I’m thrilled to announce the release of Impossible Choice, the second book in Sybil Bartel’s heart-poundingly good NA series, Unchecked. I absolutely loved Impossible Promise (Unchecked Book 1), which I’ve raved about here. It goes without saying that I’ve already read Book #2 as well, and it’s just as good, if not better. (Review coming up.) Read on for all book details, to find out how to win a $50 Amazon gift card AND a free copy of Impossible Promise plus a titillating excerpt. This tour was brought to you by Xpresso Book Tours.
by Sybil Bartel
Book two of Unchecked
After her parents were murdered, Layna Blair spent three years on the run—until Marine Sergeant Blaze Johnson stepped in and saved her. With him, Layna knew safety for the first time…but two weeks after shipping out for another tour in Afghanistan, Blaze comes home early.
When Layna sees the jagged wounds covering his body, every truth she thought she knew is destroyed. Blaze is distant and angry and though her heart is shattered, Layna desperately tries to keep their relationship together in the face of another tragedy. When the tenuous bonds holding them together are ripped apart by a revenge-hungry maniac, Layna must trust her survival instinct and bury her past for good.
But the enemy is two steps ahead, and before she can take action, Layna’s hand is forced by his deadly demands—save herself or save the man who risked his life for her freedom. Blaze saved her once. This time it’s her turn to protect him.
(Ends September 10)
Trembling, I found a dress towards the back of the closet and yanked it out. Long, white, slinky, it had spaghetti straps and a large red flower silk screened on the bottom right. I couldn’t even remember what I’d bought it for. Didn’t matter. I slipped it over my head and ignored the way it hung too loosely around my hips. I stepped into high heeled sandals and searched through my mother’s jewelry for a pair of pearl and diamond earrings. I pinned my hair up in a loose twist and looked in the mirror.
A panicked young woman I didn’t recognize stared back. Eyes too big for her face, honeyed skin too pale, her mouth wouldn’t smile. An ugly scar marred her thin left upper arm and the bones below her neck showed just enough to not be sexy.
Make-up. I needed make-up. Scrambling for what little supplies I had, I lined my eyes in black, swiped on mascara and dusted color over my cheeks. Some nude lip gloss and it was as good as it was going to get. I’d never accumulated the amount of make-up my mother had. She never left the house without being a hundred percent flawless, her hair, her make-up, her clothes. A pang of grief gripped my chest and I fought back tears.
I would not cry. My mother rarely taught me things, she lived by example, but one of the things she did teach me was to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Keep moving, keep smiling. It was her arsenal. Never let them see you sweat, she used to say.
I went back to closet, found a small purse to match my shoes and when I took my wallet from my other bag, it slipped from my hand and landed face open.
I reached down and fate mocked me.
Layna Blair smiled at me from the clear plastic slot where you kept a driver’s license but Jennifer Dellis had slipped out from her hiding place behind it.
Hands shaking, I pulled out the two driver’s licenses. Layna Blair. Jennifer Dellis.
“You look stunning.”
I jumped and Blaze kissed my neck. “You ready?” His strong arms wrapped around me from behind.
I bit down on my trebling lip and looked over my shoulder at the man who’d saved Layna Blair.
He went perfectly still.
“I don’t know who I am.” I whispered.
About the Author
Here are ten things you probably really want to know about me.
I grew up a faculty brat. I can swear like a sailor. I love men in uniform. I hate being told what to do. I can do your taxes (but don’t ask). The Bird Market in Hong Kong freaks me out. My favorite word is desperate…or dirty, or both—I can’t decide. I have a thing for muscle cars. But never reply on me for driving directions, ever. And I have a new book boyfriend every week—don’t tell my husband.
Connect with the Author