Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Cassidy’s Mail Order Bride
Mr. Write Now
by
Summer Wynter
Copyright © 2017 by Summer Wynter
Cover by: Angela Haddon Book Cover Designs
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book contains mature scenes and is not meant for those under 18. All characters in the book are over the age of consent and are at least 21 years of age.
I'm just your normal, everyday woman who can't get enough out of life. When it comes to writing, I enjoy stories about couples who just can't say no, even when life says that they should.
Come get passionate with me and see where my dirty little mind can take you.
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/summerwynter2017/
Mailing List: http://eepurl.com/cpQOpn
Rick Johnson is a college professor and novelist who cares only for two things in life; writing and s*x.
And never in that order.
He's played by the rules long enough.
Rosa McCall is looking for new thrills as a college freshman and hopes to test her boundaries as far as they'll go.
And not to a college boy.
She's broken all the rules way too long.
*Includes bonus sexy old west short story*
Chapter One
Professor Richard Johnson was just glad that last semester’s Monsters in Literature course was over. If he had to grade another sophomore’s clumsily written paper about vampires and penetration he’d have started pelting chalk at the students.
Thankfully, they were back to basics. He reclined slightly in his swivel chair, watching the line of students file in, most of them taking seats in the very top rows. They were under the impression that he’d not call on them there, and that he wouldn’t notice them surfing the web on their laptops when they ought to have been taking notes.
Then there were those who populated the front row. Those were usually a mixture of non-traditional students, adults who were here to learn and not for the parties, and the students here on a free ride scholarship that depended on maintaining a stellar GPA.
Then there were those in the middle. The average students, who were here because of ENG 210 Introduction to Reading Texts. He always managed to teach the most to the middle row. They were serious enough to be here, but not serious enough to have memorized all the textbooks. They were pliable and most of all, teachable.
He couldn’t ask for any more from a student.
He sat up a little and glanced at the clock. He hadn’t had as much trouble with stragglers this time around, though the semester was still young.
They were midway through the first text of the year, John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men. Normally he’d have saved it for mid-semester, as it was a relatively easy read and a bit of a break before midterms. But this year the theatre department was putting on a production of the play, and he’d moved the book up in his schedule accordingly.
He kept his gaze on the students in the middle and top rows. He knew without looking that those in the front were paying attention. That’s where he spotted her.
Of course, it wasn’t the first time he’d seen her. She’d responded to roll like everyone else during the first class of the semester. He’d handed her a syllabus. But this was the first time he’d ever really paid attention to her, specifically.
She had her head bent over her notebook, a spill of dark, curly hair covering her face. Long and tapered fingers grasped her mechanical pencil lightly, and he followed the graceful curve of her wrist up to a mostly bare shoulder.
She glanced up, like many of the other students as he trailed off. Her face was a perfect complement to the hair, tanned a light golden brown that reminded him of caramel. She smiled slightly when she caught him looking, full red lips quirking upward wickedly.
He cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away from her. “Ah…where was I?” He asked, smiling ruefully at his class. “I’m afraid the old neurons don’t fire as quickly as they used to.”
“You were telling us about our essay assignment, sir, and about the feminist critique as it applies to Curley’s wife.” Emily, a student at the front of his class supplied eagerly.
“Right.” He struggled to orient himself again. “Right. I thought you might like to bounce a few ideas around, before I assign it. Does anybody have any thesis statements they’d like to propose?”
A few hands shot up, but he called on the dark-haired girl in the middle row, if only for an excuse to examine her again.
“Miss McCall,” He said, acknowledging her with a nod. “Please share with the class.”
“I’d like to point out the symbolic nature of Curley’s wife being described in red. Red nails, red lips, so on.”
“And what do you gather from that, Miss McCall?”
She straightened her spine and he couldn’t help but note how the action pushed her chest forward. Was the room colder than he thought, or had she neglected to wear a bra? He forced his gaze back up to hers.
“Well she’s constantly called a tart, right? Curley’s wife knew she was beautiful, and she owned her sexuality. Red is symbolic of lust, and passion.”
He noted how her voice lowered subtly on the word “lust”, and her eyes never left his.
“That is certainly one interpretation, but red has other connotations as well, Miss McCall. Anger, violence, fire, and blood. You might consider another thesis. Symbology surrounding a color is a broad topic, and you’ll have trouble putting together a cohesive paper with it.”
Rosa McCall pursed her lips and he had the sense that the conversation hadn’t gone the way she’d wanted. He let his gaze linger on her for a moment longer, before moving on to another student.
He was glad that it was the last class of the day, and his first Friday of the semester. He had three other classes, and while there weren’t hundreds of papers to grade, it would still be better to be ahead of the curve. He knew he’d be in no mood to do it after the meeting with his ex-wife the next morning.
