Outside the Lines
Release date: January 19
BLURB
From the author of
the USA Today bestselling A Little Too Far series, the first in an edgy new
contemporary romance series that follows a family on the run...
As the oldest son of a Chicago crime lord, Robert Delgado
always knew how dangerous life could be. With his mother dead and his father in
prison, he’s taking charge of his family’s safety—putting himself and his
siblings in witness protection to hide out in a backwater Florida town.
Fourth grade teacher Adri Wilson is worried about the new
boy in her class. Sherm is quiet and evasive, especially when he’s around his
even cagier older brother. Adri can’t help her attraction to Rob, or the urge
to help them both in whatever way she can.
But the Delgados have enemies on two sides of the mob—their
father’s former crew and the rival family he helped take down. It’s only a
matter of time before someone finds them. And if Rob isn’t careful, Adri could
end up in the crossfire...
AMAZON: http://amzn.to/1GTTrYH
BARNES & NOBLE: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/outside-the-lines-lisa-desrochers/1122676504?ean=9780698409538
Bio:
Lisa Desrochers is the author of the USA Today bestselling A Little Too Far series and the YA Personal Demons trilogy. She lives in northern California with her husband, two very busy daughters, and Shini the tarantula. There is never a time that she can be found without a book in her hand, and she adores stories that take her to new places and then take her by surprise. Connect with her online at www.lisadwrites.com, on her blog at lisadesrochers.blogspot.com
EXCERPT
Adri
“Is this straight?” Dad asks, peering in
the mirror across from the front door and messing with the badge on the breast
pocket of his blue shirt.
There is almost no crime on our little
island because Dad is legendary for taking down drug rings and poachers, but
when it comes to the little things, like pinning his badge on straight, he
still needs help.
That’s why I’m here.
When Mom died last spring, I came back
from Jacksonville so I could live at home and help Dad. He and Mom were high
school sweethearts and married not long after graduation.He’s always been taken
care of. I don’t want him to be alone.
I move to where he is and turn him,
unpinning the badge and straightening it. I smooth his salt and pepper hair off
his forehead and stretch up on my toes to kiss the smooth patch of cheek above
the line of his beard. “I seriously doubt they’re going to send the Chief of
Police home for a dress code infraction.”
“We’ll see,” he chuckles, giving my
blond ponytail a gentle tug. “You ready for your first day influencing the
youth of Port St. Mary?”
I was over the moon when I got the call
three days ago that Mrs. Martin had had surgery and they needed a long-term sub
for her class. Not that I’m happy they hacked out her gallbladder or anything,
but her loss is my gain, so to speak.
I come from a long line of educators.
Mom was my first grade teacher. Both of her sisters, her father, and her
grandfather taught as well. You could say it’s in my DNA. I resisted it for a
while, thought I wanted to go into finance, but by my junior year at Clemson I
had to finally admit to myself teaching was what I really wanted to do. I
changed my major to Education and finished my credential just before Mom died.
Since her death, it’s felt even more
urgent to me to teach—like maybe following in her footsteps will somehow keep
her spirit alive. But Port St. Mary and the surrounding communities are small,
and teaching jobs are pretty scarce. I was afraid I was going to have to try
elsewhere come fall. This was a prayer answered…which makes me a little afraid
I might have had something to do with poor Mrs. Martin’s gallbladder flaring
up. And now it’s starting to feel like one of those “be careful what you wish
for” scenarios.
I rub my sweaty palms down my slacks.
“What happens if they hate me?”
Dad wraps me in his arms and squeezes me
in a bear hug, crushing the air out of my lungs. “They’re going to love you,
punkin. Your mom would be so proud of you right now,” he says, a catch in his
voice. “I hope you know that.”
I swallow back the lump in my throat and
look up at him. I can’t even remember the last time he’s brought her up out of
the blue like this. “I know, Dad, but thanks for saying so.” He lets me go and
I shoulder my messenger bag. “Time to face the music.”
We step out the back doorto where my old
electric blue Chevy Lumina is parked in the driveway, next to Dad’s only
slightly less conspicuous cruiser. Dad watches as I slide in and turn the key.
The engine chugs but doesn’t turn over.
I blow out a breath and pop the hood. By
the time I grab the monkey wrench on the floor of the passenger side and get
out of the car, Dad already has the hood propped up and is looking over the
engine compartment.
