They call him “The Tempest.”
England’s most feared heavyweight-boxing champion.
He despises the fame and glory, but it’s nothing compared to the hate he inflicts on himself. All he wants is to be left alone to live on his boat in misery.

When I line up for his autograph, it’s instant fireworks. But not the beautiful stars-shine-bright kind. He’s rude. Heartless. A ticking time bomb of rage.
Luckily, I’m not afraid to put a lit match to his fuse.
I upload a private video of him to my one-million-subscribers channel. The video goes viral.
The ex-Royal Marine nearly breaks down my studio door to flag me inappropriate…
…while I’m in the middle of a live streaming event.
I don’t tell him. I don’t switch off the camera. I keep recording, secretly playing to my audience. He should have checked if the camera was rolling, right?

It should be a shipwreck from the moment the storm hits.
It is.
And then … it isn’t.
Our attraction is painful, undeniable, and it’s like I am Eve and his lips are the apple, and damn if his tongue isn’t the snake.

I am the only girl who can put this broken man back together again.
But he knows the secret he is keeping will tear us apart. He knows it’ll force my hand to break ties with the only family I have left in the world.
But once The Tempest, the man with the iron heart, falls in love … he’ll crush anyone who dares to take me away from him.
I have no choice but to go down with his ship.
Hook, line, and goddamned sinker.


The Tempest is a contemporary romance story of love, comedy and treachery.

Excerpt

“I’m in love with you, Felicity. I love you with every ounce of my fucked up heart.” I feel every word get a strangle hold on my heart as he gently cups his hand on the side of my face, his thumb lovingly stroking my chin, caressing all that he holds. How can the best moment of my life also be the worst? “I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t in love with you.” He looks at me in a way that only seems to get deeper and darker. “And I’ll keep on loving you. I won’t let a single damn thing change that.”

I am silent, so silent and so … fixedly terrified of what I already know. I know this is love. Because only love can drive us both this crazy. Only love can be this much of a mindfuck. Only love can hurt this much.

As messed up as it is, I will never get away from the fact that I love him. I tried denying it plenty of times to myself. I’ve never admitted it out loud to Lenic, not even in those moments when we were inseparable and it was like a drug to be touched by calloused fingers, and it was the only time I felt anything real, and that meant everything in the fucked up history that is my life. And I hate Lenic from the deepest part of my soul for making me love him. And I hate myself more for falling in love with a man that things will never be simple with.

It is as if the air gets thick, or disappears altogether, and it feels like I have to work to breathe. But Lenic does something more painful than the bliss of death and blackness. I feel lips, warm and chapped against my own.

Burying his hands in my hair, his lips press against mine, his tongue roving my mouth desperately, like he is trying to get some reaction, some tiny assurance that he hasn’t lost me yet, that there is something here worth saving.

I freeze completely under his searching kiss. I can’t meet those lips, can’t let myself feel, or damn if that dam won’t break and I would be bereft in an ocean of sorrow I don’t think I can hold back any longer. And I tremble under his force. I find my hands clinging to his body with a desperation that surprises me. And then, I finally give myself over to him.

My heart, my undeniable emotions, sear through me like a hot knife tearing at every piece of me, twisting my gut in agony. The guilt gnaws away inside, but I would rather fester in torment than reject his touch.

His kiss quickly becomes more aggressive and I fall into it, unable to fight it, unable to deny it. He tilts his head in the other direction and deepens the kiss again, like trying to get all that he can, here and now, and I start to wonder if this is a kiss goodbye.

“You’re the only thing that matters to me … don’t go,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. It is pleading, something like a prayer. “You’re everything.”

The feeling of desolation and hopelessness slams through me, and it is more than I can bear. I feel like I am on death row.

The intensity of his gaze is unlike it has ever been any other time. His eyes scream, ‘Don’t hurt me. Don’t break my heart.’

“No matter what…” He presses his lips to mine for a long moment before pulling away ever so slightly. “…I don’t want to lose you too.” His hand strokes my cheek lovingly, and I clench my teeth together hard, fighting that touch with every damn piece of me I have to fight with. “I can’t give you up, Felicity. I’m not capable of giving you up.”

 

 

 

Brit Constantine

Brit Constantine

is a twenty-something author of The Tempest, her first published novel. Writing and ballet are the two things she lives for … next to cheesecake and firemen. When she’s not writing, or randomly bidding for useless items on the Web, she’s either earning bruises at her boyfriend’s mixed martial arts club or sipping on a perfect glass of Pimm’s with her girlfriends. She lives in London with her ever-growing collection of shoes. It’s a woman’s right to shoes.