Drawn
Authors: Lilliana Anderson
Drawn
Drawn Series
Book 1
by Lilliana Anderson
Kindle Edition
Copyright 2013 Lilliana Anderson
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Copyright 2013, Lilliana Anderson
All rights reserved
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means without the prior written permission of the author of this book.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental. Any actual places, products or events mentioned are used in a purely fictitious manner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various places/products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission and is by no way sponsored by the trademark owners.
Dedication
–
For all the women, who see it like it is.
‘
Love is as much of an object as an obsession, everybody wants it, everybody seeks it, but few ever achieve it, those who do will cherish it, be lost in it, and among all, never... never forget it.’
~ Curtis Judalet quotes
Where do I start? Drawn has been my secret obsession for a year. It’s been my baby. It’s been my joy. And it’s been my fear.
I don’t think I have ever been dragged into a book so emotionally, before this one. The others, while I felt a part of them, just didn’t possess me quite as much as this one did. I think that’s why I’m so nervous to let this one go, and why I’ve held on to it all year.
Honestly, in the beginning, I was going to just write it on my own, show it to no one and then release it with my eyes shut tight.
But now, here we are. I pray that you like it, and can understand my reasons for writing this nod to the alpha male.
Yes. It’s an alpha male book, but it’s not like all the others you have read lately, and if you stick with me. I promise you that come May – I’m going to take you on a very wild ride with the final two instalments.
Happy Reading
Lilliana xoxox
First and foremost I must thank
my beta and proof readers for working so hard for me on this novel. Marion of Making Manuscripts (www.makingmanuscripts.com), Tammie, Mary, Doraine, Kassi, Lindsey, Anna, Betchy, Billie, Candice, Celsey, Megan, Kristina and Kristine. I know it has been such a busy time for all of us, but for those of you who could get back to me in time - your input was AMAZING! It’s made this book so much better than if I had have done it all alone. Thank you!
Thank you to my editor, Maria Johnson, for trawling through my manuscript for errors and always working me into her schedule. A big thank you to my husband for his unending support, his plot help, and his encouragement.
Thank you to my street team and to everyone who has agreed to review for me – my heart fills up every time I see your enthusiasm for my work!
I’d also like to thank the wonderful team at Apple and Smashwords, who set up all of my preorders and trust me to upload my books on time – I truly appreciate your support!
A big thank you also goes out to everyone who has been watching me on my social networks and talking to me/ putting up with my randomness while I write. The small interactions we have, really helps to break up my day and stave away the loneliness that can creep in while immersed in your writing all the time.
I also want to thank my kids for cuddling up next to me while I type and waiting patiently until I’ve finished my thought – you’re all beautiful!
And of course – thank you to all of my readers. Without you, I would be writing to the crickets
.
Mwah!
Xoxox
“Are you sure that moving out of home is what you want for your eighteenth birthday?” my father asks a week before the actual day. “Has it really been that terrible living here?”
“Oh no, dad! Don’t think like that. It’s just that all of my friends are either living in uni housing or they’re in flats of their own. I just don’
t want to feel left out anymore,” I attempt to explain.
My father just growls in response, he’s not happy about this chang
e at all. And I understand that. Ever since my brother died, he’s kept a very close eye on me. I mean, I’ve had a 6pm curfew since I started high school which continued on into university.
He has always claimed that it was because I was so intelligent – he wanted me to focus on my studies. Although
, I’m pretty sure he was just making sure I had no time for a social life.
Not that that stopped me – where there’s a will, there’s a way. And I’ve managed to have my fair share of teenage experiences, despite my restrictions.
My mother butts in as she wanders into the kitchen and pours herself a cup of coffee. “Oh, leave her alone Barry. It’s perfectly normal. She wants to stand on her own two feet. I don’t blame her. You’re so damn strict with her all the time.”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting your family close,” he grumbles.
“Of course there isn’t, dear,” my mother coos, sliding an arm over his protruding belly as she kisses his cheek. “But she’s going to be an adult. We can’t keep her locked up forever.”
My parents have one of those silent exchanges that always ends with them kissing, so I take that as my cue to leave.
“I’ll see you both tonight. I have a train to catch,” I say, as I stand up from the stool I was occupying and pick up my navy blue Crumpler laptop bag.
