Fearless (The Story of Samantha Smith #1),
Reckless (The Story of Samantha Smith #2),
Painless (The Story of Samantha Smith #3)
CONTENT WARNING: Due to sexual situations and strong language, these novels may not be appropriate for readers under 18.
FEARLEASS
After moving from stuffy Washington D.C. to laid back San Diego, where Samantha is now a freshman at San Diego University, she is determined to find new friends and reclaim her optimistic spirit. Having thrown away her goth exterior, she hopes that her new sunny look will heal her wounds.
Dreaming of adventure, she wishes to escape the humdrum middle-class existence that has repressed her fiery nature for as long as she can remember. But her parents are pressuring her to major in Accounting because it's the safe thing to do. Samantha secretly considers ditching the business major to study Art, a choice that would horrify her parents if they ever found out.
When Samantha crosses paths with a troubled, handsome, tattoo-clad bad boy, her life spins into overdrive, and Samantha finds herself juggling more adventure than she ever dreamed possible.
Fearless
Chapter 1
I was disastrously late for my first college class ever. My master plan to live at the beach while remaining close to the San Diego University campus had blown up in my face. I had left out one variable: suck-ass traffic.Nobody had given me the memo that the Pacific Coast Highway was the route that half of San Diego County took to work in the morning.
At least I had a scenic view of the beach while I waited behind a line of cars at a red light in my raggedy VW. I watched a bunch of surfers skimming across the top of the ultramarine Pacific Ocean.
I did my best to relax, clicking my nails on the steering wheel, keeping time to Born This Way by Lady Gaga. I didn’t care what people said, Gaga wrote great music. Girl Power!
The cars in front of me had moved. Finally. Horns blared behind me.
“All right!” I shouted at them. Not watching what I was doing, I reached for the stick shift and knocked my Venti Americano out of the cup holder. The lid flew off and coffee poured all over my bare legs. “Shit!” Fortunately I loved half-and-half, so the coffee didn’t scald me. But the cup had been nearly full. Creamy coffee coated my legs and the footwell. At least none of it got on my new print dress.
“Move it!” someone yelled behind me.
Seriously? I had the BP oil spill turning my car into the Gulf of Mexico and I was supposed to worry about traffic? I threw napkins at the mess, but I didn’t have enough to make a dent.
I frantically grabbed the stick shift and put the car back into first. My foot slipped off the clutch as I put on the gas. I lurched forward and the car stalled. Crap. Coffee sloshed against the floorboards and waved into the back seat. Craptastic.
“Go, you dumb broad!”
I glanced in my rearview at a red-faced guy in a gaudy gold Mercedes convertible. He stood up in his car and leaned over his windshield impatiently.
Flustered, I twisted my keys in the ignition and nothing happened. What was wrong with my car now? I hoped nothing serious because I didn’t have spare cash for a replacement thingamajig or whatever. I took a deep breath. Duh. I’d forgotten to push the clutch.
Red Face shook his fist at me. “You made me miss the light, stupid bitch!”
Bitch…
I leaned my head out my window and prepared to give this guy a dose of feminine fury. My face was nearly sliced off as a motorcycle lane-split between my car and the sedan next to me.
“Hey!” I turned to shout at the motorcycle. “You almost killed me!”
The psycho guy on the roaring black bike didn’t hear me. He rolled to a stop at the red light a few cars ahead of my VW, planted his boots on the ground, and revved his engine. I noticed his thin white T-shirt flutter in the breeze, revealing sculpted bronze back muscles that led to what was clearly an amazing ass hidden under his jeans. The way he straddled the racing bike made me blush. Was he wearing any underwear?
I wish I was that motorcycle. Shut your dirty mind, girl! Thoughts like that will get you into all kinds of trouble!
Maybe I liked trouble.
His narrow waist led to broad shoulders that were equally amazing and stretched the cotton material of his shirt impressively. Yum.
Hold up, girl! He almost beheaded you with his handlebars! No special passes for insane bikers. Even if they are hot from the rear.