“Don’t mess with Frank, Dad.” I point my
finger in a circle at the guts of my poor Frankencar. Me and my best friend
Chuck rebuilt most of the insides from junkyard parts when we took auto shop our
senior year in high school. “It’s a delicate balance.”
He grins and steps back, his hands in
the air. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I will always love Frank—he was my
first—but I know I need a new car. Dad’s offered me Mom’s T-Bird, but I’m
twenty-three. I’m supposed to be responsible for myself at this point. And
besides, I’d rather he sold Mom’s car and put the money towards his retirement.
Even though Port St. Mary is pretty sleepy most of the time, everyday he goes
to work, I worry.
I reach between the radiator and the
engine and give the alternator a sharp rap with the wrench, then slip back into
the driver’s seat. When I turn the key, Frank chugs twice, same as always, then
rumbles to life.
Dad ducks into the cruiser and gives me
a little salute as I pull out.
Port St. Mary Elementary is only about two
miles from home. It takes a grand total of eight minutes to drive there.
Technically, it’s a one-room schoolhouse. The tiny twelve-space parking lot
butts up against an octagonal building, which, in fact, is just one big room
inside. In the exact center of the building are the bathrooms and storage
closets, and from there, folding accordion partitions section off each wedge of
the octagon. Each wedge is a grade level, kinder through sixth, and a
multipurpose room. To the right of the parking lot is a doublewide “portable”
that houses the school offices and small staff room. Behind that, children are
already gathering in the playground, which is really just a weed-infested lot
with a slide and jungle gym that has been there since before I started
kindergarten here.
When I walk around the octagon to the
door marked with a big yellow four and step inside, it’s like deja vu all over
again. Mrs. Martin (she told me to call her Pam when we talked on the phone
about the lesson plan yesterday, but I can’t bring myself to) has had the same
posters on the walls since the dawn of time. The presidential chart ends with
Reagan. She had already been teaching fourth grade in this same classroom for,
like, twenty years when I had her.
I move to her desk, to the right of the
door, and set my bag on it. And that’s when I see the note from Principal
Richmond.
A new student.
I brush my palms down my slacks again, a
fresh jolt of nerves twisting my insides into knots. I was already going to be
way over my head with a classroom full of nine-year-olds fresh off Christmas
vacation and all sugared up on candy canes.
I look over the instructions. Sherman
William Davidson needs his reading comprehension assessment, writing and
grammar evaluation, and his math skills worksheet completed by the end of the
week.
I blow a wisp of hair off my forehead
and unpack my toothpaste and toothbrush, my journal, and a few of my favorite
colored pens into Mrs. Martin’s desk, careful not to displace her things too
much. I’m just pulling the assessments for the new kid from the file cabinet
when the classroom door opens. I hear Principal Richmond’s gravel voice before
I turn around. “…and his classroom is here. We just got word a few days ago
that our regular fourth grade teacher is out on medical leave, but Sherman will
be in good hands with Ms. Wilson. She’s a very capable substitute.”
I take a deep breath as I turn and hope
he’s not lying.
I substituted five timesduring fall
semester. For the most part, everything went great until I subbed for Mrs.
Yetz’s eighth grade class the week before winter break. Somehow, what started
out as a math lab on probability devolved into a liar’s dice tournament,
complete with money changing hands. I wasn’t sure they’d call me back after
that.
But when I see Principal Richmond waddle
his round frame through the door, I straighten the scarf I tied over my favorite
teal sweater and try to look as confident in what he said as he does.
“Ms. Wilson,” he says, waving me over.
“This is your new student, Sherman.”
Sherman is a wiry little thing with unruly
brown hair and clothes that hang off him a little. He looks as if he’d vanish
into himself if given the chance.
“He goes by Sherm,” the man standing
next to him says.
I look up into some of the most amazing
eyes I’ve ever seen. Heavy dark brows curve over irises the color of honey with
burgundy flecks through them. Thick brown waves are loose around a strong face
with angled cheekbones,and a square jaw covered in two-day stubble. Set in
flawless olive skin are lips so firm and redthey make me forget the frown
that’s turning them down slightly at the corners. He’s just so…gorgeous, like
something out of a magazine or a movie. And he’s tall—well over six feet of
broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips under his blue button-down shirt. The
tails are loose over pressed jeans that fit him just so. Everything about him
is tailored and cultured and nothing like any of the year-rounders who live on
this bumpkin island. But it’s not just the way he looks. A blend of confidence
and something else I can’t identify but makes him feel a little intimidating
wafts off him with the spicy cologne I keep catching hints of. He’s nothing
like anyone I’ve ever met, even at Clemson.
