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Enjoy the first three chapters of ENTANGLED DREAMS

Although Entangled Dreams is book four in the Southern Suspense Series, it is a standalone novel that can be read on its own.

When Alexandra’s choices dissolve into Entangled Dreams, pushing her down a dark and dismal path, she must trust her instincts to escape danger, but be able to surrender all to find her happily ever after. Knowing how to decipher the difference, will be her toughest challenge.


As a child, Alexandra Nicole was a princess in a fairytale. Her royal family would spend every Sunday on the pristine beaches of Destin together. Her father, the king, would carry her on his shoulders, pretending to be her noble steed as he pranced around at her behest. He would battle dragons, the vicious Chihuahua that chased them; conquer new worlds, also known as a sand dune further down the beach; and build elaborate castles, well actually, sandcastles.
If her father was the king, then her mother was most definitely the queen. She would laugh softly under her umbrella as she watched Alexandra and her father roll in the gentle surf. When her mother did venture into the crystal-clear waters of the Gulf of Mexico, her long, platinum hair would blow softly in the breeze, her blue eyes sparkled like the water below her, and her skin glistened from the ever-present sunshine in their lives.
But alas, as in any good fairytale, everything good and wonderful must come to an end.
After the tragic accident that snatched her mother away from Alexandra, her father moved them away from the beaches of Destin to another beach in Florida. Cocoa Beach.
Cocoa Beach was loud, the water murky, and there were no weekend adventures as there had been in Destin.
Her father married her evil stepmother, Lilith, who Alexandra was certain was a witch with her long, black as midnight hair and pale-white skin as if she’d never seen sunlight. Her father had admitted he wasn’t in love with Cruella, as she had come to think of the witchy woman, but that he’d wanted Alexandra to have a mother and siblings.
Well, she definitely got that.
The king started staying out later and later at night, and the princess had to do excessive amounts of chores around her new castle. Her stepmother treated her like a pariah; certainly, she’d rather have the dogs at their dinner table. Her stepsisters were ugly inside and out and were forever jealous of Alexandra and her golden-blond tresses. Anything nice Alexandra ever received mysteriously disappeared.
Alexandra knew something was wrong with her father, but she was too young to understand. Her father, forever the happy-go-lucky guy, had turned to drinking to drown his troubles. 
It sounds like your typical fairytale, but it isn’t. There are no furry creatures to help the princess prepare a gown for the prom, no fairy godmother to waive her magic wand and produce glass slippers. In fact, at age sixteen Alexandra found herself living on her own with no family contact and no prospects of a healthy, normal life.
Alexandra had only one advantage, if you could call it that. Alexandra was beautiful. But so far, her beauty had not opened any doors; actually, it had only caused her misery.
       The only people who welcomed Alexandra were the outcasts. The parents of other losers in school fortunately didn’t care who slept over and what they did when they stayed the night. So, Alexandra Nicole, now deciding to go by Nicky, as she was no longer a princess, found herself wandering from house to house throughout her remaining high school years.
And then she met him…

Chapter One

Fast-forward fourteen years:

