A Little Crushed

A Little Crushed

by Viviane Brentanos

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release: December 14, 2012

Editor: Anne Duguid

Line Editor: Penny Ehrenkranz

Cover Designer: Suzannah Safi

Words  80283

Pages  286

ISBN  978-1-77127-230-8

Price  $5.95

Back Cover:

Rebecca Harding is intelligent, witty and sometimes downright annoying. She is also damaged. To the outside world, she presents an image of a young woman in control, confident and cynical but no one knows her torment. In her nightmare, she is alone.

But then, Max Jackson enters her life when it is teetering on the brink. Despite a rocky start to their relationship, he becomes her salvation.

Max is the only person who knows the truth. He understands her fears and wants to protect her fragile heart. In Rebecca, he recognizes a kindred spirit. He would give anything to take away her pain but he comes to realize Rebecca has read more into his concern. He would rather die than hurt her but life throws him a curve ball, leaving him no choice but to walk away.

Excerpt:

Rebecca seethed in silence while her mind raced, her imagination revving into top gear as she plotted the demise of Mr. Jackson. She couldn’t believe the intensity of the man. No one talked to her that way; not even her father.

“I don’t think he likes you much,” Emma whispered in her ear.

“You don’t say.” From beneath a strategically arranged curtain of hair, Rebecca studied him. He leaned against his desk, hands resting behind his head, droning on in that horrendous antipodean drawl, oblivious to the effect he seemed to be having on her female classmates. Or was he? Rebecca rubbed at her nose and snorted. She betted not. Weren’t all Aussie men male chauvinist pigs?

   Julie the class philanthropist’s ‘Is he fit or what?’ roused her from her silent discourse. She was just about to lash Julie with an acid reality check when Emma’s sigh of concurrence stopped her dead.

   “Yer… what a hunk!”

   Emma’s disloyalty stunned her. Oh, but revenge was sweet.

   “Would you like to contribute to this so far pitiful discussion on the finer points of iambic pentameter Miss…?”

Despite herself, Rebecca was impressed. This guy beamed around the room as fast as a time traveler.

   “Emma, sir. Emma Brown.” Emma dissolved into a mound of half-set jelly.

    “Get a grip, Em. You are so—”

   “Miss Harding, either you have a death wish, or you have the mental capacity of a two-year-old.”

    Beneath his freezer glare, Rebecca squirmed.

   For the rest of the lesson, she remained silent, wishing the bell would ring and end the torture. Her headache pounded against the front of her skull, as subtle as a heavy metal drum beat. From behind her copy of Shakespeare’s finest, she contemplated how best to punish her new adversary. Why was he her adversary? It didn’t make sense. Mid-life crisis? No. He looked too young for that. Maybe… The shrill trill of the bell interrupted her deliberations. Thank goodness. It had been a crap beginning to the new term, and she just wanted to run home and jump into bed with half a ton of Aspirin.

   “Don’t forget,” Mr. Jackson called as the class filed out. “I want that essay completed by tomorrow. Not so fast, Miss Harding. I want to speak to you.”

    Rebecca sighed. Was there no end to her torment?

“Lucky bitch. You get to be by yourself with him.” Easing by, Emma pinched her arm.

   Alone in the ominously quiet room, Rebecca tugged on the end of her plait. She was not a coward by a long shot, but he made her feel vulnerable. Most men did.

   “Close the door.” His tone was low and clipped. Scary.

   She obliged, the thought crossing her mind that maybe he was going to strike her. He seemed crazy enough. Facing him again, she braced herself for a verbal blitz, but instead, a stony wall of silence met her head-on. He sat, studying her while tapping on the edge of his desk with a pen. His piercing stare made her very uncomfortable. If this was psychological warfare, she was fast losing the battle. Oh well, time to eat humble pie. She cleared her throat. “Look if it’s about the other day, I really was in a hurry. Wally, you see…my dog…he’s a bugger, and when I said bloody colonials, I didn’t mean you. I mean, how could I? I didn’t even know you were a bloody col—Australian—but Mrs. Baird is, and that’s who—”

   “Have you finished? I don’t recall asking you for a commentary.” He continued to flay her with too-clear contempt. “I know your type.”

   He spoke so quietly she strained to hear him. More tactics no doubt. “Oh?” She aimed for nonchalance. “I didn’t realize I was a type.”

   “Miss Harding. You’re very much mistaken if you think I am going to be intimidated by you because I assure you I’m not.”

“All this because I was a few minutes late?” she burst out. “It’s simply ludicrous.”

   “Ah, now there lies the problem, you see. To you, it doesn’t seem important, but to me, it’s extremely important. It’s all about punctuality, discipline, good manners, and you, young lady, are lacking in all three. Isn’t that so?”

