No Apologies
by Sybil Bartel
Published by: Carina Press (HQN)
Publication date: June 23rd 2014
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance (91,000 words)
Synopsis:
Never apologize
Hard-edged rocker Graham Allen has it all. He’s flush with cash from playing bass in a band by night and restoring classic cars by day. And there are plenty of women willing to share his bed for a night, complication-free. Perfect, because if there’s anything he learned from his past, it was to never get attached—to anything. So when bartender Carly Sullivan flashes her innocent smile, Graham isn’t prepared for what happens next.
Never fall in love
Two rules, that’s all Graham has—never apologize and never fall in love. He knows Carly is everything he should avoid. Cheerful and sweet, she has “relationship” written all over her. But Graham can’t stay away from her probing questions and concerned blue eyes.
When Graham discovers Carly is hiding a crushing secret, he’s prepared to risk it all. Until in one single moment, everything changes and Graham’s past threatens to collide with his future. His life is crumbling down around him, and soon no apology in the world can save him.
He should’ve known to walk away.
10 Excerpts from NO APOLOGIES
Excerpt 1
“Look at me, Carly.” I waited till she glanced up. She was so pretty, innocent and pretty, “No misunderstandings.”
“Misunderstandings?” Her voice was just above a whisper.
I didn’t blink. “I’m not boyfriend material.”
“I got that,” she whispered.
“Good.” I felt like an ass. No, scratch that, I was an ass, a total classless prick. It was my excuse for saying what I said next. “Wanna get naked?”
Excerpt 2
I trailed my fingers down her cheek. “I wanted to kiss you this morning.”
She didn’t flinch. “I know.”
I threaded my hand up the back of her neck. “You pulled away from me.”
“I know.”
I twisted my fingers into her hair. “I still want to kiss you.”
Turning her face, she exposed the smooth skin of her neck. “Please, don’t.”
“Why?” Jesus, she was beautiful.
“You scare me.”
Inhaling, I stilled. “Maybe you scare me, Carly Sullivan.” I wanted to take the words back as soon as I said them.
Excerpt 3
“Thank you, Mr. Allen.”
“Why do you do that?” I asked before I could sensor myself.
“Do what?”
“Call me by my last name?”
She stopped walking and looked at me. “It bothers you?”
I tried to think through the haze of alcohol. I wasn’t going to tell her the truth, so I chose the only other arsenal I had. I took a step toward her and bent my knees slightly so I was closer to her eye level. “What’s my name?” My voice was low and quiet.
“Graham?” she asked, unsure.
“Say it again.”
“Graham.”
“Again.” I leaned closer.
“Graham,” she whispered.
“I like to hear my name cross your lips.”
Excerpt 4
Fastening my helmet, my fingers fumbled and suddenly Carly was there.
“Graham, please don’t drive.” Big, fake, sad doe eyes, she looked at me like she gave a shit but I knew better.
“What the fuck do you care?” I was sick of women pretending they cared. They didn’t. They wanted a piece of me because I was in a band or because I had fucking money.
“Please, get off the bike,” she begged.
I ripped the helmet off and turned on her. “You want me off the bike?” I threatened.
She jerked back a foot.
“Off the fucking bike, huh?” I swung my leg over and grabbed her arm. “Why?” I barked.
She stumbled back and I followed.
“You wanna finish what you started?” Seething mad, I took another step toward her.
“Stop.” She quivered.
“I’m not the one doing anything. I didn’t crawl in your bed half naked and tell you not to touch me. I’m not the one who smiles like I won the fucking lottery every time I see you. So what exactly am I supposed to stop doing, Carly?”
Excerpt 5
I wasn’t prepared for my reaction to the sight of her. She was wearing boots, jeans, a tight black sweater, and my favorite smile. Everything shit in my life disappeared. Her blond hair was loose and her innocent expression was full of humor. I wanted to touch her so bad, I was almost shaking. She caught me checking her out and heat flushed her cheeks a sexy shade of pink.
“I wasn’t sure what to wear. I didn’t know if you’d come on the bike or in the Barracuda. I figured this worked for both.” She smiled tentatively.
I was beginning to think she could wear a fucking sack and my dick would respond to the sight of her. “Barracuda, I don’t take chicks on the Ducati,” I stated, feeling more like myself.
“Why not?”
