CAN’T GET OVER YOU (Fortune’s Island, Book 2)
Release Day: June 23rd
BLURB
Travel back to the loveswept world of Fortune’s Island with New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Shirley Jump. His voice pierced the darkest corners of her heart.
Waitress Jillian Matheson needs a life makeover. The first thing on her “Get it Together” to-do list is breaking up with her fiancé, Zach Gifford, a struggling rocker who refuses to grow up. With Zach on the sidelines, Jillian pursues the dream career she’s secretly craved for decades and finds romance in the arms of a hot, mysterious visitor on Fortune’s Island. There’s just one kink in her plans. Zach’s band has a regular gig at The Love Shack where she works. And, she can’t deny the effect of his velvet-cloaked voice, a voice that can still reach places she no longer allows his hands to touch.
She’s the only song he ever wanted to sing.
Zach thought he had everything figured out—a music career on the edge of a breakthrough and a gorgeous fiancé—until Jillian left her engagement ring on his amp one night and walked out of his life. He is sure that he can get her to remember their shared passion and realize that they belong together, until a new man enters the picture and begins to sway Jillian’s heart.
Is it ever too late for true love?
Just as Zach begins to break down Jillian’s walls of resistance, a dark secret from his past comes to light and threatens to ruin their second chance at love. With shattered trust pushing them farther away from each other than ever before, can these two wounded hearts find their way back to each other before the last song?
BUY LINKS
EXCERPT:
Zach held her hand, not too tight, not too loose, just in that relaxed way of someone who had been with her for a long time. She’d always liked the way their hands fit together, as if they were made for each other.
They slipped into an easy rhythm as they walked, as if they’d never stopped going places together. Unlike her trip alone, this was nice, very nice. Comfortable. “So what were you doing out on the streets at almost two in the morning?” he asked.
“Proving something to myself.” She crossed the street with Zach, letting him set the course. The sound of the ocean grew closer, and the faraway bell clanged again in the breeze. “I was sick and tired of being afraid of the dark. Of being alone at night.”
“Because of what happened.”
She was surprised Zach had brought it up. That was twice in the course of one week that he had mentioned that night, which was as many times as they had talked about it in all the years they were dating. Zach talked to her the night it happened—the night he found her, dazed, scared, backpackless on the beach—and then a few days later after she’d made her police report. Then, as if by mutual agreement, they let the subject drop. Maybe she’d thought if she never talked about it, the whole incident would disappear from her memory. She’d resisted her parents’ efforts to get her to open up, their repeated offers of seeing a counselor, and just moved forward, avoiding the dark, both in real life and in her head.
“It was so many years ago, and I really need to just get past it and forget about it,” Jillian said now. “Fortune’s Island has a crime rate that’s almost a negative number. It was an isolated incident, and I don’t have to worry about it anymore. It was probably some tourist, anyway, and not someone who will ever be back here.”
If all that was so, then why did she still feel the specter of the robber over her shoulder?
“Yeah, yeah, probably a tourist.” Zach led her into the park that sat across from her apartment building. The slide stood like a tall sentry in the moonlight, with the swings flanking either side like soldiers. “If you ever found out who robbed you that night, what would you do?”
She dropped into one of the swings and toed off, sending it rocking with a creak of the metal chains. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. There’s got to be some sort of time limit on that kind of thing, right? And whoever that was got rid of my backpack pretty fast, so I doubt there’s any evidence.”
“True. But if you knew who it was…”
She thought for a moment, while she pushed the swing back and forth. “If I knew who it was, I’d probably report him to the police. There may be nothing anyone can do legally, but at least then he’d be on the police’s radar if something like that happened again. But I guess it would be hard for me to do that because…” She looked over at him. “Because I know how tough it was on you when your brother went to jail. I’ve seen that side of it, too, and I’d hate to put anyone through that.”
Zach was quiet for a while. “Yeah. Doing the right thing isn’t always as easy as it looks.”
“Either way, I would tell the cops.” She let out a breath. “No one else should get scared like that, and be so worried about walking alone at night, not on this island.”
Zach sighed. He lowered himself into the swing beside her, but just sat there. He hung his head and stared at the ground. “I guess I didn’t realize how scared it made you all these years.”
“I didn’t talk about it much. I didn’t want to ruin my image as the cool chick.” She laughed, as if it was no big deal, as if she hadn’t tried to make the subject go away because every time she thought about it, she was back there again, in the dark, scared, helpless.
