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ALL I NEED IS YOU
Loving You #2
Wendy S. Marcus
Releasing Oct 6th, 2015
Loveswept
Perfect for fans of Kristan Higgins and Robyn Carr, this sexy yet sweet military romance reunites a headstrong dancer and a rugged army soldier after one steamy encounter tears them apart.
As a dancer who creates mesmerizing visions onstage, Neve James is looking for the same kind of
stability in her love life. Her pen pal, Rory McRoy, is on leave from deployment in Afghanistan, so she heads to Boston to surprise him. After corresponding for months as part of a “Support Our Troops” initiative—and exchanging dozens of “Read When You’re Alone” letters—Neve knows what Rory likes, and she intends to fulfill his every fantasy. But all they get are a few blissful moments together before they’re interrupted by a woman claiming to be Rory’s fiancée.
Rory has fallen hard for Neve’s letters. When he finally meets her in person, he has to have her, right then and there—until Neve takes off in a fit of anger. Forced to return to Afghanistan before he can fix things between them, Rory waits four agonizing months to prove that he’s not the man Neve thinks he is. But by the time he arrives in New York, she’s already made up her mind. Luckily, Rory never backs down from a challenge, and he’s prepared to put everything on the line for love.
Advance praise for All I Need Is You
“Wendy S. Marcus has penned a perfect romance in All I Need Is You, with a sexy dancer heroine, a hot military hero with a sense of humor, and a story you won’t want to end.” —New York Times bestselling author Claudia Connor
Today,
like yesterday, and the day before that, Neve Jaimes thought dying
would be easier than living. Mostly because she didn’t do sick very
well.
“Damn
this flu.” Damn feeling so weak and dizzy every time she tried to
sit up. But she’d done it, had even managed to remain upright long
enough to put on her bathrobe. Now, for the next challenge, she slid
her bare feet into the slippers beside her bed, used her arms to push
off, and stood with the ease of a severely arthritic 109-year-old.
Everything hurt. Ten miserable days with no end in sight. “Enough
already.” She needed to get well. Needed soup, which was why she’d
forced herself out of bed.
With
Mom and Dad away and her best friend, Brooke, now living hours from
New York, there’d be no homemade chicken soup deliciousness in her
immediate future. Takeout from the deli down the street would have to
do.
In
the kitchen Neve steadied herself against the counter long enough to
pick out a spoon, then plopped into a chair, exhausted from expending
the minuscule amount of energy required to travel a few dozen feet,
thankful her one-bedroom condo was small and all on one level.
When
someone knocked at the door she opened her eyes and lifted her head
from where it rested on her folded arms on top of the table, but made
no move toward the door, partly because she felt too dizzy to stand
right at that moment, but mostly because her brother, Nate, the
bringer of the soup, had a key.
She
met the second, louder knock with a groan. Honestly, what the hell
was the purpose of giving your overprotective big brother a key to
your condo—which he had annoyed and harassed you for until you
begrudgingly gave it to him—if he didn’t use that key for
emergencies? Which this was, on account of Neve not being able to
remember the last time anything other than ginger ale or warm tea had
passed her lips. With her body completely depleted of nutrients, she
needed sustenance to fight off the virus running rampant through her
system.
Once
the dizziness faded, Neve stood. “Pain in my ass.” And everywhere
else, for that matter. Hunched over and clutching her old purple robe
closed in front of her, she shuffled to the door and opened it. The
whoosh
of refreshingly cold November air felt good on her fevered skin. But
the bright midday sun shot like spears into both eyes, blinding her.
“Jeez.” She slapped a hand over her face, a little harder than
intended, sending a throb of pain through her skull. “Owwwww. Did
you bring the ibuprofen?”
“Neve?”
Shit.
That didn’t sound like Nate. Positioning her hand like a visor, she
squinted at her unwanted visitor, to find five feet, seven inches of
sexy, way too good-looking male dressed in tan boots and matching
light green camouflage pants, jacket, and bucket hat. Well, triple
shit. It’d been four months since she’d met him in person for the
first and only time, when she’d learned he wasn’t the good guy
she’d thought him to be during their eight months as pen pals. This
man who she’d confided in, who knew more about her life than her
best friend and
her brother, turned out to be a liar, and she wanted nothing to do
with him.
“Go
away, Rory.” She turned and reached out to slam the door in his
face. In one quick motion, he stopped it. Most people would consider
Rory average height for a guy, but he was much taller than Neve, who
stood a tiny bit over five feet. And with his big, defined muscles,
he had her beat in the strength department, too.
“What’s
wrong, Neve? You look like crap.”
Probably
smelled like crap, too, since she hadn’t bathed or changed her
pajamas in . . . too many days. And you know what? She could care
less. “Why, thank you for those kind words, you sweet-talker. You
really know how to make a girl feel beautiful.” She tugged at the
door again. It didn’t budge. “Now move your hand. I don’t have
the strength to fight with you today.”
“Even
if you did, I’d be ready for you this time.”
She
did not appreciate the amusement in his voice. A few months ago she’d
taken him, a U.S. Army soldier, down to the ground and incapacitated
him, with surprisingly little effort, and they both knew it. “You
promised not to come looking for me if I didn’t want to be found.
If I recall correctly, you wrote, ‘But I swear on the life of
Father McGinty, my priest back home, that when I’m stateside I’m
not the man I need to be when I’m here, that I would never hurt
you, or come looking for you if you didn’t want to be found.’”
Shifting
so the sun wasn’t shining directly into her eyes, she gave him her
very best glare. “And well, whaddya know? You did hurt me”—not
physically and she’d never willingly admit how much—“and
here you are. Again!
There’s a reason I used a PO box, a reason I never gave you my home
address. Because I didn’t want to be found! Maybe next time you
should think twice before swearing on the life of your priest,
because you, Rory McRoy, are a damn liar.”
That
mini-tirade zapped what little strength Neve had, and she fell back
against the door, trying to catch her breath, praying her legs would
hold her up for a few more minutes.
He
stepped toward her. Too close. “Let me—”
“No.”
Neve tried to yank her arm out of his hold, her weakened state making
the attempt totally ineffective, embarrassing even.
A
deep, familiar, very welcome voice bellowed, “Get your hand off of
my sister.”
Thank
goodness. Help had arrived in the form of her six-foot-tall, big and
strong police officer brother, in full uniform—which meant he had
his gun. “Shoot him.” Of course he wouldn’t, but saying it felt
good.
Cool,
calm, and collected, Rory remained on track. “We need to talk,
Neve.”
“No,
we don’t.” This time when she pulled away he let her.
“Are
you pregnant?” Rory asked, loud enough for Nate to hear.
Fan-tastic.
Nate
yelled, “Why the hell does he think you’re pregnant?” as he
came within arm’s reach of Rory. Close enough to strangle him,
which might just come in handy.
Wendy S. Marcus is an award-winning author of contemporary romance. A nurse by trade, Wendy holds a Master of Science in Health Care Administration, a degree that does her absolutely no good as she now spends her days, nights, and weekends mucking around in her characters’ lives creating conflict, emotion, and, of course, a happily ever after. Wendy lives in the beautiful Hudson Valley region of New York. When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family, which includes her dog Buddy, and blogging/ emailing/ tweeting/ facebooking with her online friends.
