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.
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.
Excerpt
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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