Once and Again: Petal, Georgia, Book 1

by Lauren Dane

  When one of her hands slid down his belly and her nails scored over his cock he moved back into action.

  He took her arms so he could see in her face. What greeted him, passion-glazed eyes and kiss-swollen lips, made him suck in a breath. Holy shit she was beautiful.

  “Tate, I want you. Are you with me?”

  Swallowing, she nodded before licking her lips.

  “Bedroom?”

  She stood, held out a hand and led him toward the back of the house. He felt her tremble a bit, but as he was shaking too, it was hard to tell where he began and she ended.

  Her room was messy and it made him smile.

  “God, I’m sorry. I…well it goes without saying I wasn’t expecting to bring a man back here.” She motioned toward her unmade bed and turned out the light he’d turned on.

  For some reason, that comment only made him want her more.

  “Good.” He used his body to push her toward her bed until she fell back and looked up at him, her hair a brilliant corona around her head. “Tate, I want to see you.” He turned on the bedside lamp before moving to unbutton the bodice of the dress she wore.

  The blush was back and she put her hands over his, stilling them. “Turn the light off, please.”

  “But I won’t be able to see you that way. Tate, I’ve been fantasizing nonstop about your body for weeks now.”

  “I can’t. Matt, please.”

  Instead of turning the light off, he lay down on the bed and pulled her to him. “Tate, are you changing your mind about making love to me?” She shook her head but he saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. “What is it, sweetness? Am I scaring you? Moving too fast?”

  She buried her face in his neck and he burrowed through her hair to hold her. “I don’t want you to see me naked.”

  “If you’re not naked, how can I be inside you?” That’s when it occurred to him he didn’t have any condoms.

  “Just leave the lights off!”

  “Tate, I want to see you. Would you deny me that pleasure?” He pulled his head back to see her face, hoping she’d smile but he got confusion, anger and a bit of embarrassment too. What the fuck? “Tate? What is it?”

  She pushed at him and jumped up, pacing in front of the bed. “I’m not one of the women you’re normally with!”

  “I know.”

  She stopped and sneered.

  “I mean,” he added quickly, “yes, you’re not like them. And that’s a good thing. Tate, you’re important, special.”

  “Matt,” she sighed, sounding impatient. “Are you going to make me spell it out?”

  “You’d better, sweetness, because I have no fucking idea what the issue is.”

  “Dolly, Melanie, Lisa, Kelly—what do these things have in common and what do I not have that they do?”

  “They’re vapid and shallow and you’re not?” Standing and going to her, he kissed her lips quickly, tossing his shirt to one side blindly.

  “Okay, well, you have a point there. Although what the hell were you doing with them if so?” The air left her lips in a soft whoosh when he pushed her gently back down to the bed.

  “Well you have a point there too. We can talk about the ramifications of that later because it’s totally getting in the way of me putting my cock into your body. And speaking of that, we’re not getting naked again why?”

  “Because you go out with women who are drop-dead gorgeous and I am not! They’re all tall and thin and cheerleaders. I am, aside from having breasts and a vagina, nothing like them.”

  He tried not to laugh, he really did but she was hilarious.

  “What are you laughing at?”

  He rolled and pinned her to the bed with his body, raining kisses down her chest, over the fabric of her dress. Pulling her skirt up, he traced the soft skin of her thighs with his fingertips.

  “I’m laughing at you, Tate Murphy. I’ve never heard anyone but Maggie say cheerleader like it was some sort of disease. Frankly, I find it hard to find fault with women jumping around in tight sweaters and short skirts but I don’t think it has a damned thing to do with why I’m dying here for you and not with anyone else. I’m here because you’re here. I don’t want them, I want you. I want to see your body, I think you’re beautiful.”

  “I can’t concentrate with the lights on.”

  There was so much panic and emotion in her voice he let it go. Reaching out, he turned out the light.

  “Better?”

  “Yes.”

  He found her mouth again and she relaxed, melting into him, hooking one of her thighs around his ass, arching her back to bring her pussy into contact with his cock.

