What to expect?
Indulge in a gripping tale of redemption, secrets, and forbidden desires in Erik (Book #1 in the Muse of Darkness series), a captivating dark billionaire romance by Liz Gavin. Follow the journey of Erik Crawford, a broken soul harboring untold sins and buried secrets that threaten to shatter his career.
In this sizzling, provocative novel, explore a world of hidden fantasies and unspoken yearnings that must remain concealed. Join Erik as he battles the chaos within, torn between his dark appetites and the captivating allure of Christine, a woman with an angelic face and a body that awakens his deepest desires.
Despite knowing the risks, Erik finds himself drawn to Christine, craving her light as it brings a glimmer of hope into his life. Yet, he questions whether he deserves redemption, forgiveness, or even love. The mask he wears conceals a truth that could drive her away forever, but could there be a chance she’ll stay?
Indulge in this addictive dark billionaire romance that will leave you breathless. With no cheating or cliffhangers, Erik guarantees a happily-ever-after that will satisfy even the most discerning readers.
Fans of bestselling authors such as L. J. Shen, Vi Keeland, and Skye Warren will be enthralled by this steamy and seductive tale.
Please note that this gripping romance tackles sensitive topics that, although not depicted in detail, may potentially trigger some readers.
Dive into Erik (Book #1 in the Muse of Darkness series) today for a passionate and unforgettable journey through love, temptation, and the pursuit of redemption.
Synopsis
I’m broken beyond repair.
I’ve got sins I can’t confess to.
I’ve got secrets that must stay buried.
I’ve got fantasies that require NDAs.
All of those could ruin my career.
I’ve got no business dreaming about redemption.
Or forgiveness.
Let alone love.
I certainly should stay away from this woman with the face of an angel and a body made for my dark appetites.
Yet Christine has become my obsession.
I crave her light because it calms the chaos inside me.
She makes me believe there’s hope for me.
But I should know better.
If she found out what I hide behind this mask, she’d run away and never come back.
Or would she?
One-click this today for a guaranteed happily-ever-after.
No cheating or cliffhangers.
Fans of L. J. Shen, Vi Keeland, and Skye Warren will devour this steamy dark romance.
Warning: This dark billionaire romance deals with sensitive topics such as self-harm, drug abuse, suicide, and sexual assault. Although situations are not depicted in detail, they might trigger some readers.
Sneak Peek
Chapter 4 – Erik
(c) 2021 Liz Gavin
Inside my trailer, at the movie set, I lean against a desk, and sulk. I take the last swig from a bottle of beer to wash away another unproductive morning. A week past Memorial Day, we’ve accomplished very little, and fallen two weeks behind schedule.
“Amateurs.” I smash the empty bottle on the carpeted floor.
I sink into a crouch to collect the shards, disposing of them, even though they pose no threat to me. When my inner landscape gets out of control, I favor blades to restore balance.
As I stand upright again, a rich, warm soprano teases my ear, shushing my rage faster than any cold razor has ever done. This voice has lulled me around the backlot for days. Most of the times, I’ve heard her vocalizing. Today, a soulful guitar accompanies her and I can make out words.
Your face in the mirror beguiles
But I see past your magazine-cover smile
Let me dry your unshed tears
Leave behind your unspoken fears
Let me teach your heart to trust again
Believe me, I know you can
Her smooth, husky notes wrap around me like a cocoon as she describes her lover’s sorrows. That man’s pain resonates. I’ve felt it in my bones. Lyrics paint a picture, melody breathes life into a song. Her hopeful rendition, and sultry vibrato, pluck my heart strings. Her words incite my soul to yearn to fly to her. I wish I could leave all hurt behind.
I rub my palm along the tattoo covering my left arm. I can’t make out the scars under the artful design, but they remain there. All. The. Damn. Time.
Her voice echoes through muscles I’ve neglected for too long. Fueled by her passionate serenade, I indulge in a fantasy where love prevails. My heart flutters.
Let me prove you can be whole again,
I’ll make mine your pain
I believe in you
If only you believed too.
