★.•**•.★ NEW RELEASE CHAPTER BLOG TOUR ★.•**•.★
YES ! We get to have Gina Wynn’s Newest release What You Wish For.
Readers, every day you get a snippet of chapter 1. THIS IS DAY 2
Don’t forget to follow so you don’t miss a bit.
Then Get Preorder Copy TODAY and Enjoy xx
Title: What you wish for
Author: Gina Wynn
Genre: Romantic, Woman Fiction
Release Date: May 12 Tour Date: May 9 - 12
Hosted By Teaser Addicts PR
When Maggie Forrester wakes up naked in bed with her boss, iceman Will Brian, she's sure it must be a dream. Or a feverish hallucination at the very least. But magic takes over when she begins to experience an impossible other life—complete with an alternate husband—and she's forced to confront the reality of the man she loves versus the man she's fallen in love with. After secrets she believed long buried surface, both of Maggie's realities are threatened. As the truth of her past comes to light, she must decide which man she truly loves and which life she wants to live—if the choice is even hers to make. Sometimes, true love is even worth wishing for.
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Purchase links will Be Live MAY 12, 2017
“Soooo.” I drew the word out as I fished for the perfect way to phrase my question. It didn’t come, so I piled lobotomy-inspiring humiliation on top of already unbearable shame. “Did we have a good time last night? What did we do? Did we, um, drink a lot? Drink at all? Did we have a drink together?”
Jake. Oh, dear God...Jake. I folded further into myself as each uncomfortable question spilled from my lips, adding ever more excruciating levels of horror to the start of my day. In error, I risked another quick look at him, seeing far more of his body than I ever anticipated glimpsing. I folded my arms in a quick self-conscious shield, trying to hide everything he’d already caught a pretty good view of. Better late than never.
My mouth took on unexpected autonomy, unsure if it should express misery or amusement without adequate guidance from my brain, and I fought to twist my lips out of a small, inappropriate smile before I refocused my wandering gaze on the bridge of his nose. Or his cheekbone. Or the tiny freckle high above his eye. Anywhere but somewhere else. He sighed, the heavy sound at odds with his earlier amusement.
“Drinking? What we did? Oh, the same thing we do every night...Pinky.” Every night? Startled by his words, I met his eyes again. The flint-like coldness drew a painful shiver through me. No laughter there.
“Try to take over the world.” My whispered reply escaped on autopilot. What in God’s name was I doing or thinking? Well, clearly not thinking. Try to take over the world. I struggled against a dry heave as the white noise anxiety in my head threatened to drown out everything else, smothering any chance of rational thought. I needed to ignore everything I’d said to this point and hope we could both move forward in our professional me-receiving-just-enough-money-to-scrape-by relationship. As for what I’d done, or why I’d arrived in his bed in the first place, I had no thoughts on that. I pushed images of home aside. I’d deal with everything else later. Mr. Brian continued watching me, his eyes growing wider.
“Pinky.” he murmured, his tone thoughtful. “Pinky?” The heavy question in his voice re-awoke my lazy instinct of self-preservation, and I readied for flight when his eyes focused on mine again as if he expected a response to something he hadn’t asked. His answer about the previous night hadn’t helped me. Instead, he’d reverted to being lost in a world of his own and repeating a weird nickname. Still, his moment of distraction worked better than a written invitation to be on my way. The only way. Home.
I took my deepest breath of the morning. “Listen, I should get dressed. I probably need to head out.” Casting my gaze over the floor, I scraped the discarded female clothes into my arms. They weren’t familiar from the previous day, and the form-fitting material that screamed an expensive price tag contradicted everything about my usual style— where style was just a synonym for the discount lines I could afford.
Still, forgetting the exact outfit I’d dragged from the depths of my wardrobe, and why, paled when I considered the entirety of my position and everything else I failed to recall. Holding the unidentified garments in strategic placement to hide as much of myself as possible, I backed towards a door that stood ajar. A moment alone would give me time to collect my thoughts. Collect them, glue the fragments together again, and force my rational self to take control.
