Many thanks to NetGalley, Berkley Publishing, and Michelle Hazen for the opportunity to read and review this book - a great read!
Andra lives a very solitary life on her family ranch. An assault when she was younger left her broken and susceptible to panic attacks. Her overprotective father keeps most men away from her. When they needed help in training horses, Andra interviewed and hired LJ, from New Orleans, even though he gave her a panic attack when they first met. LJ hates that Andra is lonely and starts teaching her how to cook and laugh. However, LJ is black in this white world and no one, especially Andra's father, lets him forget that. When LJ's mother in New Orleans becomes sick, LJ returns home to take care of her. Will Andra ever fit into his world or him into hers?
Set in the backdrop of New Orleans 10 years after Hurricane Katrina, this book is eye-opening to the devastation and bigotry that exists there. Along with the whole race discussion, this would be a great book club read. A little too much sex detail but besides that - a stellar read!
Read an excerpt below...
Unbreak Me...
Andra opened her front door, and the frown froze on her face as LJ’s shoulders filled the doorframe.
He was holding . . . a cake?
“Um, hi,” she managed.
She reached behind her back to undo the knot that pulled her T-shirt tight against her chest, shaking the baggy hem so it would fall to cover some of her leggings. What was he doing here? Oh crap, she’d promised to talk to him about the horses.
“Look, I’m sorry. I know I said I’d come talk to you a couple days ago, but then Socks kicked one of the grooms, and Mary Kay lost a shoe, and I completely forgot.” She hadn’t forgotten, so much as she was . . . working up to it. Giving him a few days of seeing her around the ranch when she was in control of herself, before she got close enough she’d have to see his opinion of her in his eyes.
He shrugged, careful not to tip the tall cake off its platter. “I think we got off on the wrong foot the day we met, and our do-over didn’t really stick.”
Oh God. Apparently, he wasn’t tiptoeing around anything today.
LJ grinned—a playful, twinkly-eyed one that made him look like he was just having more fun than everyone else. “Besides, nobody’s afraid of a guy with a cake.”
A smile tugged at the edges of her mouth. “I’ve never heard that.”
“No? It’s completely true. Not to mention, bringing a cake is the best excuse to eat some. I mean, it’s yours. You don’t have to share. Of course, if you don’t, you may want to pass a tissue or two my way, is all I’m saying.” He widened his eyes mournfully.
She glanced at the cake, the white icing whipped into gorgeous swirls. “Did Stacia make that? She used to be terrible at baking.” She gripped the edge of the door a little tighter. Maybe her friend had been practicing. It wasn’t like she knew what Stacia was up to these days.
“I’m a little offended. A man doesn’t bring a borrowed cake for an apology.” He lifted the platter and gave it a waggle. “We’ve got lemon velvet with French buttercream here. You oughta get it out of the heat soon, though. The sun melted the frosting some on the way over. It’s a hike to get up over here, you know it?”
Oops, he was feeling around for an invitation. Duh, and she was still standing in her door like some kind of freak. “Um, come in.” The least she could do was feed him some cake and try to act like a normal person. She stepped aside and racked her brain for small talk that didn’t involve anything on four hooves. “You know, I can’t quite place your accent. You said you were from Louisiana, but I’ve met lots of people from there at rodeos, and they didn’t sound quite like you.”
“Well, you can tell I’m from the South because I interrupted your workout with dessert.” He tipped his head toward the yoga mat she’d left by the couch. She smiled, and his grin brightened a couple more watts. “Seriously, though, I think I’ve got a little bayou country from my days on my uncle’s horse ranch, cut with the rhythm of the Lower Ninth, maybe some southern drawl creeping in from the Mississippi border. And New Orleans has a sound all its own, always has.” Between one word and the next, his words straightened to all square corners instead of luscious curves. “Then again, if my mother is listening, I sound strictly like the Yankee university she helped pay for.”
“Your mom doesn’t like your accent?” Andra frowned. “Doesn’t she have one?”
“Mama thought I wouldn’t get a decent job unless I talked like a white banker from Wisconsin.” He shrugged.
Her eyes widened. “That’s not fair. Why should you have to fake an accent to get a job?”
“That’s the way the world works. People have ideas about what intelligence should sound like, and I don’t expect I’m going to change all of them on my own.” He winked. “I tutored English composition for work study all through college, so I can play the game. I have to admit, though, sometimes it’s nice to sound like home.”
Andra laughed, a little self-consciously. “I don’t think I even realized we had an accent up north until you imitated it.”
“Oh, it’s an accent all right, sweetheart. And you’ve got it thick as anything.”
Heat crept into her skin at the endearment, though she didn’t get the feeling he was really flirting with her. She glanced away, the afterimage of him seared on her lids. His deep-brown eyes were a couple of shades darker than his skin, and they always seemed to be laughing. He was handsome, with high cheekbones and sensual lips. The kind of man she would have looked twice at, once.
