on July 12, 2015
India Harris didn’t have the best start in life. Abandoned as a baby, she and her twin brother, Kit, spent their lives in foster care, only having each other to rely on. Then, at a young age, a relationship with the wrong man left India pregnant. Wanting to give her son the life she never had, she put herself through school and graduated with honors.
Now, at the age of thirty, she’s a highly respected therapist.
At the top of his game as a Formula One driver, Leandro Silva had everything—until an accident on the track left him staring death in the face. After enduring twelve months of physical therapy, Leandro is now physically able to race, but his mind is keeping him from the track. Frustrated and angry, Leandro’s days and nights are filled with limitless alcohol and faceless women.
Entering the last year of his contract, he knows he has to race again, or he’ll lose everything he spent his life working for. Forced into therapy to get his life back, Leandro finds himself in the office of Dr. India Harris.
Falling for his uptight therapist is not part of Leandro’s plan.
Having unethical feelings for her patient, the angry Brazilian race car driver, is not part of India’s plan.
But what if the wrong person is the only person who is right?
REVIEW BY YESI
There is something supremely sexy about Formula 1 drivers and the fact that this particular one is not only sexy as sin but Brazilian? Holy Hell did Leandro Silva make me swoon! From beginning to end he brought it all and I fell hard for him. Revived is the follow up to Revved and as expected, it did not disappoint. We met Leandro in Revved, he was Carrick’s biggest rival on and off the track, and for a brief moment he was trying to woo Andi away from the equally HOT Carrick. His character was intriguing then… sexy, talented, smooth-talking, and Brazilian, yeah, I’m a sucker for a man with an accent. From Revved we know that he was in a horrific accident and that’s where Revived picks up, months after the accident.
India Harris is a therapist and the person that Leandro hopes will bring him back to racing. From the prologue we learn quite a bit about India and how her life has been anything but easy. The story starts off with a look at what Leandro’s life has turned into in the aftermath of the accident and it is not pretty. Alcohol and women is what he uses to cope with the fact that getting back on the track scare the hell out of him. And so the story begins… can India help him? Will he race again but also get something much bigger and better in his life? From the moment he meets India he knows he is in for the ride of his life and as the reader, I knew, just knew that is was going to be good. The attraction is mutual but for obvious reasons, India knows she can’t get involved with the sexy driver, of course Leandro has other plans.
“The way I feel about her… it is not like anything I have ever known. It is all consuming–the unrelenting need to be with her, make her mine, brand myself into her skin because she sure as hell is branded into mine. ” Leandro Silva
I think what I loved most about this book was that while yes, the attraction was instant, the relationship was anything but. The push and pull, the struggle, the emotions… they all made for an extremely well told story. Not only are both India and Leandro strong, likeable characters, but so are the secondary ones. I loved Kit and India’s relationship and I absolutely ADORED Jett…God I hope that after that epilogue Samantha Towle gives us his story, I have a feeling it would be amazing! I loved that Carrick and Andi make a significant appearance and I was happy that a wonderful friendship was built between Carrick and Leandro. Bottom line, Revived was a fantastic escape back to the thrilling world of race car driving and the sexy drivers behind the wheel. Between Carrick and Leandro, I’m not sure I’ll ever look at Formula 1 the same again. Revived is a heart-racing, smoking hot, thrill of a ride… a MUST read!
My eyes move to the magazines on the table. There’s a sports mag peeking out from under the fashion mags.
Leaning forward, I pull it out, instantly wishing I hadn’t.
Top of the magazine is a picture of me, with the caption ‘What the bad side of Formula 1 looks like’.
So, now I’m the bad side of F1. Good to know.
I already know what the media say about me. How I’ve turned from a great racer into a drunk, and a whore.
They’re not wrong on the whore part – well, whore is a bit harsh, I don’t charge for my services. And I wouldn’t say I’m a drunk. I just like to drink, a lot.
I shouldn’t read the article, I know this, but the sadistic part of me has me turning those pages.
Finding the article, eyes scanning the text, I pick out the usual shit.
Why is Silva no longer racing? Physically he’s healthy. Is it mental problems? Fear over racing because of his accident. Is that why he drinks – drowning his misery in alcohol? Such a shame to see, a once great driver, fall from grace so dramatically.
Frustration and rage grip my chest like a vice.
Fuck this. I don’t need this shit.
Even though I can’t race, it’s not like I actually need to.
I don’t need to race. I just need to drink and fuck. That’s all I need now. All I’ll ever need.
I am a liar, and a chicken shit. And that’s why I’m sitting in the waiting room of a therapist.
Maybe I’m beyond help.
Tossing the magazine back on the table, I get to my feet ready to leave this place, just as the door opens, revealing the epitome of what I could really do with screwing right now.
My eyes trail up the toned, tanned legs, to the fitted pencil skirt that I would happily hitch up to see the magnificent pussy that I bet lies beneath. A pale pink blouse is tucked into that skirt, covering what look like a fantastically sized pair of tits. Silky blonde hair sits on her shoulders. Hair that I would enjoy getting my hands all tangled in, while I fuck those bright red lips of hers, enjoying seeing that lipstick smeared all over my cock.
My dick pulses in my jeans, more than ready to proposition her with the offer.
“Mr. Silva.” She steps forward. “I’m Dr. Harris. But please call me India.”
She’s Dr. Harris?
This, hitch-your-skirt-up-and-let-me-fuck-you-right-now, woman is my new therapist.
Well that’s just fucking great. It’s not like I can bang my therapist.
I put my cock on hold, and giving her my best smile, the one that always has panties dropping to the floor, I say, “And you can call me Leandro.”