“Psycho!” I shouted. He didn’t hear me.
“You made me miss the light, idiot!” I whipped my head around. Red Face had gotten out of his Mercedes and stood right behind my door, his fists planted on his hips. He wore a toupee and gaudy gold chain. His swollen gut, wrapped in a silk button-down shirt, hung over his expensive slacks.
I might have liked trouble, but not this kind.
“Don’t call me an idiot!” I shouted. “And quit yelling at me! I’m swimming in Lake Americano here!” My pulse raced. I knew guys like this. Asshats to a man.
He eyed my coffee mess and smirked. “It’s stupid broads like you who cause all the accidents.”
“Excuse me?” Broads? Was I trapped in a 1940s gangster film? A thatch of curly hair puffed out of his open shirt collar. More like a 1970s mafia movie.
“Dumb bitch! Get off the road! Leave the driving to the men!”
Bitch…
How many times had I been called that in the last two years? I learned I didn’t have to take it from them, so I certainly wasn’t going to take it from this prick. I cranked up my window furiously. Half way up, Red Face grabbed the glass and pushed against it. “Hey! I’m talking to you! Get off the road, slut! You’re blocking traffic!”
Slut…
I knew that one, too. But I was no slut. Uh-uh. I flashed my teeth at him. If I were a werewolf, now would’ve been the moment when I bit his fingers off. No such luck. I tried to turn the window crank, but Red Face pushed down so hard on the glass, I couldn’t budge it. “Hey, asshole, get off my car or I’m going to pepper spray your face!”
“Don’t back talk me, whore!”
Whore…
I glared at his insane eyes. I knew the look. He was trying to intimidate me. My face was suddenly hot, and I felt tears welling. I willed them to dry up. I’d promised myself no one would ever intimidate me again, and I certainly wasn’t going to cry for this sloppy bastard.
But old feelings leaked into my awareness anyway. Red Face had managed to bring me right back to that night two years ago. The night that had started all the dirty looks, the labels, the name calling, and the ejection from high school society.
For a second, I almost fell apart. But I had plenty of practice holding myself together under stress. I took a deep breath and shoved my old pain behind the emotional walls I’d worked so hard to build.
When I regained my composure, I spoke to Red Face in a calm, commanding voice. “Remove your fingers from my window and get back into your car. Now.”
He ignored my request. “Move it, skank!”
This guy was plain crazy. He probably didn’t know what day of the week it was, let alone his own name. He needed a handler with a leash. Where was Animal Control when you needed them?
What to do? I didn’t have pepper spray. Even if I did, it would be buried in my purse underneath the hoarder’s paradise I kept inside it. I considered biting his fingers once again. Until I noticed he had hairy knuckles. Ew. That made him the hairy werewolf in this scenario.
I considered gouging his eyes with my nails, but the way he was standing, I couldn’t get an angle. I looked around for help. No one was jumping out of their cars. I was on my own on this.
Shit, when wasn’t I?
Red Face kicked my car door with his pointed loafer. “Hey! I’m talking to you, pinhead!”
I noticed motion out the corner of my eye. Psycho Motorbike had put his kickstand down and swung his leg over his motorcycle. Helmet still on, he swaggered toward my car.
Psycho Motorbike stopped short of Red Face, who hadn’t noticed him. Psycho Motorbike’s front side was as impressive as his back. His broad chest flexed under a V-neck t-shirt. The tanned edges of his sculpted pectorals danced in the open collar. Muscled arms covered in tattoos hung at his sides. Leather gloves covered his fists.
I couldn’t see much of his face with the helmet on, but his sapphire blue eyes pierced my heart. “You gotta problem?”
Was he talking to me or Red Face?
Red Face swiveled to confront blue-eyed Psycho Motorbike. “Who the fuck are you?”
“This guy bothering you?” Psycho Motorbike stared into my eyes, clearly talking to me.Sigh.
“I’m talking to you, you fucking prick!” Red Face shouted at Psycho Motorbike.
Psycho Motorbike never took his eyes off me. I gazed into his two blue oceanic jewels and nodded slowly.
