My First, My Last

My First, My Last

Second chances don't come often



Fate has kept them apart for twenty years.

Their roads never crossed and the stars failed to align, until now.

Matured, more experienced, pierced, tattooed and hot as hell, Adrian steps back into Mia's life to reclaim his first love. And the moment she sees him she can't remember her own name. 

Adrian Reed had always remained in Mia's heart. After all, he was her first in every way possible, but that was twenty years ago. His sudden appearance at a bar, on a girls night out, has Mia acting like a fifteen year old girl again. 

But life now is not as simple as it was twenty years ago. With two kids, a hopeful ex-husband and new insecurities, Mia finds opening up to a new relationship challenging.

Will she give her first love another chance, or will she push him away, this time for good?

Join Mia and Adrian on their journey to finding their first love for the second time in My First, My Last.

Note: This is a standalone contemporary romance second-chance novel intended for mature audience.

★★★★★ "Lacey Silks took longing for lost love to a whole new level in her heart warming romance, My First, My Last. Sentimental, sweet, gushy, sensual yet filled with real emotional reaction, this story gave readers an insight into what will happen if they reconnected with their first love after years of separation.” ~ L. Suarez, Reviewer

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Contemporary Romance Novels


My First, My Last sneak peek:

Chapter 1

It had been twenty years, almost to the day, since I’d seen him on the other side of the world. Literally. He lived in Europe, I lived in Toronto. So imagine my surprise when the man I’d lost my virginity to stood less than three feet away from me, in a bar, on my girls’ night out.

Somebody please pinch me!

With my mouth slightly open, I took him in: the same velvety smell of sandalwood, the same lopsided smile, the same green eyes, but definitely a different body. His rock solid form stretched the fabric over his skin. The piercing in his brow—well, that was new too, and hotter than hell. And that thorn tattoo peeking from under his short-sleeved shirt led my gaze to the biceps as I wondered what else he was hiding there. What other new curves had developed under his clothes? The lean posture in front of me was that of a mature, muscled, confident man; definitely not the way I remembered Adrian Reed from when we’d dated. Had it really been that long? And why exactly was my heart pounding, trying to break free from my ribcage? The cold and hot flashes hitting my chest and the sweat running down my back made me wonder whether menopause was knocking on my door. No, I was definitely too young for that.

Maybe it wasn’t him? It couldn’t be. I wasn’t a big drinker, but the two drinks I’d had tonight were perhaps playing with my mind. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but if what I saw was true – if this was Adrian – a simple skim of his fingers could crumble me to pieces.

“Hi, Thumbelina.”

Yup, it was him. No one else had called me by that nickname, ever. And with those two words, my whole world collapsed and rebuilt in an instant.

And no, Thumbelina wasn’t my name. My mother could be crazy at times, but she wasn’t that crazy. But for the love of God, why couldn’t I remember my name?

Speak! my brain ordered, but my mouth didn’t listen. I should have trusted my instinct that I’d recognize him even after ten drinks. After all, the only guys I’d dated after we’d separated had to smell like him or look like him or walk like him. That’s right—we’d separated, not broken up, because neither of us really wanted it, we’d had no choice. We lived on two different continents. Distance was an enemy neither of us had conquered, until now.

And now my first boyfriend, lover, and best friend was sitting in front of me, looking more gorgeous than I remembered. Warmth coursed through my body. His chiseled jaw appeared more defined. His hair was a bit shorter, though still long enough to lightly fall to the left side. The disheveled strands lay in deeper valleys as if he’d just combed his fingers through. The cut suited him much better than the cross between punk and mullet he’d had when I’d met him. Adrian now had a mature look about him that still held a spark of youth. His green eyes were deeper than emeralds, holding daring and excitement. He carried himself with purpose, like he knew exactly what his surprise visit was doing to me—and God, was it ever doing some wonderful things to my body.

OMG! What’s he thinking about me? Was my hair OK? Makeup? What about the dumbfounded look I must have had on my face?