It’s mine. I bought it to ride, not show off and haul chicks around. “I ride solo.” When she frowned, I felt like shit. “It’s more fun,” I grumbled, pissed I was explaining myself.
“Hmm, I’d be willing to test that theory. Can I drive it?”
“You ride?” I asked, incredulous.
“Does a bear shit in the woods?”
Excerpt 6
Wrapping my arms around her tight, I brought her to my chest. She fought like hell but I held on. Goddamn it, I held on.
“Let go! I hate you!” She kicked at my shins. Her hands pounded my sides. “I hate you! I hate you!”
“I’m not gonna apologize, Carly. I know I hurt you but I’m not going to apologize. We’re friends, nothing more. You know that. That’s what you wanted.” I tried to sound calm, rational.
“You kicked my bike!” Then she began to cry. Really cry.
“Shh, baby, don’t cry. C’mon, don’t cry. I’m not fucking worth it.”
“You smell like sex.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.” But it felt like I had.
“I know,” she wailed.
“Shh, stop crying.” It was ineffectual but I didn’t know what else to do. All I wanted was her sweet smile to return. Guilt was eating me alive. I hadn’t felt this shitty in twelve years.
Excerpt 7
My perception of Carly was sweet and innocent and fragile. She was those things, but she was a whole lot more. And fuck if it wasn’t a total turn-on. Watching her ride today, with easy confidence, I got the impression she could do anything. She looked so fucking capable on that bike, like she’d been absent the day they dished out limitations and fears. I was almost intimidated by her. Worse, I liked her more every minute I spent with her.
I pulled up to the restaurant, we walked in and grabbed a booth without speaking.
Carly picked up the menu but was looking at me. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m always quiet.”
“No, you’re thinking about something. Spill it.”
Why the fuck did I promise myself I’d be honest with her? “Why are you single?”
“Being a cop’s daughter isn’t conducive to dating.”
Yeah, not it. “He wasn’t that intimidating. Try again.”
“Hey, he has his moments.”
“Uh-huh.” Sure, he did. They both smiled more than any stoner I knew. “Try again.” I didn’t know why I was pushing this but I was.
“Tell you what, I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine. Honest and true, one for one, no holding back.”
She’d pretty much witnessed everything there was to know about me last night. What else was there? “All right.”
Carly looked surprised for a second, then she took a deep breath and looked down. “I’ve never had sex…
Excerpt 8
Carly opened the door, all smiles. “Missing something?”
Yeah, you. My relief at seeing her smile was instant but I gave her a hard time anyway. “There better not be a scratch on it.”
She shook her head. “Have a little faith.”
“You forget I’ve seen you drive.” Like a bat outta hell.
“Now I’m just insulted. C’mon up, I’ve got the key upstairs.”
I followed her, admiring the view.
“Want some coffee? I just made some.”
Her apartment smelled amazing, like cinnamon and fresh bread. I remembered I hadn’t eaten. “Yeah, sure. Smells good.” I followed her into the kitchen and looked out one of the windows. The Ducati was parked by a garage in back.
“I’m making muffins. They’ll be ready in ten minutes. Looking for the bike?”
“Checking to make sure it’s in one piece.”
“Would I destroy a machine like that? Jeez!” She looked affronted then busied herself getting coffee.
“I have no idea.” Women were capable of crazy shit.
She handed me a mug. “Well, I wouldn’t, but you might need a little gas.” She winked and set her small kitchen table for two.
“I don’t think I want to know where you went.”
I got her full-blown smile. “She opens up nicely on the highway.”
If I hadn’t seen her ride, I might’ve been having a heart attack right now. “Do you have any self-preservation?” I’d bet a month’s paycheck she didn’t go the speed limit.
Her face turned serious. “Lots, that’s why I was careful not to drop the bike.”
That statement, the look on her face, I couldn’t let it slide. I set the coffee on the counter and grabbed her hand. She flinched but I held tight and lowered my voice. “You think a bike’s more important than you?”
Excerpt 9
I didn’t stop to think about what I was doing. I leaned down and whispered in her ear. “You’re beautiful.”
My nose ran along her cheek. Her breath touched my face, sweet and warm, and I brushed my lips across hers. I kissed her jaw, below her ear, my thumb caressing the soft skin of her cheek. I tried to move slow, but with every breath I felt my restraint bleed away. I found her lips again and moaned. Releasing her hand, I wrapped my arms around her and crushed her to my chest. I kissed her like I needed her more than I needed my next breath.
