Passionate Addiction
By Eden Summers
Blake Kennedy
Character Tour
June 7 - June 27
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About My Book
He’s been her ultimate untouchable desire.
Nothing says happy birthday like a rock god flying thousands of miles to surprise a woman he's never met. But that's exactly what happens to Gabi Smith when she gives her long distance best friend a flippant invitation to her laid back girl’s night out. She never expected to turn on the dance floor and find Blake Kennedy’s gaze holding her body captive.
She’s his everything and he’s never laid eyes on her.
Gabi means more to Blake than life itself. She’s his strength, his savior, and the only person who helped to vanquish his demons. No one means more to him than his angel. So when things between them start to sizzle, he's ready to fight for the future he never thought he would deserve.
Skeletons from his past will threaten his only chance at love...
Blake has come a long way—with Gabi's help—to leave the hell of his youth behind him, but sometimes memories don’t want to stay buried. Determined to stand on his own for once, Blake is willing to stretch the truth to keep his troubles from burdening the woman he adores.
Little white lies
can create black holes in any relationship. Only time will tell if an Aussie
with a heart of gold will forgive her bad-boy boyfriend or if the deceit will
end his passionate addiction.
Teasers
What they are saying
about me...
"Sweet Baby
Jesus. I didn’t think the second book would rock me as much as the first, but
boy was I wrong." 5 STARS - Insightful Minds Reviews.
"Eden Summers has done it again with Passionate Addiction." 5 STARS - I am a Book Addict & Proud of It.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Inside Dirt on
Blake Kennedy by Mitch, Mason, Ryan & Sean
Want some dirt on
the tattooed, smart-mouthed, bass guitarist of the group? Well, Mason, Mitch,
Ryan, and Sean are here to let you have it. In the lead up to the
Passionate Addiction release, the guys of Reckless Beat want you to be aware
that the famous bass guitarist isn't as shit-hot as he seems to be.
So here's the dirt
Mitch: The fucker snores. Loud. Not all the time. Only when he’s really tired, but it gets so bad I’ve contemplated smothering him on more than one occasion.
Mason: He never keeps secrets. In fact, he uses them as leverage, or blurts them out at inappropriate times because he thinks he’s funny. He's not funny.
Ryan: Blake is pretty cool. But his preference not to drink alcohol means he has the perfect opportunity to set the rest of us up when we’re drunk. I’ve woken up more than once with ‘Loser’ written in permanent marker across my forehead. I don't appreciate that.
Sean: My bro, Blake, is a pussy magnet. The tattoos, wrist cuffs, and merciless raven eyes get ‘em every time. And you may think he doesn’t notice the attention, but he does, and he loves it. Cocky little fucker.Inside Dirt on Blake Kennedy by Mitch, Mason, Ryan & Sean
So here's the dirt
Mitch: The fucker snores. Loud. Not all the time. Only when he’s really tired, but it gets so bad I’ve contemplated smothering him on more than one occasion.
Mason: He never keeps secrets. In fact, he uses them as leverage, or blurts them out at inappropriate times because he thinks he’s funny. He's not funny.
Ryan: Blake is pretty cool. But his preference not to drink alcohol means he has the perfect opportunity to set the rest of us up when we’re drunk. I’ve woken up more than once with ‘Loser’ written in permanent marker across my forehead. I don't appreciate that.
Sean: My bro, Blake, is a pussy magnet. The tattoos, wrist cuffs, and merciless raven eyes get ‘em every time. And you may think he doesn’t notice the attention, but he does, and he loves it. Cocky little fucker.Inside Dirt on Blake Kennedy by Mitch, Mason, Ryan & Sean
Want some dirt on
the tattooed, smart-mouthed, bass guitarist of the group? Well, Mason, Mitch,
Ryan, and Sean are here to let you have it. In the lead up to the
Passionate Addiction release, the guys of Reckless Beat want you to be aware
that the famous bass guitarist isn't as shit-hot as he seems to be.
A Little More About Me
Name:
Blake Kennedy
Chief disappointments:
The mistakes I’ve
made in my life. I’ve made some shitty moves. Onward and upward though, right?
What do you look like? (Include
height, weight, hair, eyes, skin, apparent age, and distinguishing features)
Spiked dark hair,
brown eyes and more ink than your local stationery shop.
What is your most prized
mundane possession?
