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The Definitive Book of Body Language: The Hidden Meaning Behind People's Gestures and Expressions, by Barbara Pease, Allan Pease

The Definitive Book of Body Language: The Hidden Meaning Behind People's Gestures and Expressions, by Barbara Pease, Allan Pease



The Definitive Book of Body Language: The Hidden Meaning Behind People's Gestures and Expressions, by Barbara Pease, Allan Pease

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The Definitive Book of Body Language: The Hidden Meaning Behind People's Gestures and Expressions, by Barbara Pease, Allan Pease

Available for the first time in the United States, this international bestseller reveals the secrets of nonverbal communication to give you confidence and control in any face-to-face encounter–from making a great first impression and acing a job interview to finding the right partner.

It is a scientific fact that people’s gestures give away their true intentions. Yet most of us don’t know how to read body language–and don’t realize how our own physical movements speak to others. Now the world’s foremost experts on the subject share their techniques for reading body language signals to achieve success in every area of life.

Drawing upon more than thirty years in the field, as well as cutting-edge research from evolutionary biology, psychology, and medical technologies that demonstrate what happens in the brain, the authors examine each component of body language and give you the basic vocabulary to read attitudes and emotions through behavior.

Discover:
• How palms and handshakes are used to gain control
• The most common gestures of liars
• How the legs reveal what the mind wants to do
• The most common male and female courtship gestures and signals
• The secret signals of cigarettes, glasses, and makeup
• The magic of smiles–including smiling advice for women
• How to use nonverbal cues and signals to communicate more effectively and get the reactions you want

Filled with fascinating insights, humorous observations, and simple strategies that you can apply to any situation, this intriguing book will enrich your communication with and understanding of others–as well as yourself.

  • Sales Rank: #9195 in Books
  • Brand: Brand: Bantam
  • Published on: 2006-07-25
  • Released on: 2006-07-25
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 9.26" h x .91" w x 6.18" l, 1.43 pounds
  • Binding: Hardcover
  • 400 pages
Features
  • Used Book in Good Condition

Review
"When Allan and Barbara Pease write, I read. And underline. And learn. And laugh. And steal. The Definitive Book of Body Language is a marvel of a book!"—Tom Peters, author of In Search of Excellence and Re-Imagine!

About the Author
Allan Pease has written eleven other bestselling books on the subject of human communication and body language, including, with Barbara Pease, Why Men Don’t Listen and Women Can’t Read Maps and Why Men Don’t Have a Clue and Women Always Need New Shoes.

Barbara Pease is CEO of Pease Training International and the author of the international bestseller Memory Language. She divides her time between England and Australia, trying to find her way home from the airport.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter One

Understanding the Basics

Everyone knows someone who can walk into a room full of people and within minutes give an accurate description about the relationships between those people and what they are feeling. The ability to read a person's attitudes and thoughts by their behavior was the original communication system used by humans before spoken language evolved.

Before radio was invented, most communication was done in writing through books, letters, and newspapers, which meant that ugly politicians and poor speakers such as Abraham Lincoln could be successful if they persisted long enough and wrote good print copy. The radio era gave openings to people who had a good command of the spoken word, like Winston Churchill, who spoke wonderfully but may have struggled to achieve as much in today's more visual era.

Today's politicians understand that politics is about image and appearance, and most high-profile politicians now have personal body-language consultants to help them come across as being sincere, caring, and honest, especially when they're not.

It seems almost incredible that, over the thousands of years of our evolution, body language has been actively studied on any scale only since the 1960's and that most of the public has become aware of its existence only since our book Body Language was published in 1978. Yet most people believe that speech is still our main form of communication. Speech has been part of our communication repertoire only in recent times in evolutionary terms, and is mainly used to convey facts and data. Speech probably first developed between two million and five hundred thousand years ago, during which time our brain tripled its size. Before then, body language and sounds made in the throat were the main forms of conveying emotions and feelings, and that is still the case today. But because we focus on the words people speak, most of us are largely uninformed about body language, let alone its importance in our lives.

Our spoken language, however, recognizes how important body language is to our communication. Here are just a few of the phrases we use:

Get it off your chest. Keep a stiff upper lip.
Stay at arm's length. Keep your chin up.
Shoulder a burden. Face up to it.
Put your best foot forward. Kiss my butt.

Some of these phrases are hard to swallow, but you've got to give us a big hand because there are some real eye-openers here. As a rule of thumb, we can keep them coming hand over fist until you either buckle at the knees or turn your back on the whole idea. Hopefully, you'll be sufficiently touched by these phrases to lean toward the concept.


In the Beginning . . .

Silent-movie actors like Charlie Chaplin were the pioneers of body-language skills, as this was the only means of communication available on the screen. Each actor's skill was classed as good or bad by the extent to which he could use gestures and body signals to communicate to the audience. When talking films became popular and less emphasis was placed on the nonverbal aspects of acting, many silent-movie actors faded into obscurity and only those with good verbal and nonverbal skills survived.

As far as the academic study of body language goes, perhaps the most influential pre-twentieth-century work was Charles Darwin's The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals, published in 1872, but this work tended to be read mainly by academics. However, it spawned the modern studies of facial expressions and body language, and many of Darwin's ideas and observations have since been validated by researchers around the world. Since that time, researchers have noted and recorded almost a million nonverbal cues and signals. Albert Mehrabian, a pioneer researcher of body language in the 1950's, found that the total impact of a message is about 7 percent verbal (words only) and 38 percent vocal (including tone of voice, inflection, and other sounds) and 55 percent nonverbal.

It's how you looked when you said
it, not what you actually said.

Anthropologist Ray Birdwhistell pioneered the original study of nonverbal communication–what he called "kinesics." Birdwhistell made some similar estimates of the amount of nonverbal communication that takes place between humans. He estimated that the average person actually speaks words for a total of about ten or eleven minutes a day and that the average sentence takes only about 2.5 seconds. Birdwhistell also estimated we can make and recognize around 250,000 facial expressions.

Like Mehrabian, he found that the verbal component of a face-to-face conversation is less than 35 percent and that over 65 percent of communication is done nonverbally. Our analysis of thousands of recorded sales interviews and negotiations during the 1970's and 1980's showed that, in business encounters, body language accounts for between 60 and 80 percent of the impact made around a negotiating table and that people form 60 to 80 percent of their initial opinion about a new person in less than four minutes. Studies also show that when negotiating over the telephone, the person with the stronger argument usually wins, but this is not so true when negotiating face-to-face, because overall we make our final decisions more on what we see than what we hear.

Why It's Not What You Say

Despite what it may be politically correct to believe, when we meet people for the first time we quickly make judgments about their friendliness, dominance, and potential as a sexual partner–and their eyes are not the first place we look.

Most researchers now agree that words are used primarily for conveying information, while body language is used for negotiating interpersonal attitudes and, in some cases, is used as a substitute for verbal messages. For example, a woman can give a man a "look to kill" and will convey a very clear message to him without opening her mouth.

Regardless of culture, words and movements occur together with such predictability that Birdwhistell was the first to claim that a well-trained person should be able to tell what movement a person is making by listening to their voice. Birdwhistell even learned how to tell what language a person was speaking, simply by watching their gestures.

Many people find difficulty in accepting that humans are still biologically animals. We are a species of primate–Homo sapiens–a hairless ape that has learned to walk on two limbs and has a clever, advanced brain. But like any other species, we are still dominated by biological rules that control our actions, reactions, body language, and gestures. The fascinating thing is that the human animal is rarely aware that its postures, movements, and gestures can tell one story while its voice may be telling another.

How Body Language Reveals Emotions and Thoughts

Body language is an outward reflection of a person's emotional condition. Each gesture or movement can be a valuable key to an emotion a person may be feeling at the time. For example, a man who is self-conscious about gaining weight may tug at the fold of skin under his chin; the woman who is aware of extra pounds on her thighs may smooth her dress down; the person who is feeling fearful or defensive might fold their arms or cross their legs or both; and a man talking with a large-breasted woman may consciously avoid staring at her breasts while, at the same time, unconsciously use groping gestures with his hands.

