My name is Monica. I’m a singer born and raised in Los Angeles.

I’ve stopped dating. When I cut a record, or win a Grammy, maybe then I’ll be with someone, but every man in my past has done everything he could to make me submit myself to him, and it’s gotten in the way of my career. I won’t do it again.

But there’s Jonathan. He owns the high-rise hotel where I work, and he is gorgeous and charming. I refuse to fall in love with him, even though when he asks me to submit to him, I want nothing more.

This is the last book in the series.

Take my hand, my love.

On sinews of air we tread

Aught but distance our guide

With no tempo to our gait

No endpoint drawn

Neither plot nor plan

By the thorns of a compass rose

We bound toward the horizon

This is the last book in the series.

Take my hand, my love.

On sinews of air we tread

Aught but distance our guide

With no tempo to our gait

No endpoint drawn

Neither plot nor plan

By the thorns of a compass rose

We bound toward the horizon