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Overseas, May 2012
by Beatriz Williams

Featuring: Kate Wilson; Julian Laurence
464 pages
ISBN: 0399157646
EAN: 9780399157646
Kindle: B0072O020A
Hardcover / e-Book
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"When the Past Meets the Present Can Love Survive?"

Fresh Fiction Review

Beatriz Williams

Reviewed by Kathyrn Little
Posted June 20, 2012

Paranormal Mystery | Romance Suspense

Julian is an admirable man. When he is hit by a shell in WWI, he travels to 1996. Years later, he is wealthy and in love with Kate. It isn't long before Julian expresses a deeper interest in Kate than business and the two slowly fall in love together. It should be all sweetness and violets, but Kate isn't so sure. Julian is behaving strangely and acting fiercely protective of her. He continues to love her and pampers her, but what she really wants is an explanation for some of his behavior.

Kate's character is sassy, strong, and witty. She isn't the type to blindly follow and fully intends to figure out Julian's secret...or else. Julian is a handsome, charismatic character. He appears to truly love Kate and readers will feel badly that Kate takes some of his advances and protective gestures the wrong way. The secondary characters are really not focused upon.

OVERSEAS is perfect for those who enjoy their fiction with a hint of romance. Yes, it is a love story, but there are several other subplots with plenty of mystery, intrigue, and action that will occupy readers of various genres. With a fast-paced plot and two quirky, but loving characters, I highly recommend OVERSEAS.

Learn more about Overseas


When twenty-something Wall Street analyst Kate Wilson attracts the notice of the legendary Julian Laurence at a business meeting, no one’s more surprised than she is. Julian’s relentless energy and his extraordinary intellect electrify her, but she’s baffled by his sudden interest. Why would this handsome British billionaire—Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor—pursue a pretty but bookish young banker who hasn’t had a boyfriend since college?

The answer is beyond imagining . . . at least at first. Kate and Julian’s story may have begun not in the moneyed world of twenty-first-century Manhattan but in France during World War I, when a mysterious American woman emerged from the shadows of the Western Front to save the life of Captain Julian Laurence Ashford, a celebrated war poet and infantry officer.

Now, in modern-day New York, Kate and Julian must protect themselves from the secrets of the past, and trust in a true love that transcends time and space.


Amiens, 1916

Someone was in the room with me, rustling conscientiously: the repressed stir ofsomeone trying to be quiet. I opened my eyes. "Julian? Captain Ashford?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude." He emerged from some corner of the room,looking anxious. "Only adding a bit of coal; it's gone frightfully chilly. How are you feeling?"

I sat up, letting the blanket slide down to my lap. I'd left the lamp on, not wantingto settle too deeply to sleep, and the dim glow made everything old and weary: the lowceiling, nearly grazing Julian's head; the rusty brown water stain in the corner by thewindow, creeping lazily over the aging wallpaper; the small cast-iron fireplace with its tarnished scuttle. A small room; though Julian stood politely by the mantel, as far from the bed as he could manage without catching himself on fire, he was no more than eightintimate feet away. "Much better, thank you. I'm sorry to be so much trouble."

"Don't be ridiculous." He paused self-consciously. How handsome and competenthe looked, in his well-work khaki tunic with its large pockets and brass buttons and wideSam Browne belt, the strict knot at his neck splitting his shirt collar exactly in half. Thatboyish replica of the face I adored.

I smiled and drew my knees up. "You're feeling awkward, aren't you? Let me guess what you're thinking." I adjusted my tone, took on his supple clipped accent."Bloody hell, Ashford. How the devil have you gotten yourself into this mess? A strangewoman in your bed at three o'clock in the afternoon! Just how the deuce are youplanning to get her out and on her way, without being rude?"

His smile spread slow and dazzling across his face, just as it always had. "Infact," he said, "you're not remotely close."

"I'm not?"

"For one thing, I'd never use such language in your presence."

My mouth twitched. "Oh. I beg your pardon."

"And for another thing, it's gone nearly five o'clock."

I glanced at the window. "I'm so sorry."

"You must stop all this apologizing immediately."

"I know, it's a bad habit." I laughed shallowly and turned back to him. "But I have put you in a difficult position, haven't I? Did you have time to ask about a room for me? Don't worry if you haven't," I added. "I can find something. I feel much better now, with a little rest."

"The landlady has another room available by this evening," he said. "Some chapgoing back up the line. You can stay here, of course; I'll move my own things upstairs."

"Thanks. Thank you. You probably think the worst of me already, allowing myselfin here without a chaperone."

He laughed. "You don't need a chaperone. You're perfectly capable."

"But the girls you know wouldn't be caught dead here, would they?" I gesturedaround the room, at his pack resting significantly in the corner.

"No, but you're not like the other girls, are you?"

"Obviously not. I probably curse like a fishwife, by comparison." I smiledrepentantly. "Aren't you afraid of my character? Some cheap seductress, maybe?"

He tilted his head, still smiling. "Are you?"

"Of course not. I'm a respectable widow." My voice choked on the word. "But howwould you know that? How could you be sure of me?"

"Kate," he said. "It's written on your face. The way you hold your head, just so."

The air between us seemed to slow and thicken. I watched him helplessly, his sturdy figure planted before the fire, hands behind his back, the lamplight casting suchdeep shadows beneath his cheekbones that he might nearly be thirty, might nearly bridge the gap between himself and the man I knew. "You're so trusting," I whispered.

He shook his head. "Not indiscriminately, in fact."

"Why me, then?"

He seemed to take this seriously. "I suppose," he said, almost to himself,"because if feels almost as though I know you already. That we've met before. I've never...But it's absurd, of course. I beg your pardon."

"It's just because of the way I'm talking to you, probably. I started on in like somekind of brazen idiot, assuming things..."

"Have we met before?"

"Wouldn't you remember? You don't forget faces, and you're never drunk."

His eyes widened. He flung his arms across his ribs and paced the short distanceto the window with that leonine grace of his. "How would you know that?"

"I just know things."

"That second sight of yours?" he asked, not looking at me.

"I thought you said it was a load of rubbish."

"I'd always thought so." His fingers spread out along the windowsill, digging intothe wood.

"Julian, trust me. Don't be afraid of this."

"I'm not afraid." He turned, meeting my gaze with wide curious eyes. The irises were backlit with emotion, with dawning recognition, the way I'd felt around him all those months ago. "And I do trust you," he added.

"Do you really? I mean really trust me? I know that's a stupid question to ask, when you've only just met me, and in the most bizarre circumstances." I set my chin ontop of my knees and studied him. "All I can say, in my defense, it that you can trust me. I'd never hurt you; never, never."

"Who are you?" he breathed.

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