Damaged Intimacy: Intimacy Series, #1

By Hanleigh Bradley

We've spoken. We've flirted. But she won't let me close. She's guarding herself even if her face says she's the most approachable person I've ever met.

Damaged Intimacy is the first book in a Complete Contemporary Romance Series from Internationally Bestselling Author, Hanleigh Bradley.

Coming home to London, Tallulah is looking for a second chance, a fresh start. Her friends know something is wrong, but they have no idea what's she's running from.
Tallulah is not herself. The usually happy, bubbly excitable girl is faking it. Inside, she's a complete mess but she refuses to tell anyone why, choosing to keep it a secret, a secret that makes her skin crawl and leaves her crying herself to sleep.
She tells herself she'll be okay. That she can cope. She can forget about how damaged she is, forget what she's run away from. She's fighting to hold it together.
When she meets Jarrod, he's everything she's ever wanted. He's a hot, suited, motorbike riding, boss with a soft heart.
As perfect as Jarrod as, she can't date him. She's not the same girl she used to be and now she doesn't think she deserves what she once wanted.

Damaged Intimacy is the first book in a complete Contemporary Romance Series.

This is a story of bravery and overcoming immense obstacles. It's about choosing to trust again when your every instinct tells you not to.

"The friendship between these two is heartbreakingly beautiful. They both promise not to allow it to go further, but know deep inside that they both want more. Hanleigh's gentle writing and sweetness comes across through both of these characters." - Reading In Our Satisfaction

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hanleigh Bradley
• Release date: Jul 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386537076

Hanleigh Bradley

British Author Hanleigh Bradley writes Contemporary Romance about British twenty somethings in London.

Book preview

A close up of a logo Description automatically generated

Hanleigh’s London Saga

All the books in this Contemporary British Saga have interwoven plotlines, returning characters and places. These books are best read in order to avoid spoilers.

The Rules Series

Broken Rules

Enforced Rules

Revised Rules

A Secret Melody

The History Series

Repeating History

Deleting History

Forging History

A History In Paris

The Intimacy Series

Damaged Intimacy

Entangled Intimacy

Forceful Intimacy

Call Me Doctor

The Fate Series

Inescapable Fate

Inexplicable Fate

Irreversible Fate

A Bleak December

Hanleigh’s London Standalone

Dr. Xmas

Hanleigh’s London Boxsets

RULES

HISTORY

INTIMACY

FATE

Find out more about Hanleigh’s Books on her website.

Hanleigh’s London Saga

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE  Jarrod

CHAPTER TWO  Jarrod

CHAPTER THREE  Tallulah

CHAPTER FOUR  Tallulah

CHAPTER FIVE  Jarrod

CHAPTER SIX Jarrod

CHAPTER SEVEN Tallulah

CHAPTER EIGHT  Tallulah

CHAPTER NINE  Jarrod

CHAPTER TEN  Jarrod

CHAPTER ELEVEN Tallulah

CHAPTER TWELVE  Tallulah

Preview of Entangled Intimacy

Preview of Inescapable Fate

THANK YOU!

Hanleigh Bradley’s Newsletter

About Hanleigh

Hanleigh’s London Saga

Dear Reader,

Sometimes it hurts to fall in love.

There’s always an element of risk when you trust someone with your heart. You’re giving them the chance to completely destroy you.

Some people aren’t worthy of your love while others will treat your love like it’s the best gift you could ever give them.

I hope you all find your own Jarrod.

Hanleigh

A close up of a logo Description automatically generated

PROLOGUE

S

eventy-six kilometres, forty-seven miles, as the crow flies. One hour and forty-six minutes, sixty-seven point one miles if I take the A23, according to my satnav. If I take the M25, I’ll add a minute and over ten miles onto my journey.

I’ve not even started driving yet.

I’m sitting in my car, the key in my hand, trying to calm myself. I need to steady my heartbeat and stop shaking before I can drive away.

My brother is going to be so disappointed with me. That might be the worst bit of all this. Not that my entire life has been turned upside down in an hour and a half. Not that I’m hurt or that I’m close to breaking. No. The worst of it is that I’ve wasted everything my big brother has offered me. Squandered it and he’s going to think I’m ungrateful.