“The lady wants you to leave,” Psycho Motorbike said to Red Face.
“What? I don’t take shit from you, punk. Get the fuck outta here,” Red Face growled.
Psycho Motorbike took a step toward him. “Back off, buddy.”
“Fuck you, prick!” Red Face lunged toward Psycho Motorbike.
In one fluid motion, Psycho Motorbike side-stepped and punched Red Face in the gut. The fat man went down in a crumpled heap. Nope. this wasn’t a gangster movie or mob drama. This was an old west showdown! Woo hoo, Psycho Blue Eyes! I almost clapped. Almost.
Psycho Motorbike leaned over, grabbed Red Face by the back of the shirt and pulled him to his feet. The muscles in his tanned arms bunched and stretched beneath his intricate tattoos. Wow. Red Face coughed and sputtered as blue-eyed Psycho Motorbike led him somewhat politely to the curb and dropped him there like a sack of rice.
“You need an ambulance?” Psycho Motorbike asked Red Face while towering over him.
Still coughing, Red Face’s eyes bulged from their sockets. Surprise, embarrassment, and anger warred on his fat face. He looked up at Psycho Motorbike and shook his head no, then hung it between his shoulders in defeat.
I rolled my window down as Psycho Motorbike walked over and leaned onto my car. I noticed the material of his shirt was an expensive knit, and slightly transparent. Quiver. One of his well-toned forearms rested on my windowsill.
I inhaled the faint scent of his cologne, which hit the manly sweet spot somewhere between dusty cowboy and crowned prince. Strength and style. That’s not the only spot it hits. Down, girl!
There was no way he could see anything beneath or through my knee-length dress, but I squeezed my thighs together, just in case. Just in case I jumped him. Rawr!
Now that he was my knight in see-through armor, maybe I should stop thinking of him as Psycho Motorbike and call him Motorknight.
“You okay?” A dimple twitched beneath his cheek. I detected a cocky smile. I couldn’t see his lips beneath the helmet’s face mask, but I could imagine them. Swoon. He looked at me expectantly.
“Uh…” Pick up your panties and grow some ovaries, girl! Loosen that corset or you’re going to faint right here! “Thanks, yeah, I’m okay.”
His face twisted. “Why do you smell like coffee?”
“Um…new body spray?” I said hopefully.
He noticed my legs and the coffee spill. He chuckled. “Looks like you had an accident.”
Boy, he was really looking at my legs. I wanted to squirm. “Yeah.Accident.” I sounded like an idiot.
“What’s your name?” His eyes melted my good sense, like Superman’s laser beam eyes, except blue.
“Sam—”
Cars started honking again. The light had cycled back to green.
“—antha.”
“My work is done here. Sam. Antha.” More dimples. Wow. Was this guy for real?
He slapped the roof of my car, swaggered back to his bike and rocketed down the highway. I wanted to shout “My name’s Samantha Smith! My cell phone number is—” but I had a small fragment of self-respect remaining.
I started my car and tried to follow, but he was long gone. All I had left of that horrible-magical moment was a car floor soaking in coffee and my outfit equally in need of a wash and detailing.
Psycho Blue Eyes had made me forget all about Red Face. But Red Face had brought back everything else.
Bitch.
All because of something I did…
Slut.
A mistake I could never undo…
Whore.
Something I would regret for the rest of my life…
RECKLESS
“I’ve never given my heart to anyone, agápi mou.
You are my first. And you will be my last.
You are my forever.”
- Christos Manos, in RECKLESS (The Story of Samantha Smith #2)
Now that Samantha Smith has confronted the demons from her dark past in FEARLESS, she’s excited to jump into adulthood with newfound confidence and friends Romeo, Madison, and Kamiko.
Samantha passionately hopes that her dreams of becoming an artist are more than girlish fancy. All she has to do for them to come true is change her major from Accounting to Art, but she fears her parents will fly off the handle when she reveals her intentions.