The key to reading body language is being able to understand a person's emotional condition while listening to what they are saying and noting the circumstances under which they are saying it. This allows you to separate fact from fiction and reality from fantasy. In recent times, we humans have had an obsession with the spoken word and our ability to be conversationalists. Most people, however, are remarkably unaware of body- language signals and their impact, despite the fact that we now know that most of the messages in any face-to-face conversation are revealed through body signals. For example, France's President Chirac, U.S.A.'s President Ronald Reagan, and Australia's Prime Minister Bob Hawke all used their hands to reveal the relative sizes of issues in their mind. Bob Hawke once defended pay increases for politicians by comparing their salaries to corporate executive salaries. He claimed that executive salaries had risen by a huge amount and that proposed politicians' increases were relatively smaller. Each time he mentioned politicians' incomes, he held his hands a yard apart. When he mentioned executive salaries, however, he held them only a foot apart. His hand distances revealed that he felt politicians were getting a much better deal than he was prepared to admit.

Why Women Are More Perceptive

When we say someone is "perceptive" or "intuitive" about people, we are unknowingly referring to their ability to read another person's body language and to compare these cues with verbal signals. In other words, when we say that we have a "hunch" or "gut feeling" that someone has told us a lie, we usually mean that their body language and their spoken words don't agree. This is also what speakers call "audience awareness," or relating to a group. For example, if an audience were sitting back in their seats with their chins down and arms crossed on their chest, a "perceptive" speaker would get a hunch or feeling that his delivery was not going across well. He would realize that he needed to take a different approach to gain audience involvement. Likewise, a speaker who was not "perceptive" would blunder on regardless.

Being "perceptive" means being able to spot the contradictions between someone's words and their body language.

Overall, women are far more perceptive than men, and this has given rise to what is commonly referred to as "women's intuition." Women have an innate ability to pick up and decipher nonverbal signals, as well as having an accurate eye for small details. This is why few husbands can lie to their wives and get away with it and why, conversely, most women can pull the wool over a man's eyes without his realizing it.

Research by psychologists at Harvard University showed how women are far more alert to body language than men. They showed short films, with the sound turned off, of a man and woman communicating, and the participants were asked to decode what was happening by reading the couple's expressions. The research showed that women read the situation accurately 87 percent of the time, while the men scored only 42 percent accuracy. Men in "nurturing" occupations, such as artistic types, acting, and nursing, did nearly as well as the women; gay men also scored well. Female intuition is particularly evident in women who have raised children. For the first few years, the mother relies almost solely on the nonverbal channel to communicate with the child and this is why women are often more perceptive negotiators than men, because they practice reading signals early.

What Brain Scans Show

Most women have the brain organization to outcommunicate any man on the planet. Magnetic Resonance Imaging brain scans (MRI) clearly show why women have far greater capacity for communicating with and evaluating people than men do. Women have between fourteen and sixteen areas of the brain to evaluate others' behavior versus a man's four to six areas. This explains how a woman can attend a dinner party and rapidly work out the state of the relationships of other couples at the party–who's had an argument, who likes who, and so on. It also explains why, from a woman's standpoint, men don't seem to talk much and, from a man's standpoint, women never seem to shut up.

As we showed in Why Men Don't Listen and Women Can't Read Maps (Orion), the female brain is organized for multitracking–the average woman can juggle between two and four unrelated topics at the same time. She can watch a television program while talking on the telephone plus listen to a second conversation behind her, while drinking a cup of coffee. She can talk about several unrelated topics in the one conversation and use five vocal tones to change the subject or emphasize points. Unfortunately, most men can only identify three of these tones. As a result, men often lose the plot when women are trying to communicate with them.

Studies show that a person who relies on hard visual evidence face-to-face about the behavior of another person is more likely to make more accurate judgments about that person than someone who relies solely on their gut feeling. The evidence is in the person's body language and, while women can do it subconsciously, anyone can teach themselves consciously to read the signals. That's what this book is about.

How Fortune-Tellers Know So Much

If you've ever visited a fortune-teller you probably came away amazed at the things they knew about you–things no one else could possibly have known–so it must be ESP, right? Research into the fortune-telling business shows that operators use a technique known as "cold reading," which can produce an accuracy of around 80 percent when "reading" a person you've never met. While it can appear to be magical to naive and vulnerable people, it is simply a process based on the careful observation of body-language signals plus an understanding of human nature and a knowledge of probability statistics. It's a technique practiced by psychics, tarot-card readers, astrologists, and palm readers to gather information about a "client." Many "cold readers" are largely unaware of their abilities to read nonverbal signals and so also become convinced that they really must have "psychic" abilities. This all adds to a convincing performance, bolstered by the fact that people who regularly visit "psychics" go with positive expectations of the outcome. Throw in a set of tarot cards, a crystal ball or two, and a bit of theater, and the stage is perfectly set for a body-language-reading session that can convince even the most hardened skeptic that strange, magical forces must be at work. It all boils down to the reader's ability to decode a person's reactions to statements made and to questions asked, and by information gathered from simple observation about a person's appearance. Most "psychics" are female because, as women, as discussed previously, they have the extra brain wiring to allow them to read the body signals of babies and to read others' emotional condition.

The fortune-teller gazed into her crystal ball and then
started laughing uncontrollably. So John punched her on the
nose. It was the first time he'd ever struck a happy medium.

To demonstrate the point, here now is a psychic reading for you personally. Imagine you've come to a dimly lit, smoke-filled room where a jewel-encrusted psychic wearing a turban is seated at a low, moon-shaped table with a crystal ball:

I'm glad you've come to this session and I can see you have things that are troubling you because I am receiving strong signals from you. I sense that the things you really want out of life sometimes seem unrealistic and you often wonder whether you can achieve them. I also sense that at times you are friendly, social, and outgoing to others, but that at other times you are withdrawn, reserved, and cautious. You take pride in being an independent thinker, but also know not to accept what you see and hear from others without proof. You like change and variety, but become restless if controlled by restrictions and routine. You want to share your innermost feelings with those closest to you, but have found it unwise to be too open and revealing. A man in your life with the initial "S" is exerting a strong influence over you right now and a woman who is born in November will contact you in the next month with an exciting offer. While you appear disciplined and controlled on the outside, you tend to be concerned and worried on the inside, and at times you wonder whether or not you have made the right choice or decision.

Most helpful customer reviews

141 of 147 people found the following review helpful.
Basic introduction with a lot of factual mistakes
By Wilmington
I have read and enjoyed Allan and Barbara Pease's other bestsellers Why Men Don't Listen and Women Can't Read Maps and Why Men Lie and Women Cry: How to Get What You Want Out of Life by Asking and therefore was really looking forward to reading this book. It was quite a disappointment. Half of the body language described seems perfectly obvious to me. Some of the explanations were useful, but others were dubious or downright mistaken.

It didn't start well when on page 7 the caption under Schwarzenegger showing the thumb up explained that it meant five in Japan, which is utterly false. I can forgive one mistake, but not dozens, and the book is filled with them. Here are other examples.

On p. 18-19, the authors say that shaking the head from side to side to indicate 'no' is universal. Are they forgetting that in India it means 'yes' ? Over one billion people is not a minor exception.

On p. 20, under the title Universal Gestures, the first example is the shoulder shrug to show that a person doesn't know or doesn't understand. In France it means that the person doesn't care or that it can't be helped. Perhaps their meaning of universal is not the one universally understood by English speakers ?

On p. 109-110, they say that figures E and F are insults in Japan, and figure L means 5 in Japan and 1 in (continental) Europe. None of that is true.

On the next page, under 'Why We are All Becoming American', they say that the middle finger raised is originally an American insult that became adopted in other countries because of American TV and movies. It actually originated in Ancient Greece and Rome and has been used in many European countries (especially Mediterranean ones) for a very long time. The authors claim that the American Ring gesture to mean OK is now recognised in many countries due to American influence. It may be recognised, but is hardly ever used in most of Europe and Asia, where it often has a different meaning. They carry on with the words for toilet becoming Americanised, but what does this have to do with body language ? It is also a fallacy, since most speakers of English today are non-native speakers, and Europeans are far more likely to use the word 'toilet' than 'bathroom' because the word 'toilet' exists in most European languages.