Why do you value it
so much? My first guitar. It was a Gibson acoustic. Second hand, with
scratches and a chip in the wood at the first fret. But it’s a symbol of where
I’ve come from and where I’ll never go back to.
What one word best describes
you?
Damaged.
What was your family like?
Worse than most but
better than some. My upbringing made me work for what I have, so it couldn’t
have been all that bad.
What is your fondest, childhood
memory?
When my music
teacher decided not to give up on me. Instead, he dragged me into his classroom
to spend his lunch breaks teaching me guitar. It gave me something to focus on.
A passion to divert my mind away from family life and the kids who wanted to
kick my ass for the threadbare clothes I wore.
What is your worst childhood
memory?
There’s too many to
name. Not that they were all crappy, just that there weren’t many that were
good.
What were you like in high
school? What "clique" did you best fit in with?
I was the loner.
The loser. The kid who wore secondhand clothes and got the shit kicked out of
me.
What were your high school
goals?
To make something
of myself and get out of my shitty life.
Do you have a job? What is it?
Do you like it? If no job, where does your money come from?
I’m the bass guitarist
for Reckless Beat—the best fuckin’ bassist to walk the stage *winks*
What is your boss or employer
like? (Or publisher, or agent, or whatever.)
Our label
is…professional. I guess that’s the only word to describe them without getting
in trouble. But our band manager, Leah, is a hard ass. She doesn’t let us get
away with shit.
What are your co-workers like?
Do you get along with them? Any in particular? Which ones don't you get along
with?
The guys of
Reckless Beat are my family. I depend on them for everything. As much as the
constant sarcasm annoys me, I wouldn’t change them for anything.
Do you tend to save or spend
your money? Why?
Save. I grew up
without money. I like to know I’ve always got some on standby. No matter how
healthy the bank account gets.
What bands do you like? Do you
even pay attention?
I like a lot of
music. Especially some of the indie bands coming out these days. I like to
cheer on the underdog so I tend to search for unknown artists and stick to the
ones who move me.
What song is "your
song?" Why?
Ha. I actually
created a song for the woman I love, but I’m not going to give out any more
details. You’ll have to read about it.
What annoys you more than
anything else?
Mason. Is that a
good enough answer? I’m pretty sure the whole band feels the same way. The guy
is a loveable douche.
Would you consider yourself
straight, gay, bi, or something else? Why?
I’m not bi. I
definitely don’t like dick. But I’m happy to share the fun with friends. As
long as a woman is involved, I’m there.
Have you ever had a same-sex
experience? Who with, what was it like, and how did it go?
Apart from the time
Mitch crawled into the wrong bed and thought I was Alana, the answer would be
no. I gotta tell ya, the feel of another guys dick spooning into my ass isn’t
something fun to wake up to.
What was the wildest thing
you've ever done, sexually? Who was it with and when did it happen?
I don’t really
consider anything ‘wild’ anymore. On tour you have these nights that turn into
a blur of sex and carnality. I’m not a prude, so nothing seems too wild.
What was the worst injury
you've ever received? How did it happen?
I’ve done some
pretty stupid shit with drugs. I didn’t receive any physical injuries but the
emotional ones cut pretty deep.
Prologue
Lost: Is anyone there? I need help.
Blake Kennedy typed with shaky hands, hoping one of the four people in the online chat room would respond. There hadn’t been any talk amongst them since he signed on five minutes ago, and he’d begun to worry they wouldn’t reply.
This was his last option. His only option. He didn’t know what else to do. He had no one to turn to. No one to trust. And if he didn’t pull his shit together soon, his life wouldn’t be worth living.
Modaroo: I’m here. How can I help?
He rested his fingers against the keypad. The tattoo marking his right-hand knuckles mocked him in thick black, broken text--Reckless. No shit. He should get “moronic” splayed across the other hand.
Lost: I need a distraction. I can’t go back again. I just want someone to keep me company until the burn wears off.
The demons were overtaking him, clawing, enticing—almost succeeding at dragging him back to the dark side. He huffed out a breath and wiped the sweat of exhaustion from his forehead.
The anonymity of the internet was his only solace. Support meetings weren’t an option, neither was rehab. If the paparazzi or anyone in the public found out about his problem, he would be booted from Reckless Beat and disgraced in front of a worldwide crowd.
Modaroo: I can do that. I’m quite adept at chatting about inconsequential things until I put people to sleep. It’s a female thing.