He was surprised to find Rosa still in the classroom when he looked up.
“Can I help you?” He asked politely, as he gathered up his books and stuffed them hastily into his bag.
She gave him a slow smile and he again found himself intrigued by the fullness of her mouth. She fished in her bag and pulled out a thick paperback. It was dog-eared and looked like it had seen a lot of use. It took him a moment to realize why it looked so familiar.
“I’m a huge fan of the Connor Valentine series.” She said, setting the third volume of the series onto his desk. He nearly snatched it up and chucked it into the garbage.
“I’m glad, Miss McCall. If you’ll excuse me-”
“Oh come on.” She said, catching his hand as he turned away from her. “It’s not like I’ve gone around telling everyone you write
romance on the side. I just noticed your sci-fi series sounded similar, so I compared them side by side.”
He frowned. He’d been avoiding the Connor Valentine series for some time now, focusing instead on the Rewind series, an alternate history science fiction series he’d been writing for the past two years. He had been sure that he’d been receiving less mail about it, and the pleas for continuation of the Connor Valentine series were becoming increasingly easy to ignore.
“How can I help you?” He said again, a touch testily this time. “In an academic sense, I mean.” He glanced pointedly at the book. He’d written under the pseudonym Alicia Bridgewell for a reason.
Some of his anger melted when he watched hurt and uncertainty flicker across Rosa’s face. It wasn’t her fault he’d just gone through a messy divorce after all. He really had no reason to be such an ass.
“I was wondering if I’d see you at the meet and greet tomorrow night.” Rosa said, tone carefully optimistic.
“I am planning on attending, yes.” He said, then felt he needed to add more, since he had snapped at her for no reason. “I look forward to seeing you there, Miss McCall.”
“You can call me Rosa, professor. I don’t mind.”
“I prefer to maintain a sense of professionalism. I’m not sure familiarity with a lovely young woman such as yourself would be looked upon kindly by the Dean.”
“Alright, if you insist.” She hesitated, biting her lip. “Could you sign my book though? Make it out to Rosa?”
Really, what could it hurt? He pulled a red pen from his bag and signed her copy. The color choice seemed to please her, since she was beaming when he handed it back to her. She pulled out a second copy of the book he’d signed, Rose in Summer and handed it to him. Another? Did she have friends who wanted an autograph as well? She’d said she hadn’t told anyone.
“You should think about finishing the series.” She said, placing the less battered copy into his hand. “It’s really good, Rick.”
Before he could correct her, or even think of an appropriate response, she’d sauntered out of the classroom, leaving the scent of vanilla and brown sugar in her wake.
He glanced down at the copy she’d given him. It had been the best-selling novel of the entire series, and a fan favorite.
He opened the front cover and found a message, scrawled in the red ink Rosa seemed fond of.
“Your sex scenes are hot. The love scenes touched me, though. Would you like to do the same in person?”
Beneath the note was a phone number. He stared at the message for a long moment, heart beating hard in his chest, the long forgotten feeling of adrenaline pumping through his veins. It had been a long time since anything had quickened him like this.
He shut the book quickly. It was stupid. There really wasn’t much to see. But he felt like if he looked at the message any longer, the guilt he felt might tattoo itself onto his face.
He’d been propositioned by a student. And he’d liked it.
Chapter Two
Rick was glad it was the weekend. He’d not gotten a lot of sleep the night before. After grading papers for several hours, he’d tried to go to bed. But he’d been restless, tossing and turning as his brain refused to stop seething with thoughts. Thoughts about the message, about Rosa, about…possibilities.
Normally, he’d relish the chance to sit down and enjoy a meal at the Dream Bean, the nearest coffee shop to his house. The food was always excellent, and the coffee was superb. It sure beat the hell out of waiting for Folgers to percolate in his coffee machine at home. He’d spent many an afternoon as a young man in the back booths penning the escapades of the roguish Conner Valentine and his many lovers. And later, when he’d met Melanie, they’d had their first few dates in the café.
He still wasn’t sure how it had gone so awry. They’d known each other so well, connected on such a visceral level. It had been electric, a spark so vital between them he thought he’d die before the relationship did. So how had it come to this? Ten years later, barely able to exchange more than a few words over coffee.
Melanie settled herself primly in the booth across from him, setting purse and diaper bag alike against the far wall.
Melanie was still so damned beautiful. The late afternoon sun filtered through the wide shop windows and set her honey-colored hair glowing. Her delicate, heart-shaped face was as perfect as ever. It seemed as if she’d finally been able to shed the last vestiges of her baby weight, because her shoulders were as narrow and birdlike they’d been when they’d first met.