Nicky had just pulled into her assigned parking spot and reached for her gym bag when her cell rang. She looked at the caller ID and her eyes filled. “Hello, Lilith,” she choked out.
Lilith released a long sigh. “Are you at home, Nicky?”
She swallowed her tears, refusing to let her stepmother hear her cry. Home. Did it matter? She knew there was only one reason Lilith would ever call her.
“Is Dad—” She couldn’t make her lips continue; he couldn’t be gone.
“I’m sorry,” Lilith started, and to Nicky’s amazement, she actually sounded sincere. “Your father had an accident last night.” The woman—who should have been a mother to her—paused, allowing the words to sink in it seemed.
 Nicky clinched the phone in her hand. “He’s okay, then, right?”
“No, dear, he’s not. He hit a tree, Nicky. But according to the emergency-room doctor, he died instantly.”
Cruella had said the last words as if they should make her feel better. Did it matter if he’d died instantly? He was still dead. The only relative she had on this Godforsaken earth was gone. Nicky sucked in a breath. “Thank you for calling, Lilith. I’ll call you later. I have to go.”
She dropped her head onto the steering wheel of her car and wept. What difference did it make? Her father and she had barely spoken in the last six years anyway, ever since she’d moved out of that ridiculous household he called a home. Still, she loved him; he was everything to her. She wished she could have broken through his tough exterior and shown him that she still loved him despite the years of neglect.
But every time they tried to talk, they fought. He hated her boyfriend, wanted her to move back home, wanted her to do more with her life. As if he was someone to talk. Yeah, her boyfriend was pathetic, but he’d been there for her for the last six years. He would change eventually, he would improve, and then everything would be better in her life.
Her stomach plunged at the thought of moving. She didn’t want to go to work; she didn’t even want to get out of the car. She didn’t know how she could possibly endure the evening, but she needed the money. Saturday night was a moneymaker; she couldn’t afford to pass on the couple hundred dollars she could make on a weekend night. Besides, if she didn’t make enough tonight, she wouldn’t be able to pay the rent.
Jonathan wasn’t home when she stepped inside their small apartment, so he wouldn’t be able to drop her off at work. That was good. It meant he wouldn’t be able to forget to pick her up afterward either.
After attempting to wash away her problems in a steaming-hot shower, she pulled on her short-shorts and skin-tight top, tying it into a knot behind her back, and then brushed her hair up into a ponytail. After dabbing on thick, black mascara, she was out the door in minutes.
As soon as she stepped off the flight of stairs to their apartment, Jonathan jumped out of an old, beat-up Camaro. “Hey, Nic! I’m glad I caught you. Joey from work just dropped me off, but I was hoping I could take you to work so I could use the car.”
Joey from work, she thought internally. She wondered what kind of work her boyfriend was doing this week. Not wanting to fight about the car, she sighed. “My dad died last night.” The tears she’d been restraining poured freely. Thankfully, she wore waterproof mascara. Couldn’t work without it.
He stepped toward her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Oh, Nicky, I’m sorry. Why are you going to work, then?”
“We need the money.”
There was nothing else to say. He couldn’t argue with her, and she knew he wouldn’t anyway. They had been dating for six years, basically, since she was sixteen. Their on-again, off-again relationship was almost comical. Comical to everyone else that is. She didn’t have that good of a sense of humor.
They were more like roommates. Her dad was correct; Jonathan was a loser. And unfortunately, he didn’t have many prospects of getting better. She knew she should dump him, but he’d been there for her when nobody else had.
Nicky followed him to the vehicle, allowing him to drive. After buckling in, she turned to him. “Don’t forget to pick me up, Jonathan. I’ll call you when I start my closing duties, okay? Is your phone charged?”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the battery. “Yep.”
“What are your plans?” she inquired lightly, knowing they were the usual.
“Nothing much. I just didn’t want to be stuck at home. Could you spare a twenty?”
“If I give you twenty dollars, I won’t have enough money to make change. You know how pissy they get when we don’t bring a bank.”
“PleaseI’ll pay you back,” he promised.
