The Kiss of Life: Soul Mate Rescued, #1

By Char Sharp

February 3, 2019
Note: This novel has been completely revised and re-edited. New editor, new chapter one, new scenes, and new dialog.

~*Suspense and intrigue abound in this compelling romantic sizzler.*~

Struggling for a new normal in the thirteen long months after her husband's murder, Elizabeth Baron Foster finds herself in danger. She never expected to be rescued, especially by the sexy and infamous U.S. senator. She's shocked to be so immediately attracted to the fearless, protective ex-Navy SEAL. But giving in to passion would mean letting go of the one man she loved her entire life.

With his power and money, billionaire John Prescott Cole often gets what he wants. And this time, what he wants is the feisty widow who sets him on fire. But someone has other plans, as Elizabeth and John are thrown into a world of politically-driven peril. With danger closing in, enemies multiplying, it's up to them to trust each other.

Can he rescue her not only from danger, but from being heartbroken and alone? And can Elizabeth overcome her guilt and open her heart to a new path in life? 

Grab your tissues and start reading this edge-of-your-seat instalove story right now! 

 **Content Warning: Contains sexual scenes and language not intended for all audiences. 18+ Audience.

**Note to reader: The Kiss of Life, Book 1 of the Soul Mate Rescued series, can be read as a standalone, but you don't want miss Cooper's story in Hinged. No Cliffhanger. 
 

 Editorial Review Excerpts:

"Char Sharp has now become one of my favorite writers and I look forward to reading more by her. She tells a story with ease and makes it believable and real! " ~ Christine - Books and Beyond Fifty Shades

" This had everything that I love in a book. Suspense, romance, hotness and non-stop action from the start to the finish." ~ HollyHo ~ Kylie's Fiction Addiction

"You'll want to keep turning the pages until the very last one as Char keeps you pulled into the story from beginning to end. I recommend this one!" ~ Michelle - Indies Steal Our Heart Book Blog.

"Nonstop action from the first page. If you love thrillers, suspense and second chance romance, you will love this book. ~ Lynn's Love of Books

"What a beautiful heart wrenching love story! This book is wonderfully written ... and is packed with lots of action and love. A definite 5 star read!" ~ Katherine - All About Book Divas

"I had every emotion from sadness with big tears to fanning myself and a bunch heart racing moments. I couldn't put this book down." ~ Natasha - 2 Girls A Book And A Glass Of Wine

• Language: English
• Publisher: Char Sharp Media
• Release date: Jun 7, 2015
• ISBN: 9780996489225

Char Sharp

Char Sharp writes romantic suspense novels. Her books have mystery to keep you guessing and enough heart-stopping suspense you can't put them down. A bit of relief humor is thrown in at the right time. Steamy romance is guaranteed. An unapologetic lover of romance, she believes that love can mend a broken heart and heal a wounded soul. Love can change a life.  While in college, a couple of writing courses fueled her desire to write, but she kept that desire under wraps for years. After retiring from the computer industry, her book characters' voices and their stories began rattling around in her head and demanding her attention. Read about them in The Kiss of Life and Hinged. She is a member of Romance Writers of America.  She lives and writes in the northern suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia USA with her husband. They are the proud parents and grandparents to three wonderful adult children, five amazing grandsons and one beautiful granddaughter. She likes her coffee strong, martinis dirty, and caramels covered in chocolate. She writes her heroes strong, dirty & sweet, too. When she’s not writing or spending time with her family, you’ll find her reading, a glass of red wine within reach, her lovable Ragdoll cat curled in her lap, and her sweet Goldendoodle dog sleeping nearby. Visit her at: www.charsharp.com She loves to interact with readers so please look her up on social media. VISIT AND LIKE HER ON FACEBOOK: @charsharpauthor FOLLOW HER ON TWITTER: @charsharp1 FOLLOW HER ON INSTAGRAM: @charsharp1

Book preview

Chapter 1

ELIZABETH

Thirteen Months Later

Freezing wind whirled the loose snow into a small funnel on the ground, lifting in the air on a rising wind. The sun flickered through clouds that dwindled and wrestled with the blue sky behind them. The day was crisp, clean, and beautiful. It was Valentine’s Day. My seventh wedding anniversary. And my husband was dead.

I blinked slowly, picturing the face of the man who had been my everything.

Thirteen months since his murder and still the gnawing pain of loss constantly swirled, like that vortex of snow outside. Grief rose and dwindled and wrestled in the depths of my soul all day long—every long, sleepless night.

