Smoldered

by Rachel Blaufeld

  “Ruth, why don’t you head back to your room and rest? I will take care of the girls for the remainder of the evening. You can have the night off. Be sure you call your doctor,” he said firmly and then flashed her his famous movie star mega-watt smile.

  “Yes, thank you Mr. Connolly. I’m just glad the girls are all right. I was scared to death,” she said while taking a floral handkerchief from her pocket and then wiping her brow. She shuffled off, and I couldn’t help but smile at her sweetness. Poor thing was obviously shaken.

  He leaned in close and whispered, “What Ruth doesn’t know is that Dean here,” motioning towards the man in the leather jacket with the almond-shaped eyes, “has had his eye on the girls since they plotted their escape from the room.”

  He smelled divine; it took everything in me not to inhale his clean masculine scent and sigh deeply. I probably looked like a grinning idiot.

  “You… you knew they were here in the lobby with me?” I asked, feeling my cheeks flush.

  He leaned closer to me. His sexy Irish accent purred the words, “Yes, I quite liked the way you handled my children.”

  Okay, not really sure what that meant, but it was sexy as hell the way he said it.

  I smiled and knotted my fingers together. Stop fidgeting! He’s just a human, not a God.

  “By the way, I’m Ronan,” he said as he extended his hand to mine. As if I didn’t know he was the most photographed man on the planet right now. His touch sent an electric current pulsating through me, and I suddenly felt my knees weaken beneath me. Holliday, snap out of this. Do not get star struck.

  I shifted on my heels. “I’m Holliday, Holliday Prescott, nice to meet you Mr. Connolly.”

  “Call me Ronan, Holliday, please.”

  Jesus Christ. Even the way he said my name made my knees weak. I took a moment to drink in this fine man standing before me. Ronan was casually dressed, wearing an indigo knit sweater with a shawl collar and dark denim jeans. His ink black Oxford style wing tip shoes and a shiny silver Bvlgari watch completed his stylish “handsome dad” look. This guy knew how to wear clothes. I guess that’s because before he became an actor he was a fashion model. I literally felt like he just stepped out of a J. Crew catalog.

  “Holliday, do you have somewhere you need to be tonight?” Ronan inquired while giving me a charming and irresistible smile.

  In your bed, writhing beneath your sheets? Fucking your brains out? Is that an option?

  “No, I don’t. Why do you ask, Ronan?”

  “Why don’t you join us for dinner in our suite? Say around seven? I’d love to discuss something with you.”

  Puzzled, but very curious, I said, “That sounds lovely.”

  “Splendid. Are you staying in the hotel? I can have Dean escort you up.”

  “Yes, I’m in room 504.”

  “Tremendous. I look forward to seeing you. Let’s go girls. Please thank Holliday for allowing you to use her art supplies to color.”

  They both said thank you while giving me a hug. Completely adorable. It melted my heart. Jade tugged on my denim jeans just above my knee and handed me the picture she’d been working on. She’d drawn a picture of a Christmas tree with piles of presents underneath. At the top she had a fireplace with some stockings hanging. I was impressed with her coloring and drawing skills; it was quite good.

  “Jade, this is so pretty. You did a very nice job.”

  I tried to hand it back to her, but she shook her head and said, “No, Holliday, that’s for you.”

  Smiling, I thanked her, and she giggled and clapped her hands. Ronan scooped her up. She rested her chin on his broad shoulder and waved back at me as they walked towards the elevators. I followed their path all the way to the elevators, pushing through the crowd as it swallowed them up. Then they were gone.

  I pushed my work aside and spent the next hour reading up on my Saturday evening dinner companion. I already knew some details about the gorgeous movie star, Ronan Connolly, or at least what I thought to be true via Wikipedia, IMDb and a flood of gossip sites. I made notes of his hometown: Cork, Ireland and he just had his 32nd birthday a few days ago. He married the girls’ mom, lingerie model turned actress, Emma Bailey-Wilson seven years ago on April 13th at a private country estate in Wales. Then about three months later they announced they were expecting their first child, Leah, in October. By my calculations Emma Bailey-Wilson was already knocked up before they tied the knot. Lucky bitch. Interestingly enough, nine months after Leah was born the couple announced Emma was pregnant again. Jade was born the following February.

