Sweet & Spicy (Sweet Water #1) Read Online Samantha Whiskey

Categories Genre: Contemporary Tags Authors: Series: Sweet Water Series by Samantha Whiskey

Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)

I’m Andromeda VanDoren, otherwise known as Persephone VanDoren’s older sister or the family’s embarrassment. For years I’ve tried to outrun my past, leaving a whole bunch of chaos in my wake.

But I’m done running.
I return home to Sweet Water fully prepared to do whatever it takes to pay for my past sins.
Little did I know that would include working for the once-love-of-my-life James Harlowe.

He’s everything I don’t deserve.
Compassionate, funny, and good down to his core.
And he has a kiss that makes me see stars.

Our chemistry is as electric as ever, and the longer we work together, the faster I realize he’s the only person who’s ever seen me for me, not the VanDoren name. But I ruin things, and the last thing I want to be is his mistake.

The demons from our past constantly remind us why we can’t be together.
But if we can’t prove this love is worth fighting for, we’ll lose our chance at a happily ever after for good this time.

*This is a steamy contemporary romance set in the Carolina Reapers' territory of Sweet Water and takes place two weeks after Cannon ends*

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************



“Would you like to talk more about your sister’s wedding?” Dr. Casson asked me from where she sat in the cushioned arm chair across from me.

As far as therapists went, she was already the best one I’d ever been to. She owned her own office in my hometown of Sweet Water, South Carolina, and she kept her space cozy with rich, warm furniture, and walls lined with books and cute knickknacks that screamed of lazy days browsing antiques.

“Andromeda?” she asked, and I blinked out of my thoughts.

“Please call me Anne,” I said, not for the first time.

Andromeda VanDoren was what my family called me.

Andromeda was the person I never wanted to be.

It’d been three weeks since my sister Persephone had gotten married.

Three weeks since I’d hit another rock bottom with the massive train wreck that was my life.

Three weeks since I’d finally asked for help.

“Right, Anne,” she said, giving me a soft smile that definitely suited her demeanor. Dr. Zoe Casson exuded the perfect combination of intelligence and warmth. “Would you like to talk about the wedding again?”

I shook my head. “I think we covered that the first two weeks I was here.”

Shame ricocheted in my body, making my heart clench. The first two weeks here were brutal, to say the least. I’d confessed to my rotten behavior regarding my sister and her new NHL star of a husband, and told Dr. Casson all about my inability to see past old trauma when it came to my sister—not that I told her what that trauma was, I wasn’t ready yet—but she understood all the same. I’d apologized to Persephone and her husband Cannon weeks ago, but that didn’t wash away my sins.

And what was truly awful?

Those sins weren’t even the worst of what I’d done.

I’d done a hundred times worse over the last decade, often times not even remembering my actions the next morning. My life was a series of mistakes, all birthed from one blip in time I couldn’t seem to outrun.

But I was here.

I was trying.

I didn’t want to be a mistake anymore.

I didn’t want to be the person who brought my family down.

I didn’t want to die.

As if on cue, exhaustion settled heavy in my bones and I sank deeper into the chair.

“Okay,” Dr. Casson said, nodding slightly, her caramel and brown hair falling over her forehead. “How is your mother’s recovery going?”

I breathed a sigh of relief, genuine happiness lifting my spirits. “She’s recovering beautifully,” I said.

She’d gotten a lifesaving kidney transplant two days after Persephone’s wedding, and she was already home. The doctors were giving her glowing reviews, praising her perfect patient behavior. She took her meds on time, ate a steady and healthy diet, and rested as much as possible. They told her in another five weeks she’d be able to resume her normal activities.

“Her body accepted the transplant without a hitch,” I continued, unable to contain my smile.

But right alongside the joy was a brutal stab of pain and guilt.

I’d tried to get tested to see if I would be a proper match for a donor—even though most of my family thought I’d selfishly refused. If I would’ve been a match I would’ve offered my kidney up on a silver platter, but my life choices prevented me from even getting that far.

Thanks to years of non-stop drinking and partying, my liver was on the verge of failing. Toxic hepatitis with a fun side-effect of cirrhosis was how they explained it. If I didn’t stop drinking, stop partying, I wouldn’t live to see another birthday.

Of course, I’d stopped.

I didn’t want to die, even though it would make my family’s life so much easier.

Three weeks sober and counting. It wasn’t easy. Not after years of creating habits that revolved around my next mental escape, but I was managing. It didn’t hurt that my sister had found the best phycologist in town to fit me into her overcrowded schedule, and as long as I met the expectations of my family—which included random alcohol and drug tests, among other things—they wouldn’t force me into a rehabilitation clinic.

Not that they could technically force me, but I didn’t need an intervention.

I needed a fucking miracle if I was expected to get my life together.

One step at a time.

“You mentioned last week that even though you and your sister are on better terms, you still have a hard time trusting her?”

I swallowed the knot in my throat.

“It’s not just her,” I admitted, shifting in my seat to fiddle with the end of my dress. It was one of those beautiful November days in South Carolina that felt more like spring than fall. Tonight, the temps would drop, but for now I was basking in it.

“Who else?”

“My entire family, really,” I said, forcing myself to be honest.

Dr. Casson told me during my first session there would be no point in lying to her—she had a talent for sniffing them out. She’d further said that being honest was the only way she could help me heal, help me do better.