Latitude 59 ($12.95/140 pages/ISBN: 978-1-60381-572-7) is the Christine Edwards’s eighth erotic romance. Following an avalanche, a heli-skier is snowbound with a former professional hockey player in his cabin in the Alaskan wilderness.
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“Latitude 59 is a game changer for Christine Edwards! Known for her seriously sexy and dominant Alphas, she has surprisingly crafted Roark Thibault with just the perfect amount of gentle sweetness. She then infused every word with a kind of poignant longing and her signature brand of blazing desire to make this book burn hotter than the Midnight sun. It’s definitely Christine at her satisfying, soul scorching best.” Read more….
—Agents of Romance
“Latitude 59 will make you believe in love & it will make your soul (and other body parts) sizzle on a frosty winter night!” Read more….
—I am a Book Addict (and proud of it)
5/5 Stars: “Really enjoyed this high energy Romance. From the start I loved how Christine brought the environment to life with her amazing description.” Read more….
—Nichole’s Sizzling Pages
“This is a very interesting read. I love the chemistry that Roark and Sabine have. The book is very well written and keeps you turning the pages. The attraction that they know they can never fight is so intense and hot. Another great one Christine!” Read more….
–Mindy, Hynes & Bigham Literary Tryst
Christine’s many fans know her for her irresistible alpha male heroes and feisty and intelligent heroines.
Nordic Bound: “[Edwards] has once again unleashed her mastery in the art of true Erotica to create a story that is realistically raw and yet tender at the same time.” —Agents of Romance
“Charleston Past Midnight has some super sexy old-school vampires and an intriguing love story.” —Fresh Fiction
Captured in Croatia: “An exciting read…. I thoroughly enjoyed the story from start to finish. It had a nice hook at the beginning and a completely satisfying end.” —Long and Short Reviews
Nabbed in New Zealand: “From the beaches to the snowcapped treacherous mountains the setting is a great backdrop to this ‘sit on the edge of your seat’ romance…. you can feel the sexual tension jump off the page.” —So Many Reads … So Little Time
An avalanche disrupts a heli-skiing trip. Is Sabine’s only hope for survival a man as brutal as the storm that nearly killed her?
The life of Roark Thibault has been ruled by violence. As the enforcer for an NHL hockey team, he’s a master at his craft, laying waste to anyone who crosses his path with a viciousness that has earned him both fear and respect. But a career-ending knee injury has made him question everything. Choosing solitude, he resides in a remote cabin set deep in the Alaskan wilderness. While hunting, he runs across a gorgeous, unconscious, half-frozen skier.
Sabine Borgia is terrified of her imposing savior. At first. She soon discovers that behind the gruff exterior is a complex man scarred by love and life. Will this puzzling beauty be the one to finally melt the heart of this fiercely private warrior?
Says Christine, “Heli Skiing happens to be one of the most thrilling and obscure winter sports on the planet. Who wouldn’t agree that it takes a massive dose of courage to be dropped via cable from a helicopter onto the face of an imposing mountain? With Latitude 59 my goal was to transport the reader from the comfort of their warm, cozy homes and into the breathtaking, yet often brutal world of the Alaskan wilderness.”
Erotic romance author Christine Edwards grew up on Hilton Head Island, SC. Christine has a special place in her heart for reading and writing erotic tales. She continues to publish stories that immerse readers in exotic and realistic geographic settings amid interesting subcultures of adult life. Within the vein of BDSM romance, her main focus is on loving, multi-faceted relationships involving intense alpha males and strong-willed, passionate heroines. Christine resides in the Deep South. Click here to visit Christine online.
Keep reading for an excerpt:
I stare at him in frozen horror. The two words that come to mind are ‘fierce’ and ‘intimidating.’ I’ve never seen a man like him before today and likely never will again. His hair, which brushes the tops of his wide shoulders, is light brown streaked with blond, the former matching his full beard. But it’s his eyes—big, skeptical eyes the color of deep, dark espresso—that bore straight into me.
Seconds tick by and he doesn’t move, much less utter a word, just continues to stare. Two mammoth furry dogs are splayed out at his feet and when I finally manage to breathe, I eke out a nervous, barely audible rasp, “Who are you?”
He hesitates a moment and finally says in a low bass voice, “The guy who found you. Name’s Roark.”
I blink and ask slowly, “Found me?”
“Yeah. You hurt?”
Everything comes back in a rush—the accident, the hours of trekking in the wind and cold. Once the snow clouds rolled in, everything took a turn for the worse, becoming close to unbearable; that’s about the time it all went hazy.
I croak out a desperate plea, “I’m all right, just really sore. Please, can I use your phone? My friends … they’re still lost. I … I have to call for help immediately … before it’s too late.”
Showing no emotion, he tells me evenly, “Take it easy, lady. Just phoned the sheriff. Your cousin and buddy are safe in a hospital over in Anchorage.”
The flood of relief is too much. I try to choke back the sobs but fail miserably. The tears are dripping off my chin as I swipe my face and mumble, “Are you sure? They’re really alive?”
“As of an hour ago, yeah. You’re safe now, so relax.”
“Thank you, for what you did—saving me up there, I mean.” The gratitude comes out awkwardly.
He watches me with those penetrating eyes but stays silent.
“I’d like to get in touch with my parents.”
He points over to a desk that’s nestled against a sweeping wall of windows. “Phone’s over there, have at it. You want somethin’ to eat?”
“No, no thanks. I’m really thirsty though.”
He blinks and walks away. I listen and hear a refrigerator door open then slam somewhere off inside the cabin. His heavy boots make his footsteps boom throughout the place. I pull the rest of the quilts away, slip my socks on, and sit up, Indian style. When he enters the living room again, he keeps his distance. I watch him place the large, ice-cold glass of water down on the knotted wood coffee table that separates us. I stare at it, watching the rivulets begin to run down the sides, lit from behind by the roaring fire.
I’ve never felt so uncomfortable around someone in my entire life.
“Thanks,” I murmur, reaching out for the glass. He says nothing and turns on his heel to leave the room, giving another whistle that prompts the pair of black and white dogs to follow him.
I do my best to steady my hands as I take a long, shaky drink.
So good … more.
I try to pace myself, not wanting to choke. From the looks of it, he’d choose a long swim in an icy river over giving me CPR. Whatever, at least the three of us are alive to tell the tale. Assuming this warrior of a man is telling me the truth, then the police know where I am and should be on their way, hopefully arriving any minute now.