No he wouldn’t. He never paid her back. She dug the money out of her shorts anyway and handed it to him.
“Thanks, babe!”
Nicky said nothing the remaining five-minute drive. It wasn’t as though it was far. But why should she have to walk or pay for a taxi when it was her car? She shouldn’t.
She turned in the seat and glared at him. “I swear if you don’t answer my call tonight, Jonathanit’s...I’llnever let you take the car again,” she ground out. She wanted to say it was over. Wanted to assure him she would leave for real this time.
“I won’t forget.” And his voice took on a nasty edge too. She spotted the familiar eye twitch he got whenever she frustrated him. “I keep the Malibu running, you know. That’s worth plenty, don’t you think? If you had to pay a mechanic…” He smashed his foot down on the brakes in front of the entrance. “I’m sorry about your dad, Nicky. I know you loved him, but don’t take your anger out on me. Okay?”
For a second, Nicky thought he was actually going to show compassion. But as always, he turned everything around so she would feel guilty. She whipped the door open, hopped out, and slammed it behind her, refusing to turn around as Jonathan peeled out of the parking lot.
Instead of letting his callous attitude bother her, she set out to do her job, pushing the tears back, as she’d done her entire life.
She was barely through the door when the manager announced he’d opened her station and she had guests waiting.
After grabbing her tray, she darted off in the correct direction. She knew where her station was. It was Saturday, so Gary would have put her upstairs. It was a challenge, but the good thing wasmost of her customers wouldn’t sneak to the bar to order their drinks.
She was fast and she was the best. She could remember fourteen drinks because that was the amount she could carry on her tray and in her hand. While other cocktail waitresses spent the evening flirting their way to larger tips, Nicky increased her sales, which augmented her tips. After all, fifteen percent of zero is zero.
The night started out so busy, she hardly had a moment to lament over her mother, her father, or her worthless boyfriend. But as the evening progressed, belligerent customers she’d normally ignore started irritating her. One group in particular was getting on her last nerve. If that schmuck called her “toots” one more time, she may just throw her tray at him.
“Hey, toots, you forgot my beer!” the obnoxious loser bellowed.
Nicky inhaled deeply, attempting to control her emotions. “You didn’t order a beer, sir. I asked if anyone wanted anything, and you said, ‘no’. Would you like another beer?” She couldn’t help but notice how attractive the man was, but he wasn’t her type in the least. He exuded arrogance.
He leaned in and she could smell his rancid breath. “Maybe I’ll just go to the bar. Though, I do enjoy watching you saunter up and down the stairs. You have some mighty fine legs, toots.”
“Lay off, Brad,” a nice-looking gentleman sitting at the back of the table said. “Give the lady a break, will ya?”
Stunned, Nicky gawked at the gentleman, who before now hadn’t uttered a word the entire night other than, “Water, please.”
Brad-guy layered his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side. “What kind of break would you like, lady? I’d be happy to oblige. We could—
She’d reached her limit. Nicky couldn’t take any more. She slammed her tray down, turned around on her heel, and headed for the stairs. The tears escaped again. Why had she thought she could work? Just because she hadn’t been close to her father in the last fourteen years didn’t mean she didn’t love him. She loved him more than any other person on earth. He was all she had.
Trudging up to Gary, she handed him her checks and informed him she had to leave. He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes but was obviously so taken aback he couldn’t speak. Gary knew she was reliable; he knew that if she were leaving, there had to be a rational explanation. But she didn’t have the energy to explain without breaking down in front of him, and he definitely didn’t have time for that. Seeming to understand, he accepted her checks and entire apron full of money, minus a twenty she’d pulled out in case she had to call a taxi.
“My tips are in there. I don’t have time to cash-out. Will you take care of it and put my money in the safe? I have to go.” With that, she turned and walked outside.
She pulled out her cell and called Jonathan, knowing he wouldn’t answer. Unfortunately, she was correct.
