VERY TWISTED THINGS
Author: New York Times best
selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills
A Standalone Briarcrest Academy Novel #3
Release Date: March 1,
2015
~ SYNOPSIS ~
A sassy violinist who lives next door. An
obsessed rock star who watches her through binoculars. And one night when she
bares it all. Life will never be the same in Tinseltown.
Vital Rejects front guy Sebastian Tate never
imagined his YouTube music video would go viral, sky-rocketing him to acting
success in Hollywood. Okay, maybe he did. After all, he’s a
cocky dude who knows he’s hot-as-hell, and it was only a matter of time before
his stars aligned.
But life in Tinseltown is never what it seems.
After being cheated on, his only rule to
falling in love is simple: Keep Calm and Don’t Do It. Spying
on his mysterious new neighbor with binoculars seems innocent enough, but quickly
escalates into an erotic game between two very unlikely people.
Twenty-year-old Violet St. Lyons is a
world-renowned violinist who's lost her mojo on stage. She hides away in a
Hollywood mansion, trying to find her way through her twisted past in order to
make her future.
He’s the life of the party with girls chasing
him down for his autograph. She’s the introvert with a potty mouth who doesn’t
even know who he is.
When they meet, stars collide, sparks fly, and
clothes come off. Yet, giving his heart to a girl isn’t Sebastian’s plan;
falling for a guy who craves attention isn’t Violet’s.
Welcome to Briarcrest Academy—Hollywood
style—where sometimes the best things in life are VERY TWISTED THINGS.
***This is a standalone New Adult novel with graphic sex and language. Introductory price of $2.99 on release day for 24 hours only!
Violet
“Fairy dust is not real. This I know.” —from the journal of Violet St. Lyons
Boom!
I,
Violet St. Lyons, who once believed herself the luckiest girl in the world, was
born on the same day that the Violette–Sells comet was discovered. My parents,
two avid stargazers, said it was a sign of how special I was and promptly named
me Violet. They claimed my life had been blessed with fairy dust.
At
the very least, comet residue.
I’d
foolishly believed it for eighteen years, until the moment of my death.
Which
was now.
Boom! Another explosion
rocked the plane and metal ripped away as a section of the aircraft to my right
vanished. Luggage flew through the air. People disappeared. The mom with the
baby who’d sat in the aisle across from us—gone. The redheaded flight attendant
who’d been collecting trash—gone. Disembodied screams echoed from the
surrounding passengers as my own scream took up most of the space in my head.
Air sucked at us viciously from the outside as a tornado of people banged
around the space and one by one got pulled out into the swirling abyss.
I
watched, helplessly transfixed, as I sat between my parents, gripping each of
their hands as the plane we’d boarded six hours earlier for Dublin spiraled
toward the Atlantic Ocean. I was going to die. My mother was already dead, a
twisted piece of shrapnel sticking grotesquely from her chest as her head
lolled around her neck. Blood had already soaked her shirt, yet I refused to
let go of her hand. She’d be okay. We were always okay. We were the St. Lyons
family of Manhattan, an icon of old money wealth with deep political ties. Page
six of the New York Times featured pictures of us
on a monthly basis. We couldn’t die on a plane.
Reality
dawned as we plummeted. The yellow breathing apparatus dropped and dangled in
my face, taunting me with its pointlessness. Fire and black smoke boiled in
front of us where the cockpit had been, and my mind recognized that the pilots
had to be dead. Just a few minutes ago, they’d come over the intercom and
announced that the plane was making its descent into Dublin Airport exactly on
schedule.
Then
the first explosion had gone off.
Bits
of debris flew around, narrowly missing me. My elderly father grabbed my hand
and squeezed, his face drawn back in a horrible grimace. Fear and then horror
flickered across his face as he saw Mother, but there was no time to comfort
him.
Paralyzed
in my seat, we spun like a drunken top, and a part of my brain noticed the sun
was rising, its pink tinge lending a soft glow, catching the reflection of
clouds and making them silver-lined. The rocky coast of Ireland glittered in
the distance. Mocking me. We’d been headed there to celebrate my eighteenth
birthday.
Just
then my violin case flew past my head from the overhead compartment and crashed
against the wall of the plane. Shards flew. I shuddered and wanted to vomit.
God, help us. We were here because of me. Our deaths were my fault. I spared a
glance at the diamond promise ring Geoff had given me before we’d left. Would
the Mayor of New York’s son go on without me?
The
air was turbulent yet thin, and my chest tightened as dizziness pulled at me. I
resisted. Had to stay awake. Had to be with my dad. I was younger, stronger,
faster. My eyes went to the gaping hole in the plane. Had to think ahead. Plan.
