Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
10K if I sleep with this guy's brother.
His twin brother, Ryan Hawthorne.
I've never messed around with a guy, but for that much money, I'll figure it out.
A descendant of American royalty, Ryan was born into money, status, and privilege. He spent his life in his family's cushy mansion while my family struggled to get by.
Shortly after we meet, I discover an important detail about why his twin hired me for this gig.
I'm the spitting image of someone from Ryan's past, someone he loved deeply.
I also discover that, despite my preconceptions, there's more to Ryan than some snotty rich guy with the world at his fingertips.
He intrigues me, and after the hottest night of my life, I realize something about myself.
Something he's brought out of me.
Now his brother has a new offer on the table.
But it means participating in a disturbing mind game with one screw with Ryan's head.
I have to do this, but what's happening between us isn't a game.
The spark of that first night becomes a raging wildfire, and I allow the lines between real and fake to blur, losing myself in a chaotic mix of blood, lust, secrets, and lies, all tying back to this man from Ryan's past.
The man I remind him of.
There's a connection between us, yes. But what hope is there for a future with Ryan when his brother's twisted rivalry keeps him trapped in the past?
Trigger Twisted Rivalry is a steamy romance, but one of the main characters has a painful past that may act as a trigger for some. Readers are invited to check out the complete trigger warning on the copyright page, which can be viewed by clicking on the "Read Sample" preview. These triggers contain spoilers for the novel.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
RYAN
Sweat clings to the inside of my arms as I trim the hedges, keeping at a decent speed. I’ve got plenty of work to get to today, so I started with the easiest task on my list. When I take a moment to catch my breath, I wipe the sweat from my brow and enjoy a cool breeze. I close my eyes, absorb it fully, and intentionally store it in my memory so I can summon it as my work becomes more challenging throughout the day.
I use this as a mini break, taking a swig of water from the tumbler affixed to my work belt. I’m about to continue trimming when I hear my brother’s voice coming from the side of the house. Even a good twenty yards away, I know his voice like my own. Even if he hadn’t been speaking, I would have felt him in my bones before seeing him.
Simon rounds the corner, a guest at his side.
I have the faintest of hopes: is this the extra help I’ve been pleading with him for? I know better. I’ve been asking for help since Kenneth moved on, and Simon hasn’t so much as posted an ad to hire someone who could make the workload more tolerable for me and the two other workhands. It’s more likely a new lawyer working on the trust, or some business acquaintance he’s trying to impress by offering them a tour of the estate. Maybe he wants to introduce them to me to show how I’m little more than the help now. It’s not something I mind Simon using me for, since anyone who would feel superior to me because of the life I’ve chosen, I wouldn’t respect them anyway.
I press the trigger on the trimmer and slice away at the lengthy branches around the hedge as Simon and his guest draw near. I glance their way once again before zeroing in on his guest.
I know that face.
No, not… It can’t be…
But how…what…
As they approach, it’s as if they’re moving in slow motion. That unmistakable face can’t be real, just a phantom haunting me.
I’ve short-circuited, struggling not to be sucked into the past, until they’re just a few yards away. It’s easier then to see it’s a different face, but the similarities are uncanny—the shape, the curvature of his jawline. Hell, even his eyebrows seem to be the right thickness. His hair’s the right shade of dark brown, but thinner, and the bangs are longer than the ones I remember.
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was him. I’m surprised I haven’t dropped the trimmer during my distracted inspection.
“Good morning, Ryan,” Simon says.
Conflicting feelings war within me. I haven’t taken my eyes off that face, but I can see Simon’s mischievous smirk in my periphery. There was a time when we were connected so deeply, I’d have been able to pull thoughts from his mind, know exactly what he’s thinking right now, but Simon severed that connection long ago, so now I’m left struggling to read what lies behind that cunning expression.