On p.114, they claim that the French greet each others with a double kiss and the Belgians with a triple kiss. The truth is that the number varies from one to five in France, depending on the region and generation. In Belgium it is only once among French speakers, and usually none among Dutch speakers like in Britain.

On p.119, they explain that the American OK sign means zero in France and money in Japan, but they are not done the same way and therefore cannot be misunderstood easily. The OK sign is done with the three other fingers open (pointing up). The French zero is done with the middle to little fingers closed, aligned on the index finger. The Japanese zero is done with the hand placed horizontally, open fingers pointing sideways, and the palm pointing towards the body.

On p. 171, we read that the Japanese are the only ones that don't 'eyebrow flash'. Again it's not true. That's an East Asian thing.

After the ignorance of other cultures come the scientific errors. On p. 171, the authors say that, contrarily to humans, "apes lack eye-whites, which means that their prey don't know where the ape is looking or whether they have been spotted, giving the ape a greater chance of hunting success." Really ? It's a surprising theory to say the least, since all apes aside from humans, and all monkeys are vegetarian.

I also wonder what they mean when on p.192 they write "by animals, birds, fish and primates". Animals sound redundant here.

In the section of personal space (p.193), they explain that lions have a territorial space of 30 miles or more, but that lions raised in captivity have a personal space of only several yards. They confuse personal space (safe distance between two individuals, even of the same family) and the lion's hunting territory, which isn't personal but used by all the lionesses (as it is the females that hunt) belong to the same clan. They make the same confusion afterwards by mentioning countries, cities and other non-personal boundaries. It's sounds highly unscientific and unprofessional on the authors' part to make such a simplification on a book about body language.

I wasn't happier to read on the next page that they were going to compare the personal space radius in (and I quote) "Australia, New Zealand, Great Britain, North America, Northern Europe, Scandinavia, Canada or anywhere a culture is 'Westernised' such as Singapore, Guam or Iceland". Wow ! What's the point of saying Great Britain and Scandinavia is they say Northern Europe ? Why say North America and Canada ? But much worse, why on earth would they consider that Iceland is not part of Scandinavia and believe it is not a Western country but a Westernised one like Singapore ? Do they have any idea of how uneducated that sounds ? On p.202 they insist again on saying "Northern Europeans and Scandinavians" as if Scandinavians weren't Northern Europeans. It might be useful for them to look at a world map some time.

On p.199, trying to justify that people become more aggressive when their personal space is invaded, the authors claim that "areas that have the highest human population density also have the highest crime and violence rates". This is another factual mistake. Countries with very high population densities like Japan, the Netherlands, England, or even India, tend to be more peaceful and have lower crime rates than sparsely populated countries like most of Africa or South America, or even the USA.

On p.268, Mr and Mrs Pease claim that "Twice as many women smoke as men". This is completely wrong. The WHO data shows that in average, worldwide, smoking is five times as prevalent among men than women. There is hardly any country where women smoke more than men, and in some Muslim countries the percentage of smoking men is one hundred times higher than for women (for example in Morocco and Algeria).

After the factual mistakes come the dubious theories. On p.260-1, we read that one of the most common forms of mirroring is yawning, and that "It was one thought that the purpose of yawning was to oxygenate the body but we now know that it's a form of mirroring that serves to create a rapport with others and to avoid aggression". The problem with this theory is that yawning is most commonly done when people are alone or with close relatives at home, and therefore doesn't serve to avoid aggression.

I also want to add that the quiz at the end of the book is terrible. The pictures are very unclear and it's hard to find all the signals even after reading the descriptions.

4 of 4 people found the following review helpful.
Great book!
By John R. Prince
I agree that this THE "definitive" book on body language. I have read many books on the subject---for no other reason than I find it fascinating--and this book is the best, in my opinion.

Pros: All body signal are covered---soup to nuts. They also explain the theory behind each gesture, which really makes you think, "Ahh . . . that makes complete sense." You are taught how to read body movements in clusters, which is quite different than a single gesture. Things are put into context, which I feel is very important to driving home a point. I like the fact that when they explain a certain gesture someone makes, not only do they explain what the gesture means, but they also provide advice for dealing with it. e.g. What you should do when closes their eyes for long "blinks" when talking with you, with their hands on their hips. Additionally, they provide little "tests" for you to conduct with other (unknowing) people to really understand what you are reading is true. Finally, the book does use a lot of examples that are geared toward business relationships.

Cons: I found the section on courtship displays a little dry. I guess it is because I am a middle-aged, married man with kids, and at this point in life care little about courtships. ;-) They also have a section on "props" and what they really mean (glasses, cigarettes, etc.) that I found somewhat boring.

All in all I give this five stars. Regardless if you are new to learning body language or (more importantly) if you are fairly adept and want to learn more---this book is for you!

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
You can find the same information online for free
By Je L'aime
I gave it a 3 star because other authors had me on the hype train by using a great quote from the book. The rest of the book was predictable and I did not learn anything new (you can find the same information for free online).

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Return to Atlantis: A Novel (Nina Wilde and Eddie Chase), by Andy McDermott

American archaeologist Nina Wilde and her husband, ex-SAS bodyguard Eddie Chase, are back for another heart-stopping, globe-spanning adventure in the latest New York Times bestselling series that “raises the bar to please adventure junkies who prefer to mainline their action” (Publishers Weekly, starred review).
 
A MISSING SCRAP OF ANCIENT PARCHMENT.
THREE POLISHED PURPLE STONES.
AND FROM THE SUNKEN WORLD OF ATLANTIS:
THE GREATEST POWER ON EARTH.
 
Nina Wilde and Eddie Chase have stunned the world with their discoveries, from the legendary sword Excalibur to the golden city of El Dorado. Now, by bringing together three ancient statues from three different continents, Nina is about to tap into a colossal energy source—one not felt since the days of Atlantis.
 
But when the statues are stolen and Eddie is falsely accused of murder, forcing him to go on the run to hunt the man responsible, a violent struggle erupts among a secret, vastly powerful group that wants to control Nina and the earth energy. From a glittering, high-tech skyscraper in Japan to a harrowing chase beneath the Vatican and an underground military vault in Nevada, she and Eddie must piece together an astounding puzzle. For Nina Wilde is the key to a plot that will change the world forever. And Eddie is the key to keeping her alive.

  • Sales Rank: #95544 in Books
  • Brand: Mcdermott, Andy
  • Published on: 2012-08-28
  • Released on: 2012-08-28
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 7.49" h x 1.21" w x 4.20" l, .60 pounds
  • Binding: Mass Market Paperback
  • 496 pages

Review
Praise for the novels of Andy McDermott
 
“No fan of Indiana Jones, Matthew Reilly or action in general will be able to put it down.”—Northern Territory News, on The Pyramid of Doom
 
“Raises the bar to please adventure junkies who prefer to mainline their action.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review), on The Hunt for Atlantis
 
“Adventure stories don’t get much more epic than this.”—Daily Mirror (U.K.)

About the Author
Andy McDermott is a former journalist and movie critic who now writes novels full-time following the international success of his debut thriller, The Hunt for Atlantis,which has been sold around the world in more than twenty languages. He is also the author of The Tomb of Hercules, The Secret of Excalibur, The Covenant of Genesis, The Pyramid of Doom, The Sacred Vault, Empire of Gold, Return to Atlantis, The Valhalla Prophecy, and The Shadow Protocol. He lives in Bournemouth, England.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
ONE

Zimbabwe

Four Billion Years Later

The heat and stench were as inescapable as the cell itself. The thick stone and clay walls of the former pioneer fort trapped warmth like a kiln, and the small, stoutly barred window providing the only ventilation opened out almost directly onto the row of latrines at one side of the prison’s central courtyard.

Fort Helena. Hell on earth for those unfortunates imprisoned within by the country’s despotic regime.

A bearded man sat statue-like in one dirty corner of the gloomy cell; his stillness partly because of the cloying heat, and partly because each movement brought pain. He had been delivered to the prison a day earlier, and as a welcoming gift given a beating by a group of guards before being taken to a dark room where a grinning man had provided him with a hands-on demonstration of some of the numerous instruments of torture at his disposal. Just a sample, he had been promised. A full show would soon follow.

