Three romances that are just as swoon-worthy as they are tempting.

Forsaken, (A Dark Romance cowritten with B. B. Hamel)

Grace is stolen and gifted to him; Geo a dominating, brutal and a cold hearted killer.

However, with each gentle touch and act of kindness that lures her closer to him, Grace is finding it impossible to remember why she should fight him.

View Willow’s entire collection and full reading order at willowwinterswrites.com/reading-order

Happy reading and best wishes,

W Winters xx

But I Need You

Some love stories are a slow burn. Others are quick to ignite, scorching and branding your very soul before you’ve taken that first breath. You’re never given a chance to run from it.

That’s how I’d describe what happened to us.

Everything around me blurred and all that existed were his lips, his touch…

The chase and the heat between us became addictive.

Our nights together were a distraction, one we craved to the point of letting the world crumble around us.

We should have paid more attention; we should have known that it would come to this.

We both knew it couldn’t last, but that didn’t change what we desired most.

All we wanted was each other…

This is the second book in the This Love Hurts trilogy and This Love Hurts, book one, must be read first.

To my husband.

My hero and my love.

“It’s so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.”

- John Steinbeck

Prologue

Marcus

Twenty-one years ago

It’s warmer in the barn. Here in the corner, nestled in the hay, it’s far warmer than it is outside. More importantly, in this back corner, there’s not a place for the brutal wind to slip in. The tips of my fingers could just as well be pieces of ice tucked under my chin as I hunker down in the hay. It smells like dirt and pigs, but the warmth is more comforting than anything I’ve felt in days. By the looks of it, there hasn’t been a soul here in quite some time.

I spent the past three nights outside. Last night I dug into the ground to try to hide from the vicious wind that whipped through my tattered clothes. The hard earth was like a brick of clay and it took far too much energy to dig deep enough. It helped, but my throat is sore, my body is weak and I don’t know that I’ll ever get my hands warm again. There’s only one thing I’m certain of: I can’t keep going on like this. Something has to give.

Late fall in the northeast turns frigid sooner than most cities. My teacher used to refer to all the backwoods towns off the highway outside of New York City as Podunk. So that’s what I’ve been calling them all, the Podunk towns. I don’t even know where I am other than somewhere deep in the woods but to the left of the farms. It’s open fields out there, wide open with nowhere to hide.