He gave a half-hearted laugh, and the noise came out stuttered, maniacal. This was good, though. It was a start. The pounding agitation in his chest even wavered, igniting a spark of hope.
Lost: So you’re a female and enjoy staying up late chatting in drug addiction support groups? Are you a moderator or an abuser?
Modaroo: Yes, I’m female. One of, if not the most stunningly brilliant females you will ever encounter. But no, I’m not a late night person. I love my sleep. I assume I’m on the other side of the world to you. I live down under ;) And yes, I’m a moderator.
Blake’s cell phone vibrated on the couch cushion beside him with an incoming call. He rushed to grab it, to smother the miniscule noise. The laptop teetered on his thighs, threatening to fall.
“Shit.” Clutching the phone in one hand and the laptop in the other, he closed his eyes, breathed deep, and waited for the buzzing to stop. Each passing second tempted him, pulled at him, demanding he answer. His demons knew who was calling. He didn’t need to glimpse the screen to verify.
Seconds later, sweet relief rushed through his veins. He passed the first test. If he could ignore the calls, maybe he could overcome everything else. First thing in the morning, he would change his phone number. For now, though, he would turn the damn thing off.
He glanced across the hotel suite toward Mitchell Davies’ open bedroom door. The lead guitarist must have sensed Blake’s restlessness after tonight’s performance and had started asking questions. Questions Blake didn’t want to answer, or couldn’t answer, if he wanted to keep his position in the band. He’d only been part of the team for eight months and already he’d fucked up. Big time.
Lost: Yeah, I’m in the States. It’s three a.m. here, and I’m so fucking tired. I just want to sleep, but the crazy-ass nightmares won’t quit.
So tell me about Australia. What’s it like down under?
He needed to stop thinking about it. To stop turning every thought process into something that related to the white powder destroying his life.
Modaroo: Withdrawal can be nasty on your mind and body. Just remember, it’s all temporary, and it WILL get better. Do you have someone locally you can depend on?
And what’s it like down under? Pretty darn awesome. At the moment, the weather is hot, the air con is cold, and the beach is looking mighty fine.
Blake ignored her question. He had no one. Not a single soul, and he refused to tell her why.
Lost: You surf?
Modaroo: A little. I can stay on a board for about as long as I can hold my breath.
He let out another laugh. This time it came easier, more natural, less hysterical.
Lost: Lol. So in other words, you kinda suck.
Modaroo: Now, now. No need to point out my failings. I prefer to think of it as a balance imperfection.
Blake snickered and ran a lazy hand through the tangled spikes at the front of his hair. A total stranger, on the other side of the world, had made him laugh for the first time in months.
She was his savior.
Lost: Your failings are nothing in comparison to mine, honey. I’m going to lose the best thing that ever happened to me if I don’t control my cravings for cocaine.
Modaroo: Sorry, Lost, but please don’t use specific drug names in the open chat rooms. The reminder can be harmful to others.
Shit. The last thing he wanted to do was make things harder for another addict.
Lost: Sorry.
Modaroo: Not a problem. So is it a woman?
Lost: A woman?
He rotated his shoulders, cracked his neck, and stretched his arms above his head. The state of relaxation was miles away. However, each second chatting with this woman brought him closer.
Modaroo: The “best thing” you will lose.
He clenched his fists. Disgust and self-loathing were his companions, and he was too weak to do anything about it. All of this pain, suffering, and craziness because of one simple little thing—beauty.
Oh, and lust.
Lost: No. A woman is what got me into this mess in the first place.
Blake Kennedy typed with shaky hands, hoping one of the four people in the online chat room would respond. There hadn’t been any talk amongst them since he signed on five minutes ago, and he’d begun to worry they wouldn’t reply.
This was his last option. His only option. He didn’t know what else to do. He had no one to turn to. No one to trust. And if he didn’t pull his shit together soon, his life wouldn’t be worth living.
Modaroo: I’m here. How can I help?
He rested his fingers against the keypad. The tattoo marking his right-hand knuckles mocked him in thick black, broken text--Reckless. No shit. He should get “moronic” splayed across the other hand.
Lost: I need a distraction. I can’t go back again. I just want someone to keep me company until the burn wears off.
The demons were overtaking him, clawing, enticing—almost succeeding at dragging him back to the dark side. He huffed out a breath and wiped the sweat of exhaustion from his forehead.
