Description:
The only child of a business mogul, Kirk Watford’s had his life planned for him since birth. After years of playing the field, and partying in college, the time to take his rightful place as heir of Watford Industries is at hand. His plan for one last hurrah goes awry when his plane crashes, and he finds himself stranded with an incredible woman who makes him believe in the impossible. Cut off from the world outside he discovers the man he’s always wanted to be, and what might be true love.
Liandra Powers has been an outcast her entire life. Hearing impaired, she’s grown a thick skin fighting against the ignorance of society. When she loses her hearing aids in the crash she’s forced to lean on the attractive man who makes her long for things she accepted would never happen for her. The beauty of the island and Kirk’s ability to see her and not her differences fill her with hope. Until they’re rescued and the realities of their lives rise up and began to test the foundation they laid.
EXCERPT
Liandra Powers ignored the annoying sensation of prying eyes boring into her skull. Like a moth attracted to light, people couldn’t help themselves when they saw a person who didn’t fit the conventional norms of society. No matter how stealth they tried to be, she sensed their censure. The cherry red hearing aids stood out. But, she’d long abandoned the sense of shame that came with having special needs. Without this wondrous device, she didn’t hear much more than bass, and the vaguest notion of voices. People were always embarrassed when their kids asked her about the “Thing” on her ear. In reality, she found the frankness, refreshing and preferred it to the assumptions and speculation. Being the subject of whispered conversation never felt nice. No matter how many years of training you had.
“Excuse me, miss, Can I get you something to drink?”
Liandra glanced up and shook her head at the graceful flight attendant with flaxen hair, a brilliant smile, and a model thin frame. Clad in a navy uniform and a jaunty scarf she exuded cheer.
“No, thank you.” Liandra shook her head and turned back to the window. The clouds above looked gray and ominous. Her stomach fluttered. If she could drive to a shoot she would, but Hawaii left her with no options other than air travel. Thoughts of the assignment replaced the unease with a slow simmering excitement. This is my opportunity to break through! A wedding photo shoot for a popular magazine was an achievement to be proud of. Imagery developed in her mind like film. The destination ceremony in a tropical paradise had been done a million times over. How can I make it different?
She leaned forward, dug the black book bag out from beneath the seat in front of her, unzipped the back section, and pulled out a manila envelope. A few minutes later she had the models’ photos spread out on the lowered dinner tray. They were gorgeous. With beautiful tan skin that boasted a Pacific Islander ancestry, they had piercing brown eyes, and thick black hair. The woman, Tania, had high cheek bones, lush lips, and an average height with curves in all the right places. Her waist length curls begged for flowers…orchids. Creativity rose, dampening the irritability and discomfort she sank into previously. A playful vintage meets exotic theme began to come together. Photography had been her savior, the one thing at which she excelled.
Her profession allowed her to express herself without words, and provided an escape.
She’d learned early on how harsh and unforgiving the world could be. Dark-skinned, deaf, and equipped with extra curves, there were times she felt as if there’d been a target permanently painted on her back. If she hadn’t come up in a small town in the south, things might be different.
The violent sway of the plane jerked her from her imaginings. The fasten seat belt light dinged. She quickly tidied her area and replaced her tray. Flight attendants rushed forward in the aisles, and people scrambled for their seats.
“Ladies and gentleman we are experiencing severe turbulence. We ask that you fasten your seatbelts,” the captain said over the loud speaker.
The plane dropped and cries filled the air. Liandra clenched her jaw and gripped the armrests for dear life. Her knuckles ached in protest, and her heart thudded. They plummeted, headed straight down. The overhead bins gave way. Bags fell onto the grounds. Tremendous pressure formed behind her ears, and her chest constricted. Oxygen masks dropped from above.
She reached out, grabbed the circular cup, and struggled to put it over her face as she fought against the direction gravity wanted to twist her body. She inhaled deeply, flooding her brain with the life giving substance. Panic blurred the sharp edges of her vision, and mentally clarity fled.
Her gaze darted around, taking in the stricken faces of her fellow passengers. This is where my story ends with no legacy behind me, and few to mourn. A thunderous boom sounded. Loose debris floated around the cabin. The plane began a wild death spiral. Disoriented, she saw the world in double. Pain detonated in her body as the plane connected with something solid. Her head hit the wall, and she knew no more.
Liandra opened her eyes and squinted at the light. A dull ache tapped a rhythm in her head and continued down her body. Fragments of memory rushed back. The plane crashed.
She pushed up into a sitting position and cringed. Silence. No, that couldn’t be right. She reached up to touch her hearing aid, and found nothing but the cartilage of her ear. Sound burst from her vocal chords as she cried out. She could feel the vibrations, yet, her world remained stuck on mute. How can I be rescued if I can’t hear anything?
Fear gave her the slap on the face she needed. Focused, she took in her surroundings. White sand covered the ground beneath her feet. A canopy of tall, tropical, trees nearly blocked out the ight above her. Ridiculous how idealistic this place appears, given the horror that lead us to be here. If there is an us.
She scanned the floor around her looking for the aids and came up empty. She hit her knees and sifted sand with her hands. After what felt like forever, she admitted defeat. They were gone, and if she wanted to find her way out of here, she needed to leave while she still had light. A twinge of pain brought her hand up to cover her ribs and she limped through the area, stepping over tree roots, and watching for signs of life. She proceeded forward, careful to keep a watchful eye on the brush for any sign of movement. The ground shook. She turned toward the vibrations and ran toward the source, desperate to hold on to what could be her only link to the plane and other survivors.
A heavy weight slammed into her. Iron bands held her tight. Dazed and breathless, she froze. Lifted, like she weighed nothing, she was placed onto her back. Confused, she tilted her head, and met the bluest pair of eyes she’d ever seen. Disheveled, dirt smudged, bleeding from various niches and cuts, the man’s angular face, and fast moving thin lips were a thing of pure beauty. She shook her head, cleared out the mental cobwebs, and shoved at his chest. He yielded, scooting back to sit on his heels he pointed in the direction she’d be going.
“What’s wrong with you? Didn’t you hear me yelling for you to stop? The plane is still burning and exploding,” he said.
“I can’t hear,” she said.
He cupped her face in his palms inspecting her closer. “Your ears aren’t bleeding. Maybe you were too close to the explosions. Do you hear ringing?”
Touched by his kindness she covered his hands and waited until his gaze returned to hers. “I was all ready like this before….I lost my hearing aids in the crash.”
His brow furrowed. “How are you answering me then?”
She snickered at the common question. “I read lips.”
“Oh.” His lips formed a circle.
“Mind getting off me?”
“Ye-yeah, sorry.” He ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair.
“Have you seen anyone else?” she asked.
He paused. “You’ve been the only one alive.”
About the author:
Told once ‘You have to be an author, then you’re craziness becomes eccentrics’, Shyla Colt has always been in love with the written word and possessed a desire to write. Named after Super Girl in the comics, she often mistakes her mortality for super hero status. So, she holds many hats, Mother, Marine Wife, and writer are her top three. Writing allows her to explore new venues, face her demons, and touch others. A huge practitioner of paying it forward, and putting in what you want to get out, she hopes to inspire, enlighten, move, and entertain you with her work. Mixing humor, drama, and strong women, often with a paranormal element, she continues to soldier ahead in the writing field. One of her favorite things is talking to fans. If you’d like to learn more or just drop a line, please email at sassy3134@gmail.com. or check her out at:
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2 comments:
I think the diversity of this book is most intriguing.
this book sounds really good denise smith
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