Christos Manos, the ultimate bad-boy boyfriend, is committed to staying by Samantha’s side, nurturing her and helping her discover her potential, no matter what obstacles are thrown in her way.
When Samantha’s life starts to unravel, Christos is the only person she can turn to for the emergency support she needs. But Christos is fighting his own dark demons, tangled secrets he’s kept hidden from the beginning.
Samantha will be tested to the limits of her resilience, and must discover how truly Fearless she can be in the name of love.
PROLOGUE
PART 1
Christos
THREE MONTHS EARLIER…
I couldn’t bear to look at Samantha. Naked heartbreak strained her face.
Because of me.
At the end of my first day back at SDU, two cops stuffed me in the back of a police cruiser right in front of her. I felt like a complete douche nugget. You can romanticize it all you want, but getting arrested fucking sucks. Who wants to go to jail, really? I’d been locked up enough times to know.
Samantha tried to catch my attention as the cruiser drove me away, but I avoided her eyes.
I felt bad, but I was too embarrassed to look at her, no matter how many points I’d scored by cleaning up the coffee cesspool in her car before the cops showed up. I grinned to myself. That shit had been rank, but enduring the smell was a small price to pay for more time with Samantha.
The cop car pulled onto the freeway, taking the Five south toward downtown. Traffic was heavy. I’d have plenty of time to mull things over.
I wasn’t sure who was pressing charges against me, but my bet was that fat red-faced fuck who’d been harassing Samantha on the way to campus in the a.m. He tries to jump me, and I’m the one hauled downtown?
Fuck that shit.
I exhaled heavily and pushed away my irritation.
For a guy my size, the back of a squad car was cramped quarters. I wanted to slouch down and get comfortable on the bench seat, but with the cuffs on, it wasn’t doable. Instead, I leaned my shoulder against the door and rested my head against the glass.
Watching the familiar landmarks sail past should’ve been comforting. The mural with the waves and surfers on the storage building in Pacific Beach was pretty nice. But my favorite was always the huge mural of humpback whales on the side of the Chevrolet dealership. Those painted whales swam in a vast emerald ocean, elegant symbols of graceful mobility and independence.
Sadly, the artsy roadside surroundings, the blue skies overhead, and the Pacific Ocean a hop-skip to my right were now an infinite distance from my grasp. They taunted me with promises of fleeting freedom, a stark contrast to my current situation.
Screw it. I wasn’t letting the cage of this squad car trap my spirit. My mind was free to roam and seek safe harbor.
A smile crept across my face as I pictured Samantha in my mind’s eye. Not the downer moment when she’d panicked at the sight of the cops cuffing me, but all the magic moments before that, since this morning.
Like when I’d bumped into her coming out of the Student Center bookstore and she laughed when I told her my name was Adonis. I think that made her the first chick who’d ever openly mocked my middle name. Most girls melted when I said it, like I was some kind of celebrity movie star. Sure, I’d gotten giggles galore and countless stripper laughs from all kinds of bar babes in the past, but not Samantha’s sour-faced disdain. I kind of liked it. She was all spark and no bullshit.
It helped she was epic hot. Too bad she couldn’t see it for herself. But it was clear as day to me. Underneath her self-doubt, she was super-nova, incendiary hot. My lips curled in my trademarked cocky smirk. I could handle it. I liked fire.
Getting burned let you know you were alive.
The funny thing about Samantha was that, even though she was a total hottie, she was a complete spaz. Her firestorm emotions constantly tore up her good looks, turning her face purse-dog ugly half the time. Like when fatty had tried to climb into her VW on the way to campus, the look on her face had been the visual equivalent of nails grinding across a chalkboard. Totally heinous. But it was only temporary.
I dug the honest flow of Samantha’s emotions. It was way better than the contrived gamesmanship of Tiffany and her looney sorority friends with their Halloween-mask sincerity.
Samantha’s naked honesty and tumultuous emotions made me want to protect her that much more. She was some kind of rare and unique truth.
When she was calm, she was undeniably the most beautiful woman on the planet. I don’t say that shit lightly. I’ve been with more than enough hotties to know.
