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Eva King was born in Spain. During her teenage years, she moved with her mother to Scotland, where she fell in love with the culture and one of its men. She now lives in Barcelona with her husband, two children and a cat called Hamish.

Excerpt from Damage Control 

“What’s wrong?” I asked her, sitting right beside her.

“Nothing really,” she attempted, still not looking right at me.

I nudged her, trying to get her to open up without speaking.

She looked at me and smiled. “You promise not to say I told you so?”

“Nope,” I joked. “I promise to try my best.”

Her eyes watered as she told me, “You were right about Jason. He….”

“He what? Did he try to hurt you?”

I had to stand up even though I knew she needed comforting. It was hard to hold back the anger that bubbled inside me. I would kill the arsehole if he’d hurt her.

“No, not at all. But… you know.” She stopped, trying to find the right words, then she wiped her eyes. “He tried to go further than I was ready and… when I made him stop, he started calling me a tease. That’s when I left and… now I’m here.”

She stood up and gave me a weak smile.

“Come on then, just say it. I know you’re dying to,” she said, stepping closer to me. Close enough to touch, enough to smell her shampoo.

“Told you so,” I whispered, taking her in my arms. “He’s a dick, Emma. You deserve so much better.”

She looked up at me, her lips just inches away from mine. “Do you think so?”

I nodded, staring at her lips. Seconds passed in complete silence as we held each other. She looked into my eyes as if giving permission. That’s all I needed.

Slowly, I moved closer. My nose brushed against hers as my lips touched hers. They were softer than I’d imagined, but I needed more. I looked into her eyes to make sure she was okay, but this time she pulled me closer, wrapping her arms around my neck. Her mouth on mine demanded more, her tongue flicking teasingly as I parted my lips, welcoming her.

“James, please. Turn the music down,” my dad shouted through the door. “Some of us have work in the morning.”

As soon as Emma heard my dad’s voice, she stepped back—in case he had laser vision and could see through the door. She sat on the bed, her cheeks crimson as she bit her lip.

“Okay, Dad,” I muttered, looking at my feet, hoping that she wouldn’t regret what had happened, and turned the volume down.

“Hello, Emma.”

My dad, persistent as always, was still behind the door embarrassing me. Emma, on the other hand, covered her face with her hands.

“Hey, Mr McNair,” she said.

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