Review and Excerpt Tour: Heat Wave by Karina Halle
They say when life
closes one door, another one opens. This door happens to lead to paradise. And a man I can never, ever have.
Still grieving the loss of her sister who died two years ago, the
last thing Veronica "Ronnie" Locke needed was to lose her job at one
of Chicago’s finest restaurants and have to move back in with her parents. So
when a window of opportunity opens for her – running a kitchen at a small
Hawaiian hotel – she’d be crazy not to take it. The only problem is, the man
running the hotel drives her crazy: Logan Shephard. It doesn’t matter that he’s
got dark brown eyes, a tall, muscular build that’s sculpted from daily surfing
sessions, and a deep Australian accent that makes your toes curl. What does
matter is that he’s a grump. Kind of an asshole, too. And gets under Ronnie’s
skin like no one else. But the more time Ronnie spends on the island of Kauai,
falling in love with the lush land and its carefree lifestyle, the closer she
gets to Logan. And the closer she gets to Logan, the more she realizes she may
have pegged him all wrong. Maybe it’s the hot, steamy jungles or the
invigorating ocean air, but soon their relationship becomes utterly
intoxicating. There’s just one major catch. The two of them together would
incite a scandal neither Ronnie, nor her family, would ever recover from.
Forbidden, Illicit, off-limits – sometimes the heat is worth surrendering to,
even if you get burned.
AMAZON | Amazon Paperback | iBooks | B&N
Rating/Review: ☕☕☕☕ (4 cups) of bittersweet
romance that’s full of emotion and heat it lingers with the readers long before
it ends.
In Heat Wave, readers will journey into a romance interrupted by circumstances and reunited by fate. When Ronnie and Logan first meet, it felt like kismet for Ronnie but when her sister enters the picture, every possible moment that could lead to something special changes. Now seven years later, Ronnie and Logan meet once again and its different. But everyday in a place that is near paradise, they both again feel that special spark but can the past be overcome or will it continue to be a wedge for them? Heat Wave is a second chance at love romance. Ronnie and Logan's story is complicated, emotional landmine just waiting to be triggered. And when it does its an explosion worth waiting for.
PROLOGUE
I saw him first.
It shamed me to think it then, it shames me to think it now. But that’s what
the truth does to you sometimes. It shames you because it’s only in the truth
that you realize how human you really are. What a raw, devastating thing that
is, to embrace your humanity and learn to live with all your sharp points, the
hollow places, the cracks and the crevices. To be utterly real. To be terribly
flawed. Those cracks had always been forming inside me, slowly making their way
to the surface over the years. In my family, there wasn’t much you could do but
try and hold yourself together, to stick glue on your wounds, to paste over the
imperfections. But the cracks still grew, until all of us were held together by
crumbling cement, just statues waiting to collapse. That was years and years
ago. I was just twenty-two at the time. A baby. I’m still a baby in the grand
scheme of things, but there’s something precious about your early twenties,
where you think you’re so much older, bigger, than you are, where life is just
about to deliver the crushing blows that will knock you off your feet for the
rest of your days. The small things become the big things and the big things
become the small things and you aren’t quite sure when they made the switch.
But in the end, I saw him first. He was mine, even before he knew it. He was
mine in some strange way that I still don’t understand. The only way I can
think of to explain it is… You just know. There are moments in your life,
people in your life, that when they cross your path and meet your eye, you
know. Maybe it’s all in the chemistry, certain pheromones that react when they
mix together, maybe it’s a smell that triggers a memory, maybe it’s a glimpse
at a future you don’t recognize or a hint at the past, a life you’ve lived and
forgotten. Whatever it is, you know that moment, that person, is going to shape
you for the rest of your life. That’s what it was like when I saw him. Standing
over by the windows and staring out Lake Michigan, like he was wishing he could
be anywhere but there. I wished the same. My mother’s the deputy mayor of
Chicago and this was another one of her fundraisers I felt obliged to attend.
It was tradition in my family, for my father, for me, for my sister, to show up
and wave the flag of support. It didn’t seem to matter that the stuffy
politicians that surrounded these events never paid me any attention. And if
they did, it was the wrong kind of attention, always the sixty-year-old man
leering after the young thing with the nice smile. Luckily I didn’t smile all
that often. My resting bitch face took over whenever I was deep in thought,
which was pretty much all the time. But this guy…I felt a kinship with him. I
felt like I knew exactly what he was thinking, feeling, and that it was completely
wrapped up in and connected to everything that was going through me. I don’t
know where I found the nerve to go over and talk to him. He seemed so much
older, not quite the sixty-year-old politicians I was used to seeing, but maybe
in his early-thirties. More than that, there was some kind of aura around him.
