Womens Fiction

Angels All Over Town by Luanne Rice

By Luanne Rice

New York Times bestselling writer Luanne Rice made her victorious debut with this delicately drawn yet emotionally robust portrait of a woman’s impressive trip of the center and soul–a undying tale of affection, sisterhood, and the desire that emerges even out of heartbreak....

Una Cavan doesn’t think in ghosts. yet ghosts appear to think in her. not less than, her father’s ghost does, strolling into and out of her lifestyles as casually as though he have been coming into and exiting a room. Una has continually believed the Cavan girls had the ability of witches, and from the shores of Connecticut to the bustle of recent York urban they’ve shared the specific unbreakable bond of sisters. No guy has been in a position to come among them…until Lily marries the “perfect” guy and starts off to float away and Margo will get engaged. With one other failed courting in the back of her, and a thriving profession as an actress prior to her, Una wonders if she’s destined to be alone–or if there isn’t whatever extra, anything magical that lifestyles has in shop for her. Then an unforeseen come upon supplies her the reply she’s been seeking….

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Sample text

I sat on an overstuffed couch in his cluttered living room while David assembled snifters, a candle, and the wood cask. “Now to open it…” he said. “Oh, maybe we should forget the cognac,” I said. I felt dizzy and faintly nauseated. “No, it’s great stuff, it’s supposed to be more than a hundred years old,” David said, then turned suddenly and looked at me. He was kneeling beside the coffee table, trying to figure out how to open the little cask. Smiling, he walked across the floor on his knees, and kissed me wetly.

I turned to see Boom-Boom hurrying toward me from Manaloa. Instantly I resolved to call him Alastair. I would never call another man, even a sailor, by an idiotic nickname. I would learn the Wild One’s first name and call him by it. “Hi there,” he said, grabbing me in a hard, close hug. His body was stout and muscular, and he anchored it to me. Grains of salt clung to his short, curly brown hair. He smiled a three-cornered smile, like Elvis. “Your sisters keep telling me you’re off-limits. ” “Yes.

I would learn the Wild One’s first name and call him by it. “Hi there,” he said, grabbing me in a hard, close hug. His body was stout and muscular, and he anchored it to me. Grains of salt clung to his short, curly brown hair. He smiled a three-cornered smile, like Elvis. “Your sisters keep telling me you’re off-limits. ” “Yes. Much better. ” We kissed, and I touched his hair. It felt warm, and his scalp felt hot. We were sheltered from the wind behind a toolshed, and the sun beat relentlessly down from a cloudless August sky.

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