Someone else was in the torture chamber now, screams echoing through the passages. The guards had made a point of dragging the victim past the bearded man’s cell so that he would hear the desperate pleas for mercy. Another sample, a demonstration. You’re next.

A new sound, this from outside. A rising mechanical thrum—an approaching helicopter.

The man stirred, painfully levering himself upright and going to the little window. He ignored the foul smell from the latrines, narrowing his eyes against the harsh daylight as he watched uniformed men hurry into the courtyard to form an honor guard. Behind them came the prison’s governor, a squat, toad-faced man in small gold-rimmed glasses. From his look of apprehension, it was clear that the new arrival was important.

The prisoner tensed. He knew who was aboard the helicopter.

Someone with very good reasons to hate him.

Dust and grit swirled as the helicopter descended. It was an elderly aircraft, a French-built Alouette III light utility chopper converted to what was known as “G-Car” specification by the addition of a pair of machine guns. A veteran of the civil war that led to Rhodesia’s becoming Zimbabwe in 1980 . . . now being used as VIP transport for a man who fought in that war as a youth, gaining a nickname that he retained with pride to this day.

Gamba Boodu. “The Butcher.”

A guard opened the cabin door and Boodu stepped out, head high as if daring the still-whirling rotor blades above him to strike. Despite the baking temperatures, he wore a long black greatcoat over an immaculately fitted suit, the coat’s hem flapping in the downdraft as he strode across the courtyard to the governor. Sunlight glinted off gold: a large ring on the middle finger of his right hand, inset with a sparkling emerald. That same hand held an object that he swung like a walking stick, its end stabbing into the ground with each step.

A machete, its handle decorated with lines of gold.

The bearded man remembered the weapon well. Some years earlier, he had wrested it from the militia leader and used it against him. The result was a deep, V-shaped line of pink against the Zimbabwean’s dark skin, the scar the aftermath of a blow that had hacked clean through flesh to leave a bloody hole in his cheek like a second mouth.

He smiled, very faintly. The injury was only a fraction of what a murderer and sadist like Boodu deserved, but among his many unpleasant characteristics was vanity: Every look in the mirror would provide some punishment.

The smile disappeared as, formalities quickly over, Boodu and the governor marched into the prison buildings. They would soon come to the cell. The man returned to his filthy corner.

Footsteps over the screams. The wooden cover of the peephole slid back; then came the clatter and rasp of a key in the lock. The heavy door swung open. A guard entered first, pistol aimed at the still figure, who responded with nothing more than a fractional raising of his eyes. Next came the governor, broad mouth curled into a smirk, and finally Boodu himself. The machete’s tip clinked down on the stone floor.

“What a pleasant surprise,” said Boodu, his deep voice filled with gloating satisfaction. “Eddie Chase.”

The balding Englishman lifted his head. “Ay up,” he said in a broad Yorkshire accent. “How’s the face?”

The line of the scar shifted as Boodu’s expression tightened. “It has healed.”

“So who’d you use as your plastic surgeon? Dr. Frankenstein?”

The governor angrily clicked his fingers, and the guard booted Eddie hard in the side. He was about to deliver another blow when Boodu stopped him. “Leave him for me,” the Zimbabwean rumbled. He ground the machete’s point over the floor, the sound as unpleasant as nails on a blackboard. “I’m going to have some fun with him.”

Eddie clutched his aching ribs. “You’re throwing us a big party with cakes and jelly?”

“The only thing that will be thrown is your corpse, into a pit,” said Boodu. He rasped the blade over the flagstones again. “You caused me a lot of pain, Chase—professional and personal. Getting those criminals across the border made me look very bad in front of the president. It took me a long time to get back into his favor.”

“Leaving the country ’cause you don’t want to have your family raped and murdered doesn’t make you a criminal.”

Boodu snorted sarcastically. “If you oppose the president, you are a criminal. And my country has far too many of these criminals—this prison is full of them. They must be dealt with. Firmly.” He paused to listen to a shriek from the torture chamber. “Like your friend Strutter. A dog of war, spreading sedition, arranging for mercenaries to work for criminals. Mercenaries like you, Chase.”

“Not anymore, mate. I had a career change.”

“Yes, I heard. We do still get the international news here in Zimbabwe, even if it is filled with lies about our country. You married an American, no? I’m very sorry.” He laughed. “But I also heard that you got into some trouble, hey? You are wanted for murdering an Interpol officer! I was almost tempted to turn you over to them. But then”—he turned his face to display his mangled cheek to the prisoner—“I remembered that you gave me this.”

“My pleasure,” Eddie said with a sardonic grin.

“It will soon be my pleasure.” Boodu advanced, tapping the machete on the floor. He nodded to the guard. “Hold him.”

Eddie was kicked again, harder than before. While the Yorkshireman gasped for breath, the guard hauled him up and shoved him against the wall.

“Here,” said Boodu, mouth somewhere between a smile and a snarl. He brought up the blade and sliced through one of Eddie’s dirty, ragged sleeves—and the skin beneath. Dark blood blossomed on the fabric.

Eddie choked back a growl of pain. “You fucking cockwipe!”

“When I was told you had been arrested, I had it sharpened. Just for you.”

“Hope you had it sterilized too,” said Eddie as the guard released him. “Wouldn’t want to catch anything.” He examined the cut. Boodu had been right about the machete’s sharpness; the African’s sweep had only been light, but still enough to open up a stinging gash in his arm.

Boodu laughed again. “I’m disappointed in you, Chase. You knew you were a dead man if you ever came back to Zimbabwe—so I congratulate you on your bravery, at least—but you were a fool to be so open about it. We were watching all of Strutter’s contacts. Did you really think we had forgotten you?” He gestured at Eddie’s face. “A beard! That was your disguise? Very stupid. You must have spent too long in America, with all the comforts of marriage—you forgot how the world really works.”

“I didn’t forget,” said Eddie. Boodu was about to say something else when a prison official appeared at the door and indicated that he wished to speak to the governor. The two men exchanged muttered words, eyeing Eddie suspiciously, before the militia leader went over to join in the sotto voce discussion.

Before long, Boodu let out a sharp “Ha!” and, swinging the machete almost nonchalantly, turned back to Eddie. “Where is it, Chase?”

“Where’s what?” Eddie replied, face a portrait of innocence.

“You have a radio transmitter. My pilot picked it up and then used the prison’s own receiver to triangulate its position. This cell.”

The governor was already defensive. “We searched him when he was brought here.”

“Not well enough,” said Boodu, his look suggesting there would be repercussions for the oversight. “So that’s why you were so open about coming here to rescue Strutter. You thought a homing beacon would help your friends rescue you if you got into trouble.” He shook his head. “Not from here, Chase. Not from Fort Helena. Now, where is it? Or will I have to cut you apart to find it?” He raised the machete again.

With a defeated look, Eddie unfastened his trousers. “Don’t get all excited, lads,” he said as he reached into the back of his underwear and, straining in discomfort, extracted a small tubular object from where the sun didn’t shine. “Ow! Christ, you’ve no idea how uncomfy that was. Made my eyes water.”

Boodu was about to take it from Eddie when he noticed the unsavory coating on its metal surface and instructed the guard to hold it instead. With an expression of great distaste, the man held it up for his superiors to examine. It was around three inches long and a little over an inch in diameter, one end rounded off. A red LED blinked at the other, flat end, a tiny switch beside it. “Does the switch turn it off?” Boodu asked Eddie. The Englishman nodded.

Boodu gestured to the guard, who clicked the switch with a thumbnail. The LED went dark. Chuckling, he regarded Eddie again. “You shouldn’t have set it to transmit on a military frequency, Chase. A stupid mistake.”

“Oh, I dunno,” said Eddie. A sudden confidence in his voice was accompanied by distant sounds from outside, a series of flat thuds. Boodu stiffened, realizing that the situation had somehow changed. “It wasn’t to tell my mates I was here.” A broad smile exposed the gap between his front teeth. “It was to tell ’em you were here.”

He dropped and shielded his head—

A rising high-pitched whine told Boodu what was happening—but too late to do anything about it as mortar shells struck the prison.

A hole exploded in the corridor’s ceiling, shrapnel ripping into the head and back of the prison official. The governor was also hit, the blast flinging him into the cell. Both Boodu and the guard were thrown off their feet as more detonations tore through the building.