But with Samantha, it went far beyond her looks.
I’d totally flipped for her the moment I’d laid eyes on her. Even with her funky dress and that coffee smell and her jangling nerves, something about Samantha shone right into me like a beacon. Call it her spirit, her essence, I don’t fucking know. But sure as shit, I’d never felt anything like it coming off of any other chicks I’d ever met.
Samantha was in a class of her own.
She had a calming effect on me, like everything in the world had fallen into place at last, and the human race could kick back and sip Mai Tais into eternity. This was a unique experience for me. Ever since my mom had left my dad, my life had been a scattered vortex of recklessness. Peace and calmness were strangers to me. Daily disaster and emotional chaos were my resting state.
There was one memory of perfect calmness that I cherished, and I turned to it whenever my head was spinning out of control. It reminded me of the calmness my life could have, if only I could figure out how to hold onto it for longer than a minute or two at a time.
It’d happened two or three years ago, on a surfing trip down in Baja with Jake and some of our buddies.
We’d camped overnight on the beach, and I’d hit the waves first thing in the morning, before everyone else was awake. They were sleeping off the cases of Coronas everyone had pounded the night before. For whatever reason, I’d gone easy on the brews and was ready for an early start.
After I’d paddled out for the seventh time, I’d been sitting on my board in meditative silence, alone, lolling on a glassy ocean, waiting between sets, feet dangling in the tropical water while a perfect sunrise soaked the horizon. The entire world had felt like everything was as it should be, the way nature intended. For the first time since my mom had left my dad, I’d felt perfect, total calmness. For a fleeting moment.
Then it was gone.
Samantha had brought that peaceful feeling back ten times over. I’d felt it continuously since meeting her, and it spiked whenever I was in her presence. Too bad the cops trashed my vibe the second they took me away. Fucking five-oh. I shook my head.
Samantha…
I needed more of her. I was hooked. I mean, junkie hooked. She gave me something I couldn’t give myself, no matter how hard I’d tried.
Samantha…
Bouncing around inside the rolling jail with the two cops sitting in front of me suddenly yanked me painfully out of my private reverie.
Bars, handcuffs, no escape.
I struggled to keep my feelings for Samantha protected from my grim predicament. I didn’t want my current situation tarnishing my memories of her in any way. After taking a deep, calming breath, I dove back into comforting reminiscence.
I recalled Samantha’s surprise when we’d first locked eyes in Life Drawing class. Watching her struggle not to stare at my package while she’d been drawing me naked was probably the comedy highlight of my year. She’d been ready to boil over with embarrassment.
Despite her nearly perpetual awkwardness, I totally dug her, no matter how off-kilter her mood.
Stalking her at the Eleanor M. Westbrook art museum was probably the calmest I’d seen her. The deserted museum was a quiet and relaxing cocoon, making it easy to let your guard down. I’m sure Samantha was so busy marveling at the paintings, her worries had fallen away. I knew the experience well. I felt it every time I went to a great art museum myself, and slid into the colors and shapes of the paintings, escaping my own inner turmoil for brief moments.
While Samantha had stood mesmerized in front of my grandfather’s painting, Shrouded Paradise, I witnessed her truest beauty come out of hiding for the first time like some timid field mouse sniffing the air for danger. That crazy beauty was such a fragile, fleeting thing, like a snowflake or a perfect sunset. You could only appreciate it if you stopped yourself and really took it in before it was gone, maybe forever.
I wanted desperately to protect Samantha from whatever haunted her because I knew her insecurity ran deep, just like mine. The only difference between me and her was that I hid it, and she didn’t.
I couldn’t decide if she was the bravest person I’d ever met, or the craziest.
It didn’t matter.
I wanted to wash away her tears and fears so that the amazing young woman I sensed beneath her teenaged anxiety could finally emerge.
I already knew beyond all doubt that I would do anything to help Samantha find her way in life.
The fact I was parked in the back of a squad car because of her, ten hours after we’d met, was living proof.