Everything stopped but the feel of this fragile bird coming apart in my arms as her body melted against mine. The low seductive sound in her throat, the grip of her hands on my arms, the flutter of her heartbeat in my ears, it fueled something deep.
Not thinking, used to getting what I wanted, used to a different type of woman, I spun us around and lifted her onto the counter. Pulling her hips to mine, my hands snaked under her thighs and brought her legs around my waist. I pushed into her, straining to get closer despite our clothes.
Too late, I realized I’d gone too far.
Excerpt 10
I kissed her again. Slow, gentle, I showed her what I wanted her to know. Not pushing her further, not taking the kiss to the next level, the restraint was pure agony.
I pulled away and looked into her eyes. “Just you and me.”
“Is it?”
I stilled. I couldn’t be mad at her. It was a legitimate question. I struggled with what I wanted to say and what I should say. “I’m here now, with you.” I swept her hair from her shoulder. “There’s nowhere else I want to be.” I didn’t tell her the evening after the incident in my kitchen had been a turning point for me.
The smile touched her lips but weariness held the rest of her expression. “Me either.” She gently rested her head on my chest.
I wrapped my arms around her and stood to my full height, caveman style. Her feet left the ground and I let the soft weight of her fall against me for one torturous moment. Everything about this girl was leaving a mark on my heart.
Interview with Graham Allen
“Hi! So excited, I’m here today with Graham Allen, the bass player for the band you all are waiting patiently for to go on, so I’ll be quick! Say Hi, Graham.” OMG, he’s so hot in person!
“Hey.”
“Yep, you heard it, that sexy-awesome voice. Not that we don’t love Myles’ voice, but we looove when you sing as well. Will there be more songs you do lead locals on?”
“Possibly.”
“Okay, you heard it here first! So, tell me Graham, what’s your favorite song right now?”
“Humming Bird by Alex Clare.”
“Awww, that’s so sweet! I love that song. Does it remind you of someone?”
“Yes.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“No.”
Okay, he’s a little intimidating. I smile but he doesn’t smile back. “So, tell us something we don’t know about you.”
“I hate interviews.”
I laugh nervously. “I think I could’ve guessed that. I heard you’re a car fanatic. If you could drive any car, what would it be?”
“A Smart car,” he deadpans.
I blink. “Really?”
“No.”
I burst out laughing. “Good one. But seriously, what car would be your ideal ride?”
“The one I drive.”
“Which is?”
“71 ‘Cuda 440 6-pack.”
“You have a six pack?” I had to ask! He’s so muscular.
He crosses his arms and stares at me.
“Um, sorry. Okay, so what color is your car?”
“Black.”
Sexy. “What’s it like working with Myles?” That’s the lead singer and guitarist for all you newbies out there.
“Humbling.”
“Wow, that’s heavy.” Inspiration strikes. “What would Myles say it’s like working with you?”
“Irritating.” A ghost of a smile touches the corner of his mouth.
I think I might faint. He’s that hot. If, you know, you go for that whole tattooed, rocker, bad boy, thing—just saying. I smile because it’s impossible not to. “I’ll have to ask him about that.” With a surge of confidence, I wink.
“You do that.” The smile, lazy, practiced, kicks up a notch and now I know I’m going to faint.
“Oh, that’s just not fair.”
His only answer is to hold the half smile of amusement and incline his head once like he knows exactly the effect he has on women.
“Okay, one more question, because I know you all are about to go on. Who’s been your single greatest influence, musically, or otherwise?” I hold my breath, because for some reason, I think he’s about to surprise the crap out of me.
“That’s a personal question.”
“It is.” I don’t blink.
He maintains eye contact.
I wait.
“I don’t answer personal questions. I protect the people who are close to me.”
Wow. So sweet. “I think I just fell in love.”
This time, the smile hits both sides of his face. “You’re too late, sweetheart.” Then he strides out of the room like he owns the place.
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barnesandnoble.com/w/no- apologies-sybil-bartel/ 1118327857?ean=9781426898532 AUTHOR BIO
Sybil grew up in Northern California with her head in a book and her feet in the sand. She used to dream of becoming a painter but the heady scent of libraries with their shelves full of books about wistful summer days and first loves drew her into the world of storytelling. Her true literary love is the New Adult genre but really, any story about a love so desperately wrong and impossibly beautiful, makes her swoon.
