In Love and War
Tara Mills
Genre: Contemporary Romance
About the Book:
Sometimes love really is worth fighting for, but
picking your battles isn't so easy—especially when lives are at stake.
Personal tragedy and the loss of both parents at a young age made Ariela
Perrine cross self-sacrificing hero types off her datable list. But Ariela is
literally swept off her feet when an accident brings her face to face with
an unforgettable pair of blue eyes, a playful smile, and an overly
affectionate dog.
Oh yes, journalist Dylan Bond makes
her sizzle, but dare she risk it? After all, he's just returned
from covering conflicts around the globe. With his assurance he'll be handling
domestic stories from now on, Ariela's weak resistance crumbles and their
relationship intensifies at a dizzying speed. Then an unexpected phone
call lures Dylan back to Iraq and he falls off the radar. His
disappearance will test them both in ways neither expected. Will it bring them
closer or destroy their fragile peace forever?
My Review:
I might be called stingy in doling out five stars, but
that is because I believe a story needs to knock my socks off to get all five,
and it needs to earn them on all levels. The story itself needs to make me sit
up and take notice; the author needs to have the ability to deliver clear,
concise and compelling material, and there can’t be any shortcuts (no deus ex
machina) in delivering any of it.
Well, OMG, then one comes along that demands six stars…or
maybe seven, and In Love and War is one such. Tara Mills has outdone herself.
She had me in tears at times, laughing my head off at times, and just plain not
wanting the story to end, ever, all the time. There is darkness in here, and
grit, but such, unfortunately, are the stuff of life. However, while delivering
‘real life’ Ms. Mills is careful to bring us back, to recall those beautiful
moments that make the dark parts bearable for all of us. Not only do I give
this book and it’s author five (6? 7?), well-deserved stars, I’m also cheering
her on, because she is an excellent author. VERY well done!
Excerpt:
“Please, come in.”
Ariela grabbed her sweater off the hook on the wall and slipped it on, feeling
a little underdressed in her pajamas.
What
on earth was he doing here, and how
had he found her? Not that she was complaining. Oh no, far from it. He’d made a
startling impression on her earlier today. When he’d smiled at her, she could
have sworn his brilliant blue eyes were dancing like fairies at a midsummer
frolic. Odder still, when he spoke she’d imagined butterflies circling her
head. She’d heard tinkling bells. At the time, she hoped it was because of the
knock on her head. Now she wasn’t so sure. Just looking at him again was doing
crazy things to her mental and physical circuitry.
The
guy entered the apartment and gaped at the furniture right out of the sixties. Very
familiar with this reaction, Ariela laughed.
“Yeah,
I get it. The Jetsons meet Beetlejuice, right? Probably not the décor you’d
expect two interior designers to have.”
He
shook his head, still blinking as he took it all in.
Overlapping
the edges of her unbuttoned sweater, she hugged herself, painfully aware she
wasn’t wearing a bra. “Well, there’s a simple explanation. When you’re cash
poor and starting a business with next to nothing, you can’t exactly go wild in
your own apartment right off the bat. We’re still living with the furniture we
had during college, courtesy of Uncle Henry and Aunt Rose—with a few freebies
thrown in to make it really eclectic.”
She
gestured to their space-age teal sofa. “Please, have a seat. Appearances aside,
it’s actually quite comfortable. Can I get you something to drink—juice, tea,
coffee maybe?”
Anything,
anything at all?
Turning,
he flashed a little dimple. “No thanks. I’m fine.”
He’d
get no argument from her.
They
sat down and he looked pained when she settled into the bright
tangerine-colored armchair. Understandable. It did clash jarringly with her
pajamas—pastel balloons floating across a soft pink background. The poor guy
blinked several times, seemingly trying to handle the color overload. Biting
her lip so she didn’t break out laughing, Ariela tucked her feet up and gave
him a slow, curious smile.
He
sat up straight, recognizing his cue. “Right. Sorry. I suppose you’re wondering
why I’m here.”
“It
crossed my mind,” she admitted.
“I
didn’t get a chance to give you that business card before they carted you away.”
“Oh,
and you brought it to me? That’s so nice of you. Thanks.”
He
peered at her intently, more serious now. “How are you?”
