Buona sera care amiche!!
Oggi il Book Tour di “Where the Road takes me" di Jay McLean fa tappa sul blog. Vi ricordo che presto il romanzo arriverà in Italia
(ed. Fabbri Editore) con il titolo “Stai con me in ogni respiro”. E' già stata resa nota la data: il 26 febbraio.
Quella che vi
sto dando è una notizia tra le più succulente perché questo spettacolare
romanzo non è ancora uscito neppure in lingua originale! Non abbiamo ancora
notizie certe sulla data di pubblicazione, anche se notizie ufficiose parlano
di una contemporanea mondiale. Vediamo di scoprire di più su questo romanzo che
sta tenendo in fibrillazione il pubblico americano. Innanzitutto a detta della
stessa autrice è un libro autoconclusivo, un New adult ambientato all’ultimo
anno della scuola superiore. I protagonisti sono una ragazza normale, abbastanza
solitaria e poco popolare, che improvvisamente si trova ad essere corteggiata
dal campione di basket della scuola. Tutto qui?....non proprio.... L’autrice Jay McLean è molto apprezzata per il suo stile dolce e delicato che arriva direttamente al cuore delle lettrici. Già solo leggendo la trama si percepisce questo profumo delicato ed ammaliante che sicuramente ci rapirà non appena avremo fra le mani questo libro. Jay McLean è già famosa oltreoceano per aver scritto un’altra serie molto nota, la serie More. <3, Roberta
"Stai con me in ogni respiro" – sinossi:
Chloe
Blake
"Vorrei averla trovata prima, ma lei ha scelto di
rimanere invisibile. L’ho osservata comprendere profondamente il mondo, un
respiro alla volta, mentre viveva la sua vita da sola. Le ho detto che l’ho
salvata quella notte, ma ho mentito. Penso che lei abbia salvato me. Lei vuole
respingermi, e dirmi che mi sbaglio, ma è troppo tardi. Ormai l’ho notata.
Ormai è parte di me. Ormai sono innamorato di lei. Splendida,
splendida ragazza."
Teaser Quote
"Because over the years of
building walls and living my life one day at a time, I’d learned to accept my
fate and never hope for more than what I had. I’d never questioned the way I
thought about my life. But Blake—he made me question it. He made me want to
change it. To change my outlook. And to change myself. But I couldn’t. And I
wouldn’t. Because one day, sooner rather than later, I’d be gone. And I’d leave
them all behind.”
Estratto #1
Chloe
lifted her gaze and locked it with mine. She shook her head again and groaned,
“Fine.” Then she took off her shirt.
My jaw
dropped.
My
hands had touched her bare skin, the curve of her hips, and her tiny waist, but
I’d seen her body only once, when she was in a bikini, and that had been for
only a minute. But that was nothing compared to seeing her like this. Up close.
So close her sports bra–covered breasts were just under my nose.
“Blake?”
she whispered.
I
struggled to take my eyes off her chest, but I finally made it to her face. She
had her hair tied up in a messy knot on top of her head, like she often did.
But a few strands were stuck on her neck and on her face . . . and a little
sheen of sweat covered her arms and her stomach, her chest, her breasts . . .
“Blake,”
she repeated, and I trailed my eyes back to hers again.
She
pouted before she said, “Give me the ball?”
I
shook my head and hid the ball behind my back.
She
pouted again. “Please?” she whispered. Then a hint of a smile broke through.
“Are
you trying to seduce me into giving you my ball?”
Estratto #2 - Capitolo uno
There was that familiar ache that I loved so much—a burn in my chest that spread to the rest of my body. There was just one other feeling I loved more. Well—two, if you included the high of sex.
Numbness.
A constant state of numbness was my euphoria.
You couldn’t tell. No one could.
My feet thudded against the pavement. Sweat dripped from my hairline, down my neck, and onto my bare back. I shut my eyes, urging the numbness to kick in. I wanted to feel it everywhere. Not just in my body but everywhere. Maybe I should quit basketball and take up smoking weed as a hobby.
I laughed to myself—Dad would love that. Another reason to kick my ass.