“You were always the cool chick.” Zach raised his head and smiled at her. God, she loved his smile, the way it was just a little crooked, how it always made him seem a little vulnerable. “You were my first and only groupie. That automatically makes you cool.”
Jillian laughed. “I don’t think if I’m the only groupie that I technically qualify as one. There’s got to be a group to have a groupie. At least back then. Now you guys have a regular following, but when you started…”
“You and Duff’s mom were our only fans.” He chuckled. “Okay, so how about number one fan?”
“Now it sounds like something out a Stephen King novel.” She twisted in the swing, sending her foot on a semicircle path in the sandy earth below. “Like I might chain you to the bed and force you to sing for me.”
“I’d sing for you without being chained to the bed.”
That sentence sent her mind whirring down a whole other path. Damn. It had been a long time—too damned long—since she’d had sex with Zach. With anyone. And right now, she was thinking about nothing but having sex with Zach.
Then she remembered how much things had changed between them, how the Zach she fell in love with long ago had changed. Become a guy who put everything ahead of her. Who had gradually stopped talking to her about his music. Maybe that was why she had felt compelled to go to music college alone—because there she could be a part of the world she loved. Talk to people who loved it as much as she did.
“You used to do that,” she said softly. “Sing to me. All the time.”
She missed the sound of his voice. She heard him several times a week at The Love Shack, of course, but it was different when it was just Zach and her, and he sang a 70s ballad to her, or made up words to go along with whatever they were doing. Those little private concerts made her feel special.
Loved.
Then at some point, he’d stopped singing to her when he helped with the dishes, or held her in bed late at night. And she’d stopped feeling special and loved.
Zach reached out and grasped the chain for her swing, pivoting her around until they were facing each other. His eyes met hers, and the familiar want stirred inside her again.
He began to sing, but in that dark smoky voice of his that made even his version of the “You Are My Sunshine” children’s song sound sexy.
“Zach…this is silly.”
But he went on, singing about gray skies and love and never taking his sunshine away, with the crooked smile she loved playing on his lips.
His gaze met hers. Held. Her heart stuttered, her pulse raced. Their knees brushed as the swings drifted, and she swore she felt an electric current. She wanted to climb onto his lap, and sit in that swing and kiss him and pretend everything was okay. But then she thought of the last eight years, of how Zach had procrastinated and delayed and chosen his car and his music over her, time and time again.
She was done playing second fiddle to a Mustang and a Fender. “I can’t do this,” she said. She pushed off the swing and got to her feet.
“Jillian, wait.” He reached for her, but it was too late. His hand caught only air.
They slipped into an easy rhythm as they walked, as if they’d never stopped going places together. Unlike her trip alone, this was nice, very nice. Comfortable. “So what were you doing out on the streets at almost two in the morning?” he asked.
“Proving something to myself.” She crossed the street with Zach, letting him set the course. The sound of the ocean grew closer, and the faraway bell clanged again in the breeze. “I was sick and tired of being afraid of the dark. Of being alone at night.”
“Because of what happened.”
She was surprised Zach had brought it up. That was twice in the course of one week that he had mentioned that night, which was as many times as they had talked about it in all the years they were dating. Zach talked to her the night it happened—the night he found her, dazed, scared, backpackless on the beach—and then a few days later after she’d made her police report. Then, as if by mutual agreement, they let the subject drop. Maybe she’d thought if she never talked about it, the whole incident would disappear from her memory. She’d resisted her parents’ efforts to get her to open up, their repeated offers of seeing a counselor, and just moved forward, avoiding the dark, both in real life and in her head.
“It was so many years ago, and I really need to just get past it and forget about it,” Jillian said now. “Fortune’s Island has a crime rate that’s almost a negative number. It was an isolated incident, and I don’t have to worry about it anymore. It was probably some tourist, anyway, and not someone who will ever be back here.”
If all that was so, then why did she still feel the specter of the robber over her shoulder?
“Yeah, yeah, probably a tourist.” Zach led her into the park that sat across from her apartment building. The slide stood like a tall sentry in the moonlight, with the swings flanking either side like soldiers. “If you ever found out who robbed you that night, what would you do?”
She dropped into one of the swings and toed off, sending it rocking with a creak of the metal chains. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. There’s got to be some sort of time limit on that kind of thing, right? And whoever that was got rid of my backpack pretty fast, so I doubt there’s any evidence.”