Sitting on the curb, her arms wrapped around her knees, she attempted to impede the tears. What good did they do anyway? Crying never solved anything. What was done was done; all the crying in the world would never alter her circumstances. Only she could transform her worthless existence.
Nicky sat on the cold concrete, waiting for a return call that never came. This was it; they were over. Never would she allow a man to take hold of her life and use it when he wanted. From now on, she’d take what she wanted. As soon as she saved enough money, she’d escape him and the rotten life she’d somehow ended up living.  
The door opened and Nicky looked up instinctively, but lowered her head remembering her tears. Her eyes were surely bloodshot and swollen. It was the gentleman from her table, the nice one. He cast a glance in her direction, but then walked off toward the parking lot.
A few seconds later, he appeared in front of her again. Only this time he was sitting on a motorcycle. “I apologize about my coworker.” He shook his head as though it were his fault Brad-guy was a moron. “Brad’s an idiot even when he doesn’t have a few beers in him.”
Nicky looked the man over; he looked like a nice guy. “I don’t suppose you could give me a ride, could you?” she asked, shocked she would even think of such a prospect.
Motorcycle-guy looked bewildered, too. “Uh, sure. You can wear my helmet, I suppose.”
Nicky accepted the helmet, latched it under her chin, and walked around to the left-hand side of the bike. She climbed on lithely and then wrapped her arms around his waist.
“You’ve rode before,” he stated matter-of-factly. Obviously the fact that she’d gotten on the correct side had tipped him off.
“Yep,” she answered.
“Where to?”
Nicky didn’t deliberate long. She lived on Merritt Island, only five minutes away. But she didn’t want to return home. It wasn’t unusual for Jonathan to bring the party home, and she definitely wasn’t in the mood for socializing. Besides, they were over. She’d warned him. “Head toward the beach; I’ll tell you when we get there.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Okay. I was heading that way anyway.”
Nicky held onto the stranger’s waist as he pulled carefully out of the parking lot, nothing like Jonathan would’ve. He was handsome. He had one of those faces that were just pleasant to look at, one that you couldn’t help but instantly trust. His face was round and kind looking with a tiny cleft in his chin. He didn’t smile much, but the one time he almost did, when she’d asked for a ride, she could see the semblance of a dimple on his cheek. His hair was sandy brown and his eyes a deep hazel. He was taller than she was and that was saying a lot. A little overdressed though. Why would anyone go out on a Saturday night in dress pants and a button-down collared shirt and tie? And on a motorcycle, nonetheless.
The air was cool as they passed over the causeway heading toward Cocoa Beach. She definitely wasn’t dressed to ride. Even the warm August evening felt chilly on the back of a bike going sixty. Nicky crouched lower, an attempt to block the wind. Her hands gripped tighter, seeking warmth. He retracted one hand from the bar, doing his best to cover her arms with his arm. She melted at the notion. He was considerate.
When they stopped at the intersection of 520 and A1A, he asked, “Where to?”
Nicky turned her head in both directions. “Um, take a left and head toward Port Canaveral.” She hadn’t thought this far ahead, but suddenly she knew exactly what she wanted to do. Something she hadn’t done since she was seventeen.
As they pulled up to a stoplight, she tapped on his shoulder and pointed to a liquor store. “Can we stop?”
He shrugged and pulled into the parking lot.
Nicky jumped off the bike, ran into the store, and bought a little bottle of Jim Beam. Next, she ran across the street instead of returning to his bike, motioning for him to follow. Thankfully, he did. She purchased two super-sized cherry Slurpees and asked the cashier to put them in a paper bag.
After climbing back on the bike, she gave him directions. “You know where the road splits off to the right from A1A?”
He nodded. “North Atlantic Avenue.”
“YeahI guess so.”
He looked over his shoulder at her as if questioning her sanity, and in a way, he was right. She’d just jumped on the back of a motorcycle of a complete stranger. A very good-looking stranger though. She was going to start putting forth her new life, taking what she wanted. And right now, she wanted to go to the beach, get drunk, and wash away her sorrows for at least one night.
She smiled at him. “Take that road and then turn right on the fourth street until it ends.”
“It ends at the beach,” he replied coolly.

