Genre: Young
Adult
Publication Date: September
16th, 2014
Book Description:
When
home no longer feels like home - where can you go?
When
your best friend won’t listen - who can you turn to?
When
love makes you feel weak - how do you protect your heart?
With
constant fighting at home, Emma decides working at High Street Books and
practicing avoidance is the best method to save her from more heartache.
She
doesn’t expect to meet Jake, the shop owner’s nephew,
who
makes her stomach do crazy things.
But
Jake is intent on pushing her away, and Emma must ask herself:
Is
he scared? Or is he hiding something?
Tastes
Like Winter is a story of love, family, and friendship and, when everything is
uncertain, trying to figure out where you fit in.
Goodread:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22616155-tastes-like-winter?from_search=true
About the Author:
CeCe
began writing as an escape from her days as a corporate slave laborer. She grew
up splitting her time between the beautiful beaches of New Jersey and the
bustling city of New York. Currently, she lives in Massachusetts with her super
handsome and talented husband and two adorable, but often-sassy cats. CeCe gets
excited easily, mostly about travelling, food, and of course, her first love:
books.
Contact Links
Website: http://www.cecewrites.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/cecebooks
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/cececarrollauthor
Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/photo/author/8346222.CeCe_Carroll
Short Excerpt:
I sigh. “It’s so toasty warm in here
and so cold and wet out there, I don’t want to get out.”
“I could drive you right up to your
door, but I don’t think your mom would appreciate me parking in her pansies.”
“Probably not,” I agree.
He reaches into his pocket, shifting
in his seat to pull his phone out of the denim. “Let me get your number before
you leave.”
I don’t think a boy has ever asked me
for my digits before, and having that boy be Jake makes me ecstatic.
I take a moment to calm myself before
answering, and Jake must read that as a sign to retreat because he adds, “You
know I should probably have it…for emergency purposes.”
I tell him the number, and he shoots
me a text so I have his. I say good-bye, leave the warmth of his car, and start
walking up the front walkway. Before I reach the door, my phone buzzes in my
pocket, signaling another text.
Jake: I trust you made it to the door okay. I probably should have walked
you so you wouldn’t have to suffer alone.
I tease him back.
Me: I made it, no worries, though I’m not sure this counts as an emergency.
Jake: Felt like one to me. Well, have a great night. Don’t miss me too much.
“Your pick. Traditional snowball
fight? Or sledding? I have a sled in the trunk and that hill”—he points to the
far edge of the park—“looks like it would work.”
If I choose the snowball fight, I
might end up with a face full of snow, quite the risk, but flinging packed
balls back at him sounds like fun and might end in snow wrestling, which would
be more than worth the chill. However, if I pick sledding, there will be a lot
of tiresome hiking up and down the hill, but also a good chance I can ask him
to go down with me, allowing me to feel his body pressed up against my back.
I look at him devilishly. “Prepare
for battle!”
And I dart away from him before he
has the chance to process my answer. I decide to play tactically, using the jungle
gym as a barrier. I throw myself behind the cover of the slide and begin
packing together snowballs as quickly as I can. He runs after me and copies my
strategy by positioning himself behind the playground’s merry-go-round.
I thought I had time and the element
of surprise on my side, but he is fast, and before I know it, he is flinging
balls my way. The first one smacks the slide beside my head and explodes into
icy dust. Crap! He has good aim. I wasn’t counting on that.
“You’re gunning for blood, aren’t
you, Addler?” I taunt, throwing one back at him. While it doesn’t come quite as
close as his, it’s not a bad first attempt.
We continue tossing snow back and
forth from a safe distance, trash-talking and egging each other on. I land a
solid hit on the side of his face that leaves him stunned, and seeing a window
of opportunity, I charge at him. I don’t have another ball prepared, so instead
I throw my whole body at his, knocking him away from the merry-go-round and
down into the snow. I childishly and triumphantly bury his face, shoving heaps
of powder down into his jacket as I go. Once he has sufficiently paid for his
smack talk, I sit up, my knees on either side of him, straddling his body. The
position is intimate, and despite the fact that his face is still covered and
he must be freezing, I feel a stiffening in his pants.
I gasp at the contact. My momentary
distraction gives him time to recover, and he twists, pulling his body over
mine and throwing me to the ground. He hovers over me, locking my wrists above
my head and pinning my body down, sinking us deeper into the snow. I cower,
afraid of his retaliation and waiting for my own onslaught, but he doesn’t move
to enact his revenge. Instead he pants heavily over me, trying to catch his
breath. His cheeks are spotted with redness, and his hair sticks up from the
dampness of the snow.
“You little hellcat, you. You are so
lucky you’re a girl, or I’d totally be annihilating you right now.”
I squirm under him, trying to free
myself before he changes his mind and stops taking pity on me. The movement
presses my hips up against him, making contact again with his physical
excitement. It doesn’t go unnoticed, this time.
“Fuck! Are you trying to kill me?”
He rolls off and kneels beside me in
the snow. His breath continues as a series of sharp inhales before finally
slowing and returning to a normal pace. I don’t even try to get up, but rather
I continue laying there, the warmth in my lower belly enough to shield me from
any cold. I imagine pulling him down, kissing him hard on the mouth, and having
ourselves another roll around in the snow, but I already decided I wouldn’t
throw myself at him and risk getting shot down again. I’d rather wait for him
to make the first move. So that’s what I do, quiet on the outside, but with my
mind screaming at him. Kiss me, Jake! Kiss me!
Unfortunately, Jake does not appear
to be telepathic.
After giving himself enough time to
recover, he lays back on the ground, close but purposefully not touching. “You
know what would be good right now?”
Your tongue
in my mouth?
I silently reply.
“Hot chocolate covered in whipped
cream and piled high with mini marshmallows.”
Wrong answer, Jake. Wrong answer.
While hot chocolate is not the first-choice liquid I’d like to be savoring
right now—that honor would go to more salivary fluids—it is one of my favorite
winter staples, and I happen to have all the fixin’s at home.
I sigh louder than I want, releasing
some of the sexual frustration with my outward exhale. “Okay, Jake. I wouldn’t
mind some hot chocolate. Let’s go to my house.”
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