By Jo Kessel
“We got so busy living life that we forgot to live our dreams.”
Danni Lewis has been playing it safe for twenty-six years, but her sheltered existence is making her feel old ahead of time. When a sudden death plunges her into a spiral of grief, she throws caution to the wind and runs away to France in search of a new beginning.
The moment ski instructor Olivier du Pape enters her shattered world she falls hard, in more ways than one.
Their mutual desire is as powerful and seductive as the mountains around them. His dark gypsy looks and piercing blue eyes are irresistible.
Only she must resist, because he has a wife – and she’d made a pact to never get involved with a married man.
But how do you choose between keeping your word and being true to your soul?
Weak at the Knees is Jo’s debut novel in the new adult, contemporary romance genre – a story about love, loss and relationships, set between London and the heart of the French Alps.
Read an excerpt:
I tilt my head into his hand as he strokes my left cheek. He brings his lips in to meet mine and our eyes close. We seal our adulterous pact with a slow, slightly trembling, pressing kiss. When we pull away we smile, then hug standing, bodies tight and swaying, squeezing the breath out of each other.
He prods me playfully, steering me in the direction of my bedroom. When we get there he stands really close, running his hands up and down my arms, then holding my waist and consuming me with his gaze as he pushes me down onto the bed so that I land with him lying on top of me. I love the way his long black eyelashes curl at the ends, flickering. The way his nostrils flare ever so slightly when he inhales. The way his black mop flops forward, giving him a boyish look. We start kissing deeper and more urgently, gliding hands over each others’ bodies, one by one discarding each item of clothing, tossing them carelessly in the air, until we’re lying there completely naked, his flesh on mine. My body is one big tingle. No sooner than his hands gently glide over one part of my frame, my left breast, my right breast, my stomach, in between my legs, than the whole rest of me aches to be touched and not left out. His body is perfect, in its natural, lithe, muscular toning and in the texture of his skin, smooth and soft. His body is perfect in the way it fits on top of mine, meets mine and complements mine. I love feeling him, touching him, watching his eyes close dreamily when I stroke his back or kiss his neck. We take our time, everything in slow motion, taking pleasure in the contours of each others’ bodies.
When Jo was ten years old she wrote a short story about losing a loved one. Her mother and big sister were so moved by the tale that it made them cry. Having reduced them to tears she vowed that the next time she wrote a story it would make them smile instead. Happily she succeeded and with this success grew an addiction for wanting to reach out and touch people with words. Jo lives in London with her husband and three children where she works as a TV and print journalist. She tells life stories and can often be found travelling the globe researching the next big holiday hotspots for readers to enjoy. Since becoming a mother anything even remotely sad makes her cry. She’s a sucker for a good romance and tear-jerker movies are the worst. She’s that woman in the cinema, struggling to muffle audible wails as everyone else turns round to stare.
P.S Jo’s pretty certain one of her daughters has inherited this gene.
I love to hear from my readers and they can connect with me:
My website: www.jokessel.com