The Art of Moving On (Siren Publishing Classic) Read online

  The Art of Moving On

  For Casey Dwyer, a thirty-year old Boston columnist, each day is a struggle. Having lost her husband and infant son in a horrific car accident one year earlier, Casey is doing her best just to drag herself out of bed each morning. Haunted by vivid nightmares and heart-breaking memories of her previous life, it seems that there is no return from the tragedy she has seen. After a chance encounter with a handsome stranger, Casey begins to see a light in the darkness.

  Conor M’Cullagh is a wealthy Irish gentleman who possesses a merciless sex appeal that makes Casey weak in the knees. From the first moment that she gazed into his tantalizing emerald eyes, she hungered for his flesh. Though Casey knows that there is no room in her shattered heart for a new romance, she cannot deny the reality that he could be the one to pull her from the darkness. He could be her savior.

  Genre: Contemporary

  Length: 82,771 words

  THE ART OF MOVING ON

  Sarah Raymond

  EROTIC ROMANCE

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Erotic Romance

  THE ART OF MOVING ON

  Copyright © 2015 by Sarah Raymond

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-63259-043-5

  First E-book Publication: March 2015

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All art and logo copyright © 2015 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of The Art of Moving On by Sarah Raymond from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is Sarah Raymond’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Sarah Raymond’s right to earn a living from her work.

  Amanda Hilton, Publisher

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  www.BookStrand.com

  DEDICATION

  For my husband Shea, who stuck by my side, and inspired me throughout the creation of this novel. For picking me up when I fell, encouraging me to persevere, and supplying me with endless erotic thoughts to include for the readers.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  About the Author

  THE ART OF MOVING ON

  SARAH RAYMOND

  Copyright © 2015

  Chapter 1

  A nightmare. This had to be a nightmare. The earth around her stood still, aside from the motion of the blazing SUV flying through the air. It seemed as though time had slowed. Years passed before it got close to hitting the ground. She must have held her breath for each of those long moments in time. Suddenly the vehicle hit the ground, and as it began its fiery roll down the long stretch of desolate road, the only sound was that of her piercing screams.

  * * * *

  Casey jolted up in bed and assessed the amount of sweat that had been soaking through her sheets. She glanced at the clock beside her— 1 a.m. She had only been asleep a mere hour before the recurring nightmare began. It was getting worse, and she wanted nothing more than for the incessant torture to stop. She would have to call Dr. Satter in the morning. Maybe he would not hassle her about upping the dosage on her anti-depressants as he had in the past. The pompous prick was a cold-hearted and stern man who would never stoop so low as to show emotion. Casey knew what the asshole thought every time she walked into his dull office. She imagined him thinking, Isn’t nearly a year plenty of time for her to recover? What the fuck did he know? He had probably never experienced a loss like hers, but then again, not many people had. Needless to say, she was about to start shopping for a new shrink.

  She lay back in bed and began to descend into her memories. By replaying the first time they met over and over in her mind, she was able to reconnect to her husband. Though nearly a year had passed since she buried the love of her life and her only child, she still felt their presence all around her. She was unsure if they would ever leave, and almost certain that she did not want them to.

  “Well hello there, beautiful.”

  She would never forget his voice. Angels might as well have been singing…

  Casey turned to the side to see the most gorgeous pair of blue eyes staring back at her.

  “Hi,” she said shyly.

  She could feel her face turning red, and prayed that she could calm her nerves enough to speak without stumbling over her words. Though she was a confident person, with her long legs and flowing black hair, she found it hard to talk to new men, especi
ally when they looked like the man standing before her. As if his eyes were not mesmerizing enough, he had dark shaggy hair—the kind that looked as though he just stepped out of the shower and shook it to perfection. It was perfect as is—no brush necessary. His body was well toned from what she could tell under his casual attire. She had never been this physically attracted to a man upon first glance. As she awaited his next words, she reminded herself, Take it slow—Don’t embarrass yourself, you idiot.