I sighed heavily again, my heart accelerating while my chest tightened around it. Man, I knew Samantha was going to be trouble for me. Maybe even more trouble than where I was heading in the back of this black-and-white. I grinned to myself. The good news was, this shit was temporary.
I looked forward to finding out how much trouble Samantha could be the second I got out of whatever steaming mess I’d tripped into with the cops.
Because whatever was brewing between me and Samantha felt permanent.
Eternal.
PAINLESS
At last! The exciting, steamy, action packed conclusion to the Story of Samantha Smith! PAINLESS follows Samantha through the remainder of her first year in college at sunny San Diego University.
Oh, and what about that hot hunk Christos Manos? When we last left him, his life balanced on the brink of disaster. What is going to happen to him? You’ll have to read PAINLESS to find out!
Find out what happens to Samantha, Christos, Romeo, Kamiko, Madison, Jake, and everyone else in PAINLESS, the third and final volume of the series!
This book is full of surprises!!
SAMANTHA
Dread.
The gloom of the deserted Manos Mansion pressed in around me, suffocating me. I sat on Christos’ bed in his empty bedroom, clutching his sketchbook to my chest in my quivering hands. His haunted words echoed in my mind.
“Alone
I must brave this day
Alone
I have sealed my fate
Alone
I will touch the sky
Alone
I must die”
No! I must have read them wrong! Christos would never…
I couldn’t even think it.
My heart rabbited in my chest and threatened to seize as I re-read his lonely poem under the dim light of his bedside lamp. Christos was in dire torment. His heart was breaking. I could feel his pain as if it were my own. He was in trouble, and he needed help.
Panic and a sense of helplessness spun through me. How could I help Christos if I didn’t know where he was? He hadn’t answered any of my calls or texts for over an hour. I desperately wanted to do something otherwise I was going to splinter into a million pieces.
But what?
The heavy silence pressing in around me was broken by the clatter of the front door opening downstairs.
“Christos!” I yelped as I shot up from the bed. I sprinted out of his bedroom and down the darkened hallway. Relief washed over me as I pounded downstairs. I was going to throw my arms around my man and hold onto him and tell him everything was going to be okay. I knew my love would heal the pain and self hatred that had been eating him up from the inside out for way too long.
At the bottom of the stairs, I turned and skidded into the entry hall. “Christos!”
“Samoula?” Spiridon smiled, his keys jingling in his hands. “What are you doing here?”
“Where’s Christos?” I blurted anxiously.
“Isn’t he with you?”
“No,” I muttered, disappointment darkening my voice.
“He’s not in the studio working?” Spiridon asked.
“No, I checked. He’s not in the house anywhere.” For a moment I felt nervous, worried I would have to explain to Spiridon why I was wandering through his house uninvited. Which was weird, because Spiridon had already invited me to move in with him and Christos. He’d even given me a house key. So why did I feel like a snooping criminal? Oh yeah. My parents. The Source of All that is Evil.
Them.
Telling my parents over the phone that I was moving in with Christos had freaked them out. Which led to me hanging up on them and Christos freaking out because my parents were freaked out.
And the worst news of all: Christos’ pending Valentine’s Day trial, only two days away.
Why hadn’t Christos told me until now? Was the trust we’d built together a lie? What else was he hiding? A shudder shook me to my bones. My heart accelerated into overdrive as the stressful events of the last few hours reignited in my mind. My life was unraveling by the second. I felt light headed as my chest tightened, making it nearly impossible to breathe. Was I having a heart attack? Was that possible for a nineteen year old? At that moment, it definitely felt like it. Every cell in my body screamed that Christos was in immediate danger, wherever he was. My eyes flashed panic. I needed to protect him any way I could. “I need to go find Christos!”
“Calm down, koritsáki mou,” Spiridon reassured. “Come into the kitchen, Samoula. Maybe you should sit down. You don’t look well.”
My hands shook uncontrollably as he led me into the kitchen, pulled a chair out from the table for me, and opened the refrigerator. He grabbed a pitcher of water and poured a glass for me as I dropped into the chair.
