BLURB:

It all began with letters. 

Every word he wrote etched itself into my mind, into my soul. 

I had no choice but to fall in love with him. 

Was it really so bad that the letters were part of a pen pal program, sent from a penitentiary. Or that they weren’t really addressed to me?

It’s not as if he’d ever find out the truth.

It’s not as if I’d ever get to meet him or stare into his eyes that I think are blue as the sky over his ranch he left behind. Or that I’d ever get to feel his work-roughened hands dominating my body as he does my fevered dreams.

Until one afternoon when I find myself standing in front of him at the courthouse.

Pretending to be someone I am not.

But the joke’s on me because for all my pretenses, his deception is much crueler. The hardened, dangerous, impossibly beautiful man is nothing like the man in the letters. 

And it may be too late for me to run. 

Because with one signature on the dotted line, I become his to do as he pleases.

Till death do us part.