She smiled pleasantly at the waiter when he stopped to take her order. A ripple of unthinking jealousy went through him at the appraising look Melanie cast the young man.
They’d been divorced for four months now. It wasn’t any of his business who she decided to sleep with. Even if it was the barely legal waiter.
He frowned down at his cup of coffee. It wasn’t as if he could throw any stones on that count. The bags under his eyes were a testament to what a fantasy of what Rosa’s lithe young body could do to him.
When Melanie turned to face him again he nearly flinched at the remoteness of her expression. How quickly passion could evaporate.
“Hello Richard.” Her tone was polite, but he could sense the underlying anger. How could he not, when she’d vented it at length during their court cases?
“Melanie.” He replied, trying to mirror her tone.
“Are you going to order food?” She asked, glancing at the coffee mug in his hand. He knew it made her insecure when he ate less than she did. She’d long envied his ability to survive on coffee alone for long stretches.
He shook his head. “I’ve got a start of the year meet and greet this evening. I’m saving room for chicken wings and loaded cheese fries at Ferrell’s tonight. Trust me, whatever you’re getting is healthier than what I’ll eat later.”
She looked only slightly mollified by his answer. “Ah. School functions.”
“What is wrong with that?” He asked, bristling, ready for the familiar argument.
He was saved from her reply by the arrival of her food. Melanie tucked into her eggs without responding and he waited several minutes before changing the topic.
“You brought the diaper bag,” He said, nodding toward it. “Were you going to bring Elle?” He hadn’t seen his daughter since they’d settled out of court.
Melanie shook her head. “No, I dropped her off at the sitter’s this morning. I have a lot of errands to run.”
His heart sank a little. He’d hoped maybe he’d be able to see Elle today. Melanie had given a lot of lip service to doing what was best for Elle, giving her time with both her parents when the topic of divorce had come up. But he hadn’t seen any follow through on her promises yet.
“Well, how is she doing then?”
“Doing well.” Melanie enthused, and set her fork down. For all her faults, Rick still thought that Melanie was a good mother. He wasn’t sure any child had ever had such a doting mother before. Certainly it had been different from his upbringing. “She’s started at a new daycare, and she’s made a few friends. Well, as much as they can be. It’s all fun and games until someone steals a Barbie.”
“That’s good.” He muttered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the party, but I-”
“Had finals.” Melanie finished sourly. “Honestly, how could you, Rick? It was her third birthday, and she hardly sees you as it is!”
His spine stiffened and his knuckles went white around the handle of his mug.
“And whose fault is that?” He practically snarled. “I wasn’t the one who dragged us through a year-long legal battle, Melanie. We agreed at the start we’d try to have shared physical custody of Elle. And how the fuck was I supposed to handle finals? I can’t exactly change the schedule when it’s put out.”
“You could have cancelled it.” She said hotly. “Professors do it all the time.”
“That paper was worth seventy percent of their grade. What did you wan
t me to do? Fail them all?”
“If it meant you’d be there for once, yes!”
He sat back breathing hard, anger pulsing hotly in his veins.
“I want to see her.” He said finally. “No more of these bullshit delay tactics. Next weekend I’m taking Ella.”
“Friday night and Saturday.” She agreed. “No more.”
“Damn it, Melanie! She’s my daughter too!”
He hadn’t seen her for months, and only sporadically during the divorce. He wanted the peals of childish laughter to once more echo off his walls. Hell, at this point he was practically dying to step on a Lego or a Barbie’s shoe in the middle of the night, just so he’d know Elle was there.
“You should have thought about that when you were more committed to your job than your family, Richard.”
He blew out a frustrated breath. “We’re not having this conversation again.”
He stood up and retrieved his coat, pulling it on in quick, jerky movements. He pulled out his wallet and slapped a ten dollar bill on the table.
“Tell the waiter he can keep the change.” He muttered as he strode away, Melanie’s glare burning a hole in his back.
He’d decided to walk to the Dream Bean, since it hadn’t been far from home and admittedly he’d been lax about his exercise routine over the summer.
Fayetteville, Arkansas was like any other city in the Midwest in that the weather was usually unpredictable. In late September as they were now, the weather could be as hot and humid as August, or as cold and blustery as early November. Today, it was forty degrees, though the wind that made his coat flap around his legs made it feel colder.
He walked down the sidewalk briskly, wishing for the cold to seep into his bones and cool his anger. He hated this, hated how argumentative he’d become. But honestly, he wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t that he’d been a terrible husband or father, and certainly not the absentee parent Melanie accused him of being.
It just seemed like she resented every moment he had to be at work. He wasn’t sure why. Their mutual love of learning had been a bonding factor between them.
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