Sounds stupid, I know. Whatever it was, it was like he belonged in some whole
other universe than here, a star on earth, permanently grounded and yearning to
be in the sky. It was usually Juliet’s job to go around and make everyone feel
warm and comfortable at these events—hell, in every event—but she wasn’t here
yet. And though I could have easily stayed in the shadows, I was pulled to him,
like he had a wave of gravity whirling around him. I remember what I was
wearing. Strappy flats because I hated wearing heels, a knee-length cocktail
dress in emerald green, sleeveless, high-neck. It made me look older and I wore
it because my mother always wanted me to look like a lady. With a glass of
champagne in hand, I made my way over to the windows, my heart racing the
closer I got to him. He looked taller up close, well over six feet. His
shoulders were broad, like a swimmer’s, and suddenly I had a vision of him
diving into the lake. The navy blue suit he was wearing looked well-tailored
but he seemed uncomfortable in it, like he couldn’t wait to get rid of it. I
stood beside him for a moment, following his gaze out the window. He seemed
lost in his thoughts but out of my peripheral his head tilted slightly and he
brought his eyes over to me while I kept staring at that wide expanse of water,
stretching out to the horizon.
“Can’t wait to get out of here?” I asked, but
though my tone was mild, my delivery was bold. It was as if someone else had
taken a hold of my body, forcing me to speak. I slowly turned my head to meet
his eyes. I was taken aback for a second. He was staring at me like he knew me,
even though I’d never seen him before. Then again, I was sure I’d been staring
at him in the same way. That feeling of knowing. He knew me, I knew him, and
who the hell knows how that was possible. His eyes were brown—are brown—dark
with currents of gold and amber, giving them beautiful clarity. Slightly almond
shaped. His brows were also dark, arched, adding to the intensity of his gaze.
He’s the type of guy whose eyes latch onto you, dig deep, trying to sift
through the files of your life, see who you really are.
“How did you know?” he
asked, a full-on Australian accent rumbling through his gruff voice. It made my
stomach flip, my core smolder. How deed you now, is what it
sounded like. Funny how I stopped hearing the accent after time. I gave a half
shrug and looked back to the party. More people had flooded the room, mingling
around the appetizers. My mother was in the corner, a crowd of politicians
around her. She didn’t see me. She never did.
“Because I think I’d rather be in
the middle of Lake Michigan too,” I told him, “then be stuck here with all
these people.”
“These people,” he repeated. My focus was drawn to his lips,
full, wide, tilting up into a smirk. Beneath them was a strong chin and even
sharper jaw, dusted with a five o’clock shadow that seemed permanent, like the
man couldn’t get a clean shave even if he tried.
“How do you know I’m not one
of these people?”
“Because you’re over here and not over there. How come you
keep answering my questions with more questions?” He studied me for a moment.
My blood pounded in my head and I felt a giddy kind of thrill at how this was
progressing. If anything, I was proud for holding my own with this handsome stranger.
He was the first man I ever really felt at ease with. He cleared his throat,
offered me a quick smile before he nodded at the lake, his hands sliding into
his pockets.
“She almost looks like the ocean, doesn’t she?”
“Not quite the
same as Australia, I would imagine.”
“No hiding this accent, is there?” He
glanced at me and stuck out his hand, which I shook for a moment, warm palm to
warm palm.
“I’m Logan Shepard. Australian. And the reason I’m here is because I
was invited by a friend of mine. I’m only in town for a few days and he didn’t
want to go alone. He’s over there.” He nodded at a tall black man in the
corner, listening intently to another man.
“Warren Jones,” he said, as if I
should know him. Perhaps I should. He probably thought I was one
of them.
“He’s local
and the key piece to my investment.” I wasn’t one for business talk—I never had
anything to contribute other than lamenting student loans—but I wanted him to
keep talking. “What’s your investment?”
“Starting my own hotel,” he said. “In
Hawaii. Have you ever been there?”
“Once. When I was eight. I think we were in
Honolulu. I remember a city, anyway. Waikiki Beach.”
“This hotel is in Kauai.
The Garden Isle. Went there once as a teenager and couldn’t get it out of my
mind.” I didn’t know the right things to say. I wanted to ask more about the
hotel, what it means when you have an investor, but I didn’t want to appear
dumb. I kept my mouth shut.
