About The Book:
Title: Depths of Lake
Series: The McCain Saga #3
Author: Keary Taylor
Genre: New Adult, Romance
Release Date: October 14, 2014
It was another day at the ranch, training horses and working fifteen hour days. And then the last person I ever expected showed up. Lake McCain: a Marine, tall, ripped—and the best friend of my dead fiancé. Cal died to save Lake, and now Lake claims that he carries a debt to me that he can never repay.I wanted to brush him off. But then my mom, the manager of the ranch, went and hired him. We spend hours working together with the horses. Lake doesn’t say much. He’s layered and dark and he tries to seem shallow and simple. But he isn’t. There are things under his surface that matter. He works, quiet and strong, and never once lets me down.
Until he confesses that he may be falling in love with me. I can’t deny that there is something between us. But a relationship? I just can’t. I’ve used up all my chances at love. My past relationships have ended in death or disaster, and now I have to live with all of that.
I’m Riley James, and there are depths to Lake—depths to myself—that I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand.
The McCain Saga
EVER AFTER DRAKE
MOMENTS OF JULIAN
DEPTHS OF LAKE
PLAYING IT KALE (January 20, 2015)
Excerpt:
“Lake?” I call quietly. No reply.
I push the door open a bit more and step inside. I look back toward the bedroom. As far as I can see, it’s empty. And the door to the bathroom is open and the light off.
“Lake?” I call once more.
A soft snore pulls my eyes to the couch, and there I find him.
He’s changed into a pair of dry jeans, but that’s all he’s wearing. A thickly muscled arm is lying across his eyes, his other arm hanging down toward the floor. Bare feet hang over the arm of the couch.
His perfectly sculpted chest bears seven stars tattooed over his left breast.
His brows are furrowed, his expression concerned.
He’s a soldier who’s engaged in combat and he’s seen some horrible things. He saw Cal blown to pieces. I can only imagine the hell he must be seeing behind those lids right now.
I’m torn. I want to wake him from whatever nightmare I know he’s having. But I also know about PTSD and how dangerous it can to be to wake a soldier in this state.
His left shoulder twitches violently. His face winces.
“Lake,” I say, soft and gentle.
He gives a little twitch, like me calling his name entered his dream, but he doesn’t wake.
“Lake,” I say, this time louder. I keep my distance, standing by the door.
He jerks up from the couch, half sitting up. His right hand reaches for his hip, as if he’s searching for a sidearm. His eyes sweep the room and fix on me. They’re bloodshot and wide.
“It’s okay,” I say, keeping my tone even and calm. “It’s just me.”
His breathing is hard and fast and it takes a minute for him to calm down and realize he isn’t out on the battlefield, in the middle of a warzone.
“What do you want?” he asks. His voice is hard and flat.
Soldiers don’t like admitting when they’re dealing with post-field issues. I’ve caught him in a moment of trauma, and he doesn’t like it.
“Mom’s just about got dinner ready and asked me to come get you,” I say. I’m not offended by his hard tone. I understand. “I’m sorry to wake you, but you looked like you were in a place you needed extraction from.”
He looks at me for another really long minute. Lake has the most impassive eyes. I can’t tell what’s going on behind them. Is he angry? Is he embarrassed? Indifferent? It’s impossible to tell.
“Yeah,” he finally replies. He climbs off the couch and walks to the bedroom. He looks over his shoulder at me just before he disappears behind the door. My eyes drop away from him, embarrassed to realize he’s just caught me staring and embarrassed for the fact that I was.
But who couldn’t admire a body like that?
I push the door open a bit more and step inside. I look back toward the bedroom. As far as I can see, it’s empty. And the door to the bathroom is open and the light off.
“Lake?” I call once more.
A soft snore pulls my eyes to the couch, and there I find him.
He’s changed into a pair of dry jeans, but that’s all he’s wearing. A thickly muscled arm is lying across his eyes, his other arm hanging down toward the floor. Bare feet hang over the arm of the couch.
His perfectly sculpted chest bears seven stars tattooed over his left breast.
His brows are furrowed, his expression concerned.
He’s a soldier who’s engaged in combat and he’s seen some horrible things. He saw Cal blown to pieces. I can only imagine the hell he must be seeing behind those lids right now.
I’m torn. I want to wake him from whatever nightmare I know he’s having. But I also know about PTSD and how dangerous it can to be to wake a soldier in this state.
His left shoulder twitches violently. His face winces.
“Lake,” I say, soft and gentle.
He gives a little twitch, like me calling his name entered his dream, but he doesn’t wake.
“Lake,” I say, this time louder. I keep my distance, standing by the door.
He jerks up from the couch, half sitting up. His right hand reaches for his hip, as if he’s searching for a sidearm. His eyes sweep the room and fix on me. They’re bloodshot and wide.
“It’s okay,” I say, keeping my tone even and calm. “It’s just me.”
His breathing is hard and fast and it takes a minute for him to calm down and realize he isn’t out on the battlefield, in the middle of a warzone.
“What do you want?” he asks. His voice is hard and flat.
Soldiers don’t like admitting when they’re dealing with post-field issues. I’ve caught him in a moment of trauma, and he doesn’t like it.
“Mom’s just about got dinner ready and asked me to come get you,” I say. I’m not offended by his hard tone. I understand. “I’m sorry to wake you, but you looked like you were in a place you needed extraction from.”
He looks at me for another really long minute. Lake has the most impassive eyes. I can’t tell what’s going on behind them. Is he angry? Is he embarrassed? Indifferent? It’s impossible to tell.
“Yeah,” he finally replies. He climbs off the couch and walks to the bedroom. He looks over his shoulder at me just before he disappears behind the door. My eyes drop away from him, embarrassed to realize he’s just caught me staring and embarrassed for the fact that I was.
But who couldn’t admire a body like that?
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