The Interview

I have secrets. She wants answers. Never the two shall meet.

When Sadie Danes strolls into my life with a notepad and an attitude, it’s just another interview. At first.

As an A-list movie star, everyone wants a piece of me, especially now that I’m back in New York doing what I love… the theater. Broadway.

But this theater critic is different. She sees past the actor, into the man hiding in the spotlight. She’s real. Beautiful. My Juliet.

A simple interview turns into more. And that’s a problem.

I have a past.

Secrets that can ruin not just me but my brother, ruin everything.


One of the things I love about much of Ward’s work is that she’s not afraid to tackle the tough but relevant issues. Her books make me think, evoke a wide array of feelings, restore a little hope in humanity, and encourage me to do my part to make the world a better place.


I’m going to start off by saying that no matter what I write in my review, it’s not going to give this book the extolment it deserves.



“I will be punished for indulging in your sweetness, dear Juliet.” My lips barely moved as I spoke against her inner thigh, but the impromptu grind in her hips told me she’d heard me clearly. “We are not fated to be together, yet I cannot stay away, and I willingly drown myself in sin for a taste of your love.”

Her panting hitched, though I detected a hint of amusement on her mouth similar to that which I’d seen when we sat across from each other in the pizzeria. “Romeo never said that.”

“No.” My voice was little more than a snarl. I pinned my eyes to hers, poised myself barely an inch above her loins, and licked my lips. “I’m saying it.”

Then, I swooped down upon her like a hawk on a helpless field mouse. My tongue plunged between her petals to drill into her soaked tunnel as my upper lip massaged her clit, which swelled with stimulation at my ministrations. Her entire body from ass to shoulders curved as gracefully as the St. Louis Arch, and she let out a plaintive moan that filled the room as thoroughly as the oxygen we breathed. Her flavor was, indeed, as sweet as I’d told her. Cherries. Ripe, juicy, delectable black cherries. I stroked my tongue along every ridge, taking special care to lap at the spongey bundle of nerves behind her pubic bone, and swallowed every drop of arousal I extracted.

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