Eddie lifted his head as the first round of shelling ceased. As planned, the bombs had been fired to impact in a pattern around his cell as soon as the beacon was switched off. Risky, but he’d had confidence in his collaborators’ aim. The mortars were just over the top of a small ridge almost a mile from the fort, set up and sighted on his position by surreptitious use of a laser rangefinder during the early hours of the morning. So far, they were on target. The door hung off its hinges, the wall beside it smashed. A shaft of sunlight cut through the swirling dust from a hole in the roof.

He jumped up. The guard was closest to him, breaking out of his daze as he saw the prisoner move and standing clumsily, raising his gun—

Eddie grabbed his arm and wrenched it up behind his back as he fired. The bullet smacked against the door.

The sound shocked the governor back to life. He fumbled for his own holstered weapon, broad face contorted in panic and fury.

Eddie twisted the guard’s arm even harder, jamming the gun’s muzzle into his lower back—and his own index finger on top of his captive’s. Four shots burst gorily through the guard’s abdomen. Even mangled and smashed by their passage, the rounds still had enough force to tear into the governor’s flesh. He screamed, gun forgotten as he writhed in agony from the mortal wounds.

Pulling the gun from the dead guard’s hand, Eddie dropped the corpse and whirled to face Boodu. The Zimbabwean was on his hands and knees. As he squinted in pain and disorientation, his gaze fell upon his machete, the ornate handle just inches away. He grabbed it—

Eddie’s foot stamped down on the blade.

Boodu looked up to find the smoking, blood-dripping gun pointed right at him. “All right, face-ache,” Eddie growled. “Let go.” Boodu withdrew his hand and backed away. The Englishman bent to retrieve the machete. Outside, an alarm bell started ringing—just as another round of far-off thumps reached the prison. “Oh, and if I were you, I’d duck.”

Boodu shielded his head as another round of mortar shells struck their targets. These explosions were farther away, but still shook dust from the ceiling as guard towers were blasted into fragments and the prefabricated administration block blew apart, the remains collapsing on top of the prison staff inside.

Eddie jabbed Boodu with the machete. Another noise rose: the helicopter, its pilot desperately trying to take off. “Okay, get up. Get up!” He gestured with the gun toward the broken door. “Move.”

Boodu had no choice but to obey, though his voice seethed with defiance. “Where are you taking me?”

“Long term? Botswana. Short term,” Eddie went on as the other man responded with confusion, “we’re going to do what I came here for—get Strutter. Lead the way.”

“You can’t get out of here,” Boodu spat as they exited the cell. Through the hole in the ceiling, they heard the Alouette’s roar as it left the ground. “The main gate is shut, and mortars won’t break it—I know, I attacked this place during the war. You need a tank. And you don’t have one.”

“Let me worry about that,” said Eddie. He prodded him again, far from gently, with the machete’s point. “Come on, shift your arse.”

Making an angry sound, Boodu stepped over the rubble littering the floor and moved down the passage, Eddie a few paces behind. Another explosion outside: a secondary detonation, one of the vehicles inside the compound. There would be a last round of shelling, then after that everything depended on getting the main gate open . . .

Frantic yelling and thumping came from a cell as they passed it, a man inside begging in the Shona language. Eddie checked the door, but it needed a key. Shit! He should have taken the set from the dead guard—

-- Emily Kitt Scribe Inc. www.scribenet.com

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Most helpful customer reviews

19 of 20 people found the following review helpful.
A Fun Series With A Satisfying Conclusion
By Fred Rayworth
This story, what seems to be the final one in the series, is an excellent thriller. NinaWilde and Eddie Chase are off on another thrill ride with the three Atlantean statues, this time to prevent a vastly powerful group from controlling the world.

As usual, the story is a series of battles and chases strung together with very little breathing space in-between. The author also still has his usual tendency to head hop with annoying frequency, but not as bad a some other authors and at least it wasn't to the point of weakening the value of the main characters. The over-the-top action made for a fun ride and the narrative didn't bog things down with too much explanation or droning on.

I also liked the ending, which I must add, I was wondering right up to the last page if it ever would end! When it finally did, all the bases were covered and I had a smile on my face. I have no idea where he's going next with the characters or if he will, but it was a great series to this point.

Despite his writing quirks, I had a fun ride with every book in this series. I look forward to seeing what Mr. McDermott does next. Highly recommended.

11 of 11 people found the following review helpful.
Return to Atlantis
By William E. Krause
I have been anxiously awaiting for the release of this book. I have read all the previous books and thought that these are great books with possibilities for becoming screen blockbusters. Enough of speculating on these books, I finished this book and found that it , just like the preceding books, extremely hard to put down. Starting with Eddie in Africa and the situation he got into, to his solving the local rebel's problem of a warped political leader with a machete. I don't want to give away the many plots in the book, but reading this book can lead to sleepless nights turning the pages from chapter to chapter. All the old villains are present with introductions to new "bad guys".
My only concern now is how Andy McDermott will top this one? I hope he has new adventures for Eddie Chase and his red-haired wife, Nina Wilde. Can't wait for the next novel.

9 of 9 people found the following review helpful.
Its been getting predictable.
By Rohan Jain
I love reading Andry McDermott's books for the sheer thrill ride he takes us on.
But the last two books have been getting a little predictable.. maybe it is because this is the first time I read two books back to back. But the action sequences have been yawn worthy.

It is the same scene EVERY single time. Somehow the bad guys catch up to Eddie and Nina. They catch them in a bad situation and for some reason they refuse to kill either of them, rather want to talk until Eddie figures out a miracle and get away. Then he comes back and kills every single one of the bad guys. Bullets graze him, knifes hit non vital spots, blood loss doesn't affect him.
In the process Eddie always gets severely injured, but in minutes he is back to fighting like nothing happened.

I hope Andy tries to add some elements to his storytelling, otherwise I think I need to find another author to feed my action cravings.

See all 171 customer reviews...

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Jumat, 06 November 2015

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Innocence (with bonus short story Wilderness): A Novel, by Dean Koontz

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • Includes Dean Koontz’s short story “Wilderness”—first time in print!

In Innocence, Dean Koontz blends mystery, suspense, and acute insight into the human soul in a masterfully told tale that will resonate with readers forever.

He lives in solitude beneath the city, an exile from society, which will destroy him if he is ever seen.
 
She dwells in seclusion, a fugitive from enemies who will do her harm if she is ever found.
 
But the bond between them runs deeper than the tragedies that have scarred their lives. Something more than chance—and nothing less than destiny—has brought them together in a world whose hour of reckoning is fast approaching.

Praise for Innocence
 
“A thriller that’s both chilling and fulfilling.”—People (four stars)

“Laced with fantastical mysticism, it’s an allegory of nonviolence, acceptance and love in the face of adversity. . . . The narrative is intense, with an old-fashioned ominousness and artistically crafted descriptions. . . . An optimistic and unexpected conclusion [mirrors] his theme. Something different this way comes from Mr. Koontz’s imagination. Enjoy.”—Kirkus Reviews
 
“Mystery and terror, the paranormal and romance—all combine to make Innocence a challenging and emotional experience.”—New York Journal of Books
 
“This novel really is something special. . . . This may just be the book Dean Koontz was born to write.”—Thriller Books Journal

“Entrancing . . . as speedy a chase-thriller as any Koontz . . . has ever constructed. Written in Koontz’ late mellifluent and reflective manner . . . [Innocence is] fueled by deep disgust with the world’s evils [and] hope for redemption.”—Booklist (starred review)
 
“[An] imaginative, mystical thriller from bestseller Koontz . . . This is the most satisfying Koontz standalone in a while.”—Publishers Weekly
 
“Masterful storyteller Koontz delivers perhaps his most eerie and unusual tale to date. The timeline in this amazing story is compact, and readers will be swept along as they try to unravel hints and clues as to the true nature of both the protagonists and the unfolding drama. Unpredictably spine-chilling and terrifying, this is a story readers won’t soon forget.”—RT Book Reviews
 
“Elegant . . . Fans of Koontz’s previous series will be left hoping that Addison and Gwyneth, too, will return.”—Library Journal