  “You’re new here, right?” he said with a smile. As she calculated her next words carefully, she decided a quick nod would save her the embarrassment of whatever was soon to escape her mouth.

  “I bartend here a few nights a week. I’m Jace Baker.”

  As she stared at him like a deer in headlights, she began to feel extremely nervous. Her heart was thudding ferociously in her chest. Was she sweating? Jace the bartender must have picked up on how nervous she was (hopefully not due to the sweat), because he smiled politely.

  “And do you have a name?” he asked.

  She opened her mouth to try to convince this gorgeous man that she did in fact have a name (and that she was not mentally challenged) when the drunk at table one began whistling at her like a dog. Up until now, she had hated this new job waiting tables for lowlifes and rednecks. Casey was almost positive that the idiocy of these incessant regulars had to be contagious. However, now that she had met Jace, it didn’t seem so bad.

  “I’m Casey. Casey Dwyer,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear her over the boasting drunks and blasting Country music.

  “Nice to meet you, Casey. I hope we get to work together very soon,” Jace said before turning back to take a swig of his beer and talk with the customer sitting next to him.

  Casey’s day brightened for a split second until she heard the drunk whistle again, but this time it did not bother her so bad. Now that she met Jace, things were definitely looking up in the love-life department, if only she could get over her nerves. Lucky for her, she knew exactly the person to help her grow a pair so that next time she saw Jace the bartender, she would not seem like a complete spaz.

  When Casey got home that night after work, she walked in to find her roommate sitting on the couch. In front of her were two wine glasses, one of which was stained red by both the cheap (and empty) bottle of Merlot, and the bright red lipstick that her eccentric roomie liked to wear. Casey and Samantha Williams, or Sammie, as she was nicknamed, had become instant friends in the fourth grade. They both befriended a new girl, far more popular than either of them. After the shared friend moved away, they found that they were a lot more alike than they had initially thought. From that moment on, they truly enjoyed just being a twosome. They had been “partners in crime” ever since. They had finally moved in together a few months back, after they both turned 24. Casey often wondered if it was wise for the pair to move in together, since they had been unable to avoid getting into some kind of trouble or another over the years. However, they were now coming out of the 21-year-old-screw-up phase of their lives, and Casey cherished their friendship dearly. So far, Casey could not think of a better roommate.

  When Sammie heard Casey at the door, she said lazily, without turning around, “We are out of wine. I tried to save you some, but that was impossible.”

  “Of course we are,” Casey said with a sigh. “Come on, drunkie. I’m driving.”

  In the car, Sammie must have caught on to the glow radiating from her usually poker-faced roommate, because she almost yelled, “You met a guy tonight, didn’t you!” As Casey turned to Sammie, she could barely contain her excitement. A wide grin crept across her face.

  “Yes! Oh Sammie, he is so cute. His eyes are as blue as oceans, and that smile… Oh my God. He is just amazing,” Casey explained to her glossy-eyed BFF. After telling Sammie of her near nervous breakdown and subsequent lack of ability to work her tongue, Sammie just laughed at her.

  “Oh God, you’re hopeless!” Sammie responded.

  Chapter 2

  In an instant, a now-much-older Casey awoke to the depressing light of yet another morning flooding her dull bedroom. These days, she hated waking up. It was not even the fact that she was waking up alone, but that she was waking to face another day where everything reminded her of Jace and her angel. She could not even stare at her favorite coffee mug without some random memory of a kiss or smile invading her head and ruining her for the rest of the day.

  Trying her hardest to step around the obstacles that were her daily memories, Casey pushed aside the covers and forced herself into the bathroom. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and was not at all surprised that she did not recognize the pale and misery-stricken woman staring back at her. She was barely thirty years old, but she looked to be at least fifty. When Jace and her child had died, she had died along with them. When the accident left them broken and lifeless, she had become broken and lifeless as well. The only thing keeping her going from one day to the next was the fact that she knew her family would want her to go on, no matter how agonizing that may be.