Chapter Two

Cameron pulled into the beachside park and stopped his bike next to the crosswalk that led to the Atlantic.
“Have you ever been here?” the waitress asked.
He knocked his kickstand down. “Yeah.”
She hopped off the back of his bike. “I used to come here when I was a little girl. I thought the name was Cherry Down, when actually it is Cherie Down Park. When I was seventeen, my friends and I would hangout down here. We started drinking Jim Beam in cherry Slurpees, so the cops wouldn’t know we were drinking. We named them Cherry Downs.”
She started walking toward the beach, so like an imbecile he climbed off his bike and followed. When they crossed the boardwalk, she walked north a little farther, and again he followed.
About fifty feet away, she plopped down on the sand, pulled out the bottle of bourbon, and took a few gulps of the Slurpee. “Ooh, head rush,” she giggled.
He approached her but remained standing, not sure what to do next. Why had she brought him here? She reached up and grabbed his hand, pulling him down in the sand.
“Are you afraid to get your pants sandy?” she asked playfully. “What’s your name anyway?”
“You don’t talk much, do you, Cameron?”
He shrugged. “What’s your name?”
“Everyone calls me Nicky.”
“What’s your name?” he repeated.
“I just told you.”
“No, you said everyone calls you ‘Nicky’, which means that it is short for something.”
Alexandra Nicole,” she said on a sigh, turning her gaze away from him and looking out at the ocean.
He leaned in front of her to get her attention back on him. “Why are we here, Alexandra? Where do you live?” Cameron knew this couldn’t end well. What was this woman thinking?
“Merritt Island,” she answered in a soft voice, barely a whisper.
“What?” he shrieked. “Why did you—you expect me to drive you back to Merritt Island?” This definitely couldn’t end well. What in the world was this girl thinking?
Alexandra looked down at the bag in her lap. “I don’t expect anything from you, Cameron.”
She poured the bourbon into the Slurpee and handed him the cup.
He shook his head. “I don’t drink.”
“At all?” Her inflection gave away her shock at finding out someone wouldn’t drink. He guessed working in a bar could cause a person to think that.
“At all,” he answered again.
Leaning back into the sand, she shrugged her shoulders and took a long swig.
Cameron sat without uttering a word, watching the surf pound the beach. He loved the sound. Many a night he enjoyed walking to the beach and just lying back on the sand, drowning himself in the sounds of the ocean.
Alexandra was a mystery. What in the world was she doing here with him, a complete stranger. She wasn’t his type at all; she was entirely out of his league in many ways. She was too pretty, too tall, too friendly. For being so tall, though, she sure had a knockout figure. She had to be five-eight or five-nine, but her bodyshe looked like a real-life Barbie doll. Her hair was golden blonde with soft curls, the kind of hair women spent a fortune to achieve, but hers looked natural. And it was long. Even pulled up it came halfway down her back.
Not that any of that mattered because he didn’t date. And even if he did, she certainly wouldn’t be interested in him. “Alexandra, why did you get on the back of my bike?”
Her eyebrows furrowed as she turned to look at him, contemplating his question it seemed. “I’m angry at my boyfriend. Why do you insist on calling me Alexandra when I told you my name is Nicky?”
Figures. He knew she couldn’t have been interested. Not that he wanted her interesthe didn’t want to date anyone he reminded himself. “What does your boyfriend call you?”
“My name. Nicky,” she answered tersely.
“I prefer Alexandra.”
She sighed loudly and then turned her head back to the soft crashing waves hitting the beach in a consistent rhythm.
He stood up and extended his hand to her. “Come on, let me take you home.”
She wrapped her fingers around his hand and warmth surged through him. “I don’t want to go home, Cameron. Please sit back down.”
This couldn’t be happening. The way she said his name sent a thrill through his body. He didn’t need this. She pulled her hand back and picked her drink up. He sat back down and watched as she sucked down the final sips of the Slurpee and then pulled the bottle of bourbon back out, pouring several shots into the second cherry-flavored drink. He definitely didn’t need this. He already had one problem at home.
Alexandra turned to him, her eyes already glassy from the first drink, which was really more like four drinks. No way would she be able to hold onto him for a return ride to Merritt Island. She looked as though she would pass out at any minute.
She leaned toward him. He could see what she wanted, and he wasn’t about to succumb. He didn’t need some scorned woman using him. She inched her body closer, obviously cold in her little outfit and downing a frozen drink.
Instinctively, he wrapped his arm around her. She sighed, and he couldn’t help but feel the warmth emanating between them. She looked up at him and her lips were inches from his, smelling of cherry and sweet bourbon. He wanted this, too. No he didn’t, he tried to convince himself.
“Alexandra, please.”
“What? Am I not pretty enough, or do you have a girlfriend?”
He huffed lightly, shaking his head at her absurd question. Of course she was pretty and she obviously knew it. He felt no need to confirm her ridiculous question. “I don’t date. And I’m not interested in being used.”
She shook her head at him. “I already told you. I don’t want anything from you, Cameron. You can just drop me off at a store. I can call a taxi.”
Her eyes—glassy from drink or tears, he wasn’t sure—sparkled in the moonlight. The smell of the salty air mixed with her hair that smelled like coconut and the essence of smoke from the bar. The bouquet all converged with her scent to create a sensual aroma. He pulled her body closer, unable to restrain his impulse to kiss those full lips that would taste like cherry. She lifted her face to his, her lips slightly parted, inviting him in. He pressed his lips to hers and she reacted instantly. It was the alcohol he knew, the un-inhibiter, the aphrodisiac of all drugs. But she felt incredible. His mouth moved over hers, testing, experimenting. His tongue tasted her and he wanted more.
