About Silent Music:

Brought together by passion;
Separated by destiny.

She’s his muse.
His love.
His inspiration.
And he refuses to let her go.

For nearly two years, Kai Eastwood has watched Phoenix Banks lost in a state of coma.
Singing the songs they wrote.
Remembering the moments they spent together.
Missing the kisses they shared.
Holding hope.

But how long can hope be held when, with each new day, Phoenix slips farther away?

Maybe this time
When the music fades,
And the silence invades,
Their song will begin.

Excerpt

I needed to complete that literature paper if I wanted to get at least a C on it, so I made my way to the library and hoped to get some work done. Dropping my bag, I took out my notepad and a pen and claimed a seat. A few minutes into the book, someone slipped a note in front of me.

I saw a girl. Enthralled,

This heart wondered all night long.

All night long.

What is she called?

The words brought a smile to my lips, and I lifted my head to look at the person who wrote them—gray eyes. My breath faltered as his smile grew bigger. The guy from the park!

“Hi,” I whispered.

Instead of replying, he rolled his eyes and pointed at the note he handed me. I raised my brows—what was that supposed to mean? Looking heavenwards, he shook his head and whispered, “Answer back.”

Damn, I could write lyrics, but when I was under pressure like this, absolutely nothing would come out. I scribbled something on the back of the paper and turned it toward him.

Phoenix,

The one who burns to rise from the ashes.

And what’s yours,

If I may ask?

His forehead creased, probably wondering what kind of odd name this was, but then his gray eyes softened, and a smile appeared on his face. He took the pen between his fingers and tapped it on his cheek, thinking. After a few seconds, he wrote something on his notepad and showed it to me.

Kai …

Who likes birds that fly,

Girls with green eyes,

Blueberry pies

And making the girl before me smile.

I bit back a smile and wrote back.

Nice name.

I like it.

He read what I wrote, and looked up. Fixing his gaze on me, he bit his lower lip—Oh boy—and scribbled something.

And I like you …

As soon as I read what he wrote, a smile formed on my lips. I was not one to blush, but no guy had been upfront with me before.

Thank you …

But I need to know you before I can say whether I like you or not.

I showed him what I wrote and the sides of his eyes crinkled. He landed those grays on me again, but this time they lingered a moment longer. He wrote something and turned the notepad to me.

Then go on a date with me?

Dumbfounded, I stared at what he wrote and tried to process his words. I saw this guy a few days ago, and we didn’t talk. He just completed one line for me—and now he was flirting—but a part of me loved this attention. What do I do?

Why do you think I should go on a date with you?

He read what I wrote and raised one eyebrow. Long fingers threaded through his brown hair, messing it up as he thought about his next words.

Because I’m a fucking sexy beast.

Laughter tried to escape me, but I held it in, reminding myself that we were in a library.

But what if you’re a sexy beast who’s a bad kisser?

His eyes scrolled over what I wrote, and his features shifted, suddenly becoming serious. He pushed away the lock of hair that fell into his line of vision, and pasted a devil-like smirk on his face.

Babes, when I kiss you, you’ll breathe me, you’ll forget this stupid world, and you’ll catch fire. That’s a promise!

Who was this guy?

Whoever he was, he was damn tempting.

If I catch fire, you get yourself a date.

He read my words and wrote his.

Come.

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About Aisling Magic:

Aisling Magic is a twenty-something author who can either be found writing about people falling in love or has her nose buried in a book well past her bedtime. She enjoys chocolate, cello music, rainy nights, long drives, traveling the world, and Chris Hemsworth.

About her books: She writes romance stories with a hint of humor. Her heroines may not always be sexy, but are strong, her heroes may not always be the alpha but are dedicated and the families in her stories may not always be related by blood but are all bonded by heart. Aisling likes to pretend she’s the most badass character in her novels but in the real world, she doesn’t even go to the toilet at night without lighting up the house.

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