P.S. It’s Always Been You Read online Lauren Blakely

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Romance Tags Authors:
Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)

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P.S. It's Always Been You

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Lauren Blakely

Book Information:

A sweeping, second chance standalone romance!
I was pretty good at living without regrets until a way too close call during a skydive. Instead of my life flashing before my eyes, I saw one face, one regret that’s been gnawing at me ever since—Presley. The woman I loved madly ten years ago. The woman I had to walk away from.
At first, all I want is to sort out why I can’t get her out of my head. But as soon as I see Presley again, I know I have to win her back at any cost. Brilliant, captivating and utterly beautiful, she’s the one I want.
Fate steps in when we’re asked to pair up to find a treasure in art and antiques. It’s an opportunity I can’t pass up—to uncover a path back to the woman I let get away while we chase down a love story a hundred years in the making.
Trouble is, Presley is tougher now, more wary, and she’s been hurt. By me. So it's going to take a whole lot more than one hot kiss and a wild adventure together to convince her to give me a second chance.
Books by Author:

Lauren Blakely

His Prologue


* * *

Ten years ago

* * *

Vacations are tricky for magicians. They convince you anything is possible.

Breakfast on the beach as the waves crest in the ocean? Put it on the daily to-do list.

Catching the sunrise at the top of a volcano? Let’s do it tomorrow as well.

Glorious hikes along lush trails in the jungle? Sure, I could definitely go for that every damn day.

The nights aren’t too shabby either, and that’s where the sleight of hand fools you most, whispering You can have it all.

Under the stars, a blanket spread out beneath us, the sand sugary on our feet, I nearly believe I can.

Presley turns to me, propping her head in her hand. “I have a great idea,” she says.

“Yeah, me too.” I wiggle my brows as I slide a hand down her waist. “Many great ideas.”

She rolls her eyes, grabbing my hand and threading her fingers through mine as the night breeze blows her chestnut hair across her cheek. “That’s not my grand plan.”

“Yours better be just as good, then,” I tease, challenging her as I brush the strands of hair off her face. “Because my idea was pretty mind-blowing, if you know what I mean.”

She tap-dances her fingers down my chest. “I do, you dirty man. But here’s mine.” Her sea-blue eyes gleam with mischief. “Let’s stay here.”

“As in, don’t leave tomorrow?”

“Exactly. We’ll set up camp. Never go back. Live on the beach, lounge under the sun. We could totally do it, don’t you think?”

Ah, but wouldn’t that be the real magic trick? And since I like this illusion, I go along with her game of make-believe. “Become island adventurers. Live in tents up near the volcano.”

“We’ll explore every waterfall. Find buried treasure. Discover a forgotten city.”

She’s talking my language. Wrapping an arm tighter around her, I keep up the routine. “We’ll make maps that lead to the secret way there, eat pineapples for every meal, and drink from coconuts.”

“We’ll return years later to find buried treasure.”

“We’ll be rich beyond our wildest dreams.”

“But after we’ve found the treasure, we’ll need to devote some time to lounging in the sun, and I require many hours a day to get lost in books. Please don’t forget that,” she says.

I dot a kiss on her forehead. “Afternoon naps on a hammock are mandatory. And you can read while I go for a run or climb some rocks or go cliff diving.”

“Of course. You always have to be moving.”

“You know me so well.”

Sighing, she curls up closer to me. “Sign me up. I have no desire to return to civilization, even though I haven’t eaten at a diner in weeks.”

“That must be killing you as the reigning queen of diners.”

“It’s the only part I miss. Especially since civilization involves . . .” She stops to shudder. “Bills.”

I place a finger on her lips, shushing her. “We must not speak of such unpleasant things while we’re playing make-believe.”

Because we’ve both known the score since I met her in New York six months ago. The reality is New York was always temporary for me, a way station after leaving the military while I was prepping for the next phase of my career, which begins in Alaska in a month. We’ve always had an expiration date, and this trip is our “best used by” date.

She snuggles closer. “Pretend I never said ‘bills.’ Here, we won’t need them. We’ll set up a coconut popsicle stand just for fun. I can make killer coconut popsicles.”

“Wait. You can make coconut popsicles, and I’m just learning this now?”

“I can’t give up all my secrets at once. But you should know, they’re pretty spectacular. You’d give them an A,” she says.

“Eating coconut popsicles, exploring all day, and spending the nights with you. Sounds like paradise,” I tell her, and she murmurs her “Yes” to our tropical dream then lifts her chin, her eyes dancing. I know that look. It’s the give me a kiss look.

I brush my lips against hers and breathe her in, memorizing the moment so I have it later when I’m scaling a mountain, trekking across a desert, or crossing a dangerous river. I imprint in my mind the salty scent of the ocean, the lush breeze, the incessant whoosh-hum of the sea as it swoops across the sand.

And most of all, I memorize her. The sweet taste of her lips, the feel of her body, the tender sighs that make me want to get closer.

We kiss for longer than is legal. Eventually we head inside where we pretend the night will never end, the trip will last forever, and that we won’t go our separate ways in another few weeks, as we always planned to.

Yes, this is the greatest trick that vacations pull. Sneaky bastards.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she says as she curls up in my arms in bed, moonlight streaking through the open windows. “It was the best one ever.”