Thursday, December 17, 2015


TITLE: Walking Heartbreak
AUTHOR: Sunniva Dee
AGE GROUP: New Adult
GENRE: Romance, Suspense
RELEASE DATE: December 17, 2015
PUBLISHER: Sunniva Dee
Xpresso Book Tours

Don’t judge me.
I am not what you see.
I am the opposite.
—Nadia’s lipstick note on Bo’s mirror.

Indie-rocker Bo Lindgren is worshiped for his looks and musical genius. It’s been lonely at the top since his ex left. Bo will never take a girlfriend again though, because he doesn’t have the chops to love. He knows he’s poison, a heartbreak waiting to happen for anyone he allows too close—like his ex. Bo screws his way through the fangirls until he’s sick of it all. Until the dark gaze of Nadia Vidal appears in the door to his dressing room.

Saved from an arranged marriage by Jude, the love of her life, Nadia eloped and got married at nineteen. But now, two years later, life is wilted, dead, and not what anyone should have to endure.

Nadia, with her secret-keeper eyes and instant understanding of who Bo is, attracts and fascinates him without even trying. The ring gleaming on her finger should keep them apart, but morals can’t always resist destiny.

When brokenhearted meets heartbreaker, whose heart is really at stake?

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Girls jump my cock whenever I allow it—I’m used to giving and taking what I want. They hunt me down before shows, after shows, even in bars and in back alleys. They’re creative too, good at making me curious. It’s the rocker thing: chicks dig it. All I need is to lean back and watch. But here I am now, in this situation where I’m chasing a married woman—even though I’ve already had her. It’s absurd.

I know who I am and what I’m capable of. Those bedroom eyes from the audience? They get to my wang, but they don’t get to me.

Nadia showing up at our last show made me ponder my relationship with my ex again. Year after year, Ingela looked at me with adoration in her eyes, while I, no matter how deep I searched, found nothing in my black, selfish soul. Over and over I hurt her because I couldn’t fake what I didn’t have—a goddamn heart. It’s why I stare out over the masses in arenas without the awe Emil’s face sometimes reveals.

I told Nadia that night; people don’t do it for me—music does. Just another way of being emotionally stumped, I guess. I haven’t looked into it closely enough to diagnose my condition, but I know I’m not a sociopath. Not a psychopath. Definitely not asexual—hell, sex is the only way I make a woman happy.

At the last thought, my mind returns to Nadia, and my dick twitches. Sex with her was insane. Not since I last slept with my ex over a year ago have I had sex that good. I was so turned on I couldn’t think straight.

It’s weird, because she wasn’t trying to blow my mind. There’ve been acrobatics involved throughout our tours—overflow Luminessence groupies with a limberness beyond anyone’s fantasies and swallowing techniques that can blow a guy’s mind. None of that came close to the simple, real, understated sex with Nadia.

The scent of her hair, the flower perfume or soap or whatever she’d used. Then the secret aroma of her pussy. It called to me, I swear. Great, and now I’m rock hard again.

Because I like her, the situation with her husband is starting to piss me off. Nadia is young. She’s wasting her life on some asshole who doesn’t appreciate her. She’s miserable, and you don’t need to be a rocket scientist to get that it’s his fault.

I’ve been that guy. In my case, at least I never married the girl, and I made love to her as often as she needed it. In my defense, I tried. I really tried to make it work.

From Nadia’s reaction to my slightest touch, I’d say she hadn’t been fucked in a while, and that’s just wrong. If she doesn’t turn him on, then her husband must be stumped.

And seriously: what kind of douchebag doesn’t care enough to call his wife when she hasn’t returned from a concert at nine—the morning after?
Yeah, me chasing this particular married woman might not be so absurd. If she’s game, I’ll brighten her day again. Make her understand how beautiful she is, how easy it is for her to make a guy feel horny as shit.

Hell, this is me paying back karma over Ingela. Right—good. That’s why I’m picking Nadia up from the restaurant right now.

"Baby," I croak before I open my eyes. I stretch beneath our sheets, writhing at the sound of the alarm clock. Awakened from dreams colored by our past, my first thought goes to my husband. "Turn it off, babe? Please," I say.