Only weeks ago, I embarrassed myself at the doctor’s office, all because of a check box on a form. Married. Single. Divorced. Widow. I checked widow and lost it. Tears dripped on the word now defining me.

Widow.

Me. Elizabeth Baron Foster, thirty years old and the widow of Will Foster.

I hated it.

Our marital home and the Atlanta area magnified my grief. Every place there either reminded me of Will or my parents. My mother died of cancer four months after my wedding. My father died in a private plane crash only ten months later. That left only my brother Cooper and me. He was Will’s best friend and just as strangled by the grief as I was. Perhaps more. We protected each other. We had each other’s back. But often Cooper took it to extreme levels, overprotective to the point of smothering.

When a job offer at the Kennedy Center came my way, I jumped at it. I sold the house, said goodbye to lifelong friends, and bade farewell to my career in public relations with the Atlanta Symphony. I packed up my cat and moved to Washington, D.C., to find the new normal of my life.

The phone rang and brought me out of my thoughts. I swiveled my desk chair around, away from the window, and took a deep, cleansing breath before answering. Elizabeth Foster.

Hey, Lizbeth. Bryce. Are you good with nine o’clock rehearsal tomorrow night? Have to push it back because Mick has a conflict.

Nine is good for me.

Cool. Bring those lovely pipes and we’ll see you then. Bye.

After moving to D.C., I met Bryce and members of his band, Four and Violet, here at the Kennedy Center. Four and Violet performed solely on Friday nights at The Boost, a private dinner and dance club. They needed a lead singer. I had experience, so I auditioned and got the job. Singing was an old hobby rekindled and something with little connection to Will, so it was one of the few things I looked forward to. Much more so than the clubbing invitations I kept dodging from friends.

Hey, Lizbeth.

I turned from the window to see Stacie, my new friend from Marketing.

You still heading out early today? she asked, sinking into the visitor’s chair by my desk and beaming an inquisitive smile.

Few more things to finish up, then I’m calling it quits.

Wish I could spend the afternoon with you shopping, but I’ve got that marketing meeting in an hour. Buy something sexy for Saturday night. She arched an eyebrow and pointed a finger at me. You can’t back out at the last minute again. Alice and I have been begging you to go out with us for weeks. Promise you’ll go this time?

My wedding ring tingled on my finger. Its mate, my engagement diamond, was home in my jewelry box. After the move to D.C., I agonized about my social status. I was a widow, but I still felt married. Was I allowed to wear both rings? Did I look pathetic still wearing them? Finally, I decided to just take the diamond off. I’d try that. New move. New job. New home. New look on my hand. New me.

Me-ish. Widow-ish.

Twisting the diamond-studded, platinum wedding band around my finger, I swallowed hard. I guess.

Stacie sighed. Oh, honey, I know it’s rough, but a night out will do you good. Come on. Promise.

I took a deep breath, exhaled, and smiled. Okay, I promise.

Her face broke into a huge grin. Awesome. Bet you’d look sexy in red. Splurge, woman. With a wave and a jingle of bracelets she left my cube.

Splurge, I thought, taking another deep breath. Saturday would be my first time going out since Will died. And my first shopping spree.

My phone rang again. Hi, Lizbeth, Joan from reception said. Your two o’clock appointment is here.

I blinked. I have no appointments scheduled this afternoon.

Bob Smith and Don Jones?

No. I scrolled through my calendar, shaking my head. I’m not familiar with those names. In fact, I’m leaving for the day. What was this meeting for?

She didn’t place me on hold so I heard a man tell Joan, Tell her it’s regarding her husband’s case.

I relented. Okay, send them to the lobby lounge and tell them I’ll be down in a few minutes.

Related to her husband’s case.

Maybe this was about the video surveillance tape in the morgue. It contained footage of an unauthorized individual making a weird examination of Will’s corpse. No one could identify who this person was. Maybe these detectives had some answers.

At the sight of two scowling men waiting for me in the deserted lounge, danger warnings rang in my head. One was tall and skinny, the other had a protruding lower jaw that made him look like a bulldog. Both were unkempt and reeked of cheap cologne and cigarettes. They both wore suits that didn’t fit and looked like wrinkled garage sale rejects.

I stepped back, instantly knowing these two characters were not law enforcement or FBI.

You wanted to speak to me? I asked. Their facial expressions told me I would not get an answer.

But before I could turn and run, the bulldog-ish guy shut the door and the skinny one grabbed my arms and jerked them hard behind my back. The pain made my eyes squeeze up. A scream rose in my throat, but a hand slapped over my mouth cut it off.