“I’ll just use the bathroom.” I flashed my brightest fake smile at the furthest wall, careful to avoid any accidental glance at Mr. Brian, and slipped through the doorway into solitude. A small sigh of relief escaped me as I took my first step across the threshold. As soon as I sorted things with Mr. Brian, I’d be able to go home. I pressed the door closed without a sound, plunging myself into darkness as I reached for a light switch. My patting on the wall grew more frantic when I couldn’t find one, until Mr. Brian’s puzzled voice came from the other room. “I’ve got it.” I brought my hands to my eyes, squinting between my fingers in the sudden bright light.
Stepping further into the room, I took in the layout and...bloody hell. I’d walked into a wardrobe. More precisely, a wardrobe the size of a small country. Disoriented by the unfamiliar sights and expensive perfume smells, I stumbled. Male and female clothes hung in an ordered fashion in front of me, like I’d stepped through a portal to a high-end shop where a sale per month paid the rent for the next three. Beautiful, luxurious clothes. And more shoes than I knew existed.
I lent forwards, half expecting—hoping—for a pair of ruby slippers to be among them, and bit the inside of my cheek. Nice thought, but simply willing myself home and clicking my heels wouldn’t solve my current situation. The bare skin of my back squeaked uncomfortably down the length of the smoothly painted door as I sank into the sitting position of a rag doll. Drawing my knees up, I allowed my head to fall against them, and a raw wave of despair washed through me. Hiding in a wardrobe with my boss outside the door along with a bed I’d shared with him—naked—left me as prime candidate for demotion to chief coffee maker, if not taking up a new career as the local cat lady, not to mention the divorce proceedings I must have inadvertently started.
Di-vorce. Two syllables, but a bloody big word, and no less than I deserved looking at the evidence around me. Circumstantial evidence, the ever supportive yet always biased voice of my inner monologue whispered.
Fresh panic began a slow, delicate bloom in the darkest corner of my soul, but I smothered it. I could only handle one issue at a time, and the most pressing of those existed outside the wardrobe door. A groan forced its way up from somewhere near my toes, filling my chest and stifling my shallow breaths. I’d surely created one of those self-defining life moments that would flash past my eyes when I walked into a final, welcoming light. God, I hoped not. Being forced to relive the shameful experience would not improve it. I glanced at the clothes again before turning away, ignoring all of them. Outwardly, I remained still, counting the steady beats inside my chest. Possibly for hours. Minutes, at the least. Until my butt cheeks froze to numbness and my clenched jaw muscles ached. Inwardly, anxiety threatened to drown out my thoughts again as I ransacked my brain in an attempt to recall each moment of the previous evening. All of my memories of very normal activities remained, right up to swallowing stupid amounts of painkillers for a headache throbbing with a pulse of its own and the ensuing desire to get to bed and sleep it off. After that, nothing. No recollection of arriving...somewhere—a place that must have been Mr. Brian’s house—and no idea why I might have done something so stupid in the first place.
I ran a hand through the bird’s nest of tangled curls on my head, my restless agitation threatening to leave a mass of Gordian knots in its wake. Stupid, stupid. At least my version of stupid only meant possible career-limiting embarrassment around my boss rather than meeting a grisly end. A walking squirm of a cliché, rather than a mortuary statistic.
Note to self: Bright sides.
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From a magical land of castles and kings (Okay, it’s England), Gina doesn’t feel as old as she looks, owns three children who can’t be tamed, and writes in spare – usually stolen – time. She sometimes bakes—not always with quite the desired results, and has found the only solution to keeping the characters in her head quiet is to placate them with lots of other lovely books and world s. She has been published by Decadent Publishing, who currently have two of her books, both of which are romance titles – “Her Dollmaker’s Desire” and “Her Undercover Christmas”.
Social Media Links: Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/ginawriteswords/ Twitter: @Gina_Wynn on Twitter Amazon Author Page: http://amzn.to/2nN13Iz Goodreads Author Page: http://bit.ly/2oeZVbX Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/ginawriteswords/ Website: http://ginawriteswords.com/ Email: firstname.lastname@example.org