When a figure appeared from the shadows only feet from her door, Rose reached inside her jacket to pull out her gun. Until she realized it was Seth.“Now you must be stalking me,” she groused. She was halfway tempted to point her gun at him anyway.He had his hands up, although he didn’t look scared. Of course not. Rose was fairly certain nothing scared Seth.“What are you doing out here?” she asked when he said nothing.He shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep. It’s nice out. I thought I’d say hi to my neighbor when she got home. The usual.”“Uh-huh. Well, you’ve said it, and now I’m saying goodbye. I need to let Callie out before I go to bed.”“Then I’ll walk with you.”She wanted to stomp her foot, she was so frustrated, but she had a feeling that would only make it worse. Sighing, she went to get Callie, ignoring Seth even as he walked alongside her.Callie, to Rose’s annoyance, decided she was not going to do her business quickly. The dog wanted to sniff every bush and every mailbox
Say You’re MineAll I Ask of YouMake Me YoursHold Me CloseOopsie DaisyHe Loves Me, He Loves Me NotPetal PluckerWar of the RosesincludingThen Came YouTaking a Chance on LoveAll I Want Is YouMy One and OnlyThe Nearness of YouThe Very Thought of YouIf I Can’t Have YouDream a Little Dream of MeSomeone to Watch Over MeTill There Was YouI’ll Be Home for Christmas
A coffee addict and cat lover, Iris Morland writes sexy and funny contemporary romances. If she's not reading or writing, she enjoys binging on Netflix shows and cooking something delicious.Stay in touch!irismorland.comIris Morland’s MermaidsNewsletter Facebook Twitter BookBub Goodreads Instagram
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.Dream a Little Dream of Me (The Thorntons Book 4)Published by Blue Violet Press LLCSeattle, WashingtonCopyright © 2017 by Iris MorlandCover design by Resplendent MediaAll rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Lizzie Thornton grabbed her ex-boyfriend Trent Younger by his lapels and hung on for dear life as he kissed her, certain that she would either collapse at his feet or melt into a puddle from the heat of his touch.Trent growled deep in his throat, something animalistic and rough, and it sent shivers down Lizzie’s spine. He smelled so good—smoky and cedary—and he kissed like a fiend. He hadn’t kissed like this when they’d been teenagers, that was for sure. Back then, they’d both been tentative, learning how to kiss each other.This Trent Younger, though? He was anything but tentative.He licked at the seam of her lips, and she let her mouth fall open in surrender. A tiny voice in her head whispered that she should push him away and end this, but that voice got smaller and smaller until it disappeared entirely.She pressed against him, running her hands through his hair. He gripped her ass as he deepened the kiss.“I want you,” he muttered, kissing down her neck. “God, Lizzie, I wan
Gazing out at the cloudless blue sky, Lizzie tried to find the musical notes that were just outside of her grasp. They teased at the edges of her mind, and when she felt like she was close to capturing one, they fluttered away like butterflies.She sighed. Setting her guitar down beside the bench, she rubbed her neck. Now it was late July, and Lizzie hadn’t written anything in four months. It had been her longest dry spell to date, and a part of her was terrified that she’d never get over it.Her producer, Terry, had called her yesterday to remind her that he needed something, anything. “I can’t keep putting the label off, Lizzie,” he’d said exasperatedly. “They don’t care if you have writer’s block or whatever. Either they get a product or they don’t.”Lizzie knew she should push through whatever this was, but no music came to her. No lyrics, no notes, nothing. She was as dry as the desert.She’d told herself it was because she was distracted, but it had been over a month since sh
Lizzie grimaced when she saw Terry’s number pop up on her phone. She let his call go to voicemail, and she avoided listening to his message the rest of the afternoon. But when he texted her, she knew she couldn’t avoid him forever.Lizzie, it’s Terry. The label called me today. They say if you don’t finish at least onesongwithin three months, they’ll drop you from the label. I’m sorry. I know it’s not what you wanted to hear, but my hands are tied.Lizzie sank down onto the couch and sighed. She couldn’t blame Terry—he couldn’t force the label to do anything it didn’t want. She hadn’t put out a new album in two years now, although she’d been touring up until last fall. She’d told herself at first that she was just too busy to write, but now she didn’t have that excuse. She couldn’t write. It was like something had literally blocked the words and the notes.She stared at her guitar sitting against the wall of her living room. It looked almost judgmental right then.W
A few weeks later, in mid-August, Trent sat in his car, not getting out for a long moment. The house looked even more dilapidated than usual, the paint peeling, the shutters falling from the windows. Junk of all sorts lined the porch—from furniture to tools to bags of God only knew what—and weeds had sprung up all over the yard. Trent had sent someone to mow the lawn to keep the neighbors from complaining, but he’d quit after mowing the lawn all of three times.Trent couldn’t blame the guy. He didn’t want to be around his father, either.Edward Younger had once been a prosperous man. He’d started in manufacturing in the 1970s, and he’d moved up the ranks until he’d made a good salary that could support his wife and five children. As the oldest son, Trent had looked up to Edward and had wanted to emulate his father when he grew up. Trent would get a good job and take care of his family just like Edward.But when Trent’s mother, Beatrice, had begun to sink further into mental illness