Don’t even, he said close to my ear. Don’t make a sound. No crazy moves or you will die.

Bulldog pointed a gun to my side. You’re leaving with us now.

Hell no, I said into the rough palm crushing my mouth.

The gun poked harder in my side. Quiet. A member of our team is standing at the front desk with a gun. Make any sound or give any resistance, our friend will shoot your receptionist.

He opened the blinds on the glass wall just enough for me to see a man standing at Joan’s desk talking to her. His stance was casual. Joan looked perfectly calm. I didn’t see a gun. The security guard stood at his usual post, talking to two visitors.

Were these guys bluffing me?

The blinds snapped closed.

The man with the hand over my mouth gave me a little shake. You gonna be quiet now?

Will and Cooper insisted I take self-defense classes. Not just once, but every six months to brush up. The number one priority was to stay calm. Stay alert and focused on escape. Look for an out and take it. Aim for the eyes, nose, ears, neck, groin, knees, or legs.

I nodded, and the hand dropped from my face.

Are you kidnapping me? I asked.

Shut up, they barked in unison.

Are you sure you’ve got the right person? I said, my voice quavering. Why would anyone want to kidnap me? I’m nobody.

Shut the fuck up. The skinny jackass pulled my arms tighter behind my back and forced me to walk toward the door.

Just as we stepped out of the lounge, two things happened in my favor: the men tucked their guns away, and a group of tourists came around the corner. We had to step aside to let them pass, and I took the opportunity.

I spun around fast, taking Skinny by surprise and disengaging his hold. He stumbled back into his shorter partner, propelling both into the crowd. I slipped through the nearby stairwell door and ran down the stairs. I leapt the last step, my high heels hitting hard on the concrete floor, almost turning my ankle.

Now in a lower level storage area, the cavernous room motion detector lights made me blink when they flashed on. Intuition sent me running toward a red glow—hidden behind a bank of tall free-standing shelves—which I hoped was the sign for the exit door.

It was.

Thank God.

I burst through and slammed it shut behind me just as my assailants burst into the storage room. My heart going ninety miles an hour, I fumbled with my security badge. A wave over the electronic eye would lock or unlock the heavy glass door. But adrenaline was sending wonky signals to my arms, hands, and eyes, making them uncoordinated. Just in time, I heard the satisfying whir and click of the door locking, a mere second before the men threw themselves against the glass.

I took off running down a long hallway, the sound of the two thugs banging on the door echoing behind me.

Moments later I heard a splintering crash, followed by pounding footsteps on my trail.

Christ, they must’ve thrown a filing cabinet through it.

My tight pencil skirt and heels were useless in a chase. Now the stench of cheap cologne and cigarettes crept up behind me. I took a risky glance over my shoulder to see how close they were and tripped over something. Probably my own damned feet in these four-inch heels.

Falling to the floor on all fours, I righted myself to get up. Too late. The two men stood over me, both sweating and breathing hard.

Look what we have here, huffed Bulldog. Our pretty little escape artist thought she could get away from us. Despite his wheezing, he held the gun steady to my head.

Skinny stuffed his own gun in his belt. Let’s go. He grabbed my wrist in a gorilla grip and jerked me up off the floor, twisting it in front of me.

I’m not going anywhere with you, I said, still trying to catch my breath and seething in anger and fear. Focus. Priority one is to get out of his wrist hold. Conserve energy—to inflict injury. Timing is everything.

Get— Skinny’s other rough hand clamped over my mouth, smothering my next words. His grip tightened on my wrist.

Then he shoved me into the wall. My head banged the concrete, causing my vision to momentarily blur. The force scraped my back against the rough textured wall and my silk blouse ripped.

You’re coming with us now, he said in my face. "Quietly, bitch."

My stomach rolled at the stench of his tobacco and onion breath and he was damn lucky I didn’t throw up all over him. His hand slipped from my mouth, grabbed my breast, and squeezed.

Oh hell no. Energy conserved. It’s time to inflict injury and get the hell out of here. I stepped toward him with one foot, knees bent in a strong stance, leaned forward, bent my elbow all the way toward his forearm, and freed my wrist easily out of his gorilla hold. Then I grabbed his shocked face and pushed my thumbs into his eye sockets with all the strength I had.

He screamed, and I jerked my knee up, hard and fast, dead-on into his groin. He fell away from me onto the floor, holding his hands to his crotch and yelling, "My eyes. My eyes . . ."

