Love on the Edge of Time, an all-new stand-alone story about a love too great to be bound by time, from Julie A. Richman is coming November 13th!

Love on the Edge of Time by Julie A. Richman

Publishing Date: November 13th, 2017

He likes whiskey and wild women

She likes Ben & Jerry’s

He’s about to get kicked out of his own band

She ate her way off the Miss America pageant circuit

What could these two possibly have in common?

A psychiatrist

A lot of unresolved issues

A whole bunch of shared lifetimes

And a love that is never-ending

As bad boy rocker, Jesse Winslow, and former pageant queen, Kylie Martin, each fight the demons screwing up their lives, the one person who holds the key to healing their ills and reuniting two souls that have searched for one another, lifetime after lifetime, is the only one who knows the whole truth.

And keeping that truth from them may just be in preeminent psychiatrist Dr. Claire Stoddard’s best interests.

Claire has committed the ultimate sin in the medical world. She’s fallen for the one man she’s forbidden to love.

Her patient, Jesse Winslow.

And she’s not about to lose him to Kylie Martin... Again.

I’m at a table in the back-right corner, he texted.

In a cab a few blocks away. See you in 5.

Kylie was running a few minutes late, not rudely late, just fashionably late. She had pulled nearly everything she owned out of her closet, trying to find something that was flattering, yet rock-star cool and ‘Yeah, I know his ex is a top model’. ‘So What’ chic was the look she was trying to pull off. It wasn’t easy. With the recent weight loss, she was between sizes. Her big girl clothes, as she was now referring to them, looked like misshapen potato sacks on her and her pageant days’ wardrobe were nowhere near an option yet, and might not ever be.

She made the decision. It’s New York, seriously, just pick something black. And so black it was. Black legging jeans, black high boots, a thin, black, cashmere V-neck sweater, all topped with a black leather jacket. Twisting her hair, she clipped it up, then pulled a few strands out to frame her face and a few at the base of her neckline. It was messy and sexy.

Standing in front of the mirror, she wondered for whom she was dressing. Jesse? Well, yeah, you don’t want to be seen with a rock star looking like a beast on parade. The paparazzi? Same logic applied as for Jesse. The skinny model ex-girlfriend? Well, not really for her, but for everyone who would make a comparison. For herself? C’mon, he’s Jesse Fucking Winslow. Get real.

As she made her way to the back of the darkened restaurant, Kylie could feel her spine straighten, shoulders fall back, chin up. The only thing missing was the sash as she gracefully floated past tables, the male occupants covertly attempting to sneak an appreciative look without alerting their female companions.

I’ve still got it.

And her confidence soared as she sat down in the chair next to one of the sexiest, most recognizable men on the planet, and he had watched every man in the restaurant check her out.

“You look gorgeous, Toots.”

“Thank you.” It was still surreal that she was sitting here with her new buddy.

“I’m going to have to fight half the guys in the restaurant off you.”

Laughing, “I doubt that.” Kylie rolled her eyes.

Preorder Exclusively on ibooks:

http://apple.co/2xZfMjW

Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2h4eQUD

I must've been 5 or 6 when I started writing "stories". I would write them and hide them. Not wanting anyone to see my "secret" thoughts. I needed to write - even back then. Now I'm just not hiding them anymore. Is that a sign of maturity? Nah...

Writer, photographer, insatiable wanderluster, edge-player, foodie, music addict, pop culture fanatic, animal lover, warrior for the rights of people and planet, and avid cusser (am a Native New Yorker, so very little offends me...and if I am offended, it must be pretty freaking bad..like bad grammar!)

I am a big believer in signs and if we keep ourselves open, there are guideposts all along the way. Stay humble. Be true. Be you.

Life is not a dress rehearsal...