“Have fun, honey,” my mother calls. “I hope you find something.”
Walking toward the train station, I squint against the warm Australian sun and dig inside my bag for a pair of sunglasses. As I slide the dark shades over my eyes, I can’t help but smile to myself as I check my watch.
Today is my first whiff of freedom. My friend Aaron is taking me apartment hunting, and I can’t wait. Pretty soon, I’ll be eighteen, and I’ll be able to legally go out and have fun without having a curfew to get back in time for.
Swiping my travel pass, I enter the station and after a short wait, board the sterile steel carriage of the train, disembarking a stop later at Kingswood station. I make my way over the pedestrian bridge and walk toward the older styled apartment block where Aaron lives.
He moved in with a new flatmate only a couple of weeks ago and since I haven’t visited him here yet, I double check the message on my phone containing his address to make sure I have the right place.
Once confirmed, I enter the foyer through the brown painted aluminium and glass door. To my right, is a bank of letterboxes and just in front is a narrow set of stairs that wind up the couple of flights to his floor.
Each floor seems to have five apartments on it. I’m looking
for number nine and find it on the second floor, right near the landing on my right.
I knock loudly on the faux wood
, chipboard door in an attempt to be heard over the music booming from the inside. Then stand back, and wait patiently as I hear the music shut off and footsteps coming toward the door.
When it opens, I’m immediately taken aback by a set of unusually light brown eyes, set in a lean, stubbled face, topped off with dark hair, messily spiked. Their own
er practically fills out the doorway, and I thank Christ I’m so tall and can almost look him in the eye, because in my periphery I can see that he’s
gulp
shirtless.
I will not look down, I will not look down
, I assure myself, trying to ignore the round pecs and defined abs that are calling to me. My heart beats solidly against my chest as I stare directly into his questioning eyes, hoping I appear calm.
“Hi, I’m Etta, Aaron’s friend. He said to meet him here,” I say to who I’m assuming is Aaron’s roommate Jeremy,
while trying to sound confidant and unperturbed by his thoroughly ruffled and very sexy appearance.
Taking a deep breath as I await his response, I inhale his smell, my stomach growls audibly, he smells like… bacon?
The corner of his full mouth turns up in an amused grin as my cheeks flame from my stomach’s rudeness.
“I’m making bacon sangas. Y
ou want one?” he asks me, stepping aside to let me through.
“Ah sure,” I reply, stepping inside and setting my things on the vacant chair at the two seater dining table to the right of the front door. Jeremy picks up a shirt and slides it over his head, and I’ll admit that I eye licked him a little while his face was hidden under the material.
My eyes scan the apartment, noting how meticulously clean it is for an apartment that houses a couple of male university students. To my left, there are two doors that are closed, presumably leading toward bedrooms and a bathroom door between them which lies open.
The living area is open planned.
It’s basically one big rectangle that houses the lounge, dining, and kitchen. A two-seater black leather couch sits in front of a rather large flat screen TV that is attached to the wall above an antique looking, Jacobean style sideboard, that houses the DVD player and stereo system.
There is some very modern looking art adorning the walls
. They feature lots of shapes, lines and duotone colours. I particularly like the one that’s hanging above the dark-stained pine, dining table. It kind of looks like a glass of red wine, hitting a black surface and exploding.
To the right is a small kitchen where Jeremy is still cooking strips of bacon and buttering slices of bread. The scent of the pan and the sight of the man standing over it, causes my mouth to water and my stomach to nag at me with both hunger and a nervous attraction. I continue to look around the room, trying to keep myself from staring at him as he works the pan.
Right next to the door on the wall, I notice a pin board covered in small pieces of paper. Stepping closer, I lean in, scrutinising the collage, releasing my breath in awe as I notice that they’re all sketches.
Reaching out, I touch a yel
low post-it note with my finger. On it is a perfect sketch of a girl, leaning up against a tree. It’s so small and so detailed, that I feel myself leaning even closer to have a look.
The sound of plates being placed on the table brings my attention away from the board, and I’m once again entranced in those light coloured eyes. His gaze flicks from me to the plate, and I snap out of it, moving to the table to sit down and eat.
“Thank you,” I say as I pick up my sandwich and take a bite, closing my eyes as the greasy-bacony-goodness flows over my taste buds. “That’s delicious,” I practically moan.