I feel my jaw dangling and snap it
closed, pulling myself together long enough to extend an arm. “I’m Adri.”
Principal Richmond clears his throat,
and when I flick a glance his direction, I know my ogling didn’t go unnoticed.
His brow is deeply furrowed and his frown curves so low it makes him look like
one of those marionettes, where their chin is a whole different piece of wood
than the rest of their face.
My eyes bulge and I shift my
outstretched hand to Sherm. “I mean, Miss Wilson. Welcome to Port St. Mary,
Sherm.”
The boy just looks at me with sad eyes
the color of his…father’s?
My gaze gravitates back to the guy
towering over me. Could he be Sherm’s dad? He looks way too young to have a nine-year-old.
He also looks all business. There’s nothing soft or nurturing in his cold,
sharp gaze as it flicks around the classroom, silently assessing.
“What’s on the other side of those
partitions?” he asks Principal Richmond.
“The third and fifth grade classrooms,”
he answers.
The guy’s eyes continue to scan the
room. “He’ll spend all day in here?”
The principal nods. “Except when he’s on
the playground.”
“Is there security on campus?”
Principal Richmond looks momentarily perplexed,
rubbing his round stomach as if he’s thinking with it. “Not as such. We have
yard monitors during recess and lunch, and the teachers are responsible for the
children when they’re here in class.”
“What about lunch?”
“He can bring his own lunch, or buy a
bag lunch from Nutritional Services for three dollars. Either way, if it’s nice
weather, the children eat outside at the picnic tables. On rainy days, we open
the partitions and they eat inside as a group.”
The guy reaches into his pocket, but
Principal Richmond holds up his hand to stop him when he comes out with a thick
wad of cash. “We don’t allow students to carry money on campus. When we’re done
here, I’ll take you to the office and have you purchase a scan card for
Nutritional Services.”
The guy nods, then moves to the door and
jiggles the knob. “The exterior doors are left unlocked?”
“During school hours, yes.” Principal
Richmond answers, moving to my desk and shuffling through the papers I pulled
for Sherm.
The guy’s full lips narrow into a tight
line and he scowls at the door. He spins and starts toward the door in the back
of the room, leaving no stone unturned.
I wipe my hands down my slacks again and
decide just to ask. “So, you’re Sherm’s father?”
His feet stall on the chipped linoleum
and he seems to finally notice I exist. “Brother,” he answers, and that one
word seems to carry the weight of the world with it as it falls from his mouth.
His eyes make a slow sweep of my face,
and as they trail down my neck, the front of my sweater, over my hips and down
my legs, I’m frozen in place, paralyzed by the intensity of his gaze.
Principal Richmond shoves some papers in
my face, breaking the spell. “You still have fifteen minutes until the bell.
Maybe you can get Sherman started on these.”
“Um…” I grab the papers out of his hand
as Big Brotherblinks, some of the thickest lashes I’ve ever seen hiding those
incredible eyes. “Yeah. We’ll do that...”
Principal Richmond guides Big Brother to
the door. “Let’s get out of their way and let them get started. I’m sure
Sherman will have a positive experience here. Children his age tend to adjust
quickly,” he’s saying as the door swings closed behind them.
'A fast-paced, heart pounding, fever inducing, erotically electrifying and satisfying romance' is the best way I can describe OUTSIDE THE LINES. Rob and Adri set the pages ablaze with their undeniable passion. Sparks fly from the beginning and against all odds their fire never wanes.
As Rob and Adri open up to each other and themselves while they fight to hide their forbidden feelings and dangerous affair; secrets, lies, and fears threaten to overtake them. And for good reason. Hearts and lives are literally at stake.
With a familiar plotline, the character's personalities really drive the story. The Delgado family is an intriguing bunch. I found something I liked in each of them and there is so much more I can't wait to discover. While Rob and Adri were center stage, little brother Sherm totally stole the show. He's wedged his way deep into my heart.
OUTSIDE THE LINES is a solid opening for the On The Run series. It had its weak spots for me, so I can't give it a scorching(5 star)review, but the passion was intoxicating, and the erotic scenes so well written, I was able to overlook them and let the romance take me away.
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