I rounded the corner with my eyes still shut. I knew that path in the park better than I knew my own home. Which is why I was running at two in the morning on a Saturday night. Sunday morning?
Whatever.
I was five steps past the corner—the numbness had just started to seep in—when I bumped into something. My eyes sprang open, and I found myself staring at someone on the ground.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I huffed, trying to level my breathing. I rested my hands on my knees, waiting for the thumping in my heart to calm itself. My skin stung and my muscles throbbed from the impact of our bodies. I was six foot three, and my frame matched the constant training and rigorous workouts it endured. Her—I couldn’t tell what she looked like—but I knew this much: if the collision had hurt me, it must’ve almost killed her. She slowly came to a sitting position, resting her ass on her heels. Her head was bent, and her loose blonde hair formed a curtain around her face. She lifted her hands, palms up, and examined them. Blood.
“Shit! I’m so sorry.” A wave of panic whooshed through me.
Squatting in front of her, I took her hands to study the damage. She yanked them away and sniffed, straightening her legs out in front of her.
Her short-ass skirt left nothing to the imagination.
“Dammit,” she whispered, her head still down.
My gaze moved from the hem of her skirt to her knees. Blood.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” I said for the third time.
It was dark, the only light coming from the moon and a lamppost fifteen yards away. I wanted to see her face, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to ask her to look at me. “Are you okay?”
Before she could answer, a rustling from the bushes interrupted us.
A guy stepped out, close to my age. He looked rough, rougher than the kids I hung out with—and I use that term loosely. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then eyed it. Blood.
His eyes narrowed. Looking down at the girl in front of me, he seethed, “You fucking whore!”
Slowly, she stood up.
I swear I could actually hear the clicking of the pieces as it all fell into place in my mind.
Him—with his fat lip, torn shirt, and undone fly.
Her—now fully standing. The top of her tank was ripped, exposing one bra-covered breast.
I watched as her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed to slits, but then fire flamed in them as she yelled, “Fuck you!”
He took a step toward her with his hand raised.
Before I knew it, I was between them, gripping his forearm, my other arm behind me, wrapped around her waist. I could feel her shallow breaths against my back.
“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded, trying to pull away from my hold.
“Blake. Who the fuck are you?”
He laughed once, a snarl on his lips and a challenge in his eyes.
“What are you, her bodyguard?”
I lifted my chin and squared my shoulders. I towered over him, eying him down. I knew I could take him. Easily. “I don’t know, dickface. Does she need one?”
He tried again to withdraw his arm. I grasped it tighter. Then a cynical laugh escaped him. “Good luck. She’s a fucking tease— dresses like a whore but won’t even suck dick.” He looked around my shoulder at her. “You cock-teasing slut!”
Something in me snapped.
Blood rushed to my ears, and the numbness I’d hoped for was well and truly gone. My arm—the one previously wrapped around her—moved fast. My fingers had formed a fist and would have made contact with his face— Would have—if not for the tiny blonde girl standing in front of me. Between my intended target and me. With her entire body weight, she pulled my arm downwards, her eyes widening. “Don’t,” she said. “It’s not worth it.”
Her voice was quiet, but her expression screamed for me to let it go. I was so surprised by her actions that I dropped Dickface’s raised arm. Glaring at the guy behind her, I tried for an even tone as I warned, “You got three seconds to get out of here before I beat your ass.”
Her warm hands were now pressed against my chest, their pressure causing me to inhale sharply. My eyes fell to hers. They were pleading.
I heard “fuck this” and then heavy footsteps thumping against the pavement, the sound growing gradually more distant. My eyes, though, they never left hers.
After what felt like forever, she looked away.
I blinked for what seemed like the first time.
She suddenly noticed that her hands were still on my chest.
“Shit. I’m sorry,” she said, pulling them away and hiding them behind her back.
I swallowed. It was thick and embarrassingly loud, louder than the beating of my heart in my eardrums. “Are you okay?” I asked her. Bending slightly, I finally relaxed enough to catch my breath.
“Yeah, are you?”