  In the summer that same year, Emma was cast in the political action thriller, Time Bomb. Several entertainment blogs reported that she and her co-star, Dax Martin, who is one of the biggest action stars in Hollywood, began an on-set romance. The speculation was that the affair led to her and Ronan’s divorce the following year. Emma and Dax are still together today according to, well, according to anyone who pays attention to pop culture.

  Dax Martin has been linked to some of Hollywood’s most gorgeous actresses and a few high-profile supermodels. He was engaged to the jewelry designer Estelle Hughes for a brief time. I did not know that little tidbit. What I did know about Mr. Martin was that he was a hot head. The guy had a reputation for flying off the handle, punching paparazzi and even breaking their cameras. He was also part owner of a club in Tribeca and an outspoken political activist.

  Okay enough about this douchebag.

  My mind was racing, devouring copious amounts of information. Reading on I found out that after Ronan and Emma’s divorce, Ronan hadn’t been exclusive with anyone. The gossip blogs had pictures of him with pretty models on the streets of London and Los Angeles. Others had him linked to his co-star Heather Young from These Streets of Dublin, the film that won a Golden Globe for Best Picture and pushed him into the spotlight overnight. He was a supporting actor in the film, but the media praised him more than the lead actors for his performance. Several articles agreed that he was snubbed and overlooked for numerous awards for which he’d deserved to be nominated. I must say I’ve seen that movie twenty times, at least. His work is insanely good.

  My curiosity for Mr. Ronan Connolly was growing more intense by the minute with every article and pseudo fact I read. It was like an itch that I just kept scratching. I needed to know more about this handsome man. I had fallen down the proverbial rabbit hole.

  I happened upon, accidently of course, some of his modeling photographs. Campaigns, runway shows and sexy fashion editorials were splashed all over the World Wide Web. Specifically, I was drawn to his underwear modeling with Velocity. The man was chiseled and perfect in ways that seemed unattainable. I began having mind-blowing thoughts of running my tongue up and down his defined rock-hard abs and prayed to God that his manhood showcased in the tight undies was just as deliciously bulging in real life. Please don’t let this be a camera trick. My sweater suddenly felt too warm for my body and the lower part of stomach was fluttering madly. Focus Holliday. Lowering my gaze, I noticed the time on my laptop read five after six. I was stunned that my snooping had allowed time to go by so swiftly. I quickly packed up my stuff and headed up to my room to get ready for my dinner with Ronan Connolly. Oh My God! I’m having dinner with Ronan Connolly.

  When I wrote and published my first book, Electrified, I was so grateful for all the people who took a chance and supported me unconditionally.

  Now they can’t get rid of me.

  To my inner circle – You can run, but you can’t hide.

  Pam Berehulke – With a much-needed iron fist (especially when it comes to stubborn me) and an extremely kind and gentle heart, she guided me through the process the first time, wiped my tears virtually, leaned her shoulder through our laptops, and kept me sane when I’m pretty sure I pushed her to the brink of her own sanity. This book would not be a reality without Pam pushing me to write again, showing me how to do it better, forcing me to use Microsoft Word styles, and then organizing, clea
ning, and sorting all my mess. Like a little kid with a box of crayons and a big room with four white walls, I color a very messy masterpiece, and Pam brings the erasers.

  Thank you, Pam.

  Sarah Hansen – The woman who makes my book look gorgeous on the outside. After all, we do judge a book by its cover. Between sending you pics of men, women, and strippers, all the while demanding “dots”—I need my dots—and in the middle of it, asking you for book recs, you’re probably close to blocking me. Please don’t. Thank you so much for your patience, talent, direction, dots, sass, and clever quips.

  Seriously, you know I don’t do hearts and flowers, but for you, I may.

  Emily from EM Tippetts – With Electrified, we practically had a slumber party while I uploaded, and there’s no price tag for that. Honest to God, who else would have consoled me in the middle of the night? Thanks for being part of my team and making my books “work” everywhere they should.

  My family – To my husband, for coining the phrase, “I see you’re writing,” and saying it and using it while leaving me alone. And for being my real, live antihero.

  To my kids, for getting excited when they see a stack of books to be signed in my house. “Oh my God, Mom, look at all your books!”