Water would fill up the plane on impact, ensuring we’d sink rapidly.
My
fear escalated as the ocean rushed at us, its surface choppy and ominous. I
took in a giant breath and braced myself. We hit at an angle, the plane a
torpedo as it sliced into the sea. Daddy disappeared, ejected by the impact,
and I yanked on my seat belt, unclicking it to go after him. Heart thundering,
I sent a final look at my mother. I wanted to take her with me, but she was
gone.
Water
everywhere, bubbling and gurgling as it filled up the plane. Salt water stung
my eyes. People floated by, some alive as they floundered for the opening. I
kept my gaze off the dead ones. Focus. Get out. Only seconds left.
I
swam from my seat and fought my way out of the large hole in the plane, lungs
exploding. Burning. I’d been under too long.
Daddy! I
caught a glimpse of his red shirt above me and kicked harder.
Up,
up, up. Must get up. My arms moved. My legs kicked. Excruciating pain. Ignore
it. Almost there. So close that I could see the daylight breaking through the
water.
The
hottest fire I’ve ever known lit in my chest. Scorching.
Air. Just want to
breathe. Just get to the top. Please.
My
body rebelled and I inhaled and swallowed water, the burn racing down my throat
making it spasm as I tried to cough it out. I struggled but took in more and
more, the cold liquid filling my lungs.
Dark
spots filled my eyes. This was drowning.
Exhausted.
Done.
My
body twitched. I grew disoriented.
I
let go of the fight. My hands floated in front of me.
Oblivion.
Darkness.
No
bright lights, no tunnel.
No
heaven, no mother, no father.
No
comets.
No
fairy dust.
~ Chapter 1 ~
Sebastian
Two
years later
“She was music with skin.” —Sebastian Tate
I
tapped my foot.
What was taking her so long?
From
my backyard patio in the Hollywood Hills, I watched the odd girl next door with
a pair of high-powered binoculars. She flicked on her porch lights, and a low
whistle came out of me at the sexy red-as-sin robe she wore, its silky material
flashing around her long legs as she moved around her patio. Her hair was down,
too.
This
was new. Where were the usual yoga pants? The ponytail?
She
looked like she knew someone watched, but that was impossible
since our outside lights were off. Even the light from the moon hit our house
at such an angle that she shouldn’t be able to see us just by glancing over.
She’d need a high-powered lens to know I was here.
Usually
she played facing her rose garden, but this time she walked to the right side
of her patio, which faced us. Weird. But she didn’t play. She just
stood there without moving. Staring toward our house. Uneasiness went over me.
What was she doing?
Could she see me?
As
if it were a fragile bird, she positioned the violin under her chin and began
playing, arms bent and wrist poised, making the most exquisite sounds. And I
don’t mean classical like Beethoven or Mozart; I mean body-thrashing,
blood-thumping, hard-as-hell music that had me rooted to the ground, like she’d
slapped iron chains on me.
Dark
and seductive notes rose up in the air, and I got jacked up, recognizing a Led
Zeppelin song, only she’d ripped its guts out and twisted it into something
electric. She pushed the bow hard, upping the tempo abruptly, her movements
controlled yet wild. My pulse kicked up and my eyes lingered, taking in the
slightly parted toned legs and the way her breasts bounced as she jerked her
arms to manipulate the strings.
Her
body arched forward in a curve, seeming as if she might break into a million
pieces before she finished the piece or climaxed first. Then, her robe slipped
off her right shoulder, exposing part of her breast. Creamy and full, it
quivered, vibrating as she moved her arms. Her rosy nipple teased me, slipping
in and out of the folds of the material, erect from the cool mountain air and deliciously
bitable. I pictured my mouth there, sucking, my fingers plucking, strumming her
like my guitar until she begged me to—
Stop, I told myself just
as an appreciative groan came out. Whoever Violin Girl was, she didn’t deserve
me lusting after her while she was pouring her heart out with music.
I
zoomed in as far as the binoculars would go, watching her surrender to the
music as she bent and swayed from side to side with her eyes closed, black
lashes like fans on her cheeks. Every molecule in my body focused on her,
hanging on to each note she pulled from her instrument.
She
finished and kept her head bowed for the longest time, perhaps letting the
emotion wash over her like it had me. Then, she bowed to the banana trees and
gnomes in her garden, waving her hands in a flourish as she rose.
The
entire event was surreal, yet poignant as fucking poetry.
I
let out a deep breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding.
Who
the hell plays Stairway to Heaven with a violin? She did.
Bam! She
snapped her head up, her eyes lasering in on mine, making every hair on my body
stand at attention.