Bulldog, his mouth agape, stared down at his fallen co-thug. His attention diverted, I hiked up my tight skirt, swung my body around, and kicked the gun out of his hand. My shoe went flying one way, the gun went spinning the other. I kicked off the other heel and ran like hell, bare feet slapping the cold floor.

Rounding a corner, two doors appeared before me. One exited to the street level at the rear of the theater, the other to a small utility room. Already footsteps were coming down the long hall. Bulldog, no doubt. Thinking fast, I opened the rear door of the theater. I let it slam with a loud bang as I slipped into the utility room, closing its door silently behind me.

My frantic eyes scanned the room for a place to hide. Crates in neat stacks and shelves full of cleaning supplies. I took the former, threw myself down behind a stack in a corner.

Footsteps in the hall and the rear door opened and slammed closed. I breathed a cautious sigh, hoping the pursuer wouldn’t use my ruse against me.

The utility room door slammed open against the wall.

Shit.

Bulldog let out a sinister chuckle. Little escape artist, come out, he sang. Come out, wherever you are.

My heart in my throat, I peeked through the slats of a crate. He stood still with the gun in a raised hand. The door closed with a thud. I ducked back down on my knees, trying not to make a sound as I curled my body into the smallest position possible.

Glass, metal, and boxes crashed to the floor in his thorough search of the room.

God, how am I going to fight him off when he finds m—

The metal door exploded open again, crashing against the concrete wall hard enough to make the whole room tremble. I clenched my jaw tight, positive Skinny had just arrived and now I was trapped.

Damn, why didn’t I pick the cleaning supplies? Something to throw at them. I could spray bleach in their faces. Shit shit shit . . .

I risked another peek through the slats and felt my eyes bulge. A tall, broad-shouldered man in a tailored business suit had Bulldog in a rear choke hold. The gun clattered to the floor as he jerked Bulldog off his feet, leaving them dangling in the air.

Bulldog made a choking sound, grappling and twisting until the man in the suit put his own gun to Bulldog’s temple.

You dumb shit, the man said in a deep voice. You should’ve run in the opposite direction after she took down your buddy.

Bulldog gave a last grunt, then crumpled to the floor like a towel.

The man in the suit was still as a statue, expression murderous and the gun expertly trained on Bulldog’s unmoving body. I counted five beats of silence, then he slowly lowered the gun and looked around. Astonished and confused, I remained still and silent. Unlike the two thugs, this man was impeccably dressed and exuded power and confidence. But he could be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Or worse, the thugs’ boss.

It’s all right, Elizabeth, he said.

I jumped in my skin, my heart kicking against my ribs.

How the hell does he know my name?

Elizabeth, he said again, his voice gentle. You can come out now.

I shrunk back and jostled a crate. At the sound, he turned around sharply and looked right at me through the slats of the crate. Like an idiot, I squeezed my eyes shut.

If I can’t see you, you can’t see me . . .

I forced my lids open and looked at him again. Sunlight streamed through the window set high on the wall, spotlighting him with dancing dust motes. It hit his thick blond hair like a halo. He looked like an avenging angel. Handsome and menacing.

Could I trust him?

The dubious angel adjusted his stance, feet planted far apart. He was incredibly tall. Six four? Six five? His shadow filled the room. He wore a white shirt beneath the dark gray suit and a loosely knotted silver tie with diagonal stripes.

He narrowed his eyes on me, then relaxed his expression.

Elizabeth, I’m here to rescue you. Come out, I won’t hurt you.

With little choice, I slowly got to my feet and stood tall, head high, trying to appear fearless. His eyes went wide a moment, then an indistinguishable emotion flashed across his face and his gaze softened. He smiled. Which transformed him from angel to . . .

Oh my God.

I pulled my shoulders back even more. So who are you?

My name is John. His voice was calm but urgent.

John who?

John Cole. His eyes darted down as Bulldog’s body twitched. Come with me. We need to leave now.

How do you know me?

Elizabeth, you’re in danger. I promise to tell you more as soon as we’re safe.

A door banged closed somewhere outside the room. John Cole didn’t flinch.

I moved closer to him. What the hell is going on here? How did you even get—

Your brother sent me.

Cooper?

We’re short on time for further explanations, Elizabeth. You either come with me now or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and haul your ass out of here.

You wouldn’t dare, I snapped, taking a step back.

John stepped after me. Cooper mentioned you were stubborn.

If he told you that, then he must’ve told you the secret code word. What is it?

He rolled his eyes and said, "Butterbeans."

