by CD Reiss
Series: The Games Duet # 2
Release Date: January 3, 2017
Genre: Contemporary Romance/Erotic Romance
“CD Reiss writes the best erotica I have ever read.”
Meredith Wild, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Hacker Series
The stunning conclusion to the New York Times Bestseller.
There’s one, unbreakable rule in the game.
Stay collected. Compartmentalize. Think your next move through. Never let your heart dictate your tactics.
The heart is impulsive.
The heart makes bad decisions.
The heart doesn’t see the long game.
Because the heart may have decided to get Adam back, but when the endgame comes, the heart’s going to be the first thing to break.
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Amazon UK➜: https://goo.gl/1LhJZW
iBooks ➜ http://bit.ly/MarriageGamesiBooks
This book was so intense I had to let it simmer for a while before I could figure out what I wanted to say about. I don’t know how anything I could say will do CD Reiss’s words justice. Beautiful, complex and brilliant just seem so inadequate! It truly is a work of art created with words. This book was so deep into my brain that when I went to sleep at night, the characters continued to dance around in my dreams, haunting my subconscious. CD Reiss has mastered the art of complex characters and deep emotion. So much so that I found myself feeling a little bit like I couldn’t possibly understand it all in one read, or maybe that I might have the emotional maturity required to understand it all. I could probably read it 5 times over and still continue to discover complex ideas and thoughts that had previously escaped me. A truly unforgettable story.
He took my hand, putting it in his lap as if it was finally home. “What are we doing?” he asked.
“Like it’s our job.”
“If you’re going to do something, I say, do it all the way.”
He squeezed my hand. I was jarred by the way he looked in the direction of the window, but not through it. He didn’t look like the commanding Dominant who had been my partner for the past few weeks. As handsome as ever, and graceful and sharp, a leader and a decider, but not the same.
He faced me. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
The streetlights glinted off the light in one eye and his jaw locked, catching things he’d never say. He looked like a man I knew and abandoned. Manhattan Adam.
“We can’t fix it,” I said, putting his hand in my lap, watching our clasped hands make a new form. I rubbed the outside of his thumb with mine, feeling it’s familiar shape, the strength of the knuckle and the texture of his skin on mine. “We have to build something new. And we can.” I looked up from our hands to his face.
Could I make him feel my optimism? Could I take a piece of it onto a fork and lift it to his lips? Would they part? Would he let me lay it on his tongue? Would he chew and swallow, saying “I do. I do believe we can, I do.”
He didn’t say that. He didn’t believe, but his lips needed to touch my belief and his tongue needed to taste my hope.
I don’t know if I kissed him or if he kissed me, but it felt like a first kiss, with full quivering that left me paralyzed at his nearness. The act of two tongues tasting each other was so intimate between strangers, so taken for granted over time, and so rarely is the wonder of it felt through to the bone.
He was licorice. Fennel and leather. And he moved like cool water, reacting to my movements, countering with his hands and his mouth, covering me with his attention. The kiss was the sway of sex, the smell of it, the carnal desire without the promise of anything but another dance.
CD Reiss is a New York Times bestselling author. She still has to chop wood and carry water, which was buried in the fine print. Her lawyer is working it out with God but in the meantime, if you call and she doesn’t pick up, she’s at the well, hauling buckets.
Born in New York City, she moved to Hollywood, California to get her master’s degree in screenwriting from USC. In case you want to know, that went nowhere, but it did give her a big enough ego to write novels.
Critics have dubbed the books “poetic,” “literary,” and “hauntingly atmospheric,” which is flattering enough for her to put it in a bio, but embarrassing enough for her not to tell her husband, or he might think she’s some sort of braggart who’s too good to chop a cord of wood.
If you meet her in person, you should call her Christine.
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