And
then …
Standing
there in the moonlight, she untied her robe and spread apart the sides ever so
slightly, her movements seeming almost hesitant, as if she’d had to work herself
up. Unfamiliar jealousy hit me and I panned out and checked the rest of the
patio, expecting to see a lover. Whoever it was, I wanted to rip him apart
piece by piece.
And
didn’t that thought surprise me.
My
gaze searched her patio, the backyard, her upstairs balcony. Nothing. No one.
She
flicked her dark hair back and stroked the lapels of the robe, her fingers
lingering over the lacy material. Suddenly the evening smacked of
something more than just music. Her arms moved back and forth
across the front, opening the robe halfway and then closing it as if she
couldn’t make up her mind.
My
eyes went up, trying to read her face. Still as a statue, the only movement was
her mouth as it trembled, her full upper lip resting against the pouty lower
one. Tears ran down her face, but they seemed more of a defiant act, her jaw
tightly set, her shoulders hunched inward as if she’d held it in too long and
was giving in, but not without a fight.
Violin
Girl was trapped in a cage of darkness.
It
still didn’t stop me from holding my breath, silently begging her to bare
herself to me. She’d already laid bare her music. Part of me needed the rest of
her.
She
jerked the robe closed, making me groan in disappointment.
And
then she did something completely crazy.
The
lonely girl next door flipped me the bird.
© Ilsa Madden-Mills 2015 Very Twisted Things
~ BRIARCREST ACADEMY SERIES ~
Very Bad Things
Briarcrest Academy #1
~ SYNOPSIS ~
Born into a life of privilege and secrets, Nora Blakely has everything any nineteen-year-old girl could desire. She’s an accomplished pianist, a Texas beauty queen, and on her way to Princeton after high school. She’s perfect…
Leaving behind her million dollar mansion and Jimmy Choos, she becomes a girl hell-bent on pushing the limits with alcohol, drugs, and meaningless sex.
Then she meets her soulmate. But he doesn’t want her.
When it comes to girls, twenty-five-year old Leo Tate has one rule: never fall in love. His gym and his brother are all he cares about…until he meets Nora. He resists the pull of their attraction, hung up on their six year age difference.
As they struggle to stay away from each other, secrets will be revealed, tempers will flare, and hearts will be broken.
Welcome to Briarcrest Academy…where sometimes, the best things in life are Very Bad Things.
Read my 5-star review ➜ here
Very Wicked Beginnings
Briarcrest Academy #1.5
Prequel novella to Very Wicked Things
~ SYNOPSIS ~
Girls say I’m a walking, talking sex god. Guys call me Hollywood because my life is golden.
It’s not.
But, ESPN did rank me as a four star recruit, calling me one of the best defensive players since Briarcrest Academy opened its esteemed doors. So yeah, with football and a stellar GPA, my future seemed good.
Then Dovey Beckham shows up in her short skirts and ballet shoes. Driving me insane. Making me want to beg for her attention.
But that wouldn’t happen, because Cuba Hudson didn’t beg for anything.
She walked around BA like she owned the place, and most days she looked right through me…the one girl I couldn’t have.
So, of course, I made it my mission to claim her, to put her notch on my bedpost.
Because no girl can resist the Heartbreaker of BA.
But I never planned on destroying her.
I never planned on wrecking the one thing that could save me.
Welcome to Briarcrest Academy, where wicked love begins…and ends.
Read my 5-star review ➜ here
Very Wicked Things
Briarcrest Academy #2
~ SYNOPSIS ~
Ballerina Dovey Beckham is a scholarship student at Briarcrest Academy, determined to prove she’s more than just a girl with the wrong pedigree. She does whatever it takes to succeed in her endgame, even if it means surrendering her body but never her heart.
Until the day she meets him, and he rips apart all her well-laid plans. Suddenly, the girl everyone thought unbreakable might just shatter.
Cuba “Hollywood” Hudson is rich, spoiled, and a star football player. With his fast cars and superficial girlfriends, he lives the high-life, hiding his secrets from the world.
Until the day he meets her, and she offers him something he’s never tasted…love.
But once in a lifetime kind of love doesn’t come easy…especially when dirty money, past sins, and old flames threaten the very fabric of their lives.
Welcome to Briarcrest Academy, where sometimes, only the wicked survive.
~ ILSA MADDEN MILLS ~
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.
She spends her days with two small kids, one neurotic cat, and one husband. She collects magnets and rarely cooks except to bake her own pretzels.
When she's not crafting a story, you can find her drinking too much Diet Coke, jamming out to Pink, or checking on her carefully maintained chocolate stash.
She loves to hear from readers and fellow authors.
No comments:
Post a Comment