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Falling
Fast
Falling
Fast # 1  
By: Tina Wainscott
Releasing June 16, 2015
Loveswept
Blurb
Fans
of Jasinda Wilder and Colleen Hoover will adore this emotional new small-town
romance—a smoldering tale of first love and long-awaited redemption from USA Today
bestselling author Tina Wainscott.
Raleigh
West works in an auto shop day and night, trying to put his broken past out of
mind. It’s been seven years since the fiery crash that landed his teenage
sweetheart in the hospital . . . and him in jail. In an instant, he lost
everything: his passion for racing, his hope of escaping his father’s shameful
legacy, and the only girl he ever loved. Raleigh hasn’t seen her since that
awful night. Never got a chance to apologize. And never forgave himself, either.
When
brave, beautiful Mia Wentworth returns to the Florida coast for the first time
in what seems like forever, it’s not to see Raleigh. Even so, the moment she
arrives she can feel his presence like a gust of wind that gives her goose
bumps. Opening her heart to him again seems impossible. But staying away? That
might be harder still. Lucky for them both, Mia’s never been the kind of woman
to take the easy way out.

Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23510311-falling-fast?ac=1

Goodreads Series Link:  https://www.goodreads.com/series/147390-falling-fast

Buy Links: 
Amazon | B & N | iTunes | Kobo 
Author Info
USA Today bestselling
author Tina Wainscott has always loved the combination of romance and suspense,
because nothing complements falling in love better than being hunted down. The
author of more than thirty novels and novellas, Wainscott creates characters
with baggage, past hurts, and vulnerabilities. They go through hell, find love,
and, at the end, find peace in who they are and everything they’ve gone
through. And isn’t that what everyone wants?
Author Links:  Website | Facebook | Twitter Goodreads

Excerpt 

Today
was the memorial service. She leaned closer to the mirror under the bright
lights and applied a second coat of the thick makeup that covered the mottled
skin along her right temple and down her jawline. There would be lots of people
there, but she knew very few. Her heartbeat tripped at the thought of one of
them.
Raleigh.
She
splayed her hand over her collarbone to calm her skittering pulse, the heel of
her palm brushing against the scarred skin there. It nearly covered the
divot-shaped scar left from the port during her cancer treatments. What would
he think if he saw her like this, naked in the glaring light? Scarred skin
covering her shoulder and arm all the way down to her hand. Down the side of
her waist and hip. Her breasts rose and fell with her breaths at the thought of
standing naked with him.
Or
was that at the memory of the times she had been naked with him? Lying in his
arms, their bodies plastered together. Moving in a rhythm as old as time, even
if it had been brand-new for her. She had held on to those memories—the scents
and sensations and soft laughter and the times they’d looked into each other’s
eyes and the world had just stopped—during the pain and the surgeries and the
rehab after the crash. They’d been her escape. Her lifeline.
She
traced her finger along the scar across her stomach, now a soft, shiny arc.
Raleigh had asked about it once, tracing it as she was doing now. She’d told
him it was from a bicycle accident. She hadn’t been able to tell him about the
malignant tumor, the first of many. Couldn’t face how his expression might
change to pity.
But you lied to him.
She
squeezed her eyes shut. Sheesh, she still hated herself for that. It
was only supposed to be a summer romance. A flirtation. It wasn’t supposed to
be . . . love.
“We
have to leave!” her mom called.

“Coming!”
Mia quickly dressed in linen
pants and a beige top with sleeves cut long enough to cover the
scars on her
upper arms. She looked at the exposed scar tissue from her elbow down. Showing
some scar tissue is nothing compared with what you’ve been through. You’ve
faced long-assed needles, surgeries, death!
Not
that her parents had ever discussed the mortality rate of alveolar
rhabdomyosarcoma with her at the age of eight or ten or twelve . . . when she
was first diagnosed and every time it had returned. But she knew by their
reactions, by overheard conversations, that it was serious. Later, she’d found
out that the survival rate was sixty to eighty percent, though she had been
closer to sixty, given her circumstances.
With
a deep breath, Mia headed to the door of the room where she’d always stayed
during their visits. A room she hadn’t seen in seven years. A few phone calls,
cards, a shared Christmas in Colorado—the extent of her connection with her
grandmother since the crash.
She
stepped into the living area, where her parents stopped and looked at her.

“You’re
wearing light colors,” her mother said in her disappointed tone of voice.

“I
told you, Nancy wouldn’t want people wearing black to her memorial. She said
she always wore
white or red to a memorial to celebrate life, not mourn it.”

“That’s
just what people say when they talk about death. Besides, wearing black is the
proper thing
to do.” Her mother crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for Mia to dash
into her room and change.
Her
father glanced at his Rolex. “We don’t have time.”
Though
Mia had her own car, she rode with her parents to the cemetery. Had her
grandmother planned to pass during early summer, when the days were kissed by
sunshine and light breezes? That would be just like her, to think of others.
She had left instructions that her memorial—not a “funeral”—was to be held at
the cemetery, not in a church. She hadn’t stepped foot inside a church in
twenty years, as far as Mia knew.
“I
don’t understand why she liked this place so much,” her mother said, looking
around in disdain as they drove through the downtown area, with the old brick
buildings claiming to be historic. “Then to insist on being buried here . . .”
Her
father kept his eye on the road, his mouth a tight line the way it always was
when she went on and on about his mother. “Mom wasn’t a city girl. She told me
the moment she arrived in town for vacation she made up her mind that she
wasn’t leaving.”
“Making
us come down here to see her every year,” her mother groused.

Her
father’s fingers gripped the wheel. “We haven’t been down in seven years.”

Because
of Mia. At first, because she wasn’t in any condition to travel. Then it was
that Grandma
was “consorting”—Mia’s mother’s word—with the boy who had corrupted and
disfigured their daughter.
At
the time, Mia had been at a low point, having suffered through yet another
surgery, with the prospect of continuing disfigurement. Grandma had called to
say hello, then announced that she was putting Raleigh on the phone. Before
he’d said more than a few words, Mia had blurted out that she couldn’t talk and
hung up. A torrent of grief and regret poured from her, leaving her a sodden
mess.
Through
so much of her hospital stay and the pain, thinking about Raleigh had
strengthened her. Hearing his voice, though, had knocked her completely off
balance. The heartbreak had been so unexpected, so huge, that she hadn’t known how
to process it. She had coping skills for facing surgery, facing her death and
the deaths of the kids she got to know in the peds oncology ward. Counselors
helped her with all of that. She had nothing when it came to losing love.
Later,
she’d written a letter to Raleigh, sending it to her grandmother to give to
him. She’d never heard back. Not that she blamed him. It was time to move on
for both of them, she’d told herself.
Another lie.
Would
he be at the memorial? Mia’s fingers involuntarily curled into her linen pants
as she imagined seeing him. Her breath stopped. She needed to be prepared, just
in case, so she let her mind conjure up a scenario. Seeing him in the crowd, wide
shoulders filling out his shirt, face chiseled by the intervening years. Him
striding close, gathering her hands in his, saying how much he missed her in that
honey-rich voice. Her sinking against him, bracing his face in her hands,
kissing him—
Whoa! Bad idea. Feelings from a long, long time ago. So no,
amend that scenario.
He’s there, in oil-stained jeans, T-shirt tight
over a beer belly, and a pregnant girlfriend. No, wife. Make him a little more
respectable. But not totally. He ducks back to the car during the ceremony to
sneak another drink of beer, leaving the wife standing awkwardly by herself.
Yeah, better. Much safer.

 
  

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