Straightening, I studied her warily. She was a mess. Scraped knees. Disheveled hair. Shoe missing. I looked away when I caught sight of her purple bra, openly exposed from her torn top.
She cleared her throat.
I returned my gaze to her once she’d crossed her arms over her chest, hiding herself. She bit the corner of her lip, but everything else was still. There was no movement, not until she slowly raised her hand and wiped her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.
My eyebrows bunched. It’d been a while since I’d heard such genuine sincerity. “It’s no problem. Really.”
She tried to smile and then adjusted her top while taking off her remaining shoe. Then she just stood there, barefoot and shivering.
One arm at her side, holding her one and only heel, the other covering her breast. “Well, thanks for saving me.” She laughed softly, jerking her head toward the path behind us. “I better get going.”
I nodded, chewing on my thumb. Then some sense kicked in, and I stepped in front of her, blocking her from walking away.
“You shouldn’t be walking anywhere alone, especially—” I cut myself off. “Dressed like that” was definitely the wrong thing to say. Instead, I opted for “especially this late at night.”
Her smile was tight. “I’ll be fine,” she assured me, looking around at the darkness surrounding us.
She shivered again.
I pulled out my shirt, which I’d tucked into my shorts’ waistband, and handed it to her. “It’s probably wet—from my sweat— and it might smell a little funky, but you’ll be warmer.”
Her face relaxed, and her lips curled up. “Thank you, Blake.”
“You’re welcome, umm . . . ?”
She paused, searching my face. “Abby.”
“Abby.” I nodded in confirmation. “At least let me walk you wherever you need to go.”
She seemed to hesitate before nodding slowly. “I need to find my purse and my phone.” She studied me for a moment. “I don’t suppose you’re hiding a phone anywhere on you I can use for light?”
I looked down at my running shorts and sneakers. “No. But it’s in my car . . .” I pointed in the direction of the parking lot. “We can grab it and come back.”
She cursed under her breath. “It’s okay. I don’t think we’ll be able to find our way back here. Not when it’s this dark. I’ll come back in the morning or something.”
I smiled. Knowing that park as well as I did had its perks. “I know where we are. It’s fine.”
Grimacing, she asked, “Are you sure? You’re not . . . on your way somewhere?”
My laughter echoed through the still air. “Yes, Abby, I’m sure. Where would I be going dressed like this?”
She smiled then. Amusement danced in her eyes. “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “To kill someone?”
“What?” I asked, surprised at her sharp wit. I turned and began moving toward the lot.
When she caught up to me, she continued. “Think about it.
How many times do you hear on the news about dead bodies being found in parks? You know who always finds them? Joggers.”
I turned to her, tilting my head slightly, trying to work out whether she was serious or not. She tried to hide her smile before adding, “It seems a little suspicious to me—you joggers always being first on the scene and all. My theory is that you’re all a bunch of murderers, and you get away with it, using the jogger clause.
Makes me wonder if you have some underground club where you compare notes and brag about pulling off these murders.”
I threw back my head and laughed. “That’s one amazing theory.”
“Well,” she said, nudging my side with her elbow, “at least when you murder me, you’ll know that I was onto you, buddy.”
“Yet, here you are—walking with me in pitch-black darkness, at two in the morning, to a more-than-likely abandoned parking lot, under the impression I’m going to get you back to your necessities. You’re not even slightly afraid of what might happen to you?” All joking aside, she had to be a little worried. Surely.
The air around us turned thick. “No, Blake. I know I’m safe with you.”
She said my name as if it had a different meaning.
We walked the rest of the way to my car in silence.
Numbness.
A constant state of numbness was my euphoria.
You couldn’t tell. No one could.
My feet thudded against the pavement. Sweat dripped from my hairline, down my neck, and onto my bare back. I shut my eyes, urging the numbness to kick in. I wanted to feel it everywhere. Not just in my body but everywhere. Maybe I should quit basketball and take up smoking weed as a hobby.
I laughed to myself—Dad would love that. Another reason to kick my ass.
I rounded the corner with my eyes still shut. I knew that path in the park better than I knew my own home. Which is why I was running at two in the morning on a Saturday night. Sunday morning?
