To my girls, who think that the only reason I could be crying is that I might miss my parents. Missing their parents is the worst thing they can imagine. For them, writing is only a small part of me. If I never wrote another word again, they would still think I was amazing. I love them like that, too.
Finally, to Justice, who knows the wretched feeling of having royally screwed up and the complicated pleasure of finally facing the consequences, even if the two aren’t meant to be connected. And to Cassian, who knows how heavy the world is on a person’s shoulders and how light it can be when you remember that friends and loved ones are all that matter when everything is said and done.
If I forgot you in this list, I’m sorry, and thank you too. My heart is overflowing, seriously. It’s making me cry, a little bit, and the thing is…I have to go ahead and publish this book.
So here’s to a truly kickass 2019 and to pushing boundaries whenever they cry out to be pushed (or, like, spanked—oh, god, I’ll see myself out). This community is the best and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I wouldn’t even trade it for Netflix, though for a while I really tried. Thank you, endlessly, for having me.
<3 Amelia
P.S. If you’ve read this far, you deserve a special reward, so here it is. Cassian and Justice have had their HEA, but there is more afoot in their world in a tiny country across the ocean. Read all about it in Broken Crown by yours truly, out in 2019.
Before She Was Mine - Sneak Peek
Chapter 2
Summer
His eyes give him away.
He’s backlit by unearthly winter light from the huge front windows, his face in shadow, but those eyes. It doesn’t matter that we’re standing in the sleek, subtly patriotic waiting room at Heroes on the Homefront, where professionalism and empathy are our top priorities. Every inch of me is alive with his presence.
It’s Dayton. My Dayton. Or—Wes’s Dayton, really. He was never mine.
That doesn’t matter. I’d know those eyes anywhere.
I dismissed it when I saw the name on my appointment list. D. Nash could’ve been anyone. No reason to get nervous. No reason to think he’d walk into this office in Midtown, three months after I started my dream job. To keep the workload under control, we don’t do verifications or research until the veterans have attended an intake meeting. About a quarter of the people on my list every day don’t show up.
Dayton showed up.
So did my last appointment, which is why I’m late for Dayton. Gregory DeWitt looked fine, sitting in the waiting room, even flashed me a smile on the way back to my office. I thought it’d be simple. A little brush-up of the resume, a few questions about his general interests, and I could look at listings before my eleven o’clock.
He wasn’t fine.
He’d sweat through his shirt by the time he sat in the chair across from me and said listen, I don’t go out much. By “much” he meant that he hadn’t left his apartment in three weeks, but he was running out of money. The VA was dragging its feet on approving him for disability, one domino falling, then another. I couldn’t kick him out. It wouldn’t have been right.
I had the apology on my lips when I stepped into the waiting room but the words fall to the floor and scatter. I tuck my hands together to stop them from trembling.
Carla, the receptionist, is about to lose her mind. I can tell by the way she’s sitting forward in her ergonomic desk chair, pretending not to notice that the silence between me and one Mr. Nash—Day—has gone on too long not to be awkward.
That’s not good.
I look into those dark eyes, those wells of pain flecked with surprise, and forget to be professional.
He’s different. Even broader than the last time I saw him, more muscled, and peeking out from beneath the collar of his shirt are the black curves of tattoos. The way he’s standing isn’t how I remember it, but he’s been in the service. That changes a man. It’s changed Dayton. The evidence is right in front of me.
Tattoos.
He never had tattoos before, and if I’m right, the lines I’m seeing are the tip of the iceberg. A wild curiosity ignites in the center of my chest, a dry brush going up at the strike of a match, clarifying my strange double vision. I see him as he is. I see him as he used to be. The two versions compete for my focus.
I move before I can stop myself, crossing to the first row of those godawful chairs. They look lovely. Try sitting in one for twenty minutes, though, and you’ll change your opinion.
I shouldn’t do this—it’s against the code of being in the office—but every breath is tinged with a strange excitement, a strange dread. I can’t help myself. I throw my arms around him, right above his waist, and hug the hard, solid mass of his body.
It’s a mistake.
For an instant we’re standing together, right there in the waiting room for everyone to see, and then my freak hug has knocked him off balance. He takes a step onto his left foot. Something’s not right. He goes over, sitting down hard into the chair behind him.
“Shit.”