“Tell me everything,” he said as he set the glass on the table and sat down. He took my hands in his and rubbed the backs of them affectionately. “Whatever it is,” he smiled, “everything is going to be fine.”
My throat closed to a pinhole as I realized the bitter truth. Even if I could somehow find Christos and rescue him from whatever fate awaited him tonight, he faced the likely possibility of going to jail for who knew how long after his upcoming trial.
I rambled, “Christos, he’s…I don’t know…I think he’s…” I was torn between my worry for Christos and the warm, loving way Spiridon was comforting me. His compassionate gaze made me oddly nervous. I wasn’t used to any kind of tenderness from other people, or the way it lowered the walls around my emotions.
Other than the intimacy I’d shared with Christos over the last five months, I’d never opened up like this in front of anyone. Especially not an adult. And never in front of my parents.
I had never let my my guard down around them.
The night Damian Wolfram had run over Taylor Lamberth, I’d freaked out big time. There was no way I would have shared my feelings about it with my parents. I’d made sure to avoid them until I’d had a chance to collect myself and stuff my feelings back inside the box I’d built around my heart when I was little.
I don’t know when I’d started building that box. It was never a conscious thing. It was a defense mechanism. Probably one that everyone had. The idea of sharing my naked feelings with my parents had always felt like an invasion of my privacy. They didn’t understand feelings. When I was little and showed my feelings to my mom, she frowned and scowled at me and told me to get a hold of myself like a big girl, or else. When my dad saw my feelings, he pulled out a calculator and tried to solve them like a math problem. If that didn’t work, he tried to sterilize them with logic. That was why I never shared anything with my parents. Not anything that mattered.
But looking into Spiridon’s deeply compassionate eyes, I felt safe. He wasn’t freaked out. He was calm, confident, and loving. I wish he could give my parents lessons. In that moment, I felt like I could tell him everything, and he would understand. He wouldn’t lecture or reprimand, and he wouldn’t measure, calculate or solve. He would simply listen. And in that listening, healing occurred. Christos had taught me that. Had he learned it from Spiridon? It seemed likely, looking at him now.
Sitting in the Manos’ kitchen, I felt comforted, swaddled in the warm embrace of the tangible love emanating from Spiridon, a love that circulated throughout his house, as if it had gently flowed out of his being for decades and soaked into the wood. This home, this kitchen, was a sacred space.
My tears welled. I was about to spill everything, tell Spiridon about the nasty things my parents had said, and the threats they had made on the phone. I knew in my heart that Spiridon wouldn’t judge. He would listen with understanding and love. I longed for that sort of comfort, the kind of comfort Christos had shown me many times already.
But more than anything, I wanted it from Christos.
Christos…
Coiled resolve unwound inside me. My feelings about my parents could wait. Christos was in mortal danger right now. I needed to do something to save him. Could I tell Spiridon that deep in my bones I felt certain his grandson’s life dangled on the precipice of disaster? I would sound like a lunatic. To my parents, anyway.
“What is it, Samoula?” Spiridon asked softly. “You can tell me anything.”
I believed him and trusted him completely. I lifted my heavy head and met his eyes with mine. “Christos is in terrible trouble.” It frightened me to say it, as if voicing my fears might magically make things worse.
“I know, koritsáki mou. I know,” he said heavily as his head bowed solemnly and his eyes darkened.
His words carried such sadness, such poignancy, I felt my heart beginning to shrivel and sink into blackness…
Christos…
Oh no…
I was given the ARC for Fearless, Reckless and Painless by Devon Hartford for an honest review
So ladies, when someone tells you they have met a guy who is called Adonis, what do you picture?,,, a Greek God right?!!, well that was the picture in my head when I started reading Fearless and Adonis (who we later find out is Christos) introduces himself to us all. I kid you not ladies that as soon as you read the description that Devon gives you of Adonis (Christos) you will make that assumption as well; the picture in your heads is something that will stay with you throughout these books.
Ok where to start.....
