Book Spotlight: LOCKED by Eva Morgan
When eighteen-year-old Irene Adler meets her new neighbor, the gorgeous, brilliant, and arrogant Sherlock Holmes, she never expects him to be the one to make her feel like life is worth living again. Ever since her sister’s death, she’s been addicted to risk-taking as a way to deal with her depression, and Sherlock quickly becomes the biggest risk she’s ever taken.
Locked is the story of a broken girl and the genius who gives her life back to her. It’s the story of a witty asshole who’s never known love, and the girl who shows him what love means. It’s the story of an unexpected connection, two people who save each other, and the importance of seeing the goodness underneath.
“You do seem to like getting me wet.” He stays standing in the rain and starts ticking things off on his fingers. “You dump a glass of water on me at Daphne’s house. You convince me to jump in the ocean in October.”
“And there was that time you walked in on me in the shower, so I sprayed you with the shower head.” I step out into the rain after him. I’m so wet already that it doesn’t matter.
“There was that time,” he agrees, paying no attention to the fact that his suit is going to need dry-cleaning.
“Hey, Sherlock?”
We’re both standing in the rain now. Neither of us points out how stupid that is.
Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe I’m still in chick flick mode. Maybe it’s because he just looks so…so human, water dripping from the ends of his hair, his suit plastered to his chest. But I say it. “Thanks.”
“Thanks for getting you wet?” The corner of his mouth twitches up. If I wasn’t so determined to get this out, I’d accuse him of flirting.
“For…” I wince at how stupid it sounds in my head, but it’s too late now. “For being my friend.”
And then he’s got that look—the analyzing, calculating stare. It’s when I say the simplest things that he tries his hardest to figure me out. I wonder when he’ll realize that there’s nothing to deduce. It’s all face value.
“I can’t say you’re welcome because I can’t say that you’re particularly fortunate to have me as a friend,” he says.
“No, I am. You’ve done a lot for me, and I just wanted you to know that.” I fix my eyes on the ground, on the raindrops forming puddles under my feet, mixing with the gasoline and the dirt.
I hear him take a step forward and then I feel him, the closeness of him. Too close for the rain to make its way between us.
“Sherlock…”
His eyes have that scalding intensity that scares most people, but that I’ve learned to love. There’s so many things about him that I’ve learned to love. His frowns, his smiles, the notes he constantly writes to himself that he always refuses to show me, the way he says my name, just on its own, like I’m so interesting a topic I don’t need to be connected to anything—I’m getting lost in all these things when he cups my face with one hand, gently, and kisses me.
