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YOU ARE MY REASON
YOU ARE MY REASON DUET BOOK 1
YOU ARE MY REASON
YOU ARE MY REASON DUET BOOK 1
YOU ARE MY REASON
FromUSA Todaybest-selling author Willow Winters comes an intense romance with second chances, secrets and a twist.
It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at a man and wanted something more.
Even longer since one has looked at me with a gaze I couldn’t tear my eyes from.
No one’s perfect, but that’s how he felt when I was in his arms.
I started to think everything was going to be all right. That life had finally put the pieces of my broken heart back together.
Fate brought us close.
It’s a pretty little thought my poetic mind had.
But there’s no doubt that the sins of his past will tear us apart.
“Love is more than words; my heart can tell you that.” - DLS
To Donna, always an inspiration.
MASON
“You should be thanking me for cleaning up your mess,” my father says snidely from where he’s seated in his high-back desk chair. His fingers grip the leather arms and his thumbs rub gently back and forth across the brass studs.
Though the blinds are closed, the tall windows behind my father fill the large office with fading light from the evening sunset.
Looking over my shoulder, I narrow my gaze at him, still holding a random law textbook I’ve taken from the floor-to-ceiling shelves that line the walls of his office. The room smells like old books. With the dark wood, tan leather and deep red Beaumont rug, the decor reeks of old money and that’s exactly what this room represents.
That and bullshit.
Lies and corruption are what have kept this room in its current state for generations. I’ve pretended for so long that it wasn’t true. But now that I’ve learned what my father’s done to get this “esteemed” position … I can’t turn a blind eye to it anymore. His actions are undeniable and unforgivable.
I huff a small laugh, not letting him see how affected I am. “For the last time,” I say as I shut the book and smirk at him, “it wasn’t my mess.”
I’m not admitting to a damn thing. Not even to my own father. In this city, one slipup could send you tumbling into an early grave like my mother. I’m not responsible for the mess my father’s referring to and I refuse to take the blame.
I don’t trust him. I don’t trust anyone any longer.
My father’s face reddens before he picks up a cup of hot coffee. He holds the black mug with both hands, blowing across the top and refusing to back down.
“You would have gone through hell?—”
“No, I wouldn’t have,” I say, cutting him off, although my voice doesn’t reflect any emotion whatsoever. This is a turning point in our relationship. Instead of his disappointment creeping under my skin, it’s the other way around. I look him in the eye as I add, “I would have been just fine.”
A moment passes where the only sound is the ticking of the large clock on the right side of the room. “It wasn’t my mess you cleaned up, and we both know it.” He’s the first to look away but instead of showing remorse, his expression only reflects his anger.
“Did you need anything else?” I ask. I just want to get the hell out of here and back to the construction site. This office reminds me of my grandfather, a man I loved and trusted. But he was a man who turned out to be just like all the other powerful men in this city. Ruled by corruption, driven by greed, imperfect.Devastatedis the word a former therapist would use to describe my reaction when I found out the truth about my family.
“I’m tired of you getting into trouble,” my father says and I scoff. This is the first time in my life I’ve truly been in control of myself. No more fucking around, starting trouble. These recent events have been sobering. When I was a hormone-filledteenager dealing with grief and anger, it was easy to act out and pick fights. Caused first by the death of my grandfather and then later, my mother.