  It never gets old. I love you all.

  My mom – It takes her a month, but she reads my smut and stands by it, dirty or not.

  My betas – Oh God, you all complete me, making this entire book possible—Virginia Carey (the queen), Jennifer Wolfel, Stacey Pressman, Kerri McLaughlin, and Jill Rotenberg. You girls rock. For taking my chunks of writing as I give them to you, listening to me ask five hundred and forty-nine times if the same damn thing makes sense, for loving Asher, begging for more Mike, crying and e-mailing me to let me know, and rushing me to get shit done. THANK YOU.

  Coffee, wine, whatever. It’s on me.

  Ilsa Madden Mills – For reading my book, for talking me down from all my insanity, and explaining shit I’m too embarrassed to ask anyone else. Such as, What’s a BookBub? And your daughter for calling me back!

  Madeline Sheehan and Heidi McLaughlin – Thank you for giving me the confidence to want to do this a second time.

  To the other authors who continue to be supportive of me – Susan Ward, Christy Pastore, Jill and Christa of C.J. Wells, Fabiola Francisco, Salem Archer, and Terrie Lyndie. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  My friends – To all of you who read my books, then text, e-mail, call, or message me, you have no idea what that means to me. More than white wine and doughnuts.

  The bloggers – To the bloggers who took a chance on this virgin author, there is not enough thanks on the planet for you. Love N. Books, Six Chicks and Their Love of Books, Love Affair with Books, Twin Sisters Rockin’ Reviews—I love you gals. Many thanks also to Jenny and Gitte who are Totally Booked but take the time to chat with me anyway, Britt’s Book and Life Blog, Smutty Book Friends, Love Between the Sheets, Flirty and Dirty Book Blog, Wolfel’s World of Books, Eskimo Princess Book Reviews…just to name a few.

  You all put so much hard work, time, and effort into helping the indie author community, and it does not go unnoticed.

  Chas Jenkins at RockStar Lit – Another woman who believed in me from day one, took my rough marketing plan and threw it out, made it better, and talks me down from my mania at least once a week.

  My street team – To my team with Gretchen Bierenbaum at the helm, you rock 24/7.

  The Hummus Hustler and Coffee Tree – For keeping me caffeinated and nourished at the same time.

  Anthony and Doug at the Idea Mill – For consulting on everything and anything, including exotic dancers.

  And you, my readers! Without you, I would be nobody. So, thanks from the bottom of my heart, where there is a doughnut-lined place just for you.

  Rachel Blaufeld is a social worker/entrepreneur/blogger turned author. Fearless about sharing her opinion, Rachel captured the ear of stay-at-home and working moms on her blog, BacknGrooveMom, chronicling her adventures in parenting tweens and inventing a product, often at the same time. She has also blogged for The Huffington Post, Modern Mom, and StartupNation.

  Turning her focus on her sometimes wild-and-crazy creative side, it only took Rachel two decades to do exactly what she wanted to do—write a fiction novel. Now she spends way too many hours in local coffee shops plotting her ideas. Her tales may all come with a side of angst and naughtiness, but end lusciously.

  Rachel lives around the corner from her childhood home in Pennsylvania with her family and two dogs. Her obsessions include running, coffee, icing-filled doughnuts, antiheroes, and mighty fine epilogues.

  Please connect with me on:

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  If you enjoyed this book, please leave a few words either where you bought it or on Goodreads.

  That would make my day or my month.

  Smoldered

  Copyright © 2014 Rachel Blaufeld

  ISBN #978-0-9915928-2-1

  All Rights Reserved

  Edited by:

  Pam Berehulke

  www.BulletproofEditing.com

  Cover Design:

  © Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations

  www.okaycreations.com

  Photo:

  © Tom Merton

  Formatted By:

  E.M. Tippetts Book Designs

  www.emtippettsbookdesigns.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Warning: Content contains explicit sexual content and crude language, and is intended for mature audiences. Parental/reader discretion advised.

  This ebook was designed and formatted by

  www.emtippettsbookdesigns.com

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Books by Rachel Blaufeld

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Ch
apter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek-Tinged

  Sneak Peek-Unscripted

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright Notice

  About the Book Designer