Squeezing my eyes, I mutter, “Yeah, sure. That’s going to happen.”
The singer goes on about real beauty underneath an artificial albeit stunning facade the other man wears. A twinge in my chest steals my breath. I pop my eyes open.
Her man and I draw apart right there. Only forbidding darkness lies beneath the graceful features I present to the world. For a fleeting moment, I wanted to believe she was laying bare my secrets.
I mutter, “What was I thinking?”
To break her spell, and wrench myself from a vain daydream, I stalk to the desk and shuffle papers covering its glass top. Yet her music pulls me back like moth to a candle flame.
I’m positive she hasn’t shot any scenes while I was in the studio. I’d have recognized that voice. Shooting won’t resume for another hour, which is plenty of time for what me to try to unearth the mysterious singer.
I swing the only door open, scamper down the metal steps, and stalk around the trailer, following her melodious voice. I find her, sitting under an ash tree by the soundstage, propped against its trunk. She shelters from the scorching sun yet light emanates from her whole being.
My fingers itch to touch this radiant woman. My soul hungers for this bright muse. But, my heart shrinks. My own muse has always been as dark as a moonless night.
A dark-haired man by her side leans to correct the position of her fingers on the strings. I fist my hands, driving my nails into my palms. Is he the protagonist in her lyrics?
When the man turns his face, I flatten myself against the trailer, out of their sight. I glimpse his features, recognizing one of the musicians the recording label employs to accompany Muse of Darkness during studio sessions. I squint my eyes trying to remember his name. It’s Raul something or other.
I don’t care.
Shielded by the bulky edge of the trailer, I gaze at the singer. Rays of sun beam down through the thick canopy of leaves, lending an extra glow to her long, red curls. They form a halo around her face adding to the ethereal quality of this young woman. With eyes shut tightly, she sways with the rhythm of the ballad as if she’s surrounded, heart and soul, to the music she plays.
My heart thuds against my ribcage. Blood rushes faster as if I’ve run a marathon. My ears ring and I clutch at the sleek side of the trailer. Swallowing turn difficult when my throat parches.
It cannot be her. I’ve been wrong so many times before, I should know better than to think every redheaded might be my angel.
Something about this woman summons images to my mind that I’ve often dismissed as illusions. Over the past six years, I’ve convinced myself they were the product of my addled brain on drugs.
My foolish heart prefers to believe this singer, with her angelic voice, is the same angel who once visited me. Wishing to prove the old dreamer wrong, I continue to watch her pour her soul into the song.
A mystical crackle in the air raises the hair on my nape, while a phantom cord tugs at my midriff connecting us.
When the notes fade, she pries her eyes open, and raises an eyebrow at her companion as if pleading for an appraisal. She clutches the guitar against the bodice of her floral sundress with the same strengthen she would a lifeline in rough waters.
“That was a lovely song.” His words reach me as a whisper.
She flashes him a wide smile, but her hazel eyes remain cloaked, hiding secrets and grief not unlike mine. That thought hits me like a truckload of bricks. It’s all I can do not to scoop her up in my arms, cuddling her against my chest to alleviate her suffering.
Where did this come from? I shake my head, and turn on my heels before either of them notice me.
Back in the trailer, I slump on the chair behind the desk. Best thing I’ve got to do after having identified the mystery singer is forgetting all about her. Nothing good can come from me messing around with this innocent woman. I’d have destroyed her six years ago. I don’t deserve her now. Yes, I’ve put the drug-fueled days behind me, but they’re a drop in the ocean of issues I trudge in.
“Fuck,” I slam my palms on the glass top, before crossing my arms, and dropping my forehead on them.
After a moment of indulgence, I snap my head up, and fumble with the colorful pens sticking out of a metal holder. Picking a sleek black ballpoint pen, I jot tortured verses on a blank sheet of paper accompanied by musical notations.
It’s about time my muse of darkness returned.
Interested? Download this breathtaking retelling of the Phantom of the Opera now – here.
Upcoming Releases in the Series