“Drink some water, please.” He pushed a glass toward me. His voice was deeper, and perhaps more dangerous, which made all those nerves from being noticed by a hot guy weave through my body in exciting tingles. It was a feeling I hadn’t had in years.

Beads of moisture dripped down the glass, but I couldn’t move. We sat in a booth across from each other. I couldn’t quite remember how we’d got there. A swirl of commotion drifted around me along with a few explanations of who he was to my stunned friends, who’d later want every detail of our conversation. My best friend Isabelle had guided me by the elbow to sit down—at least, I thought that was how I’d ended up sitting. She’d come with me out of town tonight to visit old friends who were now sitting in the booth behind me, probably listening.

My pulse raced through my veins like a tsunami. Could buried feelings from that long ago really rekindle within seconds? The way my body reacted to him reminded me of the way it had twenty years ago: flustered and needy, tingling with the anticipation of a simple touch, blood coursing through my veins as if I had an accelerating pump attached to an artery. That part of my heart I’d stashed him away in opened up the moment I saw him, letting him take it all, all over again.

Sounds began to slowly come back to me. People chatting, glasses clinking, and his deep breathing. The movement of his broad chest from across the table only reminded me of times when I lay my head on it, right in the midst of a field of blooming poppies. As my mind wandered, I couldn’t stop staring at him and finally took a sip of my water, my hand visibly shaking. Setting the glass aside, I desperately tried to feed my own lungs. But breathing him in was a mistake. The intoxicating smell and a bit too much air made the room spin again.

“Hi,” I finally said.

His mouth curved up in a smile as if I’d just said the most wonderful thing in the world.

“Are you okay, T?” He leaned forward and reached out to take my hand, but hesitated. I was glad he did because I wasn’t sure what I’d do if he touched me. Actually, I probably would have fainted. This was all too much and not enough at the same time. What I needed now was his strong arms around me. I needed to forget the time that had passed. I needed my friend from the past to whom I’d bare my soul. Instead, I got a hot-off-the-skillet man sitting in front of me as though he were tonight’s appetizer.

Was that how I’d thought of him back then? I didn’t think so. At that time, he’d been mine and I’d been his: two stupid kids in love, breathing each other’s scents, eating each other’s food, touching each other to discover the meaning of first pleasure. Yet despite the twenty years, the butterflies in my stomach fluttered their wings as if it had all only happened yesterday.

A few giggles from the women, whom at the moment I regretted calling my friends, sounded from behind me. They were acting like nosy bitches, but could I blame them? Now that I could actually focus, I understood their childish gestures and sounds of lip smacking. Had they been doing it the entire time? I knew I couldn’t have a conversation with Adrian here. There was too much to say, and I didn’t quite know where to begin.

“Let’s take a walk,” I whispered, standing up.

“OK, T.”

And as he stood up beside me, I remembered why he’d called me that silly nickname in the first place. His height still dominated me. My chin was even with his chest, the way it had been twenty years ago when I’d had to look up to see his face or stand on my toes to touch my lips to his. Even now, after having worked as a Pilates instructor, my body was petite compared to his well-developed physique. I’d already imagined the rippled fields of bunched-up muscles. The thin t-shirt he wore was tight enough to show tautness I wanted to play with.

I couldn’t think about his body now, not that way.

“Will you be okay?” Isabelle asked. “You really know him?”

I smiled at my friend’s genuine concern, but if there was anyone in the world I felt safe with, it was Adrian.

“Yes, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Mia, you’re over one hundred kilometers away from home, and I don’t think you should drive.”

“I’ll drive her home,” Adrian said.

I knew he’d say that.

“I’ll be fine, Isabelle.” I hugged my friend and focused back on Adrian.

His gentle touch to the small of my back guided me outside. The gesture felt so welcome I couldn’t believe how such a simple skim of his fingers could make me feel so good and so happy. And to top it off, we would finally get a chance to be alone and try to catch up on the past twenty years.


My First, My Last is available at: