Ten Thousand Points Of Light by Michelle Warren
Title: Ten Thousand Points of Light
Author: Michelle Warren
Release Date: October 18, 2017
Blurb
Five years
ago an unthinkable tragedy slashed Cait London’s life into two parts: before
she had amnesia and after. Determined to keep her past hidden and start
over, she moves to Chicago and plunges into a new job—all while keeping a
walled distance from everyone she meets.
It’s not
long before Cait reconsiders her solitary existence, and soon she’s stepping
beyond her boundaries and taking unthinkable chances, like crushing on her
impossibly sexy landlord, Evan Wade. He’s flirty, annoying, and with him living
in the same apartment building, she can’t stop thinking about him. If she can
sleep with him once, perhaps she can get him out of her system. The problem is,
Evan seems bulletproof to her advances. As the two develop a connection, it
becomes clear Cait may not succeed before her heart remembers what it feels
like to love.
Ten
Thousand Points of Light is an immersive contemporary romance about the intensity of first
loves, the heartache of loss, and the power of forgiveness.
Pre-order Links
Free in Kindle Unlimited
Excerpt
In my bathroom, a man kneels on the floor inspecting a gigantic hole of exposed pipes with the roaming beam of a flashlight. I fold my arms and lean into the doorframe.
When I left to meet Aggie everything was functioning. My gaze examines the small room, picking out details: my expensive towels soak up a deluge of water pooling on the tiled floor, there’s a large pile of powdery, crumbled drywall, and then there’s the issue of ass crack—in my face. It is toned and tight, but still, it’s connected to my landlord, Evan Wade.
“Pipes burst, leaking a damn waterfall into 5A,” he says, not bothering to glance my direction.
“Did you have to use my good towels?” I purse my lips.
“I thought about using your sexy lingerie.” He eyes the laundry basket of delicates now sitting on top of the sink. “But the fancy towels seemed like a better option.”
“Thanks, appreciate it.” I sidestep him, snatch the basket, and carry it to my bedroom, hiding it in my closet. If he had scrutinized it closer, which he probably did, he would have found an embarrassing amount of granny panties and more sports bras than a Lululemon.
“How long before it’s fixed?” How long before I can get rid of you?
“A week,” his muffled voice answers.
“What?” I race back only to find his sharky grin. Two vertical dimples slice beneath a permanent, mocha-colored five o’clock shad
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