  Busy hands found the buttons on her bodice and made quick work of them, exposing her bra to him. He wished he could see more in the dim light that came from the open bedroom door but there’d be time for that later.

  There wasn’t a catch between her breasts so he helped her to sit up to get the back hooks undone.

  Sweet mercy, her breasts, even what he could see in the low light, were beautiful. Large, heavy, juicy, dark nipples.

  While she sat up, he helped her get the dress off and tossed his pants, socks and boxers before returning to her. She’d slid under the sheets, which agitated him, but he began to really understand some of what Liv had said a few weeks before about what some people might think about Tate. Apparently Tate herself felt some of those things too. Well, that’d be next, showing her just how damned beautiful she was—cheerleader or not.

  When their bodies came together, skin to skin he thought he’d lose consciousness it was so deliriously good. Fuck! Condom.

  “Tate, uh, I have a problem. Shit!” She grasped his cock, giving a few slow pumps with her fist.

  “What is it?” She nibbled on his ear and he lost his train of thought for long moments until she smeared her thumb over the wet slit at the head of his cock.

  “Condom. I don’t have one. Please, please tell me you do.” He caught a nipple between his lips, swirling his tongue around it.

  “I, ohgod, I don’t. I don’t bring men back here for sex.”

  He rested his forehead on her chest a moment, disappointed but not in her comment that she didn’t bring men back for sex. “Okay, well I’m not leaving to go get one either. We’ll just work around it. We can do other things for tonight.”

  “Other things? Oh, yesss.”

  He opened his home. She stole his heart…and his money.

  Trespass

  © 2011 Meg Maguire

  Many would envy veterinarian Russ Gray’s life in rural Montana’s wide-open spaces. Russ calls it lonely. In a country with more cattle than eligible females, he doesn’t envision his seven years as a widower ending anytime soon. Until a mysterious woman lands at his door in the dead of night, riddled with buckshot.

  Sarah Novak hates lying to such a kind, handsome man, but if an upstanding citizen like Russ finds out why she’s been three weeks on the run, he’d surely turn her in. Yet she can’t refuse his offer to let her stay until she heals, no questions asked.

  From the start they fall into an easy companionship, then teasing flirtation flares into an unexpected intimate connection. But no matter how right it feels in his arms, guilt tugs at Sarah’s heart. Russ doesn’t deserve what she must do next.

  When Russ wakes up with an empty bed—and an empty wallet—his first instinct isn’t to call the cops…it’s to catch her and find out why his urge to protect her overshadows all reason. Because he’s had a taste of real passion, and he’s not letting it slip away without a fight.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Trespass:

  Sarah rose first and cleared Russ’s yolk-stained plate. He let her do the dishes and start a fresh pot of coffee, turning back to his newspaper while she puttered. She did an overly thorough job of wiping down the counter, watching him through the open space in the wall that separated the kitchen and den. He had a dab of yellow at the corner of his mouth, sleep-mussed hair glowing gold at the edges from the mor
ning sunshine. She glanced at the pocket watch before her on the ledge and the antique medicine bottle beside it, its thick, cloudy glass the same gray-green as Russ’s eyes.

  “Tonight,” she began, gaze still locked on the glass.

  He looked up, attentive. “Yeah?”

  She remembered how he’d felt when he’d slid in behind her on the couch, that comforting, forceful combination of need and demand. She felt prematurely like a cad. “I need to sleep alone tonight.”

  His attention shifted to the window and he nodded. “Sure. Of course.”

  She set the sponge down and rinsed her hands, drying them on her jeans as she walked over to him. “I don’t mean I don’t want to…you know. Mess around.”

  “No?” That look again—adorable, desperate hope.

  She shook her head, stepping close enough to put her fingertips to his shoulders. “No, I’d like that, if you would.”

