#AvailableNow #Review ~~ The Saint by @AuthorlplovellLauren
Kerry’s 3.5 Blush Review
My feelings for The Saint are conflicted, not unlike Saint Kingsley, the man!
I went in blind which was best because I may not have read it. (LP Lovell is one of those authors that I will just read blindly!) This book took me out of my comfort zone, and I will read just about anything! Books relating to faith/religion are ones I typically shy away from. Honestly, I’m still trying to wrap my head around what I just read. I don’t think I have ever read a book so slowly… slow, methodical reading is what I needed to really understand the anti-heroine.
Saint Kingsley isn’t Saintly; he’s cold, powerful and some may think a psychopath. A deviant Catholic. His mind is a dark place, he seeking absolution for his sins, which I understood, but his methods often in a morbid way.
Saint believes Eden was sent to him. In his mind, she’s an angel, innocent, pure. Eden is looking for her brother who is in trouble. In her search, she is led to Saint. Eden is fighting her own internal battle. Saint believes Eden can save him.
This is not a love story – there is no romance! It’s well written and different than anything I have ever read. It’s left me with some unanswered questions, which I believe the author wanted!
My life was simple; God, business and myself, in that order.Then I met an angel, and everything changed.
To be loved by an angel is to be loved by God himself…
“You’re acting crazy…crazier than normal. Why would you employ Eden?”
“So we can watch her.” There’s no we about it.
He snorts. “Two weeks ago you wanted me to kill her. Now you’re giving her a job. I see the way you look at her.”
Anger starts to bubble like lava, just waiting to spill over and destroy everything in its path. “And how is that?”
“Like she interests you. And nothing interests you aside from money.”
So he sees it. “My interest in her is money because she threatens it. Her brother threatens it.” The lies pour so easily from my lips with enough plausibility to fool my brother — he who knows me so well — the only one who would notice my attentions slipping.
“You aren’t focused.”
“I’m fine!” I instantly regret the slight loss of control, the snap in my voice because it proves an element of truth in his words. Pushing to my feet, I move to the bar and pour a half glass of whiskey before knocking back a full gulp and slamming the glass on the bar. I walk straight past him and yank the door open with a heavy groan of old hinges. I storm from the room, right into Eden. We collide, and she staggers back, dropping the tray of glasses in her hand. The crash can be heard over the music.
She drops to her knees immediately, scrambling to pick up the glass. “I’m sorry,” she says, glancing up at me through long lashes. My cock twitches, my lungs shrink, and my pulse hammers out a staccato rhythm against my eardrums. She’s on her knees before me. Worshipping me, praying at my altar. The thought makes my cock painfully hard, and I can’t…think. A breath hisses through her lips, and she snatches her gaze away, lifting her hand. Blood pours from her finger, cascading down her hand so hypnotically. I drop to a crouch, grabbing her wrist and tugging her closer. The soft jazz music swells around us, and I know there’s a room full of people, but all I see is her…and her blood. So red, so vibrant. Our eyes meet, and I hold my breath, fighting the torrent of images flashing through my mind. Wings. Flames. Blood tears. Blood, blood, blood. Wings of crimson. An angel on her knees, a sacrificial offering. For me. To me. And she looks so good in blood, the crimson against that pristine, pale skin. No!
Shoving to my feet, I stagger away from her. “Clean that up,” I grunt before hurrying away.
She tempts the very darkest parts of me to the surface. Which is precisely why she should be dead, a little voice pops up in my mind. It would be so easy, her existence washed from this planet and thus my mind, as bleach washes germs away. I would feel cleansed. Fixed. Right. But if an angel is the voice of your conscience, encouraging good, then this…craving must surely be the work of the devil. Burning, burning, burning.
She tests me with her simple innocence and naivety, and how truly damned does that make me — that I should crave the destruction of something pure? She plays to my weaknesses, and that troubles me in ways I cannot fathom. This is what He wants, to watch me lose control, to watch me struggle for Him.
I need to get out of this club.
l’ve never run from anyone, but I’m fleeing from the monster she entices from deep inside me. I should never have offered her a job here. I keep walking, moving through the club and straight out of the front door, racing towards the salvation that I sorely need.
About the Author:
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Twitter: @AuthorlplovellLauren Lovell is an indie author from England.She suffers from a total lack of brain to mouth filter and is the friend you have to explain before you introduce her to anyone, and apologise for afterwards.
Lauren is a self-confessed shameless pervert, who may be suffering from slight peen envy.
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