Mara Quinn grew up determined that she would never end up like her mother, choosing a career guaranteed to reaffirm those convictions on a daily basis. In doing so, she'd allowed her old fears to become a trap, an emotional prison of her own making.
Never in a million years would Mara have believed that she, who counseled women in abusive relationships for a living, would find herself in the same situation and forced to run for her life.
When she least expected it, when she was too vulnerable to resist, J.T. Dalton had effortlessly stormed the walls she'd so carefully built around herself, making her want more than the sterile emotionless existence she'd set herself up to live. Was it possible for a woman to love a man and still retain her sense of self, her independence? Did she have the courage to find out?
Past Reviews
4.5 Stars “Wow! One thing about this story that this reviewer loves is Ms. Wilde’s ability to take such a sensitive subject as abused women, who may feel all is lost, and turn it into a touching story with new hope and tender, yet passionate love. One gets the feeling Ms. Wilde has done her homework to be able to so realistically portray what women in these situations think and feel.” Love Romances
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5 Angels! “Although Independence Day is slightly darker in subject matter than the rest of the Tempting Fate series, it is no less fantastic than the others. In fact, it just might be the best of the series because Kay Wilde expertly depicts such a sensitive subject. I applaud Kay Wilde for this story! She tells an excellent love story while staying true to the seriousness of abused women. No one writes them quite like Kay Wilde does. Wonderful story!” Fallen Angel Reviews
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4.5 Stars! “Kay Wilde is a hugely talented writer who has managed in a very short space to write a story which will tug at your heartstrings and arouse your senses. She has managed to handle the issue of domestic abuse sensibly whilst at the same giving the readers a marvelous story where the characters were richly drawn and believable, the chemistry intense and the sex scenes steamy. The reader will be rooting for Mara and J.T. towards the end and will finish the book happy at their resolution yet sad that they’ve reached the end of such a brilliant story. Kay Wilde’s story is one which will keep you reading. You’ll enjoy every word!” eCataromance Reviews
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Recommended Read! “Kay Wilde is an author who never lets her readers down and with Independence Day, it’s no exception to her already long list of hits. The fear, confusion, shame and loss that Mara feels is depicted with a sure hand and confidence of this author. The most horrific abuse is that against another human being and Ms. Wilde tells the story realistically and shows that even after suffering at the hand of another, time does heal the wounds and a real love can one day be found. Ms. Wilde takes the tragedy and sadness of a shattered woman’s faith and heart and creates a story of tenderness, self-discovery and love. It is this sort of ability that makes Kay Wilde an amazing author. She always gets to the heart of the matter, grasps it and makes it her own, which leaves a reader with a rekindled feeling of love and hope when the story ends. Independence Day hits close to home for this reader, hits a homerun for Kay Wilde and is her best Tempting Fate: Holiday Fantasies story yet.” The Road to Romance
Excerpt
The sound of air brakes from an eighteen wheeler drew J.T. Dalton’s attention from the ancient boat motor he’d been in the process of tuning up. The driver exited the truck and walked around to assist a girl in her descent from the passenger side of the high riding cab. J.T. immediately felt his anger begin to simmer. Kids today didn’t seem to have a lick of sense. Didn’t they know the dangers of hitching a ride . . . especially for a female? The news was full of stories about young girls who were last seen hitching a ride and not heard from again until their decomposing body was discovered in a drainage ditch several states away. And still they did it, in the arrogance of youth ignoring the risks, believing they were somehow exempt from the possible consequences of their actions. Or worse yet, getting off on the adrenaline rush from flirting with danger.
While the girl and the trucker parted company, J.T. picked up a shop cloth and wiped the motor oil from his hands as he made his way toward the marina office. By the time she turned and headed in his direction, J.T. was leaning against the door, waiting, preparing to give the kid a well deserved tongue lashing for being so stupid.
The words died in his throat, never to be spoken. As she approached and he got a better look at her, J.T. was forced to do a rapid two-step and revamp his earlier assessment. Her petite stature and the impression of extreme fragility had thrown him off. Despite the dark glasses she wore, it was obvious the female in question wasn’t a kid at all but a young woman. A woman who should have been old enough to know better, but also old enough to make her own decisions, right or wrong.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“That depends.”
“Upon?”
“Whether or not you’re the person with whom I need to speak regarding renting a cottage.”