  • Sales Rank: #55060 in Books
  • Brand: Dean Koontz
  • Published on: 2014-11-25
  • Released on: 2014-11-25
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 7.50" h x 1.10" w x 4.20" l, 1.20 pounds
  • Binding: Paperback
  • 480 pages

From Booklist
*Starred Review* Addison Goodheart, who must never be seen, and last-nameless Gwyneth, who must never be touched, meet sensationally cute at the end of evading a big, enraged man shouting that he’ll kill her. Confronting one another by the Dickens collection of the grand central library of a never-named American metropolis, they realize, as he says, that “we’re made for each other.” Love at first sight, though heavily impeded (by his clothes and her makeup), saves both them and the story time, which they need because her would-be rapist-murderer is about to find her, no matter her many hideouts, and which the reader relishes because this is as speedy a chase-thriller as any Koontz, a past master of the form, has ever constructed. Written in Koontz’ late mellifluent and reflective manner (Addison ponders as well as reveals his backstory in many flashbacks), the book is also another of his moral thrillers, fueled by deep disgust with the world’s evils—especially abusive violence, especially against children—and by definite, though idiosyncratic, Christian hope for redemption. And so this entrancing romance resolves, like Koontz’s The Taking (2004), apocalyptically, in a new Earth. --Ray Olson

Review
“A thriller that’s both chilling and fulfilling.”—People (four stars)

“Laced with fantastical mysticism, it’s an allegory of nonviolence, acceptance and love in the face of adversity. . . . The narrative is intense, with an old-fashioned ominousness and artistically crafted descriptions. . . . An optimistic and unexpected conclusion [mirrors] his theme. Something different this way comes from Mr. Koontz’s imagination. Enjoy.”—Kirkus Reviews
 
“Mystery and terror, the paranormal and romance—all combine to make Innocence a challenging and emotional experience.”—New York Journal of Books
 
“This novel really is something special. . . . This may just be the book Dean Koontz was born to write.”—Thriller Books Journal

“Entrancing . . . as speedy a chase-thriller as any Koontz . . . has ever constructed. Written in Koontz’ late mellifluent and reflective manner . . . [Innocence is] fueled by deep disgust with the world’s evils [and] hope for redemption.”—Booklist (starred review)
 
“[An] imaginative, mystical thriller from bestseller Koontz . . . This is the most satisfying Koontz standalone in a while.”—Publishers Weekly
 
“Masterful storyteller Koontz delivers perhaps his most eerie and unusual tale to date. The timeline in this amazing story is compact, and readers will be swept along as they try to unravel hints and clues as to the true nature of both the protagonists and the unfolding drama. Unpredictably spine-chilling and terrifying, this is a story readers won’t soon forget.”—RT Book Reviews
 
“Elegant . . . Fans of Koontz’s previous series will be left hoping that Addison and Gwyneth, too, will return.”—Library Journal

About the Author
Dean Koontz, the author of many #1 New York Times bestsellers, lives in Southern California with his wife, Gerda, their golden retriever, Anna, and the enduring spirit of their golden, Trixie.

Most helpful customer reviews

464 of 484 people found the following review helpful.
A wonderful fairy tale like story
By Peggy B
I pre-purchased this book quite awhile back and sort of forgot about it until it appeared (like a gift) on my Kindle a few mornings ago. Well, of course, I started it immediately. Since I had no clue as to what it was about (the pre-buy contained no synopsis) I didn't know what to expect - which is actually the way a good book should be read, so I won't give any details about the story. I quickly discovered it was a bit different than most of his books and was more like a fairy tale (not the Disneyesque type of tale but the original Grimm fairy tales with great good and great evil). It took place in modern day but could have easily been any time or any place. I loved the snowy landscape - it added to the dream-like quality of the story and I was surprised and moved by the ending - I didn't see it coming but it made perfect sense.

On a personal note - Dean Koontz (while being one of my favorite authors) is also high on my list of really good people. I don't know him personally & never even met him, but contacted him and asked for a donation of a signed book to auction off for an animal rescue non-profit fundraiser with little hope of hearing back since I hadn't gotten responses from other authors I'd contacted . He very kindly and generously sent a signed copy of A Big Little Life". I'm sure he gets requests all the time and I was amazed and grateful that he responded.

279 of 308 people found the following review helpful.
Dean's best work yet.
By Brian Reaves
When I heard Dean mention this was his favorite of all the books he had written, I thought he might be stretching it a bit. I was wrong. This book combines elements of some of his best books like "Odd Thomas", "Fear Nothing", and "Tick Tock" into one amazing story that will completely blow you away with the ending. The plot twists he threw into one of the last chapters had me turning pages back to see where the clues had been right in my face but I had been missing them the whole time.

Addison Goodheart is an outsider who must hide his appearance from everyone lest he be brutally attacked and killed by those repulsed by his face. During a night excursion into the library he meets Gwyneth, a girl who cannot stand to be touched. Together, this couple must face the most terrifying night of their lives and possibly see the end of the world by dawn. It is a tragic love story, as Addison must stay wrapped up in a ski mask and hoodie so she can never see him no matter how he feels about her, and as they begin to grow closer there is this aching sadness as you know he can never hold her as he longs to because of her phobia. And yet, somehow, their story grows deeper by the moment.

In the end, we are taken from this tragic story into a place of hope. Everything is not tied up nicely in a bow, but the story is satisfying. Though I would love to see a sequel, I doubt Dean ever tries to write one as the story feels complete as it is and it's hard to imagine a way to continue Addison's adventures.

The only thing I really disliked about the story was the jarring way Dean would write one chapter in the present, and the next in Addison's past. It seemed like every important plot point somehow demanded a flashback to explain why it was significant. It grew tiresome by mid-story and I was beginning to think this was a bust, but by the last third of the book it all became clear and when the final moments started unraveling there was no time to stop and flashback anymore.

Do not give up on this book. Dean Koontz has been my favorite author for years and while he's had a few missteps in recent years I would have to say this book has surpassed anything in the past decade. If you were looking for a novel that perfectly captured the essence of Dean's stories and why we love them, this is the one to choose.

105 of 125 people found the following review helpful.
Innocence: An Experience beyond Words
By Sandra
Addison lives far beneath the busyness of the big city, well hidden from humanity, avoiding all people, lest the mere sight of him cause them to kill him. Meanwhile, Gwyneth lives in her own seclusion, locked on the top floor of her father’s mansion. Refusing to allow human touch, she is banned to a solitary life. When Addison and Gwyneth meet, it becomes evident that their lives have a profound purpose.

This book is beyond words, and, although I would like to say more and extol its value and profundity, I do not want to give away a fragment of the secret gems hidden within the pages of this unforgettable book!

As his readers already know, Mr. Koontz is a master of words. However, this book reads like the finest poetry; his writing is that lyrical! His descriptions are tender and moving. His characters are true and show that Koontz truly understands the many facets of human nature. Although this book is categorized as mystical fantasy and deals with unrealistic happenings, it rings true-to-life because of its exemplary character development and realistic and vivid settings.

This book is poignant and thought inducing, tender and hopeful, and will be forever etched in the reader’s mind and heart.

See all 3318 customer reviews...

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Minggu, 01 November 2015

## Download PDF Otherwise Engaged, by Suzanne Brockmann

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Otherwise Engaged, by Suzanne Brockmann

A woman convinced she must choose between the sensual and the sensible, between romance and reality. A man who settled for nothing less than having it all. A powerful novel of second chances, last chances, and a relationship that almost wasn’t—by New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Brockmann…

It was the chance Molly Cassidy was waiting for and she wasn’t letting it slip away. She’d unexpectedly inherited the Kirk Estate and was determined to restore the historic house as one of Sunrise Key’s finest bed-and-breakfasts. Of all the obstacles she faced, the biggest challenge was the man determined to buy the roof from over her head. Sexy billionaire Preston Seaholm owned the biggest resort in the little Florida community. But Molly knew well that the best things in life couldn’t be bought or sold. She had come to Sunrise Key with a dream, her ten-year-old son, and no intention of falling for a thrill-seeking adventurer. But from the moment they met, when he risked his own neck to save hers, Pres Seaholm proved he wasn’t the man Molly thought he was. Now, with something even more precious on the line, was she too late to recognize that he was the man she’d given up ever finding?

