“So exquisitely titillating, full of hope
and second chances, and so honest, this is Rachel Blaufeld’s best and swooniest
romance yet! I LOVED it!”
- Katy
Evans,
New York Times Bestselling Author
Heart Stronger, an all-new emotional romance from Rachel Blaufeld is available now!
“Sometimes, I
feel like I’m watching a movie . . . that it’s not really me, Claire Richards,
getting this second chance at life.”
“Open your
eyes, it’s you, and I’m damn glad it’s with me.” ~ Aiken
Single mom and
college professor Claire Richards only wanted a few hours of me time to soak in
her tub, read a book, and drink wine.
But tragedy
struck, and Claire found herself with a lot more me time than she bargained
for.
Three years
later, Claire is still mourning her losses when Aiken Fordham—who looks young
enough to be one of her college students—moves in next
door.
Forcing Claire
to face her fears, Aiken almost forgets his reason for moving to Small Town,
Pennsylvania. Falling for the sexy, smart, and strong professor next door was
never in the plan.
But now it is
. . . until their future intersects with their pasts.
Excerpt
The downpour stopped just as I
did, soaked in rain and sweat. Rolling my neck, I took in my house. It was
cute. Too cute for a single dude, but it was all fixed up, and I wasn’t in the
mood for a renovation project.
I bent over to stretch,
touching my toes, and before I could stand up, Smitty was at my feet, tail
wagging, tongue lolling, begging to be petted.
“Smitty!” Claire came running
out her front door, dark hair tied up in a messy bun, wearing tight black pants
and a fitted green blouse. No shoes. She stopped in front of me, and I noticed
her pink toes and tanned feet.
“Smitty, bad boy! You can’t
leave the house.” She grabbed his collar and tugged him to her side.
“S’okay.” Wetness seeped into
my eyes, and I swatted it away, making the burn worse. Squinting and blinking,
I remained focused on the woman in front of me, and all woman she was. There
wasn’t one girlish thing about my neighbor, and no—before you think it—I didn’t
have mommy issues.
I had lean-muscular-legs and
pouty-lips issues, both of which Claire had in earnest. Not to mention, I had a
separate thing for independence after growing up around all these farming
wives, who basically did all the heavy lifting for none of the credit. Then
there was my dad, unable to move on, the epitome of lost.
“Don’t say that. He can’t be
running out of the house.” Her breath was short at this point; she was almost
panting. “He’s all I have.” It was a whisper of a sentence, but I heard it.
Fuck it, I felt it. I got pain. Hated anyone else having to experience it.
She was eaten up with pain,
but kept her head up—I could tell. I wanted to crack her veneers, let the pain
ooze out, and see her smile in earnest.
Deep shit for a young guy, but
I’d grown up fast. Like in the last forty-eight hours.
“I put my hand out to feel if
it was still raining, and he bolted as soon as he saw you,” she continued to
explain.
“Like I said, I’m cool with
Smitty, but I get it. He can’t be escaping.”
“Thanks for understanding.”
She stood, prim and proper, her gaze heavy on the concrete, clearly avoiding
any direct eye contact.
“You okay, Claire? I’m sorry
about last night.”
“I’m fine.” She turned back
toward her house.
“Claire, listen, we got off to
a bad start. Can we start over? Aiken Fordham, nice to meet you.” I held my
hand out, flexing my bicep, waiting for her to return the favor.
“Claire Richards.” She took my
hand, her smaller, dainty, and way smoother hand slipping into mine.
“Ugh. What do you want, Aiken?
Look at you, shirtless, dripping from running in the rain.” Her hand whipped
out of mine and began whisking up and down in the air, motioning at my very
naked torso. “What could you possibly want from me? If you need an egg or a
stick of butter, pop next door. Otherwise, let me be. I need to get out of here
and beg Mary to give me a class full of students, probably not much older than
you.” She alternated between eyeing me and her disobedient dog.
“You’re a beautiful woman,
Claire,” I called, running up behind her. “And I’m a warm-blooded man, who’ll
probably never have a need for a stick of butter. I’m a big boy. I know how to
find a grocery store. All by myself too.”
She flung open her door and
motioned Smitty inside. He stood at the screen door, staring us down with sad
doggie eyes.
“Is there something wrong with
getting to know my neighbor? I don’t know anyone here. Maybe you could be
neighborly? Or are you so closed off you can’t do that? Because if so, that’s a
damn shame,” I said through gritted teeth. Admittedly, I was more frustrated
than I should have been. I was a man who desperately wanted the broken woman in
front of me.
Read Today!
About Rachel:
Rachel Blaufeld is a bestselling author of Romantic Suspense, New Adult,
Coming-of-Age Romance, and Sports Romance. A recent poll of her readers
described her as insightful, generous, articulate, and spunky. Originally a social worker, Rachel creates broken yet redeeming
characters. She’s been known to turn up the angst like cranking up the heat in
the dead of winter.
A devout coffee drinker and doughnut
eater, Rachel spends way too many hours in local coffee shops, downing the
aforementioned goodies while she plots her ideas. Her tales may all come with a
side of angst and naughtiness, but end as lusciously as her
treats.
As a side note, Blaufeld, also a long-time blogger and an
advocate of woman-run anything, is fearless about sharing her opinion. She
captured the ears of stay-at-home and working moms on her blog,
BacknGrooveMom, chronicling her adventures in parenting
tweens and running a business, often at the same time. To her, work/life/family
balance is an urban legend, but she does her best.
Rachel has also blogged for
The
Huffington Post and Modern Mom. Most recently, her insights can be
found in
USA TODAY, where she shares conversations at “In Bed with a Romance
Author” and
reading recommendations over at “Happy Ever After.”
Rachel lives around the corner from her
childhood home in Pennsylvania with her family and two beagles. Her obsessions
include running, coffee, basketball, icing-filled doughnuts, antiheroes, and
mighty fine epilogues.
When she isn’t writing, she can be found
courtside, tweeting about hoops as her son plays, or walking around the house
wearing earplugs while her other son, the drummer, bangs away.