Cultured, articulate speech pattern. “Interesting”, J.T. thought. “You’ve found the right person. I’m J.T., but I’m afraid I won’t be much help.” She didn’t respond, remaining silent as she waited for him to clarify. “It’s peak vacation season. Everything on the lake that isn’t privately owned is normally booked solid Memorial Day through Labor Day.”
“I should have anticipated that,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.
She appeared to wilt before his eyes. Expecting her to buckle beneath the weight of her backpack at any moment, he instinctively reached out to offer support. But before he could make contact, she stiffened and literally jerked herself backward, out of his reach. In the process, J.T. caught a brief glimpse of discoloration high on one cheek bone which had been concealed by the wide lenses of her dark glasses.
He clenched his jaw and choked back the words to keep from asking a perfect stranger the question uppermost in his mind . . . and none of his business.
“Can you suggest any place in the area where I might find lodging for a couple of days? It doesn’t have to be on the lake.”
“Sorry,” he answered reluctantly, truly meaning it. It didn’t take a brilliant mind to put two and two together. With his FBI background, he’d picked up on the clues quicker than most: a lone woman hitchhiking; one clearly old enough and intelligent enough to know the risks; the way she constantly glanced over her shoulder; and her skittish, ready-to-bolt demeanor. The most conclusive evidence of all were the dark glasses to conceal bruising, and the long sleeved turtle-necked shirt, on a blistering hot afternoon. She was most likely a woman on the run, someone in need of a safe place to hole up for a while.
His old partner and mentor was always warning J.T. that his damsel in distress, knight errant fixation would get him killed one day. On his last assignment, it nearly had. With that unpleasant memory still fresh in his mind, J.T. couldn’t believe he was even considering getting involved.
“Look, maybe we can work something out.” The words were out of his mouth before he could call them back. Consequences be damned. Nothing set him off faster than a man low enough to hit a woman.
There was a subtle tightening of her jaw and squaring of her shoulders. J.T. suspected she was wondering just what he was about to suggest, how much it was going to cost her, and would the price be something she’d be willing to pay? Silently, she again waited for clarification.
“I’m just managing the place for a friend who recently suffered a stroke and is in the hospital,” he explained, making idle conversation in an effort to ease her mind. “I can move into his place and rent the cabin I’m currently staying in to you.”
“Just like that?” she asked, hope mingled with suspicion evident in her voice.
“Just like that.” Having no way of knowing her financial situation, J.T. quoted a weekly rate a good deal lower than the usual charge. “Of course the total amount depends upon how long you plan to stay.”
“I’m not sure,” she answered, then asked point blank, “Why are you doing this?”
“Let’s just say I’m a sucker for ladies in distress.”
She opened her mouth to refute his assessment and then closed it as if fearing she’d say something to make him renege on his offer.
“Do you want the cabin?” he asked.
“I’ll take it.”
“Then let’s go inside where it’s cooler and take care of the paperwork.” Her hesitation was so brief, he’d have missed it, if he hadn’t been expecting it.
Once inside, J.T. made his way around the counter, pulled out the standard registration form and slid it across the counter along with a pen. He then stood back and watched. She carefully read through the form, swallowed, then picked up the pen. She hesitated over each blank, including her name. While J.T. knew he should ask to see some identification, he was pretty sure it would be pointless to do so. If she were to produce the requested documentation, it wasn’t likely to have her real name on it anyway. Giving the completed form only a cursory glance, he slipped it into the drawer, planning to go over it later.
“So, Linda, will you be paying by check or credit card?”
“I’ll pay in cash, in advance . . . if that’s acceptable?”
Now why didn’t that surprise him?
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When she was finally alone, Mara Quinn leaned back against the locked door, closed her eyes and breathed a deep sigh of relief. It was the first time she’d felt secure enough to do so in the past week. Secure? Who was she kidding? She couldn’t afford to let her guard down, not even for a moment.
Turning toward the window to do a quick visual scan outside, she saw J.T. come out of the neighboring cabin. He paused and looked toward the cabin she was in. Mara stepped back from the window so he couldn’t see her, hoping he wouldn’t feel the need to check and see if she needed anything. That he was curious about her was understandable, yet he’d thankfully refrained from asking questions she wasn’t prepared to answer.
He took several steps in the direction of her cottage. Mara felt her body tense. Then apparently having second thoughts, J.T. changed course and headed back toward the marina. She watched until he rounded the bend taking him out of her range of vision.