My jaw fell open. Cooper sent him.

"Now, for God’s sake, let’s go." Holding his gun down in his right hand, he held the other out, fingers beckoning. My insides dissolving in relief, I eased out from behind the stack of crates and moved toward him. Our eyes locked together—violet to blue.

And then I recognized him.

John Cole, I said. "Senator John Prescott Cole?"

His head inclined a little. I see my reputation precedes me.

He smiled then, this former Navy SEAL, this warrior with movie star looks who made his billions before getting into politics. The infamous forty-two-year-old Georgia lawmaker who made countless TV appearances and magazine photo shoots. He had never married, showing up at D.C. and national events with a different woman on his arm. His moniker known all over the world as The Rich Playboy Senator. Now towering over me with one eyebrow quirked and a sexy grin playing around his lips.

Close your mouth, Elizabeth.

Blushing, I snapped my mouth shut. Let’s get out of here.

Get it together, I thought. Women gape at him wherever he goes. Don’t be another open jaw in the crowd. Even if he is jaw-droppingly handsome.

An electric current coursed down my arm when he wrapped his large warm hand around it. He turned us to go, just as the door opened again.

Get back. The senator swiftly pushed me behind him, simultaneously aiming his gun at the well-built man standing in the doorway.

One hand rested on the gun holstered beneath the man’s suit jacket, the other touched his ear where a curled wire dangled. His eyes were an intelligent green. The kind of luminous emerald green that knew all the answers and demanded attention when they entered a room. All clear, sir, he said.

The senator dropped his gun hand to his side and nodded. Thank you, Steele.

We can exit through the back, sir. Ma’am, please follow me.

The senator shoved his gun under his own suit jacket, took my elbow, and led me into the hallway. He towered over my five-foot-two frame. We followed Steele outside through the rear entrance, into the blustery, cold, sunny day. Two Kennedy Center security guards trailed behind us. Two sleek BMW SUVs, their rear windows blacked-out, parked with their engines idling. Another suited man with an earpiece and gun held one of the back doors open for us. White smoke from the vehicles’ exhausts supplemented the surreal feeling.

Wait. I looked up at the senator. Where are we going?

He stilled himself, his blue gaze steady, watching me with an intensity that should have frightened me. Then an emotion I couldn’t read flashed through his eyes. Somewhere safe.

I scowled. Somewhere safe?

Yes. The look on his face said he would not tell me more.

This hellacious day, along with frustration, fear, anger, all at once burned through me and lit the fuse to my temper.

Look, I snapped. I’ve been chased, man-handled, groped, and threatened with guns. I don’t know what the hell is going on. I don’t know how my brother works into all this. You won’t give me any answers. The cloak-and-dagger secrecy is pissing me off and . . .

The senator raised a cool eyebrow. Which pissed me off even more.

I folded my arms over my chest. "I’d kick your ass . . . er . . . shin, except I lost my favorite shoes."

Embarrassed, my eyes shot to Steele and the other security guys. They stood military straight and showed no expression on their faces in reaction to my loose-lip threat to their boss.

I know, the senator said, taking a tiny step back. You’ve got a good roundhouse kick . . . and a temper. His lips twitched into a half-suppressed grin.

He saw me take down Skinny and kick the gun out of Bulldog’s hand? A flickering of smug pride was quickly snuffed out when I remembered I had hiked my skirt up around my waist.

I’ll answer all your questions and explain everything when we get you to a safe place. Now, please . . . He gestured to the open SUV door. Trust me.

The thing was, I did trust him. And I was exhausted, probably adrenaline fatigue. Barefoot. Freezing. No coat. He knew the password. Plus, he was a member of the U.S. Senate, and I was still registered to vote in Georgia.

Anything happens to me, Senator, and you’ve lost my vote.

Chapter 2

ELIZABETH

The mouth is for eating, my yoga instructor always said. And the nose is for breathing.

As the SUV hummed down the city streets, I inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to calm myself and breathing in John’s scent. A mix of cologne and skin, along with his proximity, messed with my head.

My attraction to this man is wrong on so many levels.

He looked up from his phone, catching my eyes. Again, that cool rise of one single brow as he scanned my face from chin to forehead. His blue eyes darkened, a spark of lust in their depths.

I looked away and gestured toward the men in the front seats. So, who are your friends?

John chuckled as he slipped his phone inside his coat. They both work for me. Pete, the driver, is second in command on my security team.

Pete met my eyes in the rearview mirror and raised a hand off the steering wheel.

Riding shotgun is Steele Mann,