Whatever.
I was five steps past the corner—the numbness had just started to seep in—when I bumped into something. My eyes sprang open, and I found myself staring at someone on the ground.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I huffed, trying to level my breathing. I rested my hands on my knees, waiting for the thumping in my heart to calm itself. My skin stung and my muscles throbbed from the impact of our bodies. I was six foot three, and my frame matched the constant training and rigorous workouts it endured. Her—I couldn’t tell what she looked like—but I knew this much: if the collision had hurt me, it must’ve almost killed her. She slowly came to a sitting position, resting her ass on her heels. Her head was bent, and her loose blonde hair formed a curtain around her face. She lifted her hands, palms up, and examined them. Blood.
“Shit! I’m so sorry.” A wave of panic whooshed through me.
Squatting in front of her, I took her hands to study the damage. She yanked them away and sniffed, straightening her legs out in front of her.
Her short-ass skirt left nothing to the imagination.
“Dammit,” she whispered, her head still down.
My gaze moved from the hem of her skirt to her knees. Blood.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” I said for the third time.
It was dark, the only light coming from the moon and a lamppost fifteen yards away. I wanted to see her face, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to ask her to look at me. “Are you okay?”
Before she could answer, a rustling from the bushes interrupted us.
A guy stepped out, close to my age. He looked rough, rougher than the kids I hung out with—and I use that term loosely. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then eyed it. Blood.
His eyes narrowed. Looking down at the girl in front of me, he seethed, “You fucking whore!”
Slowly, she stood up.
I swear I could actually hear the clicking of the pieces as it all fell into place in my mind.
Him—with his fat lip, torn shirt, and undone fly.
Her—now fully standing. The top of her tank was ripped, exposing one bra-covered breast.
I watched as her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed to slits, but then fire flamed in them as she yelled, “Fuck you!”
He took a step toward her with his hand raised.
Before I knew it, I was between them, gripping his forearm, my other arm behind me, wrapped around her waist. I could feel her shallow breaths against my back.
“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded, trying to pull away from my hold.
“Blake. Who the fuck are you?”
He laughed once, a snarl on his lips and a challenge in his eyes.
“What are you, her bodyguard?”
I lifted my chin and squared my shoulders. I towered over him, eying him down. I knew I could take him. Easily. “I don’t know, dickface. Does she need one?”
He tried again to withdraw his arm. I grasped it tighter. Then a cynical laugh escaped him. “Good luck. She’s a fucking tease— dresses like a whore but won’t even suck dick.” He looked around my shoulder at her. “You cock-teasing slut!”
Something in me snapped.
Blood rushed to my ears, and the numbness I’d hoped for was well and truly gone. My arm—the one previously wrapped around her—moved fast. My fingers had formed a fist and would have made contact with his face— Would have—if not for the tiny blonde girl standing in front of me. Between my intended target and me. With her entire body weight, she pulled my arm downwards, her eyes widening. “Don’t,” she said. “It’s not worth it.”
Her voice was quiet, but her expression screamed for me to let it go. I was so surprised by her actions that I dropped Dickface’s raised arm. Glaring at the guy behind her, I tried for an even tone as I warned, “You got three seconds to get out of here before I beat your ass.”
Her warm hands were now pressed against my chest, their pressure causing me to inhale sharply. My eyes fell to hers. They were pleading.
I heard “fuck this” and then heavy footsteps thumping against the pavement, the sound growing gradually more distant. My eyes, though, they never left hers.
After what felt like forever, she looked away.
I blinked for what seemed like the first time.
She suddenly noticed that her hands were still on my chest.
“Shit. I’m sorry,” she said, pulling them away and hiding them behind her back.
I swallowed. It was thick and embarrassingly loud, louder than the beating of my heart in my eardrums. “Are you okay?” I asked her. Bending slightly, I finally relaxed enough to catch my breath.
“Yeah, are you?”
Straightening, I studied her warily. She was a mess. Scraped knees. Disheveled hair. Shoe missing. I looked away when I caught sight of her purple bra, openly exposed from her torn top.
She cleared her throat.
