Sinful Rewards 7 – Where You Belong
Have you ever walked into a place or situation and known in your gut that you were meant to be there? You might not have been able to explain why. Perhaps all signs indicated the opposite. But you knew you were exactly where you were supposed to be.
When I was sixteen, I fundraised my way into a class trip to France (that, in itself, was a miracle – I think I sold a handmade crepe to everyone in our small town). A couple of days into the trip, I was feeling homesick. My French was rough. I’d never been out of Canada. We were in Paris. Our hotel had more people than my home town. It was scary and confusing and I missed my big, noisy family.
Then I walked into Sacre Coeur and I instantly knew this was where I was meant to be. I didn’t know why. The church situated in the artsy section of Paris didn’t reflect my religious background. I couldn’t understand half of the things spoken or written on the walls. I didn’t appreciate the architecture. It was dark and a bit gloomy.
I walked to a wall of lit candles, not understanding the reason for the display or for the feeling of rightness inside me. An elderly woman hobbled to the spot beside me, paid her francs for a candle and lit it. She explained in small words, slowly spoken, that she lights a candle every year on this day, the day of her husband’s death. She’d been doing this for over two decades. He was and will always be the love of her life.
After that day, a part of me always judged the guys I dated by that standard—would I light a candle for him decades after he died? When I met my dear wonderful hubby, the answer was ‘yes.’ Is that the reason I was meant to be at Sacre Coeur at that time? I don’t know.
Bee, the heroine in Sinful Rewards, my sizzling hot contemporary erotic romance serial, walks into The Road Gator and knows she belongs. She shouldn’t fit in. She’s a fashionista, with no military or biker experience. The men and women at The Road Gator all served their country and they ride. They wear leather and sport tattoos. She prefers designer dresses and would never consider anything as permanent as ink. They’re hard drinkers. She’s under the table after two shots.
But their core values—loyalty, protecting others—are the same. They understand and don’t judge each other. Bee feels safe there. She fits in, is accepted as one of them. Will she continue to be accepted? We don’t yet know.
Have you ever walked into a place and knew you belonged? Please share your experience!
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Bee Carter has been offered everything she has ever dreamed of—a caring, lasting relationship with a handsome, often charming billionaire; the permanent home she’s never had but has always craved; and wealth to buy the designer fashions she loves, support her hard-working mother, and ensure her acceptance by Chicago’s elite.
To obtain what she’s desired for so long, she has to do only two things: Walk away from her best friend, a woman who is destined to betray her … and end her passionate nightly encounters with a certain tattooed biker, a former Marine who can never give her what she needs.
Her answer should be clear, but the heart has a way of complicating even the most straightforward decisions.
Buy Links:
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Sinful-Rewards-Billionaires-Bikers-Novella-ebook/dp/B00JZOVYQG
Avon: http://www.avonromance.com/book/cynthia-sax-sinful-rewards-7
Barnes And Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/sinful-rewards-7-cynthia-sax/1119919841
Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Cynthia_Sax_Sinful_Rewards_7?id=CGsOBAAAQBAJ
iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/sinful-rewards-7/id870582006
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Why I Love Nutella
I love Nutella. That’s probably the worst kept secret in the world. I talk about this hazelnut chocolate goodness all of the time. I prefer to eat it straight out of the jar with a spoon OR the best way possible – in the middle of a hot crepe with a sprinkle of icing sugar over top.
I associate Nutella with happiness and with writing because the first time I ever had Nutella was on a crepe from one of the notorious street crepe makers in Paris, France (yes, the same crepe makers who got run out of gay Paris for sleeping on their carts and performing other non-hygienic stunts).
I went to Paris with a group of students during my senior year in high school. I was 17 years old. I had never been out of the country before. I painted. I wrote. I loved French history (with their decapitations and their women warriors). I fell in love with Paris instantly.
Our chaperones had dozens of students to supervise so I would wander the streets by myself. Dangerous, yes, but it added to the fun. I was young and free and much more interested in the art and architecture than getting into trouble.
I also was on a budget and whenever I’d get hungry, I’d buy a crepe. The crepe makers would tell me stories. They’d been everywhere, seen everything. They, mostly male, would flirt with me, making me feel like a sophisticated femme fatale.
One Of The Crepe Makers In Paris, France
Looking back, I could also see they were protecting me, telling me to check in with so-and-so along my route. When I was late, that so-and-so would ‘accidentally’ bump into me. They made the dangerous streets a little less dangerous while still giving me my freedom.
Now, whenever I suck on a spoon of Nutella, I think of that first trip to Paris and I smile.
This Crepe, Filled With Nutella and Sprinkled With Icing Sugar, Was Made at Le Buffet, Paris Casino, Las Vegas
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