Sunday, September 7, 2014
Separation (The Kane Trilogy, #2) by Stylo Fantôme
Can the Devil be Forgiven? Everything is fun and games till someone gets hurt, and what Jameson Kane did to Tatum O'Shea goes so far beyond hurt, he is well into the realm of unforgivable. Tate says she wants him gone for good, and he quickly learns that the old saying, “you don't know what you've got till it's gone”, is most definitely true. But Jameson has never been very good at following instructions, and when Satan decides to seek redemption, he'll go to great lengths to get it. He proposes one last game – one to end them all, if she agrees to play. He is very confident that he can win, but Tate warns him that's not possible; she will not lose again. Little does she know, Jameson is prepared to do whatever it takes. Prepared to lay the entire world at her feet. Prepared to bear his soul. What he didn't count on, though, was handing the damn thing over. Now he can only pray that his evil ways haven't rubbed off on Tate too much. Sometimes, it's very difficult to tell who the Devil really is … WARNING: contains a semi-reformed devil, a woman scorned, and more Sanders than anyone has a right to witness. Also graphic sexual situations and strong language.
Jameson hadn't seen how it had started, just how it had ended. When he'd walked into Sanders' room and saw a man in a suit bent over Tatum, he had thought it was actually Sanders himself, at first. Talk about upsetting. Sanders was like a son to Jameson, he didn't want to have to kill him. But it wasn't Sanders. It was Dunn, Jameson's business partner there in Boston. A man Jameson had gone to school with, a man he had known for a long time. Dunn knew that Tate was off limits. Tate knew that Jameson didn't want her to sleep with any of his friends or colleagues. Breaking rules was apparently par for the course that night. Jameson had wanted to murder them both, but he'd settled for beating the shit out of Dunn, and then kicking Tatum out of the house. He hadn't bothered to look in the bathroom. He never bothered to look at anything, ever. He didn't have to – he didn't care. Right? Right? She had bled. How could I not notice that she was bleeding? Even I never made her bleed. Jameson pressed his back against the door, then slid in to a sitting position. Put his head in his hands. He was a Yale graduate. He owned multiple businesses, in multiple countries. He played the stock market like he'd invented it, and owned real estate so pricey, even Donald Trump was interested. He was considered by many to be a very smart, calculating man. But suddenly he felt very stupid. Brought down by a woman with black hair and dark eyes. A sexy wit and a sexier body. A bartender, coupon clipper, temp worker. A college drop out turned party girl, with loose morals and legs that rarely closed. So much better than him, in every way, shape, and form. Her only downside was thinking she could use sex as a weapon. She'd always been too naive to realize that sometimes, weapons could backfire. It had certainly backfired on him.
Crazy woman living in an undisclosed location in Alaska (where the need for a creative mind is a necessity!), I have been writing since ..., forever? Yeah, that sounds about right. I have been told that I remind people of Lucille Ball - I also see shades of Jennifer Saunders, and Denis Leary. So basically, I laugh a lot, I'm clumsy a lot, and I say the F-word A LOT. I like dogs more than I like most people, and I don't trust anyone who doesn't drink. No, I do not live in an igloo, and no, the sun does not set for six months out of the year, there's your Alaska lesson for the day. I have mermaid hair - both a curse and a blessing - and most of the time I talk so fast, even I can't understand me. Yeah. I think that about sums me up.