  He nodded, setting a hand at her waist. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  “But afterward, I just want to be alone, on the couch, so I can catch up on the sleep I’ve been missing. I told you I’m kind of restless.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Actually,” she added, as though she’d just thought of it. “You don’t have any sleeping pills, do you? Or even like nighttime flu medicine? I know that sounds pathetic—”

  “No, it doesn’t. And I think I do. I’ll check this afternoon.”

  Worries swirled around in her head and she fumbled for a way to get the information she most needed from him. “Cool, thanks. I didn’t know if you only had animal sleeping pills lying around…”

  Russ laughed. “I’m sure I can find you something a bit gentler than what I’d use on a horse.”

  What about a dog? She dropped the baiting for the time being, too close to sounding suspicious. “Anyway. You know when you want to sleep but it’s just not happening?” She thrust her lip out in a frustrated pout.

  “I thought that’s what whiskey was invented for.”

  She smiled and ran her fingers through his messy hair, down his stubbly cheek. “Anyhow, thanks. But for now, chores. Then dinner, then who knows.” She grazed a conspiring hand over his neck. “But after that I’m catching up on my beauty sleep.”

  Russ looked as if he was resisting the urge to turn that comment into a corny flirtation. Instead he stood and put his hand in her hair the way he seemed to love doing, leaned in and kissed her. Mouth closed, eyes closed, warm lips holding in a faint noise, a grunt or sigh.

  He let her go and she stared at his chin, a little drunk from him. She reached up to wipe the yolk from beside his smiling lips.

  “Okay. Put me to work.”

  An hour later Sarah could confirm that shampooing a horse was indeed very much like washing a car, right down to the hose she was using to rinse the suds from Mitch. She craned her neck, looking to where Russ was standing in the pen, fussing over Lizzie’s gums. He’d ditched his sweater as the sun had risen, and he looked good in his dusty jeans, those strong, tanned arms, shoulder blades flexing under his T-shirt. That hat like a cliché, so endearing.

  She chewed her lip, only fretting for a moment about whether or not to be evil to him. She let the hose trigger go, pumped it a couple times.

  “Russ?”

  He turned. “Yeah?”

  “Hose is acting weird.”

  His eyebrows rose. He gave Lizzie a pat then left her be, walking over. “What’s it doing?”

  “It’s just kind of—” She squeezed the handle, soaked Russ from head to toe and sent his hat flying off behind him. When she finally released it, he blinked at her, hair dripping, shirt plastered to his chest, the front side of his jeans dark and drenched.

  “Seriously?” he asked.

  She bit her lip. “Yeah.”

  Russ smiled, a deadly Jack Nicholson sort of smile, eyes narrowing. He took a step closer. “Seriously?”

  She nodded.

  “How fast can you run?” he asked.

  “Real fast.”

  “You better hope so.”

  He took another step, and she tossed the hose aside, bolting past him into the pen and ducking between the wooden fence rails. She felt him grab her sneaker for a second, heard his feet hit the ground behind as she took off into the yard. He caught her easily after only a few seconds’ sprint into the tall grass. She yelped as he hooked her around the waist and brought them both crashing to the ground, Russ taking the bulk of the impact. Rolling her onto her back, he pressed his dripping front against her and made her feel six years old, made all the horrors from the past few weeks dissolve until the entire world consisted of just their two bodies, this patch of earth under this exact sky. She began to laugh, convulsive, cathartic sobbing laughs as Russ flipped her over on top of him. She kissed him, square on the mouth with her eyes open, and decided he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen or touched or tasted.

  He made the kisses deeper, dirty hands in her formerly clean hair. She locked her thighs around his hips, wanting to stay right here for a month, so filled with good feelings there was no room left for bad ones. She felt Russ grow hard and contemplated a near-literal roll in the hay, then decided the risk of ticks and every other thing lurking in the grass was a mood killer.

  She let the kissing linger for another minute then freed her mouth. “You feel like a shower?”

  “I feel like you just gave me one back in the paddock.”

  “Do you feel like a proper one, with soap and hot water and naked strangers corrupting your cramped little ancient bathtub?”

  He smiled, expression shifting in a way she adored. “Yeah, I could go for that.”

