Who’s Cherie M Hudson?
Tomorrow, Unconditional, Book One in the New Adult series, Always will be available! YAY!!
This is my debut novel writing under the pen name, Cherie M Hudson, and deals with a subject close to my heart, Parkinson’s disease (both my father and my brother have Parkinson’s)
For a limited time only, Unconditional will be available for .99c You can check out the early reviews here at Goodreads but for now, please scroll down to read an excerpt
She has a future she can’t escape. He refuses to let her face it alone.
Twenty-one. The age when adult life begins. In my case, it’s the age I learned my future sucked, big time, and there was nothing I could do about it. Every minute of every day I face the fact my life is only going to get worse. Why? Because I have early-onset Parkinson’s Disease. I’m not going to let it get me down, but I also can’t let anyone close. That’s not fair to them, or to me. Trust me. So that means my heart and my soul, is off-limits.
But then I traveled to Australia on a college scholarship program and life royally screwed me over. Again.
Raphael Jones is an arrogant Australian celebrity, the hottest guy on campus and a pain in my ass. Worst of all, he makes me ache for a life I’ll never be able to have. Especially when he takes me in his arms and does wicked things to my body.
How do I have a hope of surviving ten weeks in Australia when it’s not just the paparazzi who have me in their sights, but Raph as well? Because Raphael Jones is a man who always gets what he wants. And no matter what I say or do, he refuses to accept what I so painfully know: a life and future with me is no life at all.
Unconditional will be available within twelve hours at Amazon, Smashwords and will be coming soon from Barnes and Noble, iTunes and Nook. I’ll post the buy links as soon as I get them Promise
Warm lips brushed over mine in a lingering caress of skin on skin. I would have melted on the spot…if it wasn’t for the fact I yelped so loud in shocked disbelief and stumbled back a step.
Mr. Broad Shoulders laughed. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to freak you out.”
Just to make it clear before I continue. I’m not a virgin. I’d lost my virginity to my high school boyfriend four nights after my sixteenth birthday, the school quarterback, no less. How’s that for both an achievement and a cliché? But since I found out I have Parkinson’s, I’ve pretty much shut down any and all notion of romance. Who wants to get romantic with someone who’s going to be a shaky mess in a few years? I can’t imagine there are many guys out there willing to roll with that kind of burden, so I stopped putting myself out there. Which might explain my very active fantasy obsession with a married Australian actor, now that I think about it. Hmmm. Desire the impossible to substitute the denied. Makes sense, right?
I gaped up at my mysterious kisser—again. Heart beating way too fast, I pressed my fingers to my lips. “Why did you do that?”
“You asked.” His grin turned wickedly playful, hinting at a dimple in his right cheek, and he leaned a little closer to me, his brown eyes holding mine. “And you looked so damn sexy with your mussed-up hair and coffee-stained shirt.”
A wave of embarrassment flooded my face. I slapped my hand to my left boob, hurting myself in a rather ridiculous attempt to hide the stain he’d already pointed out. Why do we do that, by the way? Try to conceal something once it’s been pointed out? Like the way mining corporations plant rows of trees around the boundaries of their open-cut mines, as if some greenery will conceal the massive gaping wound gouged into the planet by their machinery.
His low chuckle tickled my senses again, drawing a frown from me. “Are you mocking me?” I asked, a distant part of my mind telling me I still needed to use the toilet.
“No. Honest. The second you ran into me, I wanted to kiss you.”
It was my turn to cock an eyebrow. I love that I can do that—cock an eyebrow. It speaks volumes. Attitude from your waiter? Cock an eyebrow. Lip from your study partner? Cock an eyebrow. Absurd claim from a stranger in a public restroom? Cock an eyebrow.
“The second?” I echoed.
His lips twitched. Christ, he was hot. “Okay, maybe the second after the second. When you realized who you’d run into.”
Who I’d run into? Didn’t he mean where I’d run into? The men’s toilet rather than the ladies’?
He frowned in return. “You do know who I am, right?” he asked, curious conviction in his deep voice. Have I mentioned the sexy Australian accent? “That’s why you asked for the kiss. Because of the way my sister met the prince?”
My eyebrows shot up my forehead. I’d like to say I had a hand in their journey, but my brain was too busy being stunned by what I’d just heard for any conscious direction to body parts or facial features. What did he just say? “Prince?” I echoed.
It was obvious I had no freaking clue what he was talking about. Clear enough for him to pull a grimace. A sexy grimace, if that’s possible to visualize.
“You don’t know who I am?”
I shook my head. Deep in the pit of my stomach, a twisting tension curled tighter. A sexual tension. Or maybe it was the fact I still hadn’t peed.
He let out an amused sigh, dragging his hands through his dark hair as he did so. “Fuck, ’eh? So you just asked for a kiss because…”
The question hung on the air between us, looking for an answer. One I couldn’t provide. What was I going to say? ’Cause you’re really, really hot? Instead, I said, “Who are you?”
He flashed me that lopsided grin again, let out another laugh and ducked his head. “No one important,” he said.
And then, before I could stop him, he closed the small distance between us, lowered his head to mine and kissed me again.
Longer this time.
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