These three books were brilliantly written and the story was exceptional, however, I did feel that there did not need to be three books, I felt at times there was too much information that in my opinion (and it is only my opinion) was not necessary this whole story could have been written in two books. Ok, so let me tell you what I felt and thought of these books.
Fearless Review
This book sets you up introducing the characters to you however, you do not know too much about Samantha, Devon keeps her secrets just that a secret until the very last minute which to me was great, it kept you guessing and wondering “what is her secret, what is she hiding”? and I loved that about this book, the writing was great and the story was intriguing. In this book you met all the characters for the whole story and brief introductions on who they are, what they do and their relationships with each other. In this book, you saw how Samantha saw Christos and thought of how much a player he was.“He probably took all his girls out for a ‘Get back to nature’ hikes. This guy knew what he was doing. He wasn’t going to enchant me with his pathetic charms”
We also find Christos the human being, the artists who maybe a player but is also a man who loves to paint “I try to paint what lies beneath people’s facades. Their core self, when they’re not trying to protect their usually image”. This part of the book to me showed not only do people assume what the other person maybe just by image but also by reputation, people are too quick to judge which is a shame. We see a difference in the dynamics play out once Christos and Samantha are honest with each other and it was great to read.
There was lots of laughter and fun in this book and at times tears, there was also the matter of Tiffany, well she is another story, which I shall let you read about yourselves.
I enjoyed this book immensely
Reckless Review
Ok this was a different story to me, unfortunately I felt this book was too long, too much in this book that I felt was not necessary. I did like however, you got a better insight into Samantha and Christos, his family and her family but felt it could have been shorter.In this book their relationship starts to heat up but so does the drama, there are still things being hidden between these two people that need to be sorted and out in the open but I felt myself wishing that these two would get their heads knocked together and open up. Samantha starts to realize that she does have a life and she doesn’t need to be down trodden by people and eventually with Christos’ help start to realize that she has a voice and she can do anything she puts her mind to, especially her painting, however, she still needs to deal with her parents and the demons that annoy her on a daily basis, however, it gets easier for Samantha as she has Christos by her side and her very loyal friends.
Painless Review
OMG I really loved this last book, I felt the emotion in this book from Chapter 1. I will admit I was not sure what to expect after being a bit disappointed with Reckless but I found Painless an easier book with more emotion in it that I loved to read.
Christos, Christos, Christos. What can I say, this guy has had so much shit to deal with in his life that yes at times I can see why he would want to just give it all up but he loves Sam and that pulls him through these days and months and helps him get back on track.
“We lay in each other’s arms on our bed as the embers of our fire cooled and the bond between our hearts strengthened, much like bedrock after the erupted volcano finally comes to rest. Our ritual of love was complete, body and soul. Together Christos and I had laid the foundation for our renewal and rebirth. Like Adam and Eve, we were Man and Woman. We were Creation. We were Love..... Love”
These two in this book show the bond they have and without giving too much away, yes there is drama to get through and there is still the problem of Tiffany but I will let you read all about her yourselves.
I must say though to get the full benefit of this story, you have to read all three books
AUTHOR STATEMENT
A lot of people ask me, "Why is a guy writing romance novels for women?" The answer is simple. Everyone falls in love. Even men. Imagine that. ;-) But it goes deeper than that. I write romance to explore and understand my own emotions.
No matter what most guys say on the subject, emotions are a part of the human experience for women AND men. Guys who deny their emotions, especially the difficult ones like sadness, grief, loss, and hurt, are missing out on a big part of life. Everyone has emotional scars. It's impossible to make it from cradle to grave without getting banged up along the way. For all that pain, we can also heal ourselves.
My stories feature characters who are on a quest to heal their pain, and in the process, find love. We all know that a loving relationship can be a conduit for both partners to heal together. When that happens, it's truly a beautiful thing.
It's my hope that my readers can gain some perspective regarding their own emotional wounds, and perhaps heal in some small way by going through the emotional journey I went through while writing my stories.
Devon Hartford
Author
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