Welcome to Michael's. I'm very happy to have good friend, Lisa Worrall on to promote her next release. Take it away Lisa!
I would first of all like to thank my pal, Michael, for having me.
I was going to just promote my new book, Unshakeable Faith, with the usual cover, blurb, excerpt, etc. And I will do that, but while thinking about what excerpt to use, I was suddenly struck by the thought… what would I do if the love of my life, my soul mate, didn’t remember me, or our life together? Would I try to convince him that we were meant to be? Would I accept that he didn’t remember and walk away? Or would I refuse to give up and find a way to be near him, while I waited for his memory to come back… however long that took? I honestly have no idea.
But that’s the decision Brody, one of the main characters in Unshakeable Faith, has to make. Could any of us have the strength to cope with being so near, yet so far away from the one we love? To have them right beside us, but to feel as though we’re oceans apart? Could we accept that the person we fell in love with is gone? Or would we cling to the hope that they are in there somewhere, desperately fighting to come back to us?
I kind of hope that I would have some of Brody’s strength of will, hell, I’m hoping he got some of that strength from me, that there’s a little piece of me in him. But would I have his Unshakeable Faith? I’m not so sure… how about you?
Of all the bars in all the towns in all the world, the stranger walks into Brody Tyler’s. With no memory and a name he chose from a newspaper, Nash is a gamble—one Brody is willing to take. It isn’t long before Brody and Nash fall in love, but then a tragic accident shatters their cozy world, resetting Nash’s memory once again.
The “new” Nash Walker is a businessman with a bottom line, and he doesn’t care what or who gets stomped on. Waking up in a hospital bed after a hit-and-run with no idea where he’s been for the past six months is bad enough, but someone trying to kill him is even worse. Enter Brody Tyler, accidental bodyguard.
Brody’s determined to help Nash remember and bring back the man he loves. Nash thinks Brody’s a drop-dead gorgeous pain in the ass. If only he could remember….
Stacking glasses on the shelf behind him, he glanced up at the mirrored glass when he heard the bell indicating the arrival of a customer. Unable to contain the breath that escaped his lips or the sudden speeding up of his heartbeat, his gaze tracked the man’s path to the bar.
The stranger looked to be about the same age as him, and probably around six feet tall. But it wasn’t his height and age that had Brody’s cock twitching in his pants. The guy was basically the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, man or woman. Putting the last glass on the shelf, Brody picked up the towel and began to rub down the sleek wood of the bar top. He failed dismally in his effort not to stare as the man settled himself on a stool, and cursed inwardly at the press of his wayward dick against the denim of his jeans when the man ran a shaking hand through short, light-brown hair, causing his tight T-shirt to cling to the muscles of his lean chest.
For God’s sake, snap out of it, Brody! He threw the towel over his shoulder and pushed his chocolate-colored bangs out of his eyes. Could you be any more obvious? Stop drooling over the poor guy and go serve him. Brody squared his shoulders, grabbed a beer mat, and walked toward the end of the bar; hoping desperately that the butterflies flapping up a storm in his stomach weren’t about to fly out of his mouth.
“Hey,” he said brightly, slapping the beer mat down on the bar in front of Tall and Gorgeous. “What can I get you?”
Brody’s stomach hit his shoes when the stranger lifted his gaze and he looked into the prettiest green eyes. No, not green, too ordinary. They were the deep sea green of a stormy ocean, splattered with gold flecks and rimmed with long, dark lashes, and he would be more than happy to spend the rest of his life gazing into them. Yeah, thank you, Oprah—just get him a drink!
Green-eyes scanned the array of alcohol on the shelves behind Brody and shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
Brody’s brow furrowed at the weight of those words, as if it had taken an incredible effort to voice them. When the man glanced at the rows of beer and then back at him, Brody was sure his heart actually skipped a beat at the innate sadness in his eyes. “Hey.” He reached out without thinking and placed his hand over Green-eyes’ hand where it lay on the bar. “Are you okay?” His breath caught in his throat at the well of tears in the gaze that flitted to his and then away.
“I don’t know,” he mumbled.
Brody glanced at the clock on the wall and made an executive decision. You’re the boss, dumb-ass, every decision you make is executive. Ignoring his inner voice, he tossed the bar towel into the basket beneath the bar, grabbed two bottles of beer from the shelf, put one down in front of the stranger, and smiled reassuringly.
“Here you go,” he said softly. “You look like you need someone to talk to. And who better than your friendly bartender? I’m a good listener, honest. You have to be or they won’t let you into bartending school.” He felt something warm unfurl in his gut when the man’s lips twitched. “Listen, I’ve got a couple of hours before this place starts filling up, so what do you say I turn over the closed sign and we chew the fat for a while?” He held up his right hand as if to swear an oath. “I promise I’m not an axe murderer, and they assure me the insanity has skipped a generation.”
Brody waited as Green-eyes seemed to weigh up the suggestion for a few moments and then nodded. Brody’s smile grew wider and he strode across the room to turn the sign on the door, flick up the lock, and pull down the blind. He noted the way Green-eyes nervously studied the label on the bottle of beer, and frowned in concern when the man started as Brody sat on the stool next to him.
Picking up the second beer, he took a long draw before turning on the stool to face the other man. “Hi, I’m Brody, Brody Tyler, the owner.” He held out his hand and his gaze snapped up when long fingers folded around his and he felt a sharp shock of static pass between them. Judging by the man’s intake of breath, he’d felt it too. Clearing his throat, Brody tried not to drop the hand he held as though it were a hot potato and raised an eyebrow in question. “And you are?”
“I don’t remember.”
“I said I don’t remember,” Green-eyes replied in a tired voice. “I have no idea who I am.”
Check out the awesome book trailer I made for her, or rather Sharita... ahem...
Good luck with your book Lisa. I loved it!