It peels back the layers of your existence like the skin of an onion until the real you glows underneath, raw and painful to the touch. He was the one that put me on a pedestal after tragedy struck in our young lives. He promised to always look after me. When my father was alive, all he talked about was his heyday at Whitney Briggs, and, of course, being little I imagined him stuck on a farm, pitching straw over his shoulder—but Whitney Briggs is a far cry from any countryside barn. Whitney Briggs University is billed as a cosmopolitan educational institution tucked in the blue mountains of North Carolina, and, so, after he died, both my brother and I set our scholastic compass in that direction. Bryson Edwards.
|Published (Last):||15 July 2006|
|PDF File Size:||7.77 Mb|
|ePub File Size:||1.9 Mb|
|Price:||Free* [*Free Regsitration Required]|
It peels back the layers of your existence like the skin of an onion until the real you glows underneath, raw and painful to the touch. He was the one that put me on a pedestal after tragedy struck in our young lives. He promised to always look after me. When my father was alive, all he talked about was his heyday at Whitney Briggs, and, of course, being little I imagined him stuck on a farm, pitching straw over his shoulder—but Whitney Briggs is a far cry from any countryside barn.
Whitney Briggs University is billed as a cosmopolitan educational institution tucked in the blue mountains of North Carolina, and, so, after he died, both my brother and I set our scholastic compass in that direction. Bryson Edwards. Even his name makes me sigh. I stretch my arms up over my head and wriggle my body into his mattress. His chest ticks with a silent laugh.
I glide down the bed and plant a kiss just above his boxers. Stupid top. Especially the undergarment variety. Girls in every level of undress scream and hug as if summer had somehow lasted a thousand years. Dozens of skateboards jet by, quick and lethal as bullets, as I struggle my way through the main thoroughfare.
The first thing I noticed when the airport shuttle dropped me off is the fact the air is thinner in the mountains of North Carolina, much more than it ever was in Texas. A pair of bicycles zoom at me in either direction, and I squeeze my eyes shut in a passive effort to avoid the near collision. They whisk by, and I force my lids to open once again. I could use a serious nap right about now and maybe a defibrillator if I ever manage to trek across this overgrown scholastic terrain.
Swear to God, this campus is uphill both ways. Whoever thought it was a good idea to plop a school on the side of a mountain must have been part billy goat. His muscles redefine themselves, and a series of lightly sketched tattoos track up over his biceps. Just shit. I miss him. Cole is my favorite person in the world, no offense to Mom who is also pretty great.
But after Dad died, Cole really became so much more than a big brother. The smell of fresh brewed coffee transforms the vicinity into a nirvana-like heaven. He gives a sly smile as he walks alongside me, and a fire rips through my bones. A breath gets caught in my throat at the sight of his pale grey eyes—stunning is the only word I can think to accurately describe them. I move my gaze lower and note his bulging biceps with the beginnings of a tattoo peering out from under the sleeve of his T-shirt.
I punch in the third floor, and we start to float. His smile fades as he takes me in. Most of the girls around here eat frat boys for breakfast. God, he sounds just like Cole. Honestly, sometimes it feels as if Cole wants to keep me a little girl forever. We step out, and I follow the number on the doors all the way down the hall. Most of the doors are opened, exposing the fact girls are busy decorating their miniaturized abodes with wall decals and superfluous purchases from Bed, Bath, and Beyond.
Music blares from a room to our right and a tall redhead stomps out and tapes a poster of a fuzzy white kitten over her door that reads, A, B, C, D, E, then below the fuzzy cute kitty, F. He smells good, clean like warm spices mixed with soap. His silver-blue eyes sear into mine, and an earthquake rolls through my body.
I step up to room and pause. After Dad died, Mom uprooted us to Texas where I always felt a little out of place. But this is college—my dorm. What could be better than that? I unlock the door and swing it wide open for my duffle-bag-wielding friend, but Conan the Chivalrous demands I enter first.
The room itself is smaller than a hiccup with twin beds on either side and not much else. Oh God, my insides cinch with fear.
Then a tangle of limbs pop out from beneath the sheets. A heavy demonic moan escapes the tiny bed as a waterfall of blonde hair floats to the floor. In fact, it makes me like her more. I bet the poor thing never wears a bikini.
I had a friend in high school who actually had the misfortune of growing hair on her chest. She was well on her way to morphing into a baboon before junior year. I take a step forward just as the comforter flops off the bed.
And one of them is a boy! Oh yes, yes, yes! Oh no, no, no. He closes the door behind him as his laughing eyes magnetize to mine. His fingers clasp over mine, his eyes seal themselves over my features, pulling me in as if rescuing me from the deepest end of the ocean. A look of seduction sweeps over him.
Order of 3:AM Kisses Books
The books are addressed to a young adult audience. At the time of publishing this guide, there were nine romance novellas in the 3:AM Kisses book series. While the novels are essentially a series, they are quite independent of each other. You do not need to have read an earlier edition to enjoy a later one. Indeed, they all have different main characters.
3:AM Kisses Series
The last thing I want is to become another notch on that totem pole of seduction he keeps tucked in his pants. But that sheet rock chest, those steel cut abs—a girl can only hold up her resistance for so long before she slowly goes insane. Staying away from Jet Madden is proving impossible. My body demands to collide with his, even if all it will ever amount to is our dirty little secret. Grant Jones is sex on a stick —which explains why every female at Whitney Briggs University gravitates in his direction. Every girl wants to bed him, and every guy wants to be him. Grant is the whole package, and I cannot wait to do a little unwrapping.