  • Sales Rank: #436175 in Books
  • Brand: Brockmann, Suzanne
  • Published on: 2009-07-28
  • Released on: 2009-07-28
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 7.00" h x .77" w x 4.17" l,
  • Binding: Mass Market Paperback
  • 304 pages

About the Author
After childhood plans to become the captain of a starship didn’t pan out, Suzanne Brockmann took her fascination with military history, her respect for the men and women who serve, her reverence for diversity, and her love of storytelling and explored brave new worlds as a New York Times bestselling romance author. Over the past twenty years, she has written more than fifty novels, including her award-winning Troubleshooters series about Navy SEAL heroes and the women—and sometimes men—who win their hearts. In addition to writing books, Suzanne Brockmann has co-produced a feature-length movie, the award-winning romantic comedy The Perfect Wedding, which she co-wrote with her husband, Ed Gaffney, and their son, Jason. She has also co-written a YA novel, set in the world of her paranormal Fighting Destiny series, with her daughter, Melanie. Find Suzanne Brockmann on Facebook, follow her on Twitter, and visit her website to find out more about upcoming releases and appearances.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter One


It was going to rain.

Molly Cassidy knew without a doubt that it was going to pour buckets from the huge dark clouds that were looming over the Gulf of Mexico and moving steadily closer.

Last night it had rained just a little and the roof of this enormous, white stucco Spanish eclectic-style house that she and Zander had inherited had done a fine imitation of a sieve.

Molly had bought tarps first thing that morning, but in this wind, tying the last of them over the low-pitched, rambling red-tiled roof was proving to be a two-person job.

Lightning cracked in the distance, and the boom of thunder was quick to follow. Instinctively, she flattened herself on the roof, the hair on the back of her neck rising. Was she nuts? On the roof during an electrical storm?

But this decaying, moldy, wonderful old architectural monster was their future. It was their chance at a new beginning, a fresh, clean start.

And it would be much more fresh and clean if there weren't two inches of water standing in the living room by nightfall.

As another rumble of thunder rolled, Molly lifted her head and peered over the crest of the roof down toward the ground. She could see her ten-year-old son looking up at her, his thin face pinched with concern, his eyes huge behind his glasses. Zander hated thunder and lightning. He always had, even as a baby.

"Get down from there," he signed up at her, his hands moving swiftly, sharply. "Now."

"Go inside," Molly signed back. "I'm almost done."

"Hurry!"

"Go inside," Molly signed again. "Make sure all the windows are closed. Quickly!"

Zander turned and dashed inside, and Molly looked down at the tarp, wondering the best way to untangle it in this wind with only two hands. Maybe she should just tie it down the way it was. It would be better than nothing... .

But then the wind rose and the tarp whipped up and over her, covering her and nearly knocking her off the roof. She slid, cursing and scrambling for a finger- or toehold on the slippery mission tile.

Her foot hit a loose tile and caught just as strong hands grabbed her around the waist and hauled her against a hard body. Who the heck... ?

Molly pushed the tarp off her head and found herself nose-to-nose with the Beach Boy.

She'd seen him out on the beach every morning since they'd first arrived on Sunrise Key three days before. He had an artist's easel and watercolor paints and he always sat quietly in the early-morning light, painting the changing colors of the ocean.

A surprising number of people were on the beach early in the morning, but there was something about this man that had caught her eye.

It was more than his gleaming, golden-tanned, beach-boy good looks. Even though everything about him seemed to glisten--his sun-bleached, reddish-gold hair, his trim, muscular, tan body--Molly refused to allow herself to be impressed by a handsome face. But this man had a certain air about him. And it was that, she told herself, his calm authority, that had drawn her attention to him. Of course, once her attention had been caught, she couldn't help but notice that movie-star face and extremely well-maintained body.

Molly had never gotten close enough to see if his paintings were any good.

Or if his eyes were as brilliantly blue as she'd imagined.

They weren't. They were hazel. How refreshing.

"You all right?" he asked, his voice a raspy baritone flavored with a hint of the South. He was a smoker--the lingering scent of cigarette smoke clung to him.

Molly nodded, wide-eyed, aware that his arms were still around her, aware of his leg thrown across hers in his attempt to hold her in place, aware of the heat of his skin against hers.

She was anchored.

Up close, he wasn't as perfectly good-looking as she'd thought. His face was harder, leaner, his nose sharper and slightly crooked, and a small scar marred his left cheekbone, underneath his eye. He hadn't shaved in a number of days, and his scruffy chin glinted with shades of red and gold, making him look less like a beach boy and more like a pirate. And those eyes...

They were the color of the ocean as the storm clouds approached, green and gray and darkly dangerous.

"Come on," he said, his voice nearly inaudible over the rising wind. "I'll help you. You get this side, I'll take the other."

Molly nodded again, and just like that, his weight was off her, the intimate warmth of his bare leg against hers was gone.

He was up and over to the other side of the roof as if he were a professional tightrope walker, escaped from the Ringling Circus Museum in Sarasota, several dozens of miles up the Florida coastline. As he went he untangled and smoothed down the tarp. The muscles in his arms tightened as a big gust tried to whip the blue plastic away from him, and he brought his weight down, holding the tarp with his body against the roof.

His thick, gorgeous hair was pushed forward into his eyes and then quickly dashed back out by the rising wind. He ignored it, lashing the rope at the tarp's corner securely into place.

Molly did the same on her end. It wasn't perfect, but it was much better than nothing.

Lightning streaked across the sky and thunder boomed. And the heavens opened, showering them with big, fat raindrops that fell faster and faster until there was only a sheet of water, pouring down from the clouds.

Thunder cracked again, deafeningly loud. Molly could see the Beach Boy crouched by the ladder, chivalrously waiting for her to descend first.

She skidded on the plastic, and he reached for her, his hand around her wrist holding her steady. Their eyes met, and he smiled, a quick, fierce, genuine smile that electrified and heated his gaze.

He was having fun. He actually liked being up on the roof in the middle of a thunderstorm, with the wind and the rain ripping at his clothes and his hair, danger all around him.

Molly scrambled down the ladder and dashed toward the shelter of the house. The Beach Boy was right behind her.

Zander was inside, waiting. The roar of the wind and the rain was quieted as Molly shut the door behind them.

"Oh, man," Molly gasped.

"Welcome to Florida." The Beach Boy was still grinning at her.

He was dripping wet. His hair was plastered against his head, and his eyelashes were beaded with drops of water. But his smile was infectious, and Molly found herself smiling back at him.

The Beach Boy looked down at the puddle he was making on the marble-tiled floor. His T-shirt and cutoff jeans were soaked, as were the ragged boat sneakers he wore without socks. "So much for keeping the rain outside," he said ruefully.

Zander was staring, blue eyes wide behind his glasses. "Who is he?" he signed to Molly, using small furtive movements. It was the American Sign Language equivalent of whispering, and it wasn't very polite.

"Please run and get us a couple of towels," Molly told her son, signing the word towels for emphasis, and the boy dashed away.

But who is he? was a very good question indeed. She turned to the Beach Boy. "Thank you so much," Molly said to him.

He was staring off after Zander. "Is your boy deaf?" he asked, turning to gaze at her with those odd-colored eyes. "I didn't realize... ."

Others might have been put off by the bluntness of his question, but Molly liked it. It was so much better than what most people did--staring askance at the boy's hearing aids and then ignoring both the child and his physical challenge.

"Zander's hearing-impaired."

"Zander?" One golden eyebrow lifted, and the start of another smile danced on the edges of his lips.

"It's short for Alexander. He's got a severe high-frequency hearing loss--and high frequency is where most of human speech occurs. His hearing aids make up for some of that, but not all. If you speak clearly and let him watch your lips, he'll understand most of what you say. And what he doesn't understand, he'll ask about. He's not shy."

The Beach Boy nodded, his disturbingly warm gaze searching her face. "He looks just like you. It's very cool--it's like you should be put on display with a big sign that says 'Genetics in Action.'"

