Kiss Me Again

By Roxie Brandon

After a disastrous divorce, Emma Harris arrives home, minus her courage and her faith in love. Determined to start over, she retreats to her mother’s house, but her ex-boyfriend Michael Newton reignites passion and hope, two things Emma had forgotten existed.
But Michael is not the man Emma remembers. Now he's a single dad with a sweet and vulnerable child to take care of.
Emma needs time and space—not complications. But Michael is planning for the future. Can he convince Emma to risk it all one more time?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roxie Brandon
• Release date: Apr 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463610824

Roxie Brandon

Roxie Brandon is an author of historical and contemporary romance, beauty and fashion books.Her romances range in setting from Medieval times to the Twentieth Century.She loves walks in the countryside and having afternoon tea with family and friends.

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KISS ME AGAIN

Copyright © 2018 Roxie Brandon All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems - except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews - without permission in writing from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Chapter One

Emma Harris leaned on the sill and gazed out the window at the row of houses beyond the school grounds. She sighed deeply and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, fiddling absently with the barette that was supposed to hold it in place. Her auburn hair, worn in a wide plait down her slender back, was very thick and, when it was loose, hung in shining waves to her hips.

She was still thinking about the conversation she had with her mother over dinner. She’d told herself over and over again that talking about her ex-husband wasn’t productive, that she’d be better off pretending he didn’t exist. But doing so was easier than saying so.

After the way Allan had hurt her, the lies, the pain... The man she’d pledged to spend the rest of her life with, the one person in the world she’d trusted above all else, had hurt her so badly that it still took her breath away.

Emma shut her eyes, tried to force the memories away, but nothing worked. The cold shiver that took over her body whenever she thought about him descended, as it always did.

Because she’d thought Allan was nice, a man she could trust with her heart. And look how well that decision had turned out. She shut her eyes, counting every time she breathed in and exhaled. If she wanted to stay in control, be in charge of her own destiny, then she just needed to take things one day at a time.

And she was alone. After thinking she’d found her soul mate, trusting him like she’d never trusted anyone before, she was alone. And she was broke. She’d lost her apartment, her husband and everything else she’d worked so hard for. But she wasn’t going to let it define who she was, because the one thing he hadn’t taken from her was her future. And the person she was, beneath everything she’d lost.

She stood a moment longer in the sunlight, poised lightly with her hand on the window ledge. Emma was slender and graceful, with a compact, athletic figure. Her hair was a lovely whisky, the color of fallen leaves browned and sleek with the first rain of autumn. How such a tint could play with the light, like peering at the sun through a jar of pine honey.

She had the kindest pair of coffee brown eyes trimmed by long gorgeous lashes. Eyes the colour of rich soil flecked with black, eyes the colour of dark chocolate with flecks of hazel nut, sable eyes, the colour of hot chocolate, the deep brown of the winter trees at twilight, the lightened brown of parched summer soil, glossy chestnut brown, the colour of unvarnished oak with deep mahogany flecks, the colour of apple pips, mottled like varnished cork, the colour of a dessert palm tree with flecks of acorn shell. Lovely eyes, yet somehow gentle, that always held a tiny warmth within them.

She had florid cheeks and flawlessly sculpted lips, as if crafted by angels themselves. All these features set together on a delicate almost, angelic face.

There was something about her that lighted up a room when she entered, that made people give her a second look and a smile.

Her smile was fond and a little wistful as she wandered back into her own classroom and sat on the desk. She glanced around at the quiet children, and her smile faded.

Oh, no, she murmured softly.

Hoisting herself lightly off the desk, she walked over to a little boy who sat alone