A steamy, suspenseful, friends-to-lovers romance between a relentless journalist and a mysterious lawyer with a complicated shared past is out this week from Dylan Allen’s new literary alter ego, Lucy Wilson-Tagoe. Set against a fictionalized Washington, DC, this fast-paced, high-stakes story explores reclaiming identity, challenging power, and the pursuit of a new American dream. It’s the first story in the brand new Blurred Lines duet, and I have a sneak peek for you.
Excerpt
“Are you okay?” She looks alarmed as she watches me try to catch my breath.
My years as a prosecutor have taught me that when a set of facts fit together too neatly, there’s something wrong. And all it took was a smile like the sun, a smell like spring, and a laugh like lightening to make me forget.
“Okay, who sent you?”
She narrows her eyes and furrows her brows. “Sent me? What do you mean?”
I scoff and take a sip of my beer, fuming again. “Come on, that was just one coincidence. You shouldn’t have thrown in the birthday thing. It gave this whole setup away.” I narrow my eyes at her.
“A setup?” Her eyes bug out of her head.
“There’s just too many coincidences. How likely is it that we’d run into each other and then happen to be “staying at the same hotel?”
She stops wiping her blouse and looks up at me. “What do you mean? I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
I purse my lips, impatience growing. “Right. You expect me to believe that you didn’t notice me when we ran into each other at the museum?
Her eyebrows crease. “I’ve had a lot on my mind today. I’m sorry I didn’t fall at your feet and praise your perfect body and interesting face.”
“Interesting?” I raise an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”
She scoffs and leans across the table toward me. “You accused me of following you?” She manages to express her growing indignation without raising her voice. Impressive.
I lean back in my seat. “Maybe not following me, but I’m not exactly easy to miss.”
She raises her eyebrows and eyes me askance. “I hate to deflate your ego, but clearly you are.”
“Ouch,” I press a hand to my chest in mock pain.
“The truth hurts, I guess.” She picks up her napkin and dips it in her water glass. She dabs furiously at nonexistent stains on her dress.
“You’re going to rub a hole in that.” I point at her.
She scowls and leans forward, eyes narrowed. “You spat on me.”
“I didn’t mean to. It was all just too much of a coincidence.”
“How do I know you’re not setting me up? You’re the one who asked me to dinner.”
I watch her the way I do witnesses I’m deposing.
She’s either a very good liar or she’s telling the truth. “How do I know you didn’t show up here because you knew I’d be coming down?” It sounds far-fetched as soon as the words are out of my mouth, but my father is the most manipulative person I’ve ever encountered.
She barks an incredulous laugh. “Do you realize how crazy that sounds? Either you’re paranoid or you read too many spy novels.”
She picks up her phone, taps the screen a few times and then holds it up. “See?” She points to the place on her phone where her date of birth is entered. Sure enough, it’s the same as mine.
“Wow. Okay. That’s crazy. Same year and everything.”
“I mean, I guess. Something upward of three hundred and fifty thousand people are born every single day. Did you think you were a unicorn or something?” She gives me a playful smile and takes a huge bite of her food.
Growing up with a man who didn’t trust anything but his own two eyes taught me to second-guess everything. Believing that nothing is ever what it seems has served me well in my career as a criminal prosecutor. But, I do forget that not everyone walks around with an agenda. On the eve of the rest of my life, it’s a timely and welcome reminder. “No, Sin, I don’t believe in unicorns, but you’re making me think again.” I smile at her.
She scowls. “Don’t flirt with me when you owe me an apology.”
“I’m sorry I accused you of being a stalker,” I say.
She bites her lip but it’s not enough to hide the smile she’s fighting.
“God, your smile is beautiful.”
She drops her eyes and looks away. “Sweet talkers don’t impress me.”
“What does?”
“Not having to tell someone how to impress me.” She smiles. “Let’s eat.’
I honor her request with a nod.
She starts piling food on her plate and ignoring me. I cross my arms and lean back, assessing her.
This evening is certainly unexpected. Something brought us together tonight. My mother’s death so soon as after we reconciled was a reminder of how fleeting and miraculous life is. The timing is off. We don’t even live in the same city.
When we are forced to go our separate ways tomorrow, we’ll probably never see each other again.
But given how our paths have crossed today, I wouldn’t bet on that.
“Why aren’t you eating?” she asks around a mouthful of food.
“Have you heard of the frequency illusion?”
“She nods. “You mean Baader-Meinhof? That’s not a real thing.”
“We both grew up here. Our parents are from Ghana. We have the same birthday but we’ve gone our whole lives without meeting. Then we both happen to be in the same city on the same day, staying at the same hotel.”
She frowns. “Okay, but I live in New York and you live in LA. So unless one of us is moving, it’s not likely.”
The thought is depressing somehow. “Unless we want to see each other again.”
“Why would we do that?”
“It sounds like a good idea to me.” I shrug.
She throws her head back and laughs out loud.
I’d thought she was pretty, but damn, the way she laughs with her whole face, mouth open, eyes dancing. “That, Kwame, sounds like the first line of a cautionary tale.” She digs back into her food with gusto.
I am a firm believer that what’s for you will find you,
whether you want it or not.
This woman is a whirlwind and I’ve been in her path all day. Chaos is the last thing I want but I find myself not wanting this to end.
“Stay with me tonight.”
Find it on Goodreads:
Connect with the Author:
