Special excerpt for contemporary romance novel Deep by Skye Warren

readers. Today I’m featuring a special excerpt for the (steamy) contemporary
romance novel, Deep, by Skye Warren.
her virtual book tour, Skye will be awarding a $15 Amazon or Barnes and Noble
(winner’s choice) gift card to a lucky randomly drawn winner. To be entered for
a chance to win, use the form below.
To increase your chances of winning, feel free to visit
her other tour stops
and enter there, too!
A little
bit about Deep:
Powerful. Dangerous.

Philip Murphy has all of Chicago under his thumb. Except me.

We met in a perfect storm of violence and lust. He saved me and then disappeared
from my life. Now I pretend I never knew that kind of darkness. I focus on
midterms and campus parties, as if they can wipe the slate clean.

Then he turns up outside my dorm room–wounded and barely conscious. He’s the
head of a criminal empire, a powerful man, but he needs me now. There are
traitors in his midst.

I can help him, but I can’t fall for him.

Not again.

Excerpt from Deep:
The sound came again, louder. A shiver ran through me. It
was coming from outside the room, but not from either side. It was coming from
the door.
I crept over and
looked out the peephole. An empty hallway bulged in the distorted lens.
Now I was doubting myself. Had I actually heard something?
Maybe it had come from the dorm room across the hall. When I first moved here,
it had been shortly after my “ordeal,” as my adoptive mother called it. I had
jumped at every sound, both real and imagined, more traumatized by my brush
with danger than I’d wanted to admit.
My gaze snapped to
my phone.
I could call my adoptive mother right now, but I knew she
wouldn’t want to be bothered. I could call the building management, but I knew
what would happen. The same thing that had happened last time I called them.
They’d send my floor advisor to check on me. If there was anything scary in
this hallway, she’d have to face it first.
And if there wasn’t anything scary, if it was my imagination
again, the PTSD I didn’t want to acknowledge, well then everyone would know how
fucked up I was inside.
No, I had to be overreacting. This was nothing. There was no
one in the hallway. And even if there was, it would be some drunk guy, passed
out on the wrong floor.
I’m a normal
college student, I reminded myself. I’m not afraid of anything.
Both of those things were lies, I was neither normal nor
brave, but at least I could send a drunk frat boy on his way.
I opened the door
a crack. Nothing.
Relief filled me,
and I opened the door wider.
A body slid inside, slumped over without the door to support
him. A short scream escaped me before I caught myself.
He was wearing a three-piece suit stained with blood, his
expression slack, eyes glassy with pain and delirium. Philip.
Oh God, he was hurt. Really badly hurt if he couldn’t stand
up. Horribly hurt if he’d ever have come to me of all people. I didn’t have
time to process the shock of it, of seeing him again. I had to get him out of
sight. If he’d been injured like this, someone was after him. Someone would
want to finish the job.
“Come inside,” I
whispered urgently, pulling his arm.
All that earned me
was a weak groan.
Panic beat in my
chest. Was he losing consciousness? Was he dying?
I managed to sling his heavy arm over my shoulders,
staggering under even that much weight. Christ. Awake he was pure packed power.
Half-conscious and injured, he was like a pile of steel bars—unmovable and
“I’ll never
forgive you if you die on my doorstep,” I said.
Something like a grunt escaped him—it might have been a
laugh. Either way, he surged up, tapping into some deep well of energy or
survival instinct. His effort and all my strength pushed us through the doorway
and into my dorm room. It had seemed small before. Now it seemed tiny as we
bumped into walls and staggered to the bed.
I wanted to lay him down gently, careful with his wounds,
but in the end we both fell under his weight, tangled on the bed in a heap of
exhausted limbs. With a coarse shove I managed to get him on his back so I
could shut the door.
The hallway was just as empty as when I’d found him. There
was a little smear of blood on the doorjamb. It turned a mottled brown when I
wiped it with my shirt.
That would have to
be good enough for now.
I just hoped no
one had followed him. I just hoped no one found him.
And I really hoped
no one found me.
A little
bit about the author:
Skye Warren is the New York Times bestselling
author of dark romance such as Wanderlust and Prisoner. Praised as a “true
mistress of dark erotica”, her books have been featured in Jezebel, Buzzfeed,
USA Today Happily Ever After, Glamour, and Elle Magazine. She makes her home in
Texas with her loving family, four dogs, and one evil cat.
Social links:
Links for Deep:
Amazon | iBooks | Nook | Kobo | Google Play | All Romance 

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