“You haven’t introduced yourself,” he said. “Protecting a secret identity?”
I smiled, close-lipped. “Not really. I’m
Veronica Locke. American. And I unfortunately I don’t have much else to add to
that.”
“Locke?” he repeated, eyes darting to my mother. “Are you the daughter
of the deputy mayor, Rose Locke?”
“One of them,” I told him. He nodded quickly.
“I see. No wonder you’d rather be in the middle of the bloody lake. I bet you
have to do this stuff all the time.”
“It’s not so bad.” I took a sip of my
drink so I didn’t have to say anything more and looked away at the crowd. The
bubbles teased my nose, making my eyes water. I could feel his gaze on me as he
spoke.
“I’m sure you have plenty more to say about yourself though. Where do
you work? Student?” “Culinary arts,” I told him. “I’m one of those crazy people
who dream of being a chef one day.” He frowned. “Why is that crazy?”
I gave him
a look, forgetting that most people have no idea how hard it is.
“Because it’s
a long road, long hours, and nothing is guaranteed. People think being a chef
is easy. They see Gordon Ramsey or Nigella Lawson and think it’s all fame and
food and money and they have no idea what it’s really like. I’m not even out of
school and already I feel half-beaten.” He was still frowning. He did that a
lot, I would soon learn. “Sounds like life to me.” His eyes dropped to my lips
and something intensely carnal came over them, like suddenly I was the food,
not the wannabe chef. “Did you want to get a drink somewhere. After this? When
you’ve done your daughterly duties?”
I swallowed hard. I didn’t know what a
drink meant. Just a drink? A date? Was it sex? I started going through my head,
trying to think of reasons why it was a bad idea. My legs were shaved, did my
bra and underwear match? Did I have a condom? I had taken the pill this
morning, even though my last boyfriend and I had broken up months ago. I hadn’t
been with a guy, let alone a man, in a long time. Don’t
flatter yourself, I
quickly thought. What makes you think he’d be interested in you
that way?
“Yes,” I
said when I finally found my voice. “Yes, I would like that.”
A spark flashed
in his eyes, lighting them up in such a way that made my toes literally curl.
Damn. I was in trouble with this man.
“Any way you can get out of your duties
sooner?” he asked. I couldn’t help but smile, raising my brow at his
presumptuousness, while simultaneously trying to hide the fact that I was
freaking out. I looked around the room and tried to judge how likely it was
that someone would notice if I was gone. My mom was still surrounded by a wall
of people and no one was paying any attention to us, standing by the windows,
already removed. A sad thought hit me, sliding past before I could really dwell
on it: no one even notices when I’m here.
“If we’re quick and sneaky,” I told
him.
“Being quick isn’t in my repertoire,” he said, “but I could give it a
shot.”
Again. Damn. I wasn’t one to blush but I could feel my cheeks heating up
and hoped my skin supressed the flush. He was so much older than me in so many
ways, the last thing I wanted was to appear the naïve schoolgirl. And I didn’t
know what to say to that. He was staring at me with those dark eyes, a look so
intense yet sparkling with charm and something…wicked. I’d never find out how
wicked they could be.
“Ronnie!” A melodic, ultra-feminine voice sliced through
the moment like an unwieldy machete, causing me to flinch, my fingers
tightening around the stem of the glass. Oh no, I thought. Not
now.Logan’s head swiveled toward the sound of the voice, like a
hound picking up a scent. I didn’t bother looking over, I kept my focus on him,
watching his expression intently. It changed, as I knew it would. She had walked into the room. He saw her.
And like it was for so many men, that look of lust I had thought was for me,
was now for her. That’s when I knew it was over. Whatever thing I had felt for
him, it didn’t matter anymore, not when she was in the room. Nothing ever
mattered as long as she was around. I might have saw him first. But he was all
hers after that.
Karina Halle is a former travel writer and music journalist and The New York Times, Wall Street Journal and USA Today Bestselling author of The Pact, Racing the Sun, Sins & Needles and over 25 other wild and romantic reads. She lives on an island off the coast of British Columbia with her husband and her rescue pup, where she drinks a lot of wine, hikes a lot of trails and devours a lot of books.
Halle is represented by the Waxman Leavell Agency and is both self-published and published by Simon & Schuster and Hachette in North America and in the UK.
Hit her up on Instagram at @authorHalle, on Twitter at @MetalBlonde and on Facebook. You can also visit www.authorkarinahalle.com and sign up for the newsletter for news, excerpts, previews, private book signing sales and more.
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