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    No Getting Over You
    No Getting Over You
    No Getting Over You
    Ebook140 pages1 hour

    No Getting Over You

    By Cerise Deland

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Viv LaClare is so over being the matron...the widow. She wants to live again, laugh, maybe even dabble in a little affair…if she can find the right guy. Enter the studly Navy SEAL designated to drive her around town on wedding errands. She's hot for his body, but when her newly healed heart gets ideas, she's not sure she can risk it on a man with one of the deadliest jobs in the world. Britt Ackermann is done with one-night stands and women who party with a SEAL for bragging rights. He wants a lady with guts, sass, and more than a lick of sense. He has doubts a woman like that exists. So when he meets the Matron of Honor at his teammate’s wedding, she hooks him at ‘hello.’ He wants all the nights she’ll give him even if he can't promise her tomorrow.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherThe Wild Rose Press
    Release dateMar 31, 2017
    ISBN9781509214457
    No Getting Over You

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    • 5/5
      Viv and Britt are the matron of honor and the best man at their friends’ wedding. Having gone to a psychic for the bachelorette party Viv was told she would meet a man with a scar. Opening the door to Britt and sharing a surge of heat with him convinces her the psychic is right. As they run around D.C. helping Abby to have the wedding she wants their attraction grows and they get the chance to see how hot it is.I enjoyed this story. I loved Britt and Viv and their instant attraction. The time period they have to deal with their attraction is short which makes the story intense. Watching them struggle to deal with their feelings and the quickness of it kept me involved so I could not put the book down. I liked how the story went from her point of view to his. Knowing both of their thoughts gave me insights into them as people dealing with the present as well as their pasts. I especially liked when Viv had her epiphany and was able to verbalize it. This is a good story and I look forward to the rest of the series.

    Book preview

    No Getting Over You - Cerise Deland

    You

    No Getting Over You

    by

    Cerise Deland

    7 Brides for 7 SEALs

    Book Two

    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

    No Getting Over You

    COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Jo-Ann Power

    All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

    Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

    Cover Art by Diana Carlile

    The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

    PO Box 708

    Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

    Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

    Publishing History

    First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2017

    Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1445-7

    Published in the United States of America

    PRAISE FOR AUTHOR

    Cerise Deland

    Sinfully hot!

    ~Romance Junkies

    Bring a fan, and plenty of ice water, you’ll need it!

    ~Long and Short Reviews

    POWER POSITION

    Prepare yourself for a wild, hot ride. The steaminess never lets up as they rock, glide and slide their way to ecstasy. Amanda and Jack are as opposite as they come but they find a way to make each other vulnerable, needy and sexy all at the same time. Amanda is dealing with a new lover after the death of her husband. Jack is dealing with uncontrollable hunger for his boss. The scenes are well-written and will leave the reader wishing they were one of the characters in the book if only to get some relief.

    ~You Gotta Read Reviews.com

    Chapter One

    Viviana LaClare leaned over the restaurant table to whisper in Abby Stuart’s ear. After dessert, I’m going home.

    Her best friend stared up at her with disbelieving dark golden eyes. No, Viv. You can’t.

    I’m tired. She and Abby were curators at the National Portrait Gallery, and their boss had resigned a few weeks ago. In line to be promoted to his job, Viv had worked long hours the past two weeks to absorb some of his projects and learn the nuts and bolts of his duties. But Viv saw no end in sight for her overtime. Abby was getting married in two days and had given her notice so she could marry her Navy SEAL and move with him to San Diego. All of it meant Viv had taken on lots more work. To boot, she was to fly to Venice Monday to examine the provenance of a painting that the owner wished to donate to the gallery.

    She was tired. And she had to be honest. Looking at Abby’s joy at being in love made Viv envious. And lonely. All she wanted right now was to catch a taxi home and work on ridding herself of that horrid emotion. Abby was her friend, and Viv was enormously happy for her. She just needed to go home and sleep it off. It’s been a long day.

    We won’t let you skip, said Tracy Banning, another of their colleagues.

    Another mutual friend grabbed Viv’s hand across the dining table. You promised. All of us bridesmaids stick together.

    I know, Monica, but day after tomorrow is the wedding and— Viv threw them a valiant smile. She was no maid, for sure. In fact she was the Widowed Matron of Honor. But she couldn’t say something so depressing. I’m an older lady, and I need my beauty sleep.

    Older? Monica Sandoval said, stuck two fingers in her ears, and chanted, No, no, no.

    The other two agreed.

    Still. Next week, Viv would turn thirty-eight. She might eat right and run two miles every morning along the C and O Canal, but since her husband passed away nine months ago, she felt older than dirt.

    None of that, Monica said, shaking her head, her long platinum waves swirling over her shoulders. Abby got herself tied to this SEAL so quickly, we’ve got to do all the regular funky stuff as if we planned them for months.

    Well, frankly, Viv said and rolled her eyes at the bride-to-be, if you’d agreed to wear a goofy veil, a ‘Virgin’ sign, and bar hop, I might’ve been inclined.

    Bull, said Monica.

    You would’ve run like Frank Damon was after you. Tracy grinned at the reference to their retiring boss.

