Tuesday, March 10, 2015

Alpha by Jasinda Wilder

Alpha #1
Kyrie is having a hard time. Her father was murdered 7 years ago. Her mother fell apart and her brother was just a kid. She needs money now. She's paying all the bills for her family. Her mom is in an expensive mental hospital. Her brother is in college. Kyrie is trying to get through college herself. She's just lost her job and her boss propositioned her. To top that off, she's getting evicted from her apartment. Just when she thinks she's lost everything, a check for $10,000 arrives in the mail. She cashes it and pays off all of her bills. But she finds herself in the same hole at the end of the next month. Another check arrives. By the fourth the check, the notes say You Belong To Me. For a whole year she cashes the checks. Then a chauffeur arrives to collect her. He's to take her to the man who's been sending her the checks.
At first he will not reveal who he is and makes her be blindfolded when he is with her. She is scared but intrigued. Who is he and what does he want?

I LOVED this story. It is a great love story. I was captivated by it.

From the author:
The first time it happened, it seemed like an impossible miracle. Bills were piling up, adding up to more money than I could ever make. Mom’s hospital bills. My baby brother’s tuition. My tuition. Rent. Electricity. All of it on my shoulders. And I had just lost my job. There was no hope, no money in my account, no work to be found. And then, just when I thought all hope was lost, I found an envelope in the mail. No return address. My name on the front, my address. Inside was a check, made out to me, in the amount of ten thousand dollars. Enough to pay the bills and leave me some left over to live on until I found a job. Enough to let me focus on classes. There was no name on the check, just “VRI Inc.,” and a post office box address for somewhere in the city. No hint of identity or reason for the check or anything. No mention of repayment, interest, nothing…except a single word, on the notes line: “You.” Just those three letters.
If you receive a mysterious check, for enough money to erase all your worries, would you cash it?
I did.
The next month, I received another check, again from VRI Incorporated. It too contained a single word: “belong.”
A third check, the next month. This time, two words. Four letters. “To me.”
The checks kept coming. The notes stopped. Ten thousand dollars, every month. A girl gets used to that, real quick. It let me pay the bills without going into debt. Let me keep my baby brother in school and Mom’s hospice care paid for. How do you turn down what seems like free money, when you’re desperate? You don’t. I didn’t.
And then, after a year, there was a knock on my door. A sleek black limousine sat on the curb in front of my house. A driver stood in front of me, and he spoke six words: “It’s time to pay your debt.”
Would you have gotten in?
I did.
It turns out $120,000 doesn’t come free.

From Chapter 4, “Tests”

I found myself out of bed, dressed in a T-shirt and underwear, pacing the living room, thoughts racing. I ached. Deep down, between my legs. He’d made me hot and left me hanging. I didn’t like that. I wasn’t in some kind of sexual frenzy, just…mildly frustrated. Left curious, wondering, needing more.

Finally, I couldn’t take it any more. I left my room and wandered toward the kitchens. I didn’t bother with pants, since only Eliza would be around to see me, assuming she was still awake. Mystery Man—god, I really needed to find out his name—had said he’d be in his private quarters.

Really? Private quarters? Who says that anymore? The dirty-minded teenager in me wanted to make a joke about it. When faced with situations that I had a hard time dealing with, my go-to reaction was humor, usually bawdy and inappropriate; see also the last few minutes of my thoughts.

After a few wrong turns, I found the industrial kitchen, gaping and echoing and dark. An eight-burner Wolf gas range with an expansive, gleaming hood vent, double Wolf ovens, an unlit stone pizza oven with a long-handled paddle leaning against the wall nearby, a wide island with a white cutting board running in front of a bank of closed, silver-topped, refrigerated containers. This was a restaurant kitchen, done in luxury-grade. There was a walk-in refrigerator, a walk-in freezer, and a six foot-tall wine cooler stocked with bottle after bottle of what I assumed was thousands of dollars in chilled wine. There was another free-standing refrigerator dedicated to nothing but beer: Stella Artois, Newcastle, Smithwicks, Guiness, Harp, Yuengling, Duvel, Chimay…every kind of beer you could imagine, as long as it wasn’t cheap domestic. No Bud Light or Coors here. I probably shouldn’t tell him I rarely drank anything but Bud Light. That was more due to budgetary restrictions than taste preference, but still.

Read more here.

Pages: 450
Published: 2014

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