“True. But if you knew who it was…”
She thought for a moment, while she pushed the swing back and forth. “If I knew who it was, I’d probably report him to the police. There may be nothing anyone can do legally, but at least then he’d be on the police’s radar if something like that happened again. But I guess it would be hard for me to do that because…” She looked over at him. “Because I know how tough it was on you when your brother went to jail. I’ve seen that side of it, too, and I’d hate to put anyone through that.”
Zach was quiet for a while. “Yeah. Doing the right thing isn’t always as easy as it looks.”
“Either way, I would tell the cops.” She let out a breath. “No one else should get scared like that, and be so worried about walking alone at night, not on this island.”
Zach sighed. He lowered himself into the swing beside her, but just sat there. He hung his head and stared at the ground. “I guess I didn’t realize how scared it made you all these years.”
“I didn’t talk about it much. I didn’t want to ruin my image as the cool chick.” She laughed, as if it was no big deal, as if she hadn’t tried to make the subject go away because every time she thought about it, she was back there again, in the dark, scared, helpless.
“You were always the cool chick.” Zach raised his head and smiled at her. God, she loved his smile, the way it was just a little crooked, how it always made him seem a little vulnerable. “You were my first and only groupie. That automatically makes you cool.”
Jillian laughed. “I don’t think if I’m the only groupie that I technically qualify as one. There’s got to be a group to have a groupie. At least back then. Now you guys have a regular following, but when you started…”
“You and Duff’s mom were our only fans.” He chuckled. “Okay, so how about number one fan?”
“Now it sounds like something out a Stephen King novel.” She twisted in the swing, sending her foot on a semicircle path in the sandy earth below. “Like I might chain you to the bed and force you to sing for me.”
“I’d sing for you without being chained to the bed.”
That sentence sent her mind whirring down a whole other path. Damn. It had been a long time—too damned long—since she’d had sex with Zach. With anyone. And right now, she was thinking about nothing but having sex with Zach.
Then she remembered how much things had changed between them, how the Zach she fell in love with long ago had changed. Become a guy who put everything ahead of her. Who had gradually stopped talking to her about his music. Maybe that was why she had felt compelled to go to music college alone—because there she could be a part of the world she loved. Talk to people who loved it as much as she did.
“You used to do that,” she said softly. “Sing to me. All the time.”
She missed the sound of his voice. She heard him several times a week at The Love Shack, of course, but it was different when it was just Zach and her, and he sang a 70s ballad to her, or made up words to go along with whatever they were doing. Those little private concerts made her feel special.
Loved.
Then at some point, he’d stopped singing to her when he helped with the dishes, or held her in bed late at night. And she’d stopped feeling special and loved.
Zach reached out and grasped the chain for her swing, pivoting her around until they were facing each other. His eyes met hers, and the familiar want stirred inside her again.
He began to sing, but in that dark smoky voice of his that made even his version of the “You Are My Sunshine” children’s song sound sexy.
“Zach…this is silly.”
But he went on, singing about gray skies and love and never taking his sunshine away, with the crooked smile she loved playing on his lips.
His gaze met hers. Held. Her heart stuttered, her pulse raced. Their knees brushed as the swings drifted, and she swore she felt an electric current. She wanted to climb onto his lap, and sit in that swing and kiss him and pretend everything was okay. But then she thought of the last eight years, of how Zach had procrastinated and delayed and chosen his car and his music over her, time and time again.
She was done playing second fiddle to a Mustang and a Fender. “I can’t do this,” she said. She pushed off the swing and got to her feet.
“Jillian, wait.” He reached for her, but it was too late. His hand caught only air.
AND THEN FOREVER
(Fortune’s Island, Book 2)
AUTHOR BIO:
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Shirley Jump spends her days writing romance and women's fiction to feed her shoe addiction and avoid cleaning the toilets. She cleverly finds writing time by feeding her kids junk food, allowing them to dress in the clothes they find on the floor and encouraging the dogs to double as vacuum cleaners.
Look for her Sweet and Savory Romance series, including the USA Today bestselling book, THE BRIDE WORE CHOCOLATE, on Amazon and Nook, and her new Sweetheart Club series for Berkley, starting with THE SWEETHEART BARGAIN.
Visit her website at www.shirleyjump.com or read recipes and life adventures at www.eating-my-words.com.
Look for her Sweet and Savory Romance series, including the USA Today bestselling book, THE BRIDE WORE CHOCOLATE, on Amazon and Nook, and her new Sweetheart Club series for Berkley, starting with THE SWEETHEART BARGAIN.
Visit her website at www.shirleyjump.com or read recipes and life adventures at www.eating-my-words.com.
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