  She got to her feet and let Russ take her dirty hand in his for the short walk back to the pen. He let Mitch out into the main yard and put away a few things and led them inside. They ditched their shoes at the door and headed for the bathroom.

  Russ got the shower running and they watched one another undress. She loved his body…unlike any man’s body she’d been intimate with before. Not skinny, not bulky, strong and muscular but not from the gym. Just exactly what a man ought to look like, she decided. Russ had sexy shoulders, triceps so defined she wanted to bite them. He also had the very start of what would be an inevitable middle-aged belly, a charming flaw flying in the face of his otherwise too perfect working man’s body.

  Russ shed his shorts, his sudden and complete nakedness pulling her out of her spacey admiration and into darker, curious realms. She undid her bra and let him step forward and push her panties down, his erection brushing her navel. She was about ready to trade a kidney for a box of condoms.

  Strong hands took hold of her jaw, and she melted into him, into his forceful mouth and eager body, into the moans humming in his throat, begging to be unleashed. She slid her hand between them and stroked his soft chest hair, squeezed the hard swells of his shoulders. For a few greedy seconds, she explored his back and that textbook-perfect ass, then he pulled away, grinning. Sliding the shower curtain open, he gestured for her to get inside.

  It wasn’t the ideal tub for a tryst—narrow and rounded—but with Russ here she couldn’t imagine a better place to be. He climbed in after her, dragging the clear curtain around them and angling the showerhead at her back.

  “Jesus.” His gaze slid up and down her front. “You’re gorgeous.”

  She bit her tongue, tempted to contradict him. Tempted to say she’d prefer to weigh ten pounds more and be filling her modest B-cups again, lose the ribs, lose the holes in her side and the bruises that peppered her like finger-paint smudges. Instead she let him ogle, let him feast on whatever he saw and whatever made his green eyes narrow the way they did now.

  She reached around the curtain for the shampoo bottle on the windowsill, snapping it open and getting her hands full of lather. Russ leaned in and let her wash his hair before he returned the favor, his fingers dawdling well after the suds had disappeared down the drain. They passed the soap back and forth and explored one another�
�s bodies. Their curious, slippery hands lingered here and there, eyes darting as though they’d invented all this nonsense and couldn’t quite comprehend their own genius.

  You can always come home. Second chances come a little harder.

  A Forever Kind of Love

  © 2011 Shiloh Walker

  Chase and Zoe were the high school golden couple. Football captain, cheerleader, prom royalty. After graduation, though, Chase couldn’t resist the urge to experience life outside their small town. He didn’t exactly expect Zoe to wait twelve years for him, but now that he’s back, he finds some small part of him hoping she did.

  It’s no big surprise she’s married. The kick in the face is she married his best friend.

  Zoe was devastated when Chase left, but she’s filed those bittersweet memories under “Moved On”. She loves her life, and loves her husband. She has all she needs. And Chase keeps an honorable distance.

  One cold, wet, miserable day, tragedy turns Zoe’s world upside down. Chase never expected her to simply fall into his arms, but a man can dream. Except his dream doesn’t include the fact that this time, she’s the one hitting the road…and he’s the one left behind.

  Warning: This story contains heartbreak, heartache and one last chance for two lovers to find each other.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for A Forever Kind of Love:

  Staring at the bag of books, Chase tried to tell himself to just leave it on the porch and get back in his car.

  Instead of doing that, which was probably the smarter thing, he knocked on the door. Hell, he knew Roger needed a distraction and he’d just gotten some new political thrillers in that were just up the guy’s alley—and two of them were audio books.

  Zoe’s favorite urban fantasy author had a new book out.

  Books were a nice distraction at any time, right?

  It wasn’t like he didn’t have a good reason for swinging by.

  Ever since he’d found out about Roger’s diagnosis, the petty anger he’d harbored against his friend… Well, Chase had realized just how fucking petty it was, and he’d shoved it straight where it needed to go, out of his heart, out of his mind.