Wednesday, March 7, 2018



white-knight-cover-FULLFrom NY Times Bestseller, CD Reiss... Catherine's long lost love is found.

Catherine Barrington is a rich girl. Chris Cartwright is a poor boy.

He left her to make something of himself. A man she could be proud of. A man she could bring home to her parents. A man she could marry.

On the trading floor he became the man he knew he could be. Now, it’s time to return.

Rich girl.

Poor boy.

She didn’t care about his money, but he didn’t believe her. Soon after he left, all the money was gone.

Her life is hell.

Now he’s back, and he’s different. Pristine. Gorgeous. Rich.

Rich boy.
Poor girl.

Money was never the barrier, until now.

White Knight is a standalone in the same world as King of Code, with it's own beginning, middle, and end. You don't need to read anything else to read White Knight.

Each time I go to write a review of a title by CD Reiss, I find myself thinking that I want to talk about how beautifully written the book is, how it flows perfectly, how the scenes don't seem to end but rather flow into one another naturally.

And, well, I guess I just did. The writing draws you in, it makes you feel like you are part of the story, and that this is a story about people you could meet on the street. By the end, you feel like you could sit down with them, have a conversation, and have things to talk about.

Catherine and Chris were one of those couples who are kept apart by a decision when they were young, and commitments that came from that decision, which left both of them feeling that the lives they now live no longer fit the people they were when they were together before, and that their romance is better left in the past.

Watching them work this out, and figure out that it was possible for their lives to meet in a place where moving forward together, was a lot of fun and a very enjoyable journey.

I recommend this title.

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I crossed the train tracks, looking both ways as if the freight ran on a thoroughfare. It was a few steps to the rows of mobile homes that defined that side of Barrington. The playground was in a little clearing just west of the center of the trailers. My fingertips were cold, but the rest of my body thrummed and pulsed so hard that I made my own heat. I told myself I didn’t know what to expect from this meeting, but if I didn’t know what to expect, I knew what to hope, and they were pretty much the same thing. “Catherine!” Chris wasn’t loud, but the excitement in his voice made him sound as if he were shouting. “Chris?” I spun around, looking for him in the darkness. And on a three-quarter turn, he crashed into me, all lips and hands, digging his fingertips into the muscles of my back as he pulled me close. I tasted the minty toothpaste in his mouth and thought he brushed his teeth for me. He kissed me as if he would never kiss me again. He kissed me as if this was the last kiss he would ever have in his life. As if he wanted to eat me alive. I’d given over my freedom and my choice to this thing with him, to this moment, to this stupid set of choices that would ruin me forever. As surely as the sun would rise, I was the designer of my own destruction. I wanted to be destroyed by that kiss. When Chris took my hand, I imagined I could feel the blood pulsing through the veins, the cells in his skin. I imagined that when my nerve endings vibrated at his touch, they connected to his somehow. Everything felt new. I was discovering that my body had routes between one place and another that I never knew existed. I never knew that when a man touched my hand or kissed my nipples, I could feel it between my legs. There was a click behind the tree line, and he stopped kissing me with a jerk. We froze long enough for him to smile.

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About the Author

_21A6258_pp-fbCD Reiss is a New York Times bestseller. She still has to chop wood and carry water, which was buried in the fine print. Her lawyer is working it out with God but in the meantime, if you call and she doesn't pick up she's at the well hauling buckets. Born in New York City, she moved to Hollywood, California to get her master's degree in screenwriting from USC. In case you want to know, that went nowhere but it did give her a big enough ego to write novels. She's frequently referred to as the Shakespeare of Smut which is flattering but hasn't ever gotten her out of chopping that cord of wood. If you meet her in person, you should call her Christine.

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