The alarm keeps beeping, beep-beep-beeping. It's annoying and chased by my customary just-awake confusion. "Jude, you know how much I hate that sound.”

I'm at home in our apartment in St. Aimo, Los Angeles. Slowly, it registers that the alarm is for me, not him. I turn to face him, whine softly, but he doesn't give me the response I crave: a chuckle and a kiss while he playfully commiserates with me.

"Oh sweetie," he usually murmurs. "I'm sorry you have to leave for school. Maybe you should play hooky and stay in bed for a rubdown? I’ll rub… all the way down."

I always crack a smirk then, reading between the lines. He would leave us mumbling heated words and gasping for air if I surrendered.

Deep in my belly, something contracts. Something bittersweet and beautiful that hurts, because today, again, he doesn't react.

I slide from the covers and sit on the edge of the bed. My head feels heavy. It needs support, and for a second, I’m struck by how alive my hand is when I cup my cheek with it.

Soon, I find the courage to rise.

The bathroom door is closed, but I go to it anyway. “Do you remember when you first came to our church?" I ask Jude, my words stuttering, sleep-exhausted. I exhale and lean my forehead against the door. "Your eyes were bright with fear as you entered the Heavenly Harbor between your parents. You were lanky, a gangly fourteen-year-old, a little boy big enough to have gotten yourself into trouble."

My throat produces hard lumps so easily these days. This one I muscle down. I control the sadness accompanying it and let a small smile filter out instead. "Oh Jude baby. We didn't know then, of all the adventures to come.

“I remember sitting in the pews between Mother and Father, head twisted at the creak of the door. You entered on a lull between psalms.

“I didn't know. We didn't know."

I sniff, an attempt at stanching the tears.

The wood of the doorframe cools my cheek. Presses into it as my memories brighten. "Your skin," I mumble. He’s quiet behind the panel. The shower has stopped—in our bathroom or in the one above us, I'm not sure. If he's moving, he's not making a sound. Perhaps he's listening to me.

"Fine veins shone blue at your temple beneath your too-long hair.” I snort out a wet laugh. “And the sun reached you through the stained-glass window, spilling the rainbow over your face."

I roll my forehead to the side against the door. "Funny how your parents picked our church because ‘Heavenly Harbor’ sounded like the right kind of place. They wanted the best haven for you."

 Not long ago, my Jude would have grinned at this. He'd pull me in, golden bangs falling over me and tickling me while he ran his nose up mine. He'd croon, "Oh and weren't they right. I found my haven—in you."

I'd push him good-naturedly, not allowing fear of the future to ruin our love. "But you'd be safe at home with your parents if they hadn't crushed on the name of our church." 

He’d kiss my nose, groan, and say, "Right, and I wouldn't have a beautiful wife."

"A child bride," I teased once.

"Nineteen is a fine age. Get them early." He winked, knowing well he only held two months on me.

We were young. Married. And so on the run.



Sunniva was born in Norway, the Land of The Midnight Sun, but spent her early twenties making the world her playground. Southern Europe: Spain, Italy, Greece—Argentina: Buenos Aires, in particular. The United States finally kept her interest, and after half a decade in California, she now lounges in the beautiful city of Savannah. Sunniva has a Master's degree in Spanish, which she taught until she settled in as an adviser at an art college in the South.

Sunniva writes New Adult fiction with soul. Sometimes it's with a paranormal twist, like in Shattering Halos, Stargazer, and Cat Love. At other times, it's contemporary, as in Pandora Wild Child, Leon's Way, Adrenaline Crush, and now Walking Heartbreak.

Sunniva is the happiest when her characters take over, let their emotions run off with them, shaping her stories in ways she never foresaw. She loves bad-boys and good-boys run amok, and like in real life, her goal is to keep you on your toes until the end of each story.

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* $75 gift card + e-books

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  1. Your story look interesting. I've not read anything by you yet. Thanks for the giveaway.

  2. Your story look interesting. I've not read anything by you yet. Thanks for the giveaway.

  3. I liked the excerpt, thank you.

  4. sounds like a good rock star book. Thanks for sharing