Publicist Allison Morris plans her own life " what’s left of it " around the life of her boss Michelle McCarter, the ex-wife of a famous rock star. When Michelle needs emergency public relations patchwork in Hawaii pronto, Allison arranges a flight to the dream destination. At the airport, she meets Wes Hamilton, a six-foot-three sun-bleached blond whose blue eyes and dazzling smile rekindle her fizzled-out sizzle. A world-renowned surfer, Wes captivates her with his charm and wit, though his easy fame and on-the-edge lifestyle are the polar opposite of her own. When their jet loses its fuselage in mid-air, she takes advantage of what she thinks are her last minutes alive with Wes. The plane lands safely. Wes takes care of her when her carefully constructed life begins to unravel. When Michelle accuses Allison of using Wes to gain fame for herself, Allison’s world falls apart in an explosive confrontation. Wes is waiting with open arms when she has nowhere else to go, but can Allison learn to stop planning and go with gravity?

REVIEW

This story covered so much territory and was so compelling I did not want to put it down. It was as if I was there watching the story unfold. The conflict was great. The sexual encounters were sizzling and the ending was unexpected.

Reviewed by: The Romance Studio
theromancestudio.com
4.5 hearts!

EXCERPT

A hulking figure filled the aisle, stowing his bag in the overhead compartment.

Those shorts. That shirt.

It was him.

He checked his ticket, looked at her and smiled. His blond hair fell across his forehead as he sat next to her, his shoulder bumping hers.

“Hello again.”

For two years, she’d rubbed elbows with stars of all magnitudes without so much as a blink, and fended off paparazzi following the wife of megastar James McCarter.

With two words, she’d been reduced to the rank of dreamy-eyed teeny bopper.

He smiled, raised an eyebrow.

She realized, then, she hadn’t responded. And her mouth hung open.
Make that drooling dreamy-eyed teeny bopper.

She flashed a smile. Think. Damage control is your business. Put it to good use for once.

“Hi.” Oh, yes. Very witty. What a deft deflection of his charm.

She turned back to her articles, but sensed the weight of his stare.
He frowned at her reading material. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to read over your shoulder. I take it you’re a closet fan of the poor little rich girl?”

“In the same way I’m a closet fan of train wrecks, I suppose. I guess you’re not a fan.”

“Of hers?” He chuckled. “God, no. She’s awful. Her publicist should be shot.”

Shot. Of course. Working fifty-five to sixty-five hours a week wasn’t enough to keep the spin spinning fast enough for the rest of the world. The one guy who’d interested her in the past two and a half years thought she made a good candidate for execution. Her life was in such a rut, she’d need mountain climbing gear to get out.

“If you’re a fan, I didn’t mean to offend.” Sincerity had wiped the smile from his face.

“Actually, I’m..” She turned and smiled, “…her publicist.”