PDF Download Thoughtful (Thoughtless Novel) eBooks Textbooks; 2. Book Details Author: S C Stephens Pages: Binding: Paperback. Thoughtful: In Thoughtless, Kiera told her story. Now it's time to hear from the sexy rock star who captivated. Untamed. Thoughtless (Series). S. C. Stephens Author (). cover image of Thoughtless Book 3. S.C. Stephens Author (). cover image of Thoughtful.
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S.C. Stephens - Thoughtful - dokument [*.pdf] Begin Reading Table of Sincerely, S. C. Stephens Chapter 1 All in a Day's Work I'd been playing the guitar since. Read Thoughtful (Thoughtless, #) Full Book PDF. A new novel in the Thoughtless series from #1 New York Times bestselling author S. C. Stephens!. extraordinaire, for polishing Thoughtful into the beautiful story it is today. I would Thank you for purchasing the ebook of Thoughtful! I hope S. C. Stephens.
She had an expression on her face akin to a man who was dying of thirst, staring at a pitcher of water. The craziness is so much fun to watch, and the fan art is so creative and beautiful. Kiera is the kind of girl Kellan has no business wanting-smart, sweet, and dating his best friend. Roxie was my favorite mechanic there. And I want to thank all the authors who loved my characters enough to ask me if they could invite them into their worlds. In Thoughtless, Kiera told her story.
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Embeds 0 No embeds. No notes for slide. Book Details Author: S C Stephens Pages: Paperback Brand: Forever ISBN: Description In "Thoughtless, "Kiera told her story. Now it's time to hear from the sexy rock star who captivated us all. Gripping his guitar in a darkened bar, he can forget his painful past.
The numerous books that followed Thoughtless would not have happened without your daily encouragement.
I want to thank all the authors who have supported and inspired me, especially: Linde, Nicky Charles, J. Gephart, Gail McHugh, and many, many more!
And I want to thank all the authors who loved my characters enough to ask me if they could invite them into their worlds. It always makes me smile to see the D-Bags roaming throughout other stories. Your help over the years has been invaluable to me, as has your willingness to fit me into your lives on really short notice!
And I appreciate all of you so much! I want to thank the bloggers who have passionately shouted their love of my stories: You are all one of the major reasons why anyone even knows who I am!
The craziness is so much fun to watch, and the fan art is so creative and beautiful. And what can I say…the BeggingSC campaign worked!
Hope you love this book as much as I loved writing it! Your advice, support, and encouragement are greatly appreciated! And a heartfelt thank-you to Beth deGuzman at Forever, for being such a huge supporter of my work, and Megha Parekh, editor extraordinaire, for polishing Thoughtful into the beautiful story it is today.
On a personal note, I want to thank my family and friends for their endless support and for their patience and understanding of my wacky schedule, especially my children, who sometimes struggle with Mommy being home but unavailable. I love you all very much! And lastly, I need to thank Kellan Kyle. You may be fictional, but you completely changed my life, and for that, I owe you everything. Thank you for purchasing the ebook of Thoughtful! Sincerely, S.
It was the feel of the wood beneath my fingers, smooth, cool. It was the toughness of the strings, the reverberation deep inside the instrument.
Even when I had been too young to really understand the impact music would have on my life, playing the guitar had spoken to me. There was something meaningful in that simple instrument that was dying to come out. There was something meaningful inside of me that was dying to come out. My conception had been an unwanted accident, and my parents had never warmed up to me, never accepted me. The guitar kept me out of their way and I loved playing it, so it was a decent present, regardless of the ulterior motives behind it.
My dad had liked to have the radio on whenever he was home.
He would generally listen to talk radio, NPR and such, but when he put on music, it was almost always classic rock. It had irritated the hell out of Dad. We had a big house when I was growing up, but if I strummed really softly, I could follow along with whatever was playing. The guitar needed to be played. I needed to play it. It was a mutual, beautiful, symbiotic relationship, and for a long time, it was the only real relationship I had. Grabbing my beloved instrument, I closed the door to my house.
I stayed there because it was a building with four walls and a roof, but I had no emotional attachment to it.
It was nothing but wood, brick, glass, nails, glue, and cement. It was confusing. Or maybe not. I turned away from their house to see my gorgeous black-and-chrome Chevelle Malibu shining in the late-afternoon sun. She was a thing of beauty, my baby, and no one drove her but me. Setting the guitar in the trunk, I headed to meet the guys for rehearsal.
After easing my way onto the freeway, my eyes, as always, drifted to the unique cityscape of the Seattle skyline as it blossomed into view. Bad memories lurked around every corner—the loneliness of my childhood, the rejection, the biting remarks, the constant put-downs, the daily reminders of how much of an undesirable burden I was.
The emotional poison my parents had injected into me had left its mark, but I had a good thing going here now, and the band was a large reason for my changed attitude toward the city.
Evan Wilder and I had formed the D-Bags together. Hitchhiking a ride wherever I could get one, I soon found myself at a bar on the Oregon coast.
Neither was I, but I managed to wink my way into a pitcher. A strip club. Evan and I were horny, fresh-out-of-high- school teenagers after all. The four of us had worked well together, even from the beginning, and were soon rocking bars and clubs in L. Traffic thickened as I neared downtown. His studio was above an auto body shop. That came in handy when my baby needed servicing. Roxie was my favorite mechanic there. She loved my car almost as much as I did, and would often take a look at her while I was upstairs with the guys.
Roxie was laughing with a coworker when I pulled up, but she still shot me a wave the second she saw me.
Or, more accurately, my Chevelle; the girl only had eyes for my car. I might have him drive a Chevelle. Playing always gave him the munchies. Matt looked up when I set my guitar case on the couch beside him. I liked what I liked, regardless of whether it was out of date or not. Think so? He often did.
Behind him, I could see Evan wading through the rehearsal equipment that the band kept here at his place. His warm brown eyes were smiling at me beneath his close-cut dark hair as he approached the couch. Matt glanced back at Evan with an eager nod.