He pulled back first; this was wrong.
She rested her hand on his chest. “Where do you live, Cameron?”
He sucked in a breath. “A block away.”
“Will you take me home?” Those blue eyes gazed up at him, making him believe she wanted him. He reminded himself it was just the alcohol. She had a boyfriend. She was out of his league. And he didn’t date.
 His common sense took control, allowing him to shake his head. “To my house? No.”
“Why?” Her voice was sultry, beautiful, causing his not-so-sensible self to doubt his words.
He closed his eyes, shutting off his view. “Because, you’re drunk.”
Her hand moved from his chest to his shoulder. “I’m not that drunk. I know who I’m with.”
“But who do you want to be with?” he retorted.
His heart melted. He knew it wasn’t true. And yet, he didn’t know how to say, no. He stood up again, this time pulling her up beside him. Drawing her close, he wrapped his arms completely around her. She fit perfectly. Like no woman had ever fit before. He was tall, and he had always preferred shorter women, but Alexandra folded nicely into his arms. He merely had to tilt her head a fraction to kiss her.
Their lips met again and liquid heat soared through his body. He didn’t want a one-night-stand. Was it possible that she could be the one? The one he’d bargained for? He hadn’t been with a woman in so long. He had enough troubles with the one he had at home.
He leaned back to look at her again. “Will you be able to hold on if I take you home?”
“Your home?”
“No, yours.”
“I don’t want to go home, so, no,” she responded like a scorned child.
He let out a shaky breath. “Why are you doing this to me, Alexandra?”
“Because you keep calling me Alexandra. Call me Nicky, and I’ll tell you where I live.”
He pulled her toward his bike, handed her the helmet, and then crossed his leg over the bike. Without a second’s hesitation, she hopped on behind him, wrapping her arms tighter around his waist, burying her head into his neck.
His condo was only a block away. He would let her sleep this off and then take her home in the morning.
Cameron pulled onto his drive and parked his bike directly outside his door. He had an end unit, so the neighbors didn’t complain.
He keyed in his entry code and allowed her to enter first.
Alexandra immediately went to the sliding-glass doors at the rear of the living room. “Wow. You live here alone?” She opened the door, allowing the salty air to whip through the house. “This isincredible!” She stepped out onto the lanai that overlooked the Atlantic. “We didn’t need to go to Cherie Down; this is beautiful. Do you live by yourself?” she asked again.
“No. My mother lives here, but she’s away.”
“Wowwhat does she do for a living?”
He sighed at her conjecture. “She lives with me; I don’t live with her.”
“Oh.” She plopped down on one of the chaises. “What do you do for a living?”
Following her outside, he sat across from her. “Promise you won’t laugh or smirk?”
She laughed. “Oops. I promise I won’t laugh again.”
“I’m a car salesman.”
“Ohwhat’s so funny about that?
He looked toward the beachside, not wanting to make eye contact. “Nothing. But people are always making jokes and sneering when they find out what I do. But I’m good at it. It’s not all I do though. It just passes the time.”
“What else do you do? You don’t sell drugs, do you?”
He shook his head and huffed out a breath. “Of course not. Why in the world would you ask that?”
She shrugged.
He didn’t want to get into what he did. Most women were bored anyway. He usually didn’t even admit that the condo was his. But for some reason, he wanted to impress Alexandra. As if it mattered. Tomorrow she’d be gone. She was still out of his league.
He stood up. “I’ll go get you something to wear and sheets for the sofa.” He left her on the porch and walked back into the house. But after a second, he realized she was behind him. Ignoring her, he entered his bedroom. His room also overlooked the beachside.
Alexandra followed him into his room and went directly to the sliders again. After opening them, she crawled up on his bed and stared toward the ocean, as if a million miles away lost in a distant dream.
He pulled a large t-shirt out of his dresser, handed it to her, and then went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. A beautiful woman lie sprawled across his king-sized bed, and he was brushing his teeth. Never had he imagined when he ventured out with the guys after work that this is where his evening would end up. Should he sleep on the sofa? He didn’t even know this woman.
He pulled an extra set of sheets out of the linen closet and headed toward his bedroom door.
Alexandra sat up quickly, pulling one of the pillows onto her lap. “Hey, where are you going?”
“To the sofa,” he replied.
“Cameron, please don’t. Please come here,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “I can’t do this, Alexandra.”
“Call me Nicky, and then you can leave.”
His heart pounded at the idea that she was someone else’s woman. “I can’t do that either.” It was stupid, but it’s what he called her, and he didn’t want her to think of anyone but him right now. He wondered what her boyfriend looked like. If she was Barbie, he was certainly Ken. What chance did he stand? He didn’t want a chance he insisted, but the voice was getting weaker.
Alexandra scooted off the bed and crossed the room to where he was still standing, stupidly holding sheets so that he could sleep on the sofa in his own house.
She pulled the sheets out of his hand and dropped them on the berber carpet. Lifting his hand, she drew him toward the bed.
There was no way he was backing out. He knew this, and yet he knew he needed to stop. He shadowed her back to the bed, followed her body down to the mattress. He would be sorry tomorrow, but right now, she was his.
Once again, his mouth captured hers, and it was all over. They spent the better part of the evening intertwined in each other’s arms. She was incredible. It had been so long. He had assured himself that he would never make love to a woman who wasn’t his wife ever again. But Alexandra was a goddess. Her beauty, her body, and her scent had all enraptured him. And tomorrow she would disappear, like a mirage, an imagined fantasy.

