High
Authors: LP Lovell
Copyright © 2016 by LP Lovell
All rights reserved
This book is an original work of fiction. All of the names, characters, sponsors, and events are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual events, incidences, persons, deceased or living, is strictly coincidental.
Any opinions expressed in this book or solely those of the authors.
High
Copyright ©2016 by LP Lovell
Published in the United States of America
Ebooks are non-transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement including infringement without monetary gain is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of LP Lovell
Editing: Indie Editor Jones
Proofreading: Kerry Fletcher
Cover Design: SM Piper
Photographs and model: Uncovered Models, Clarissa Perry Photography: Jonathan Kemp
Excerpt - A Love So Tragic by Stevie J Cole
Addiction and love. Two sides of the same coin.
Cocaine triggers a chemical reaction in the brain, a release of endorphins that create a sense of euphoria, happiness, invincibility. Love replicates this reaction, so in effect, falling in love is like being high.
Love is its own drug.
So, when you fall in love, is it love, or is it simply the instinctual addiction of human nature? And if so, then surely we are all addicts because love is undoubtedly that which we covet most. Love is the most destructive drug of all.
Holy shit, my head! I open my eyes and groan as the light scorches my retinas.
“Fuck.” I grumble, pulling the duvet over my head. I hear a very deep, very masculine laugh next to me and I freeze.
Don’t breathe, don’t move.
I try and work my way through my non-existent memory, trying to remember something, anything…the lay out of the room I’m in even. Can I make a break for it before he catches me? Well, I don’t even know where the fuck I am, let alone which direction to run. Plus, I don’t do running before 2 PM, and judging by the pounding in my head, it’s not, which means I’ll have to do the awkward morning avoidance.
And of course, he’s bound to look like a badger’s arsehole. Damn, why my drunk brain cannot fathom the basic laws of attraction I will never know. Right, here goes. One. Two. Three.
I throw the duvet back and spring up out of the bed, ready to make a break for it, at least to the nearest bathroom. I wince against the bright light and stagger sideways, cracking my hip on some stupid piece of furniture.
“Fucking shit!” I brace my hand on the wall, breathing through the pain.
“And here was me thinking you were a lady, Duchess.”
Oh, so we’re onto pet names already? No, hell no! That voice though…it’s so deep and husky and ovary twinging. I still don’t look at him. This is a technique I’ve developed. When you find yourself in such a position, get up, find clothes, go to the bathroom, all without looking at him. That way I won’t have to vomit in my mouth later when I think about the fact that I let him in my vagina, and possibly sucked his dick. God knows my entire mouth tastes like ball bag right now. Then when I’m ready, I just have to make a break for it, bee line to the door and run. Denial is your friend.
My head is pounding so loudly I don’t even hear him approach, and I jump when his hand brushes my hip. My
bare
hip.
“You should be more careful.”
I don’t know why, but his voice draws me in, and I open my eyes to see a chest, a very bare, very muscular chest. Well, kudos to me, the guy has a body. What’s the betting he’s got a face like the back end of a bus?
I drag my gaze up—all the way up until I meet his face. Okay, seriously high fiving drunk Blake right now. He has that whole, sex and sin thing going on. He’s standing here in just his boxers, all those muscles just…muscling. Everything about him screams bad, dirty, amazing things. He drags a hand through his dark hair, bordering on messy, and damn I’d love to run my fingers through it, preferably while I sit on his face. And his
face
... He’s all man, yet savagely beautiful at the same time. Sharp cheek bones contrast full lips and a square jaw covered in a five o’ clock shadow. It’s the eyes that are the show stopper, though, a hazel so rich, they look gold. They remind me of honey and caramel and good, yummy, lickable things.
And slowly my brain kicks back in. He’s hot. Really hot, and I probably look like I got run over. My breath tastes like balls so it must smell like I ate dog shit.
Brilliant.
“Fucking great.” I grumble, shoving past him to the bathroom.
I slam the door and turn on the taps in the sink, drowning out his low chuckle on the other side of the door. I glance in the mirror above the vanity and if possible it’s even worse than I thought. My hair looks like something is living in it, and my make up now looks like I went for the crack whore effect. Oh, and I’m naked, except for a pathetic excuse of a thong that holds more resemblance to dental floss than actual underwear.
Wonderful.
I steal his toothbrush, because, I’m pretty sure I shared a damn site more than spit with him last night. Why stop now? I splash water on my face and wipe the panda eye makeup from under my eyes before dragging my mane of blonde hair into a messy bun.
I hear my phone ringing in the other room, and open the door to go get it, but the hot stranger already has it. “Yeah, I’ll tell her.”
“Tell me what?” I snap.
He holds the phone away from his ear, an amused smirk on his face. “Milan said you’re late.”
“Shit.” I crawl across the bed and snatch the phone from his hand, sprawling across his lap as I do so. “Late for what?”
“The photo shoot you said you would do.” Milly screeches.
“Ow! Quietly.” The photo shoot for one of her weird artsy boyfriends. Apparently he got bored of taking pictures of her, now I have to fucking do it. “Why did I agree to this? And this early?”