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Title: What you wish for
Author: Gina Wynn
Genre: Romantic, Woman Fiction
Release Date: May 12
Tour Date: May 9 – 12
Hosted By Teaser Addicts PR
When Maggie Forrester wakes up naked in bed with her boss, iceman Will Brian, she’s sure it must be a dream. Or a feverish hallucination at the very least. But magic takes over when she begins to experience an impossible other life—complete with an alternate husband—and she’s forced to confront the reality of the man she loves versus the man she’s fallen in love with.
After secrets she believed long buried surface, both of Maggie’s realities are threatened. As the truth of her past comes to light, she must decide which man she truly loves and which life she wants to live—if the choice is even hers to make. Sometimes, true love is even worth wishing for.
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A tear slipped down my cheek at the idea of being the woman any man conquered, at what I’d allowed to happen. At what I’d done.
I brushed my palm over my face. It didn’t matter what I expected Mr. Brian’s behaviour to be with his overnight guests. I had no business being there to find out. That was the start and the end of it.
I warmed again, glad he couldn’t see me and my fifty shades of blush. Then I swallowed against rising nausea, my voice muffled by the trembling hand I pressed across my mouth.
Time to be the cliché. “Do you…. Ah, do you…. Um, did I mention Jake to you at all?”
“Jake?” His voice rose with emotion. Curiosity? Worry? Irritation or annoyance? “Jake Who?”
Yeah. Irritation. I cleared my throat. “Jake Forrester.”
“Forrester?” He appeared to be considering the word before he barked out a sharp question. “Dr. Forrester? Why would you mention him?”
I counted the seconds of sudden silence until a gentle knock.
“Maggie, are you okay? Do you mean you need a doctor? Stay there, I’m coming in.”
The handle above my head gave a small squeak of protest, and the luxurious carpet rubbed a slight burn against the backs of my thighs as the opening door pushed me forwards. I took a quick breath, inhaling new-carpet smell. My head came up as Mr. Brian squeezed into my line of sight. He’d found pyjama bottoms since the last time we were in the same room.
“Different Forrester, I think.” I smiled, but the weak attempt merely pulled the corners of my mouth. “Jake Forrester is a landscape gardener and tree specialist— drives a van covered in pictures of flowers. He always jokes his name made him do it—you know, Forrester. Gardens? You must have seen it. Sometimes he drops me off at work.” I pressed my lips together before I descended further into nervous babbling. Talking too much about Jake threatened to open up every floodgate holding my confused emotions in check.
Mr. Brian’s eyebrows knitted together, and his forehead creased. “Okay.” He paused, jaw tightening “Well, I can take you to see a doctor anyway. I’ll phone the practice. See if they can fit you in.” He slid back out of the overgrown cupboard, and the memory-lane whir of an old-school rotary phone almost convinced me I was sitting at my mother’s feet with my crayons while she caught up on all the latest gossip.
Oh God! Mum! She’d be mortified if she knew.
I slumped in defeat. I’d never be innocent of anything again.
Mr. Brian’s voice filtered through to me. “Hello. Yes, I wondered if any of the doctors had an appointment free today? My wife doesn’t seem to be quite herself.” I jerked in shock at his words. His wife? That presented a disturbing and unwelcome promotion from personal assistant. Mr. Brian continued. “What? No, not really, but if he’s the last one with an appointment free, we’ll see him. Yes. Yes, I’m aware it’s a bank holiday…. Fine. Thank you for your help.” The call ended with the mostly forgotten, satisfying clatter of a receiver into a cradle.
Confusion buzzed through me. Waking up naked in someone else’s bed didn’t constitute a marriage agreement in anyone’s world. Propelled, finally, into action, I stood on shaky legs to dress in the creased clothing I’d scooped from the floor by his bed.
Walk of shame time.
Finding myself in the unenviable and inexplicable position of dressing in someone else’s clothes—apparently pre-worn for my convenience—added a whole new dimension of madness to the morning.
I crept from the wardrobe ten minutes later to find the bed made, the curtains drawn back, and the door to the ensuite bathroom wide open in either invitation or silent mockery of my earlier faux pas.
After lowering myself to the floor, I commando shimmied my way across the large area, peering under every item of furniture where my handbag might comfortably fit, and even into some spaces where it wouldn’t.
My hunt proved short but thorough. Stylish dark wood furniture became less overbearing against cream walls and sumptuous soft fabrics, but the complete lack of cupboards, drawers, and usual assorted knickknack clutter identified minimalist living as the ideal solution when a forgetful person couldn’t remember if they’d put something down where it didn’t belong.
The desire to continue to locate my stuff coupled with the chinking of plates and distant radio of someone else’s morning routine drew me to the bedroom door. I all- but-floated on silent sock-covered feet across luxury carpet and down the stairs.
The entrance hall presented another huge space without much in the way of furniture, except for an expensive-looking, expansive chest of drawers, pretty much perfect for hiding handbags—or bodies. I almost laughed at the insane direction of my thoughts. It’s only Mr. Brian. I’m safe with him.
I started towards it, but an oversized wedding photography canvas occupying acres of wall space captured my attention instead. My gaze skimmed across pale blue eyes devoid of celebratory sparkle and onto beautifully teased fairy-tale ringlets.
Some people. I had no clue why they transformed entire surfaces into costly, larger-than-life-size shrines to themselves. I brought my fingers to my lightly padded cheekbones in self-conscious comparison with the bride.
I flicked a glance back over the picture intrigued by the representation of beauty and idealism, and thoughts of finding my things came to a brain-jarring stop.
It was me.
I didn’t recognise the perfection of the stylist-sculpted, milk-chocolate-toned hair or the smooth makeup concealing my smattering of freckles. It all looked far removed from my usual freshly washed, let’s go! appearance, and the forced smile in the photograph totally made my face appear plastic.
Yet it remained inarguably me.
I swayed, losing my balance, before sitting with a thump on the step. Okay. I clawed my thoughts together. A massive picture of me in my boss’s home coloured things a little differently. It’s only Mr. Brian. I’m safe with him.
As my manufactured confidence began to ebb, I spared a glance for the groom, finally able to notice one present at all, before peering closer. The man gazing at me with stark adoration in his devastating deep brown eyes was Mr. Brian.
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Disclaimer and Copyright Details
What You Wish For Copyright © 2016 by Gina Wynn ISBN: 978-1-68361-168-4 Cover Art by Tibbs Designs
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