The anonymity of the internet was his only solace. Support meetings weren’t an option, neither was rehab. If the paparazzi or anyone in the public found out about his problem, he would be booted from Reckless Beat and disgraced in front of a worldwide crowd.
Modaroo: I can do that. I’m quite adept at chatting about inconsequential things until I put people to sleep. It’s a female thing.
He gave a half-hearted laugh, and the noise came out stuttered, maniacal. This was good, though. It was a start. The pounding agitation in his chest even wavered, igniting a spark of hope.
Lost: So you’re a female and enjoy staying up late chatting in drug addiction support groups? Are you a moderator or an abuser?
Modaroo: Yes, I’m female. One of, if not the most stunningly brilliant females you will ever encounter. But no, I’m not a late night person. I love my sleep. I assume I’m on the other side of the world to you. I live down under ;) And yes, I’m a moderator.
Blake’s cell phone vibrated on the couch cushion beside him with an incoming call. He rushed to grab it, to smother the miniscule noise. The laptop teetered on his thighs, threatening to fall.
“Shit.” Clutching the phone in one hand and the laptop in the other, he closed his eyes, breathed deep, and waited for the buzzing to stop. Each passing second tempted him, pulled at him, demanding he answer. His demons knew who was calling. He didn’t need to glimpse the screen to verify.
Seconds later, sweet relief rushed through his veins. He passed the first test. If he could ignore the calls, maybe he could overcome everything else. First thing in the morning, he would change his phone number. For now, though, he would turn the damn thing off.
He glanced across the hotel suite toward Mitchell Davies’ open bedroom door. The lead guitarist must have sensed Blake’s restlessness after tonight’s performance and had started asking questions. Questions Blake didn’t want to answer, or couldn’t answer, if he wanted to keep his position in the band. He’d only been part of the team for eight months and already he’d fucked up. Big time.
Lost: Yeah, I’m in the States. It’s three a.m. here, and I’m so fucking tired. I just want to sleep, but the crazy-ass nightmares won’t quit.
So tell me about Australia. What’s it like down under?
He needed to stop thinking about it. To stop turning every thought process into something that related to the white powder destroying his life.
Modaroo: Withdrawal can be nasty on your mind and body. Just remember, it’s all temporary, and it WILL get better. Do you have someone locally you can depend on?
And what’s it like down under? Pretty darn awesome. At the moment, the weather is hot, the air con is cold, and the beach is looking mighty fine.
Blake ignored her question. He had no one. Not a single soul, and he refused to tell her why.
Lost: You surf?
Modaroo: A little. I can stay on a board for about as long as I can hold my breath.
He let out another laugh. This time it came easier, more natural, less hysterical.
Lost: Lol. So in other words, you kinda suck.
Modaroo: Now, now. No need to point out my failings. I prefer to think of it as a balance imperfection.
Blake snickered and ran a lazy hand through the tangled spikes at the front of his hair. A total stranger, on the other side of the world, had made him laugh for the first time in months.
She was his savior.
Lost: Your failings are nothing in comparison to mine, honey. I’m going to lose the best thing that ever happened to me if I don’t control my cravings for cocaine.
Modaroo: Sorry, Lost, but please don’t use specific drug names in the open chat rooms. The reminder can be harmful to others.
Shit. The last thing he wanted to do was make things harder for another addict.
Lost: Sorry.
Modaroo: Not a problem. So is it a woman?
Lost: A woman?
He rotated his shoulders, cracked his neck, and stretched his arms above his head. The state of relaxation was miles away. However, each second chatting with this woman brought him closer.
Modaroo: The “best thing” you will lose.
He clenched his fists. Disgust and self-loathing were his companions, and he was too weak to do anything about it. All of this pain, suffering, and craziness because of one simple little thing—beauty.
Oh, and lust.
Lost: No. A woman is what got me into this mess in the first place.
About My Creator
Eden Summers is a true
blue Aussie, living in regional New South Wales with her two energetic young
boys and a quick witted husband.
In late 2010, Eden’s romance obsession could no longer be sated by reading alone, so she decided to give voice to the sexy men and sassy women in her mind.
Eden can’t resist alpha dominance, dark features and sarcasm in her fictional heroes and loves a strong heroine who knows when to bite her tongue but also serves retribution with a feminine smile on her face.
Stalk her...
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