Sybil now resides in Southern Florida and while she doesn't get to read as much as she likes, she still buries her toes in the sand. If she's not writing or fighting to contain the banana plantation in her backyard, you can find her spending time with her handsomely tattooed husband, her brilliantly practical son and a mischievous miniature boxer who stole her heart.
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If I Had A Dollar by Sybil Bartel
If I had a dollar for all the times I failed as a writer, I would be rich. I wouldn’t be writing this post because I would be lounging on my yacht with my loaded Kindle and some really hot crew chartering our course to Tropical Happy Awesomeness (yep, that’s a real place).
Alas, sadly, I don’t. So—sigh—no hot crew members for me. But. And it’s a big but, I totally wouldn’t have this—this post I’m writing. Or the near to my heart story that comes out June 23rd. Or the other manuscripts in my cue, or all the amazing people I’ve met along the way.
There are a lot of things I can say about writing, and about how many times you fail before you finally get something right. And I will tell you, I am surprised by all of them. But mostly I am surprised by the people you meet along the way. This isn’t a cut throat business, this isn’t a competitive professional sports team, this isn’t a water cooler gossip fest (well, okay maybe just a little bit of gossip). It’s a world of nice people who genuinely want to help you with any knowledge they can impart.
If I had a dollar for all the less than satisfactory jobs I’ve ever had, it wouldn’t get me that yacht, but it’d buy me a plane ticket to Tropical Happy Awesomeness. (It’s a real place, you know.) And when I got there? I’m pretty sure Tropical Happy Awesomeness would not have as many great people as the world of writing does.
So, I’m glad I don’t have a dollar for all the times I’ve failed at something in my life. I would much rather have the experiences and the friends I’ve met along the way. They say writing is a solitary existence, and it can be. (I so love to live in my own head!) But writing is a gift. A gift I would not appreciate or love as much as I do without all the failed attempts and perseverance. Because when you do finally succeed? And trust me on this, if you persevere you totally will, the victory is oh so sweet. So I will gladly trade all those dollars and that yacht and those hot crew men. You go on ahead to Tropical Happy Awesomeness without me. I’m just gonna stay here and write.
My Favorite Thing To Write by Sybil Bartel
You would think this was an easy question, right? But really, I equate it to walking into a candy store and having to choose one thing. Who wants that? Well, okay, I’d so go for the chocolate covered cherries. But I’d be tempted, really tempted, by a lot of other candy.
Writing is like candy. I crave it. But mostly, I crave the damaged, desperate parts. If the love scenes are the chocolate covered cherries, I want to write the broken bits and pieces that fall apart. I love the drama. But more? I love a broken character. I love the desperation of wanting something so badly but knowing that getting it will break you. And the bad boy character that takes all that angst and turns it into the prefect alpha storm? Oh man. Swoon.
For me, Graham Allen in NO APOLOGIES is that character. He’s gritty and raw and desperate. He wants his heroine, Carly, so badly but he knows she will break him. With each sentence I wrote, the layers of Graham’s story built up and took me by surprise. I am totally a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of writer. It’s all character driven for me. I love to watch the hero’s story unfold, occasionally helping out with an adjective here or there (wink). But ultimately, it’s the hero’s story, and all the grit in between the priceless moments. That is what keeps me going.
Is it hard to write the heartbreaking parts? Does it make me want to crawl into bed and cry? Do I wish my characters wouldn’t make such horrible decisions? I so do. But. Without those broken bits and pieces that make up the in between, we wouldn’t have the really spectacular chocolate covered cherry scenes. And I live for those scenes.
So, if you ask me, it’s the grit I love to write. It makes the whole candy store come together. Maybe tomorrow I will change my mind. Maybe I will be writing one of those really spectacular scenes for Graham’s best friend, Myles. And maybe I will say—Hey! Those! Those hot and heavy, clothes flying, hands skimming, breaths faltering, scenes—those are my favorite. But deep down, I’ll know. There’s no reward without the work. There’s no dessert without dinner and there’s no story without the angst. I love the angst—desperately, obsessively, adoringly—love the angst.
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