“Oh—” I can’t get my arms untangled from his waist fast enough, so I fall along with him, and both of us are tangled up in what has to be the greatest mortification the world has ever known. “I’m sorry, Day, I—” The old nickname swims up from years ago, from back when I could hear his low voice through the wall while he played video games with Wes in the middle of the night, and my face goes molten. I yank my hands from behind his back and straighten up.
Oh, God.
No, of course I’m not the little girl he knew back then. I’m all grown up and perfectly composed. I meant for this to happen.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes against my skin. There are two other veterans in the waiting room, and then there’s Carla. The wheel of her chair squeaks as she shifts her position, no doubt to get a better look.
“It’s fine.” His voice is gruff, and when he glances up I see something in his eyes that I missed before. It’s gone so fast, locked down behind a tightening in his jaw, that maybe I’m wrong.
It looked like shame.
But for the life of me, I can’t imagine what Day could be ashamed of. He’s a hero.
I smooth my hair back into its ponytail. Pretend he’s like anyone else. His coat, navy blue, over a white dress shirt. Tan dress pants, an adult version of the khakis he and Wes used to wear for special occasions.
The pants are hiked up to the socket of a prosthesis.
That explains why he lost his balance when I tackled him like a teenager at a One Direction concert.
I breathe away the heat pressing against my cheeks, but he’s seen me looking. I offer him a hand up. It’s the least I can do, even if the gesture is totally ineffectual. I’m not a weakling. He’s tall and muscular, but I could at least—
He dismisses the offer with a shake of his head and pushes himself up using the arm of the chair instead. Day narrows his eyes over my shoulder—jeez, Carla, be a little less obvious, would you?—and looks down at me.
Take control of the situation. This is your job. You are here to help. To prove that you can help.
“Let’s head back to my office.”
I try for a neutral tone, like Dayton is any other client, but he’s not any other client. He doesn’t smile but the corner of his mouth lifts up a fraction of an inch.
“Okay.”
How long has it been since I last saw him? Up until this moment, if you asked me, I’d have been able to give you an exact number of days. But right now, standing next to him in this waiting room, the cold, clean scent of him filling my lungs, I have no idea. Has it been three years? How did I ever go that long without seeing him? My soul is lit up like the Empire State Building on a clear night. My soul…and other parts of me. It’s like my soul doesn’t remember that he took my heart in those big, rough hands and squeezed until it broke.
“Summer?”
My name is soft on his lips, and watching those lips form t
he word sends illicit pleasure tumbling through my brain.
“Yeah?”
A nod of his head, a quick gesture behind me. “Your office?”
Now the blush takes over. I can’t stop it. “Right. Of course. Right.” I turn on my heel and lead the way.
One-click BEFORE SHE WAS MINE and keep reading!
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Connect with Amelia
Amelia Wilde writes steamy contemporary romance and loves it a little too much. She lives in Michigan with her husband and daughters. She spends most of her time typing furiously on an iPad and appreciating the natural splendor of her home state from where she likes it best: inside.
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Also by Amelia Wilde
Wounded Hearts
Before She Was Mine: Dayton Nash survived the war, but he might not survive falling in love with his best friend’s little sister.
After I Was His: War has torn Wes Sullivan apart. Whitney Coalport could put him back together…if they don’t destroy each other first.
When He Saw Me: Bennett Powell never stops searching for the truth. So it makes sense when he falls for Eva…who is a liar through and through.
The New York Billionaires Series
Rich Boss: Kate already had a demanding boss. Then she meets Jax Hunter, the new owner of her company.
Rich Scandal: Graham Blackpool is never getting married. But when a sex scandal forces him into a fake engagement, he finds himself wanting to say I do…
Main Street Single Dads
Over Easy: Ryder isn’t looking for love, but he can’t help falling for the waitress serving him pancakes in his brand-new town.
Cold Brew: Dash isn’t in Lakewood to make friends. He’s here to crush the competition… until he meets his rival and things reach a boiling point.
Sugar Rush: Wilder is the world’s biggest rock star and a desolate widow. All of that changes when he meets the girl behind the counter at Lakewood’s best candy shop.
Copyright Information
Cover Design: Lori Jackson Design
Editing: Write Way Creative
Proofreading: Cassie Hess-Dean
Promotional Graphics: Tempting Illustrations
© 2019 Amelia Wilde
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
For more books by Amelia Wilde, visit her online at www.awilderomance.com
Cards of Love: Justice Page 15