The next morning arrived, and Cameron watched as Alexandra sprung from his bed, pulled on her clothes, and ran out of his room.
He didn’t allow her to know that he was awake. She had been spooned up against him, her back toward him when he heard her gasp awake. The events of the previous evening penetrating her consciousness, no doubt. Now that she wasn’t drunk, she was certainly horror-struck about her actions and the fact she’d gone home with a stranger. He let her walk out the door.

Thank you for reading this excerpt of Entangled Dreams. 

I hope you will want to download a copy. 

Until next time, happy reading!

Carmen DeSousa


  1. I love this except! I can't wait to read the book - thanks so much for sharing ti.

    1. It would help if I could type.... I meant I love this excerpt, and thanks for sharing it.

    2. Thank you, Karen. I didn't even see that. We tend to read what we know it should be. Thank goodness, because I do that all the time. :)

      I'm glad you enjoyed the excerpt. I hope you'll read the novel and let me know what you think.


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"As in any fairytale, everything good must come to an end." ENTANGLED DREAMS:

Now, if you’ve read any of my novels or excerpts, you know I don’t do happy-go-lucky beginnings; and as in any fairytale, a little rain must fall, or in the case of my stories, I prefer a monsoon. This week’s excerpt: But alas, as in any good fairytale, everything good and wonderful must come to an end. After the tragic accident that snatched her mother away from Alexandra, her father moved them away from the beaches of Destin to another beach in Florida. Cocoa Beach. Cocoa Beach was loud, the water murky, and there were no weekend adventures as there had been in Destin. Her father married her evil stepmother, Lilith, who Alexandra was certain was a witch with her long, black as midnight hair and pale-white skin as if she’d never seen sunlight. Her father had admitted he wasn’t in love with Cruella, as she had come to think of the witchy woman, but that he’d wanted Alexandra to have a mother and siblings. Well, she definitely got that. The k

To prologue or not to prologue, that is the question. Readers, please weigh in!

Personally, I love prologues. They get you right into the action whether it was in the past or something exciting that is to come. But that’s exactly why most agents’ blogs I’ve read say not to use them. Paraphrasing…“If you need a prologue, then your story must not be strong enough…” Hmm … well, I like them, and I use them. But I’m curious what readers think, and I’d love you to weigh in. AND, if you have some great examples, please leave the title in the comment section. Now … here’s what I’ve noticed. Plenty of bestselling books have used them, even though they aren’t always called prologues . Same diff in my opinion. My biggest example is ‘Twilight’. If that little blurb wasn’t in the beginning, I don’t think I would have made it through the first chapter. How about movies? I don’t watch a lot. But I’ve started to notice how many have “prologues”. I also don’t have cable, but I have NetFlix, and hubby has just started watching ‘Breaking Bad’. Okay … I

The rule of thirds: No matter what you do, someone will hate you. Get over it and Write On!

No matter what you do in life, a third of the people will love you, a third will hate you, and the rest will be indifferent. Get over it and Write On! Yes, I'm talking to myself. If you're listening, GREAT! It's good advice! Is it easy advice? Heck No! For some reason, even though that percentage is rather low on my books--the percentage of people who hate my books runs about 4.6%--it still hurts.  Note: I only averaged the 'firsts' in my books, the books I actively promote. Because if I go to the second, third, and fourth books in my series, those numbers drop drastically. Obviously, if readers don't like my first book, they don't go on to the rest of my books in a series, so those books receive little to zero one-star reviews. So...if the number of one-star reviews we receive is less than five percent--Thank God ALL of the 33 1/3% of the haters don't write reviews--why do we get so depressed when we receive a one-star review