He was certainly gorgeous, a prime example of raw masculinity, with broad shoulders, muscular arms, trim waistline, narrow hips, and thighs accentuated to mouth watering perfection by snug fitting blue jeans. He had hair that made women fantasize about raking their fingers through, thick and dark with natural curl brought out by the extreme humidity. More than anything else about him, it was his eyes that caught and held her attention, deep, dark and probing, giving her the impression that while he was saying one thing, he was thinking something else entirely. While Mara had never thought a mustache added to a man’s appeal, J.T.’s mustache was neatly trimmed and somehow fit the image of a dangerously handsome devil. And if she knew what was good for her, she’d do well to remember that. Men like J.T. were just that . . . dangerous.
It was because of another handsome devil that she was now running for her life. Outwardly, Ross possessed the same friendly, easy going manner. The same irresistible charm that drew her in, and slowly, before she realized what was happening, began to suck the life out of her. She still couldn’t believe that she was the only one who knew. The only one to discover that Ross’s charm was all smoke screen, a deliberate facade designed to disguise his dark side, his controlling mean streak.
Never in a million years would she have believed that she, who counseled women in abusive relationships for a living, would find herself in the same potentially life threatening situation. In doing so, she’d quickly learned some hard truths. Mara learned how smug and self righteous she must have appeared to the women she counseled. She learned that all the textbook cases, all the pat warning signs, and all the rationale that made so much sense when you were on the outside looking in, didn’t mean shit when you were on the inside looking out. If she was ever able to return to her chosen career, Mara knew she’d do so with a more sympathetic and empathetic attitude.
“For Christ’s sake, Mara, move,” she scolded herself when she realized she’d gone barely two feet beyond the door since she entered the small log cabin.
Familiarizing herself with her temporary surroundings, she walked around the rustic yet cozy living/dining/kitchen combination. A sofa, recliner, and wooden rocker were grouped facing the gas log fireplace and portable television. A round pedestal table with four chairs was centered upon a braided rug strategically placed near the sliding doors which opened onto a wood deck facing the lake. The kitchen was fully equipped with all the amenities; compact range/oven, microwave, refrigerator, pots, pans, dishes, etc. On the counter between the small double sink and coffee maker, she found half a can of ground coffee, her favorite brand. Had J.T. deliberately or accidently left it behind? As Mara set about emptying a sack of groceries, she was grateful for J.T.’s suggestion that while he transferred his belongings to the other cabin, she pay a visit to the small store at the marina for a few supplies. While the selection had been limited, she was able to purchase a few immediate necessities.
A double bed covered with a handmade patchwork quilt, armoire, a small dresser and bedside table filled the small bedroom to capacity. Not large enough for a tub, the adjoining bathroom had a commode, sink, and an enclosed shower. Nevertheless, Mara couldn’t believe her luck in finding something so comfortable, charming, and immaculately clean. She genuinely hoped she’d be able to stay awhile, at least long enough to catch her breath and come up with a rational plan of action. She didn’t intend to run and hide forever. She shouldn’t have to. She hadn’t done anything wrong.
Mara couldn’t stand the repressive heat a moment longer. Unable to resist the temptation of a refreshing shower, she set about unpacking her meager belongings . . . then had second thoughts. “Not a good idea,” she said aloud. “Just in case I have to make a quick getaway.” Stowing both her overnight bag and her backpack in the armoire, she took out a change of clothes, her bath supplies, and headed for the shower.
Scrubbing her flesh nearly raw, Mara could not wash away the shockingly visible evidence of Ross’s handiwork. The bruising at her throat was beginning to turn from purple to a yellowish color. Her wrists and upper arms also bore similar evidence of his anger. What had her stomach churning in rebellion were the long, finger-shaped bruises on her breasts, accompanied by deliberately inflicted love bites, as he’d called them. Attaching the word love to what he did to her was tantamount to reducing the term to an insult. Better to call a spade a spade, crude as it might be, the word was hickey. What he’d done to her was crude and as ugly as the marks marring her flesh. When her soapy washcloth encountered similar markings on her inner thighs, her stomach recoiled, forcing her to bolt from the shower and drop to her knees in front of the commode. When there was nothing in her stomach left to lose, Mara returned to the shower where she remained until the water turned cold and she could no longer bear the bite of the icy pellets against her flesh.