Even
though she didn’t know him, there was something in his expression that made her
believe he could be trusted, and more importantly, he wouldn’t have asked about
her if he didn’t honestly want to know. The naked concern radiating out of his
deep blue eyes transformed his handsome face into something miles beyond
devastating.
“I
have a mild concussion.” Why was she blushing?
The
corner of his mouth curled up a smidgen. “Headache?”
She
felt her warm cheeks flare hotter. What was wrong with her? “Not anymore.”
“Good.”
He broke into a full-blown smile and settled back on the sofa, apparently
satisfied.
Still
reeling from the power of his smile, Ariela shifted uneasily in her chair. “I
have a confession— I can’t remember your name. It’s really bugging me.”
His
head dropped back and he laughed. “Dylan Bond.”
She
brightened. “Like in Bond, Dylan Bond?” She’d remember it now.
His
eyebrows flicked up in amusement. “Something like that.”
“Dabbles
in international intrigue?” She was toying with him, but it was fun.
He
flashed a sexy-assed smile. How many kinds did the guy have? “I’m comfortable
being in the middle of the action, but I’m back to working domestically again.”
Say what? Ariela’s
eyebrows rose so high she felt her hairline shift. “I think I need a
translation. What is it you do?”
He
had a great laugh. “I’m a journalist. I just finished a stint in Iraq, but I’m
back now. It’s nice not having to deal with body armor and helmets.”
Looking
skeptically back at him, she assumed he was putting her on. “Is that right?”
“Actually,
yes.” He shifted onto one butt cheek and pulled out his wallet. A second later,
he handed her a press pass from a recent event. “I’m working out of my house
now—mostly covering the political side of the war.”
She
read the pass, her doubts dissolving. “You actually live around here?” She
handed the card back and he put it away.
“Sure,
why not?”
Shrugging,
she said, “Well, Lewiston isn't exactly Washington DC.”
“With
the internet and a telephone, you can stay connected from pretty much anywhere.
Still, I do plenty of traveling and Washington is only a two hour drive. I can
be there and back before Max even notices I'm gone.”
“Max?”
His
blue eyes were dancing again. Hello tinkling bells. “My retriever.”
“Ah
yes, I remember him now.”
Dylan
grinned. “He’s probably the reason you woke up wanting a wet wipe.”
She
laughed and his smile deepened. That dimple of his was growing on her.
“Listen,”
he said, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “How about going out with me sometime?
We can do something gentle—bumper cars maybe?”
She
waited for her retreat mechanism to kick in. It was strangely silent. “Here I was,
hoping you’d suggest hang gliding or bungee jumping.”
“Anything
you want. I’m flexible.”
Another
perfect smile flashed at her and Ariela’s heartbeat spiked. “Sure, why not?”
“Good.”
He stood and pulled the business card out of his front pocket. “Here, before I
forget.”
Ariela
unfolded her legs and reached for the floor with her bare feet. When she rose
he was right there with the card. Taking it, she noticed he was taller than
she’d initially thought. She supposed that made sense. How well can you judge
anyone’s height when you’re on your back?
She
walked him to the door. Opening it before she could, he turned and asked, “When?”
“When
what?” She watched his eyes move as he took an unabashed tour of her face.
“When
can I take you out?”
The
birds in her stomach were back, fluttering away. Good thing they were keeping
the noise down. “Whenever?”
Dylan
gave her a meaningful look, full of promise. “Expect a call.”
Ariela
closed the door behind him and fell against it. If she hadn’t locked her knees,
she would have been a puddle of melting woman on the floor. As Dylan’s
footfalls faded out and the back door shut, she pressed a hand to her excited heart.
Something told Ariela that she was in for a wild ride with this one. Hell, just
sitting in a quiet room with Dylan was exhilarating. Now she knew it wasn’t
just the concussion. There was far more at play here. Scary.
She
was about to find out whether Dylan’s hands were capable and steady on the
wheel, because he was already in her driver’s seat. She knew it, and judging by
the look he gave her on the way out, he knew it too. Suddenly the Beatles were
singing Drive My Car in her head.
About the Author:
I’m a pampered wife, mother to three fantastic sons, one
super daughter-in-law, and proud nana. I write the
stories I like to read. Life is difficult. Love makes it bearable.
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