
Today we have the release week blitz for WICKED CHARM by Amber Hart! Check it out and be sure to grab your copy today!

Title: WICKED CHARM
Author: Amber Hart
Genre: YA Romantic Thriller
Release: January 30, 2018
About WICKED CHARM
Nothing good comes from living in the Devil's swamp. Willow Bell thinks moving to the Okefenokee area isn't half bad, but nothing prepares her for what awaits in the shadows of the bog. Girls are showing up dead in the swamp. And she could be next. Everyone warns Willow to stay away from Beau Cadwell―the bad boy at the top of their suspect list as the serial killer tormenting the small town. But beneath his wicked, depthless eyes, there's something else that draws Willow to him. When yet another girl he knew dies, though, Willow questions whether she can trust her instincts…or if they're leading to her own death.Buy Now
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The walk is littered with stones and broken twigs. Leaves rustle like
crackly paper. The wind brushes my skin so lightly that it’s almost a sigh. And
then, only a few minutes later, I see the thing Beau wants me to see, sitting
in the middle of it all.
“What is this?” I ask.
I bound over to it. Tree roots
pop up from the ground like veiny scars intersecting a path. The crazy boy has
made a platform for us out of wood, with four stilt legs beneath it digging
into the ground. The wood is pine and smells like it, too. I run a finger along
the edge, feeling where he smoothed it. It’s newly made, I can tell by the flakes that pepper the forest floor like
pencil shavings and the rich wood smell. Atop the platform are another four posts with a fifth in the center, and draped over that is a canopy of
white fabric. It sways in the breeze like spider’s silk.
“I wanted us to have a place to
hang out,” Beau replies. “Where we won’t run into Old Lady Bell, Charlotte, or
Grandpa, and where we can both be alone to relax.”
His eyes roam the swamp around
us.
The makeshift pavilion is smaller
than my room, but still it’s the most beautiful thing. Clear lights are strung
around it, reminding me of fireflies. There is not enough space in my lungs for
the quick breaths of excitement I find myself taking. I gasp at the beauty of
it all.
“How did you get them to light
up?” My question is filled with wonder.
“Battery powered,” he says, his grin
growing. “Wait till you see inside.”
He helps me onto the platform
that protects us from wandering critters below. It’s easily five feet up. I try
not to catch my feet on the lights.
Beau pulls back the drape. A
small cluster of cushions sits on the ground, fronted by a tiny wooden table
topped with freshly fallen leaves and
sticks, reminding me of a bird’s nest. A pink magnolia marks the middle, the
source of the floral smell that sticks to
the air.
“You did this?” I ask,
mesmerized.
“All by myself,” he says.
It’s hard to imagine. Sure, I can see how Beau would bring the cushions and
lights and tools to the island by boat, and how he could use the resources
already here—the trees and stump for the table, the sticks and flower and
leaves—to construct everything, but what I can’t see is why Beau would go through the trouble. Isn’t he the boy Jorie
warned me about—the one who breaks hearts? Isn’t he the one Gran swore was
darker than the night? That Beau doesn’t match the one standing before me,
watching my reaction.
“I love it,” I say.
And then I wrap my arms around
this surprising boy and press my lips to
his.

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About Amber Hart

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