    “Am I supposed to answer that, Mr. Jackson?’ She walked a dangerously thin line, but she couldn’t help it. He dumbfounded her. How could he know what kind of person she was? He had no right to judge her.

   “Why do you do this?” He changed tactics. “Is it a ploy for attention? Do you crave attention?”

She flinched, feeling the angry flush creep from her neck to her cheeks. “I didn’t realize you were a part-time psychologist.”

   He didn’t reply, continuing to probe deep with all-too-seeing eyes.

   “Can I go now?” She struggled to keep tears at bay. Her eyes stung, hot and gritty from too little sleep.

   “Yes, you may go for now, but I want those lines on my desk tomorrow.”

   “You cannot be serious. I’ve got your essay to write, not to mention—”

   “Not my problem.” He stood and guided her to the door. “Besides, I’m sure a girl of your superior intelligence will breeze through it. Now out. I’ve wasted enough of my time on you as it is.”

   She couldn’t wait to oblige.

About the Author:

I was born in Reading UK in 1958. My father is English and my mother is French although there is a strong vein of Spanish on my maternal grandmother’s side. I was educated at various schools before completing Sixth Form College at St Peter's Huntingdon. I somehow managed to collect A levels in English, French and History and I subsequently won a place at Sheffield University where I decided to read Classical Civilization. Once there, however, I decided that I had had enough of the academic life; I found the student mentality rather false and having been brought up in student circles, rather boring. Much to my mother's horror, I gave up my studies and went to London to begin a course as a Canine Beautician. In 1984, my first husband and I parted ways amicably and I decided to visit the Ionian island of Corfu to celebrate my new freedom. It proved to be a life-changing decision. I still remember to this day, sitting in a café-bar, overlooking the crystal clear azure sea and saying to my friend. "I never want to leave here". I absolutely love the life-style here. I would recommend it to anyone. I remarried and have two children.

But I decided that there was more to me than being a mother and wife {although, I hasten to add, it is a worthy assignment.} I decided to finally get my head down and do what I'd always promised myself; I was going to write. I have been writing romance since my early teens, mostly for my own satisfaction and for my friends but now I really want to work at it. Writing has become my passion. I have always been a "Romantic", often accused of not living in the real world but who wants to do that? I like to call my work Romance with a quirky, humorous Brit twist and I am always striving to make my characters real, characters we can all relate to. I hope you all enjoy my world.

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Author's Other Works

Written in Stone – MuseItHot Publishing

Cold, Cold Heart – MuseItHot Publishing

Fragile Dreams – Red Rose Publishing

Dreamweek – Red Rose Publishing

Past Undone – MuseItUp Publishing {coming 2012}

Customer Reviews:

This is not the first Viviane Brentanos book I have read, so I've got some high expectations of her work.rnrnIn the past I've sat in the wings, an eager child waiting for the next installment from an author I loved only to be deeply disappointed...would that happen here?rnrnA LITTLE CRUSHED exposes the darker elements deeply embedded in the human psyche when violence has claimed ownerhip over more than the scabs and spidery silver scars one sees reflecting back from the outer shell we have no choice but to let the world see.rnrnStrip away the layers of tremoring flesh and the real scars, the ongoing elements of pain percolate...waiting like a time bomb to explode beyond the tenuous walls built up to contain them.rnrnRebecca Harding, eighteen, survived the unspeakable, but the cost of "pretending" she's recovered from the cacophony of mired emotions is taking its toll.rnrnMax Jackson, nine years her senior is about to become her teacher and the catalyst for erecting the bridge between her past and her future.rnrnImmediately Rebecca's hackles rise and two very determined heads begin butting.rnrnSurvivors of violence against women and children have a long legacy of residual pain that very few can begin to understand let alone articulate. Viviane Brentanos pulls aside the layers, letting all of us see the difficult process of recovery. She shows us with unadorned realism the safe guards and bulkheads victims erect to protect their fragile psyches from ever being vulnerable again, and what it takes to tear them down and build true foundations of healing.rnrnThis is a love story...one that wages an uphill war with the memories of violence and the longing for "normal".rnrnI will not do "spoiler" and give away any of the story's impact. To do so would be unfair to Ms. Brentaons and you, the potential reader. However, I would be remiss if I gave this powerful book anything less than five stars.

Max has a dilemma. Does he allow the caustic but fragile Rebecca, to get under his skin— and if so, how much, how far? A Little Crushed is provocative and will linger with you long after the last page is turned. This age-old tale of student/teacher attraction is told with intelligence and depth. The complexities of the characters is so real you'll laugh and cry right beside them and catch yourself wondering what you would do in their place.rn Ms Brentanos is a rare commodity in women's fiction— an author whose words absolutely absorb the reader in the world of her books. Wonderful dialogue, wry wit and people you can't help but hate and adore make every page a delight. Get ready to feel a rainbow of emotion. Care and be moved. Five stars!

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