Unless I tell him.

But I can’t tell him.

I won’t tell him.

I’ll lie right to his face before I ever show him this new darker part of me. All my possessions are in the back of my car, and there’s no going back now.

I won’t go back. It’s not an option.

I can do this.

I can drive myself home.

Then I can break, but not before.

I put the key in the ignition and twist. The engine revs as I put the car into first and indicate to pull out. I can do this. I haven’t told anyone I’m leaving, not even my roommate. I can’t bear to have to explain my decision, and I know she’ll want an explanation.

Everyone will want an explanation.

I don’t know how I’m going to be able to explain it to Roo and Cam when I get home, let alone Nathan.

Shit. Don’t think about it. Just drive.

I put some music on, hoping to distract myself from all the drama and chaos that I’m leaving behind.

The more distance I put between myself and Brighton, the calmer I feel, and the more I believe that I might be okay. I might be able to put all this behind me.

One hour and forty-six minutes turns into almost three hours because as always there are roadworks and traffic jams galore; the cars are pretty much at a standstill. Not good, because now I can sit here and get lost in my thoughts. That’s something I can’t afford to do.

I will not break.

I make a mental to-do list; speak to Roo about moving home… apologise to my big brother for wasting an incredible opportunity…

My phone buzzes, interrupting my thoughts.

I glance at the screen as I wait in the traffic. It’s him. I won’t answer.

I can’t. I’m not safe. Not yet. I need to get further away. I might never answer his calls again. I don’t want to hear his apologies. I don’t want to listen to his excuses. I don’t want to risk that I might be weak enough to forgive him.

I will never forgive him.

The satnav says I’m getting close and I can see the city up ahead and yet I still don’t feel far enough away. Nowhere near.

A close up of a logo Description automatically generated

CHAPTER ONE

Jarrod

I

remember the first day I saw her.

It was a Sunday morning in November, and I’d had to come into work because one of the bartenders had called in sick and none of the waitresses had any idea how to pour a pint, something every good British restaurant must sell on a Sunday.

It was a British pastime to sit in a beer garden eating your Sunday roast and drinking a pint. British people had been doing it for decades, and it showed no signs of ever becoming less essential to the British way of life.

Even in November, when people couldn’t spend the day sat outside in the beer garden for fear of getting rained on, they piled into the restaurant seeking sustenance, but mostly they wanted a pick me up. They wanted a beer to rid them of the hangover they were suffering as a result of the night before. They wanted the hair of the dog. Of course, any good bartender would recommend something a little stronger than beer, but whatever made the punters happy and on Sunday mornings that was beer.

So, there I was at ten thirty-six am, stood behind the bar, bored out of my skull, pouring pint after pint for the regulars when she walked into Thorpe’s.

Everything about her took me in.

She looked remarkably like a drowned rat. She was wrapped up in more layers and scarves than I’d ever thought I’d see on one person.

Yet, even with the excessive amount of clothing, she was wearing there was something about her, something alluring, something sensual that seemed to pulse off her. I hadn’t been able to tell what it was. All I knew was that it called to me.

If I had had less self-control, I would have marched across the restaurant and cut the host off before she showed her to a table. Instead, I had secured my feet to the ground before they could run off with themselves.

I acted nonchalant as I cut some garnish for the lunch service, almost cutting my finger off several times as I pretended I wasn’t practically staring at her back.

Her hair had been down that day, and the light from the window next to her table was ricocheting off it as if it were a diamond or some sort of glass prism. Every colour imaginable seemed to reflect off her.

I had been transfixed, made practically immobile by the mere sight. I had watched as her waitress served her. I had only been able to imagine the smile that graced her face as she listened attentively to the specials menu. Her laughter had a lilt to it that was so completely unique; I didn’t think I’d hear anything quite like it even if I were to live to be one hundred.

That Sunday morning was over six months ago and yet I still barely know the girl, except that I know that I want her, that I crave her. She’s got secrets that she won’t share no matter how much I try to get them out of her.

We’ve spoken.

We’ve flirted.

But she won’t let me close.