Infinite Us
By Eden Butler
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: May 23, 2017
Love is timeless…
Nash Nation loves zeroes and ones, over-sized monitors and late office hours. He’s too busy taking over the world to make time for relationships—that is, until his new neighbor Willow O’Bryant barges into his life, and now Nash can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t the first time she’s interrupted his world.
Then, the dreams start. And in the dreams—memories.
Memories of a girl named Sookie who couldn’t count on love or friendship, never mind forever. Memories of a library and a boy called Isaac and secrets made in private that destroyed his world.
The memories seem real, but who do they belong to?
When Nash and Willow discover the truth, life as they know it unravels.
The bridge between this life and the next is shored up by blood and bone and memory. Sometimes, that bridge leads to the place we’ve always wanted to be.
My brain went into autopilot as I left Manhattan, grabbing the A
train to get me to downtown Brooklyn. And the whole way home, with the rocking
of the train, the funky smell of the city getting fainter with every stop, and
the even worse body odor of all the compressed bodies, the ache in my
head—threatening to turn into a migraine for real—grew the closer we came to my
stop, that weird memory nagging at me.
That
shit wouldn’t let me be.
Over
and over in my head, as I huddled tight behind my jacket in the unseasonably
chilly weather, the memory came clear as a raindrop.
Me and
her. Me and the woman I didn’t know. Me as a man I’d never been.
The
smell of roses. The hint of dust and coffee.
The
feel of worn book bindings and the scrap of metal chairs on wood floors.
The
taste of honey on my tongue.
The
woman wrapped around me, holding tight, like I was her lifeline. Her red hair
between my fingers, her nails pulling at my collar. Feeling needed. Feeling
free.
A gust
of wind blew off my hood, had my eyes watering as I jogged the rest of the way
toward my building, barely acknowledging the people grouped around the front
entrance. But then the sound of kids screeching cut into my brain, and I
finally noticed that Old Man Walker was handing out Jolly Ranchers from the top
step; for his grandkids and the others bouncing around, he couldn't get the
wrapped candy out of his pockets fast enough.
In that
small chaos, compounded by an arguing couple from 3C coming out of the
elevator, brushing past the cluster of kids in their red and green puffy coats
and their sniffling noses, heels clicking on the tile floor and crackling over
the candy wrappers littering the hall, I forgot about the dream. If only for a
second.
Until I
saw Willow at the mailboxes.
Until I
realized I couldn’t walk away from her.
She
didn’t look much like the woman in my dream. Her hair was not red, but light
brown. The redhead’s had been thick and bone straight. Willow’s was wild, all
over the place, as though she could never get it under control.
The
woman in my dream had been thin with barely a hint of curve to her shape.
Elegant, graceful like a ballerina. Willow was all dips and bends, luscious,
her legs strong with well-defined muscle, and a wide, wondrous ass.
Suddenly
the rest of the world receded and there was nothing but the movement of
Willow’s hair as she dug the mail from her box, the rhythm of her limbs as she
swatted at that thick mass of hair, the swoop of her jacket hem against all
those round, perfect curves as she turned, her attention on the envelopes in
her hand.
The
smell of her skin, the jasmine in her hair, seemed to billow around me as I
stood motionless in the lobby. She was everywhere, familiar and yet unknown. A
stranger/not stranger I had held at arm’s length, but still far more real than
my dream, than the memory it was trying to evoke.
Willow
stopped short as she noticed me, pausing with the mail held against her chest,
a frown appearing on her face. I knew that expression from the last time I saw
her, when I lied and told her I didn’t want her, when I had spoken promises
that even then I knew I’d never keep.
“Nash.”
There was a bite in her voice, the clip of my name, as if she was trying to
sound disdainful, yet her voice still held an undertone of something that, if
it had a flavor, would have tasted like honey.
And
then the dream, that sweet, stinging memory crashed over me. It wasn’t the
first. It wasn’t the last. There was no girl called Sookie, no boy named
Dempsey who loved her. This time, I’d watched, not knowing who I was; a voyeur
in someone else’s life, but someone who felt so real to me. Someone I knew
better than myself.
Déjà vu
and fantasy and nonsense I did not understand hit me like a fever, and I was
lost. The redhead kissed my neck. The hint of her soft, liquid tongue against
my skin, tugging on my ear, wanting me with a fierceness no one ever had
before, overwhelmed me, and I had to close my eyes to keep from being dragged
under.
“What’s
wrong with you?” Willow’s voice reeled me back in, and I opened my eyes to see
her sweet, concerned expression and the curve of her mouth, the fullness of her
bottom lip.
Then
Willow... she took the back of her hair in one hand, twisting it into a
braid—the smallest gesture that I’d seen her do a dozen times—and suddenly I
realized: the woman in my dream had done the same thing. The same motion, the
same movement. Just like Willow.
A sharp
intake of breath—that was me. Willow had backed up a half step, her face
confused, conflicted, and despite what I’d said before, I reached out and slid
my fingers tentatively to touch her face, guiding her chin up so I could look
into her eyes.
“What
are…”
She
made the smallest noise, something that sounded like a moan and a laugh at the
same time. It transformed, deepened to a growl when I kissed her. Yet even as
my mouth found hers, as my tongue slid along her lip, begging an invitation,
one thought consumed me, something I didn’t believe was left over from my
dream. One thought that made me brave, made me hungry: this woman belongs to me.
Eden Butler is an editor and writer of Mystery, Suspense and Contemporary Romance novels and the nine-times great-granddaughter of an honest-to-God English pirate. This could explain her affinity for rule breaking and rum.
When she’s not writing or wondering about her possibly Jack Sparrowesque ancestor, Eden patiently waits for her Hogwarts letter, edits, reads and spends way too much time watching rugby, Doctor Who and New Orleans Saints football.
When she’s not writing or wondering about her possibly Jack Sparrowesque ancestor, Eden patiently waits for her Hogwarts letter, edits, reads and spends way too much time watching rugby, Doctor Who and New Orleans Saints football.
She is currently living under teenage rule alongside her husband in southeast Louisiana.
Please send help.
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