Taken Series book 1
For Adriane Graham, the real question comes down to this: “Am I Alec Kaden’s guest…Or his prisoner?”
Royal Palm Literary Awards: Winner third place in the 2011 Royal Palm Literary Awards, a statewide competition through the Florida Writers Association. FWA website
What readers have said…
“I. Love. This.” ~SunflowerFran, Fanfiction reviewer
“I found myself, by the second page, so engrossed in the story, anything could have been going on around me. Seriously did not, could not, stop reading. … If I could give more than 5 stars, this book would warrant it. Maybe 7 or 8.” ~Christine Lee, NerdGirlOfficial.com
“Kaye can write the wallpaper off the walls.” ~Nancy Payne, Amazon reviewer
“An astounding literary work. An absolute must read. Books of this magnitude are rare.” ~freeoldguy, Amazon reviewer
“Adriane is an impressive heroine. She legitimately tries to intellectualize her way out of the conundrum that seems to make up Alec’s compound and remains in control of her heart. This is no simpering flower.” ~Amazon reviewer
“Entertaining from start to finish!” ~Suz DeMello, Amazon Reviewer
Taken Series book 2
Can Adriane handle Stein’s connection to her past and the truth of his motivations?
As Alec and Adriane investigate the reason his father’s old organized crime competitor returned to the city, Adriane eventually realizes Alec is hiding something from her. Will his continued secrecy threaten their relationship? Will the truth of Stein’s motivations rip Adriane away from Alec?
Taken Series prequel
Will be released by InkSpell Publishing 11/15/16.
Alec Kaden is the son of organized crime. But that’s not what causes him to be cold, and anger to crawl up his spine. He trusts his father’s judgment—his mother’s death in childbirth was his fault. Only one person can calm the monster inside him, but he will not allow her to know him, to see through him and find the darkness lurking behind his detachment. Will he forever remain her invisible protector?
Endless as the Rain (book 1) excerpt
I was good at quiet. If I walked quietly, if I moved without anyone noticing, if I was just background, silent as the clouds, I could catch a glimpse of beauty. Some places were touched with tiny flashes of the sublime. You just had to pay attention. That wasn’t always so easy.
My favorite lane was the strongest of these touched places. On my way home from a late day at the end of tax season, the gravel crunched under my feet and a breeze bounced among the trunks to lift my hair from my back and play with it. The lowering sun filtered through the fresh, bright green leaves above, a natural sunscreen for my fair skin. I lifted my face to it, to feel its warmth, to feel the color it brought to my cheeks.
The crunch was louder, from more than just my feet.
I looked around to see a black sedan creeping up behind me. I moved to get out of the way, barely on the gravel. I kept walking and vaguely appreciated that the driver didn’t speed by in impatience and kick up dirt and rocks. The car continued at the same careful pace.
Just as the passenger door was at my arm’s length, the car stopped. I guessed the driver must be seeking directions, and waited for a window to roll down. They had to be lost. I’d never seen an unfamiliar car on this road. It was only used or even known about by old residents of the neighborhood.
The back door opened, and a man stepped out.
I caught a glimpse of his tailored suit and overly straight posture as I glanced around, deciding if I should keep walking, walk quickly…or bolt into the trees toward one of the houses.
“It’s getting late,” he said. “Would you care for a ride home before it gets too dark?”
His voice—it sounded vaguely familiar. As I looked at him properly, part of my mind was distracted. His skin was like white marble, sculpting a beautiful face, but hard, unchanging, unyielding. Except his eyes. They were puddles in the stone, the only gentle thing about him.
I stepped back.
He lurched forward and grabbed my arm just above my elbow. His grip was oddly gentle.
I tried to pull away, and opened my mouth to scream.
“Please,” he said.
I paused to look at him.
“Don’t make a sound.” He said it like a request.
I didn’t understand.
He pulled me toward the open car door.
With all my strength, I yanked at my arm with zero success. His grip didn’t hurt. It was like he allowed a slight amount of movement—just enough to make sure my arm wasn’t bruised by my own struggling. It annoyed me, as if restraining me was no more difficult than restraining a toddler.
I pulled at my arm again.
I balled my hand into a fist and shifted to swing it at his face. Before I could make contact, he scooped me up in one swift movement and set me in the car. “Stop! Let me go!” But my yelling came too late; I was already in the car, my voice quieted by the closed windows.
The man sat, and I slid away from him and pulled at the other door handle. Of course, it was locked. What in the world was happening? He had the wrong girl. That had to be it. He’d mistaken me for someone important.
“Jammed?” he asked the driver.
The man in the front looked down at something on the seat next to him. “Yes, sir.”
The man next to me slammed the door shut. “Drive.”
The car backed down the lane, away from my street, and then spit gravel as it turned onto the main road.
“What do you want?” I demanded. What could he possibly expect to get from me? I had no money and no one who would pay ransom.
Jaw still tight, the man next to me said, “To protect you.”
I came at him, ready to attack.