    Viv hid her negative reaction. Frank had called her last night and asked her to dinner. She’d refused, not in the mood to alter their former supervisor-employee relationship now that he had left.

    Monica fell back in the plush banquette and folded her arms. You promised to stick with us tonight. No matter where Abby said we’d go after dinner.

    Can’t call retreat now, Viv, Abby objected, her large almond-shaped eyes twinkling in mischief. I shared with all of you how Nick and I met. You owe me the courtesy of escorting me into this marriage with everything you’ve got.

    "Brought together by a really live—or rather a really dead—ghost at The Menger Hotel is odd-ball. But belly-dancing lessons were never on any list of bachlorette hi-jinks I thought you’d pick." As if belly-dancing were the worst of Abby’s funky choices for tonight’s hen party.

    You thought we’d go where?

    Dunno. Viv lifted her shoulders. Abby was an old movie buff. This month the Strand up on Wisconsin is showing back-to-back Robert Redford flicks.

    Nah. Abby has her movie hunk in the flesh. Monica widened her eyes and licked her bottom lip. She does not need to go to the Strand to drool.

    Okay, okay. Viv raised her hands. I’ll do the belly-dancing lesson. But that’s it. Then I get in my pumpkin and disappear.

    Abby frowned at her. You’ll love this. I promise. I picked all of these things because I knew each of you had a hang-up. A bias. I want you to open your mind to the rich possibilities of—

    A back ache, said Tracy, who refused to go out dancing at clubs because there’d been a fire at one where she danced when she was in college.

    Viv smiled at pretty petite Tracy, delicate as a flower. The belly-dancing is for you.

    Abby tipped her head at Tracy but stared at Viv. And she’s agreed to rock out.

    Oh, yeah. Monica huffed. And the karaoke is for me.

    Viv understood. Monica had stage fright and repeatedly refused to give any presentations at her design firm. She needed to get over it if she was to ever have a crack at managing client cases on her own.

    And the fortune teller is for you, Abby said with kindness in her gaze. I’ve checked him out. I know you’ll like him.

    Him? Viv blurted, shocked at this news. What? A man who’s clairvoyant?

    Tough to come by, I agree. You told me so yourself.

    Viv’s mother had told fortunes and read auras for decades. She’d earned a living at it. My mother’s gift was inherited from her mother. I got only a thimble-full of her talent. But she taught me to be skeptical of those who claimed the sight.

    Abby wiggled her brows. But this man is the real deal.

    How can you tell? Viv had to argue with straight-laced WASP Abigail Stuart whose extended family of Virginia patricians were the epitome of work-hard, serve-long, become-famous-forever legends.

    Abby pursed her lips. That day I saw him before I went to San Antonio two months ago, he told me ‘something strange’ would happen to me. I’d see a vision.

    Viv gave her a rueful eye. Abby Stuart, we all have ‘something strange’ happening to us every day. As for the vision—

    Un-uh. Abby picked up her wine glass and drained it. I have no doubts. My vision, my ghost was real.

    But the night you had your palm read, you thought the psychic was a crank. You told me so yourself.

    I won’t deny it. But what will it hurt to go listen to him, hmm?

    I might fall for his mumbo-jumbo. I’m too damn lonely. And I might want to believe him.

    She shook away that possibility. A native of New Orleans, her Irish-Creole family was well versed in the arts of Seeing. But since Viv’s husband, Paul, passed away nine months ago, she believed only in the art of Getting On. She no longer grieved for him, fabulous man that he’d been. Instead, she pined for his presence, his awful jokes, and his stories of life in the fast lane of Louisiana politics. Worse, she ached for the affection he’d lavished on her. She wanted a man to share her days with and a bad ass lover like Paul to spend her nights with.

    So? Abby egged her on. "What do you say, ma cherie?"

    Viv had to protect herself from charlatans and find comfort in the reality that she might still make a happy life…alone. My mother could read the aura of anyone twenty feet away. Sometimes, I can, too. If he’s a crank, I’m leaving, you hear me? And I am not giving him my palm. He’ll have to read me as I am, straight on. No words. No written hieroglyphics. Just so we’re clear.

    We are, said Abby with a small smile.

    Fine, said Tracy. I’m ready to dance.

    And I’ll sing but never live down the shame, said Monica.

    No predictions! said Abby. Let’s get the check.

    Ah, ah, ah. Viv hailed their waiter. The bridesmaids’ treat.

    ****

    Two hours later, the four of them strolled up M Street. The Friday night crowd of Georgetown college kids and Washington politicos was thick, and the four women often linked arms, two-by-two, to maneuver through the throngs.

    Okay. Abby stopped in front of an antique store with a side entrance to the upstairs. This is it.

    Viv glanced up at the building, old nineteenth century gingerbread carvings hanging from the eaves.

    A breeze lifted wisps of her hair. Earlier, she’d rolled up her shoulder-length red hair in a Victorian style bun and coiled it up in a net caul. But the wind gusted and oddly, despite her deft pinning job, her hair unwound and the pins dropped one by one to the sidewalk.

    Oh, my. She grabbed

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