Long Time Gone - Lorelei James Page 0,44

that mean? Since the characters in the Rough Riders Legacy series will be college-aged, their stories fall into the New Adult category of romance. Sierra, Kyler, and Hayden will be living away from the McKay stronghold in Wyoming. Not only will this allow them to learn to make their own ways; it also won’t be necessary for new readers to be familiar with all 20+ installments in the original Rough Riders series to follow the stories.

I’m so excited to bring my readers something new, and yet something they’ve been asking for!

Lorelei James ~ June 2015

Without further ado… Read on for the first look at the long-awaited story that reunites Sierra Daniels McKay and Boone West…

Exclusive excerpt

Unbreak My Heart

LJLA, LLC 2015

I blame everything on the fever.

Everything.

My nausea.

My surliness.

My weepiness.

My utter lack of a reaction when he strolls into the exam room.

He gapes at me like I’m an apparition.

I continue to look at him blankly, as if it’s no big deal he’s here, right in front of me, wearing scrubs and a cloak of authority.

But the truth is I haven’t seen him for six years.

Six. Years.

I should be in shock—maybe I’m in too much shock. This definitely falls under the heading of trauma. Because on the day he waltzes back into my life? I look worse than dog diarrhea.

I mentally kick myself for not going to the ER. Or perhaps just letting myself die. Anything would be better than this.

Screw you, universe. Fuck you, fate. Karma, you bitch, you owe me.

This chance meeting should’ve happened when I’m dressed to the nines, not when I sport yoga pants, a ratty Three Stooges T-shirt, dollar store flip-flops and no bra. And the bonus? My hair is limp, my skin clammy, my face shiny from the raging fever I can’t shake.

Wait. Maybe this is a fever-induced nightmare.

“Sierra?” The beautiful apparition speaks my name in a deep, sexy rasp.

Pretend you don’t know him.

Not my most stellar plan, but I go with it.

I cock my head and frown as if I can’t quite place him.

His expressive brown eyes turn hard. “That’s really how you’re gonna play this? Like you don’t know me?”

I return his narrow-eyed stare because I’m too sick to fake an air of boredom.

“Fine. I’m Boone West. Your med tech,” he says sarcastically. “I’m here to take your vitals.”

I shake my head. My inability to respond isn’t from pettiness—I lost my voice yesterday, due to this fever. But my middle finger works fine and I use it to point at the door as I mouth, “Get. Out.”

“Nice try. But keep your arm out like that so I can take your blood pressure.”

My heart rate skyrockets, so no freakin’ way is he putting a blood pressure cuff and a stethoscope on me.

Boone moves in cautiously as if I’m a feral creature. He smiles—not the sweet, boyish grin I once loved—but one brimming with fake benevolence.

My belly flips, which pisses me off. And I wish projectile vomiting was my superpower instead of this uncanny ability to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, every time.

I jerk away from him.

“Look, Sierra,” he says reasonably. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you here. Not like this. Let me do my job and we’ll talk afterward.”

I shake my head so hard my vision goes wonky.

“It’s not like you have a choice.”

Wrong. In full panic mode, I bail off the exam table and hug the wall, facing him as I creep toward the door.

“Whoa. Slow down. You came into the clinic because you’re sick. You can’t just leave.”

My throat feels like I gargled with gravel, but I manage, “Watch me.”

Then I throw open the door and book it down the hallway.

But my fever has the last laugh.

My body chooses that moment to fail me. Chills erupt as if I’ve been plunged into a deep freezer, followed by sweat breaking out as if I’ve been baking in the Arizona desert. White spots obscure my vision.

I sway before everything goes dark.

“She’s coming around.”

I recognize that voice.

Dr. Monroe.

I peel my eyes open and notice I’m back in the exam room.

“Hey girl. How’re you doin’?”

Girl. She seems to have forgotten that I’m not a girl, but a twenty-two-year-old college graduate with the world by the balls.

“I need to poke around, so lie still.” She lifts my shirt and starts palpating my belly. For such a tiny thing, she pushes hard enough on my innards that I swear I feel her fingers poking the inside of my spine.

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Can