ever make my stomach flutter and my heart race. The man who pursued me relentlessly for that first date by returning for six straight nights to the pizzeria I worked at until I said yes. The man I dreamed of having children with. Growing old with. The only man I have and ever will love.

All because of
him
. Always because of
him
. As with every day for the past five years, I curse the day Peter Wilder set foot into my life. And I curse my father for bringing him there.