I returned my gaze to her once she’d crossed her arms over her chest, hiding herself. She bit the corner of her lip, but everything else was still. There was no movement, not until she slowly raised her hand and wiped her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.
My eyebrows bunched. It’d been a while since I’d heard such genuine sincerity. “It’s no problem. Really.”
She tried to smile and then adjusted her top while taking off her remaining shoe. Then she just stood there, barefoot and shivering.
One arm at her side, holding her one and only heel, the other covering her breast. “Well, thanks for saving me.” She laughed softly, jerking her head toward the path behind us. “I better get going.”
I nodded, chewing on my thumb. Then some sense kicked in, and I stepped in front of her, blocking her from walking away.
“You shouldn’t be walking anywhere alone, especially—” I cut myself off. “Dressed like that” was definitely the wrong thing to say. Instead, I opted for “especially this late at night.”
Her smile was tight. “I’ll be fine,” she assured me, looking around at the darkness surrounding us.
She shivered again.
I pulled out my shirt, which I’d tucked into my shorts’ waistband, and handed it to her. “It’s probably wet—from my sweat— and it might smell a little funky, but you’ll be warmer.”
Her face relaxed, and her lips curled up. “Thank you, Blake.”
“You’re welcome, umm . . . ?”
She paused, searching my face. “Abby.”
“Abby.” I nodded in confirmation. “At least let me walk you wherever you need to go.”
She seemed to hesitate before nodding slowly. “I need to find my purse and my phone.” She studied me for a moment. “I don’t suppose you’re hiding a phone anywhere on you I can use for light?”
I looked down at my running shorts and sneakers. “No. But it’s in my car . . .” I pointed in the direction of the parking lot. “We can grab it and come back.”
She cursed under her breath. “It’s okay. I don’t think we’ll be able to find our way back here. Not when it’s this dark. I’ll come back in the morning or something.”
I smiled. Knowing that park as well as I did had its perks. “I know where we are. It’s fine.”
Grimacing, she asked, “Are you sure? You’re not . . . on your way somewhere?”
My laughter echoed through the still air. “Yes, Abby, I’m sure. Where would I be going dressed like this?”
She smiled then. Amusement danced in her eyes. “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “To kill someone?”
“What?” I asked, surprised at her sharp wit. I turned and began moving toward the lot.
When she caught up to me, she continued. “Think about it.
How many times do you hear on the news about dead bodies being found in parks? You know who always finds them? Joggers.”
I turned to her, tilting my head slightly, trying to work out whether she was serious or not. She tried to hide her smile before adding, “It seems a little suspicious to me—you joggers always being first on the scene and all. My theory is that you’re all a bunch of murderers, and you get away with it, using the jogger clause.
Makes me wonder if you have some underground club where you compare notes and brag about pulling off these murders.”
I threw back my head and laughed. “That’s one amazing theory.”
“Well,” she said, nudging my side with her elbow, “at least when you murder me, you’ll know that I was onto you, buddy.”
“Yet, here you are—walking with me in pitch-black darkness, at two in the morning, to a more-than-likely abandoned parking lot, under the impression I’m going to get you back to your necessities. You’re not even slightly afraid of what might happen to you?” All joking aside, she had to be a little worried. Surely.
The air around us turned thick. “No, Blake. I know I’m safe with you.”
She said my name as if it had a different meaning.
We walked the rest of the way to my car in silence.
L'autrice:
Jay McLean
Jay McLean è l’autrice della serie More
Series, che includeMore Than This, More Than Her, More Than Him eMore Than
Forever. Ha due nuovi titoli in arrivo: Where The Road Takes Me, e Combative.
Jay è un’avida lettrice, scrittrice, e più di ogni altra cosa, procrastinator. Quando
non sta facendo nessuna di queste cose la si può trovare in azione con i suoi
due bambini o a divorare qualche reality show di cattivo gusto. Scrive quello
che ama leggere, libri che possono farla ridere, sorridere, star male ed
emozionare.
Seguitela qui: Website | Facebook | Facebook Fan Page
| Twitter | Google Plus | Goodreads
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