Friday, February 13, 2015

Relaunch Blitz for Gravity Series by Sarina Bowen

Angsty Vermont snowboarders, anyone?

She's the woman he doesn't remember. He's the man she can't forget.

Bad boy Hank “Hazardous” Lazarus used to have everything: a gorgeous girlfriend,

a career as a freestyle snowboarder and a spot on the US Olympic team. Nine

months ago, after a bad crash in the half pipe, he woke up in the hospital, unable

to move his legs. Now he’s landed there again, but gravity is not the culprit. With

his family pressuring him to try a groundbreaking treatment, Hank self-medicates

with too much tequila instead.

Doctor Callie Anders has the courage to restart a patient’s heart with a thousand

volts of electricity, yet she’s afraid to risk her own. So she doesn’t confess to the

clinic’s newest patient that they met just before the accident, an encounter that

he doesn’t remember. Even as their friendship develops, she won’t admit she

regrets turning down his dinner invitation, or that her heart stutters every time

those inked shoulders roll through the door of the therapy department.

With another Vermont winter coming again, Hank needs a hand out from under

the avalanche of his disappointments. If only Callie were brave enough to take the


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"One of the highlights of my 2014 reading year." —Jane Litte at

"4.5 stars. Hank and Callie are an inspiration to love stories everywhere. HOT." —

RT (Romantic Times) Book Reviews

"What a book! I’m always looking for different, inspiring, more in my books and

Sarina Bowen delivers every time." — The Bookish Babe

"Sexy and heartwarming, Falling From the Sky is a story of redemption, trust and

falling in love." — Mandi Schreiner of SmexyBooks


“Hi,” Callie said softly. “I’m Doctor Anders. Or Callie, if you wish.”

“Callie,” he cleared his throat. “You look really familiar.”

That wasn’t what she had expected him to say. It would have been as good a time as any to mention

that they’d met about ten minutes before his accident, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Who would

want to be reminded of that afternoon? “I’ve been here all week,” she said instead. “But we don’t expect

you to keep track of the dozens of people who prod you all day.”

“And all night,” he added.

She sat down on a stool next to his bed. “That’s my fault. I need to know that they’re looking at your

vitals every three hours. It helps me sleep.” She winked, and was rewarded with half a smile. “Now,

quick—before the room is invaded again by nurses’ assistants—how’s your pain? Is there anything you


Hank lifted one hand to his face, and Callie was glad to see it. If his injury had happened farther up

his spine, he wouldn’t have been able to do that. With his palm, Hank rubbed several days’ worth of

whiskers, which only served to make him look more rugged, while he considered her question. “Let’s

see…I need a full rack of Curtis’ ribs, with spicy sauce and a baked potato. And I need to get the hell out

of this hospital.”

She nodded obligingly, even though she couldn’t fulfill any of those requests. But if he was talking

about food and getting out of here, those were both good signs. “You’ll be transferring to a rehab facility


“Yeah,” he sighed. His gaze wandered again, his eyes aiming at the window.

“The rehab place will let you sleep through the night,” she said, keeping her voice light. “And you’ll

have your own clothes. I hear the food is better, too.”

“Couldn’t really be worse,” he said, turning to face Callie again. His dark eyes locked onto hers, and

Callie felt the moment stretch and take hold. He didn’t say anything more, but he didn’t have to. Silently,

an understanding passed between them. It didn’t matter if the food got better. Hank Lazarus was in for a

shitty time, truly the shittiest time of his life. The distance he’d come these past five days was a descent

from the highest high to the lowest low. And there wasn’t a damned thing either of them could do about


“Hang in there,” Callie whispered. “This right here is the very worst part.”

He didn’t break their staring contest. “You promise?” he rumbled, his voice pure whiskey and



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