  Once Casey had made herself appear at least a little less like one of the living dead, and after a quick call to her jerk of a psychiatrist, she stepped out into the cool Boston air. Casey and Jace had dreamed of one day making a life in their favorite city, but he had been taken before they could achieve that shared dream. As a way to honor him, or maybe as an escape, Casey had moved from their home in Texas shortly after his death, and was now making a modest living doing freelance writing for the Boston Style magazine.

  Though this new life of hers was lonely, and she rarely conversed with any other human being, Casey was as happy as she could be in the city. Her small studio apartment left little to the imagination, but it was hers. The street on which she lived was close to the heart of the city, and close enough to the sea for her to sit on her small patio and smell the briny air carried from the ocean. These days, the city was just about the only thing that brought her even a shred of happiness. Today, however, that would all begin to change.

  The day began like any other. Casey made the trek five blocks from her apartment to her favorite coffee spot. This had become her routine. First, she would have a light breakfast and her usual double shot of caffeine. Once she was fully awake, she would walk to Boston Common to gain inspiration from the wide variety of people in the park. There, she would write, sometimes for hours on end. Seeing all the happy faces did not always make her feel cheerful, so it occasionally took her a while. After she was satisfied with her column, which was printed three times a week in a very small section of Style, Casey would usually go for lunch. After, it was on to sniffing out a spot to drink for the remainder of the day. Most days resulted in absolute debauchery, with her unable to find her apartment, or falling asleep on the T-line. One time she even somehow ended up in South Boston, and had to hide behind a dumpster to escape three hood-rats who noticed that she was not from Southie. Though she knew this life she lived was a destructive one, she did not care in the least. For once in her life, there were no rules as to how she should live, and no one to suffer the consequences…So drink she did, day after day.

  On the very rare occasion that she was not drunk by 4 p.m., Casey used the afternoons to write for her personal well-being, which was exactly what she felt like doing on this particular day. After finding comfort in a booth at a local pub named Rosco’s, Casey set up her laptop and began to let the demons fly from her head to the page. She wrote about Jace and her angel, whose name she had long refused to mention. It just hurt too bad to say it out loud, since the small life was taken from him at such a young age—he was only nine months old when he and Jace had perished. Unfair. It was all so unfair.

  By her second beer, Casey was deep in thought over the horrid and cruel nature of the universe when she felt someone staring at her. Appeasing her curiosity, Casey nonchalantly scanned the room to see if she could identify who it was that was giving her such an uneasy sensation. Everyone that she could see in the
pub was immersed in their own conversations with friends or lovers. In fact, she noticed that she was the only person that was sitting alone, aside from a solitary man sitting at the bar. He had to be the person who had been boring holes into Casey with his eyes. At first, she was pretty creeped out by the fact that this random man had been watching her for God knows how long, but then she noticed the piercing green of his eyes. She shook away her desire to survey the rest of the package, as she hadn’t been even remotely interested in anyone since Jace. She threw a couple of bucks on the table, packed up her laptop, and listed from the pub, ignoring the burning gaze of the staring stranger.

  Chapter 3

  It had been weeks since the incident with the staring man at the pub, and Casey had not given it much thought at all. Things had gone back to normal after she left the pub that day. She still woke from the monotonous nightmare of the burning car flying down the road in slow motion, only to wake drenched in sweat and screaming until her throat was hoarse. Every day, the same routine of coffee, writing, lunch, alcoholism, repeat. However, one major change had happened, and that came in the form of a new psychiatrist. After one heated therapy session with Dr. Satter, which resulted in the words “pompous ass,” and “cold-hearted bastard” escaping her mouth a few times, Casey had decided that it was time to end their relationship once and for all. She wanted to get better, to learn how to end the grieving and have one full night of splendid rest. She just did not see that happening with Dr. Satter, or “Dr. Shitter,” as she had taken to calling him in the last few weeks.