Molly couldn't help but laugh at that. "Well, I think he's the most gorgeous, perfect child in the world, so thank you very much." She looked up to see Zander reappear with the towels. He handed them both to her.

She gave one to the man. "Thanks," he said, including Zander with a look and a nod.

Molly opened her own towel, wiped her face, and blotted her hair. "I'm Molly Cassidy," she told him.

"I know that. Me and everyone else on the island. It's a pretty small place, you know--and news travels faster than the speed of light down here."

"I've seen you on the beach," Molly said.

"Yeah, I'm trying to learn to paint." He smiled, but didn't offer her his name. It was odd--as if he assumed she already knew him. "You know, this old house has been leaking for at least fifty years." He wrung out the edge of his T-shirt. "Why'd you choose today to break tradition?"

Molly peered out at him from under her towel. "Because I intend to make this place into a bed-and-breakfast--and soaked mattresses and soggy toast is not what I have in mind."

"A B-and-B, huh? That's a lot of hard work."

Not compared with what she'd been used to. But Molly just smiled, kicking off her saturated sneakers.

The Beach Boy looked at her son. "How about you, Zander? You want to make this place into a B-and-B?"

"I like it here," Zander said. "I want to stay."

"We like the idea of working for ourselves." Molly pulled the ponytail holder from her wet hair and ran her hands through the light brown tangle.

"Why not sell the place?" the man asked, his eyes following the movement of her fingers. "An old building like this, with all this property? You could name your price, walk away with a pile of cash. And if you invested it right, you wouldn't have to work at all."

"Invest it? No thank you very much." Molly made the sign of the cross with her fingers, holding it up as if to ward him off. "Been there, done that. At least my husband did. And it's not a mistake I'm going to make twice."

"You could find some low-risk--"

"Risk is risk," she interrupted. "No, I'll stick to what I know, thanks."

"You could find someone who does know to invest the money for you."

Molly laughed. "Here comes the part where you introduce yourself and tell us that when you're not vacationing here on Sunrise Key, you work in New York City managing people's investments, right?" She started for the stairs to the second floor, turning back to face Zander. "We better check our buckets, Z--see where we're still leaking." She smiled at the Beach Boy. "Come on, Mr. Investment Banker, tag along. We'll give you the official leaky-roof tour of the Kirk Estate."

He started up the stairs after them. "I'm not an investment banker," he said. "I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself--I thought you knew who I was."

"Oh, wait a minute, I know who you are," Molly teased, checking the buckets that were strategically placed across the upstairs landing. Several places were dripping, but it wasn't the steady stream of water she'd expected without the tarps. "You're the island's famous billionaire, Preston Seaholm the third, or whatever pretentious number he has dangling off the end of his name, right? You've come to make your fifth offer for this house--" She turned to face him. "Can you believe the nerve of that pompous man? He's made four offers on a house that's not even for sale in the course of three days. Isn't that incredibly crass! Zander--please check the buckets in your room, and the other bedrooms on that side of the hall, okay?" She signed "check the buckets please" for emphasis.

As Zander disappeared down the corridor Molly pushed open the door to the room she'd slept in over the past few nights. Last night, she'd woken up with water dripping onto her nose. She'd moved the bed and wound up directly underneath another leak. She'd ended up putting buckets and plastic containers on the bed, and taking her blanket and pillow down to the couch in the den.

"He must really want to buy this place," the Beach Boy said, following her and continuing their conversation.

"Who? Preston Seaholm the fifth?" Molly snorted. "You know, for all he knows, we're in mourning for poor Great-Uncle Jeremiah Kirk. And all he wants to talk about is money. I know his type. Egotistical, overbearing, thinks he owns the world--"

"Are you in mourning?"

Molly led the way into another bedroom. "Well, no. We didn't exactly even know of Jeremiah's existence until two weeks ago when the lawyer contacted us about his death. He was my husband's great-uncle. I didn't even know Chuck--my husband--had other surviving family."

"Don't you think that Pres Seaholm probably knows your connection to Jeremiah Kirk was distant? I mean, if he wants to buy this place that badly... "

The room Molly thought of as the lavender bedroom had a drip that was running pretty quickly. She turned to search for the largest, widest container, but the Beach Boy beat her to it, already switching it with the small plastic bowl that had been under the leak.

His hair was starting to dry, and the red highlights gleamed in the dim light. And it was dim in there. Molly was positive there were no lightbulbs stronger than forty watts in the entire house. It made it difficult to read at night, but the glow they cast was warm and intimate and filled with interesting shadows.

It was romantic.

Of course, this guy would cut a romantic enough figure even in the glaring light of high noon. But with the storm raging outside, turning the afternoon unnaturally dark, in these still-unfamiliar rooms, filled with furniture that was nearly three times as old as she was, Molly was suddenly painfully aware that the man she was talking to was among the most attractive of all the men she'd ever met.

Including Chuck.

She shook her head, pushing that errant thought away.

"Have I thanked you properly for saving my life up on the roof?" she asked.

"That depends on what you mean by properly."

His gaze dropped to her mouth for just a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for Molly to realize that he found her attractive too. He wanted to kiss her. She remembered the sensation of his leg thrown across hers, of his hard body pressed against hers. She was willing to bet he remembered it too.

If she kissed him, he would probably taste like an ashtray.

That should have been enough of a turnoff for a pro-fresh air nonsmoker like herself, but oddly enough it wasn't.

She turned away, uncertain of whether she was more afraid of him or her reaction to him, and unable to keep from glancing back in his direction.

He was smiling as if he could read her mind. She didn't doubt that he could. "You said your husband was Chuck--Chuck Cassidy ... ? Do you mean the writer?"

She gazed at him in surprise. "Did you know him?"

"No, but I've read all of his books. He was a favorite of mine. I think his short story 'Day After the End' is still required reading in ninth-grade English in most of the western hemisphere. As it should be." His voice got lower. "I was sorry to hear of his death."

With the exception of "Day After the End," by the time Chuck had died, his name and his books were virtually unknown. He'd published nothing since 1979--more than five years before Molly had even met him. Writing had always been a struggle for him, and in the last years of his life he'd fought, but not nearly hard enough. And then, when he was diagnosed with cancer...

"That was about two years ago, wasn't it?" he asked.

"Three," Molly said. "I'm surprised you even knew. Chuck Cassidy's passing wasn't exactly considered newsworthy."

"His obituary was in the local paper."

She blinked. "Here? On Sunrise Key?"

"Yeah. According to local legend, he used to come down here for vacations all the time, back fifteen, twenty years ago. He even lived down here for a while. It was before I came to the key, but there's still a picture of him up on the wall at Millie's Market."

Molly turned away. "I didn't know." It was amazing. Another secret. Another piece of himself that Chuck hadn't shared with her. He'd never told her anything about Sunrise Key, Florida.

But then again, Chuck hadn't told her much about anything.

The Beach Boy was watching her and she forced herself to smile.

And change the subject. "So, what is it?" she asked him. "Mike? Or Tom?"

Most helpful customer reviews

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Five Stars
By W. Wilkins
Excellent!

6 of 6 people found the following review helpful.
Last in Sunset Key trilogy
By Tracy Vest
Widow Molly Cassidy inherits a rundown mansion that she hopes to renovate and turn into a B&B, but billionaire resort-owner Preston Seaholm wants to buy the waterfront property and won't take no for an answer. While trying to avoid becoming the poster boy for a tabloid that wants to honor him as the most eligible bachelor, he admits he is engaged, and with the time he has spent with the widow and her hearing-impaired son has the tabloids wagging their tongues and their poison pens. What starts out as a relationship of convenience soon turns far more passionate for both, but Molly isn't prepared to get involved with another emotionally challenged suitor.

The best and last in a trilogy set in Sunset Key, Florida, (see also The Kissing Game and Kiss and Tell), this is a stale reprint from Brockmann, who is more famous for help SEAL romances. The dialogue is a little trite, and certain plot points are brought up and then suddenly disappear... She does a great job crating chemistry with the leads, but overall, it is just an average read from the author's early archives.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
No surprises
By Concord Sandy
Predictable plot even to the exact chapter that the obligatory sexual encounter would take place. Zander is the most interesting character but not fully fleshed out. Billionaire love affairs so like fairy tales . Give me a break!

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