She nodded into his chest, inhaling his scent. Feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath. “If this is the happily ever after I get, I’ll take it. I was miserable without you.”
“Then we’ll make it work.” He kissed her and helped her dress. She spent every moment, watching him, cataloguing his movements, his scent. The way his eyebrows arched when he caught her watching him. He was glorious, amazing. And if she could only have a superhuman only part of the time, well, wasn’t that as good as having a human every day of the week?
He flew her to her doorstop as dawn was about to break. They stood in the shadows and kissed for a long time. “Think of me every second,” she said, gripping him.
“I won’t be able to think of anything else,” he murmured into her hair.
When he broke away, turning and soaring up, she watched him go and began counting the minutes until he came soaring back into her life again. She knew it wouldn’t be long.
THE END
Afterword
Did you like the story? Would you like more?
For more books by Lynn Best, head over to www.LynnBest.com Or stick around for a preview of a Love Bite Story, BITTEN.
1
Sample Chapter of Bitten by Lynn Best
Stephanie glanced around the coffee shop, hoping to God no one would recognize her as she hid her red-rimmed eyes behind her book. How awful to be spotted in public trying desperately not to cry.
What if someone came up to her and asked her if she was okay? She’d be forced to mumble some lie about a dying aunt or cancer diagnosis.
Shit. She should probably come up with a cover story just in case.
Her caramel mocha latte sat untouched on the table beside her armchair. Truth be told, she hated coffee, but she had nowhere else to go after the fight. She couldn’t stay in the apartment, not after he’d called her a fat pig and threw her purse at her face.
Jesus, just thinking about it brought the tears back. She grabbed for the mug and sipped it, hoping it would calm her. She wasn’t even mad at Jeremy. Well, she was, but she was madder at herself. Why had she agreed to move out to Austin with him? She’d only known him for two months, but they’d been the best two months of her life—the whirlwind trips, the gifts, the spontaneous candlelight dinners.
She was a fool. A stupid fool, and that’s why she was crying. What in the hell would she do now? Move home with her mother? At twenty-two, moving back home seemed like the ultimate failure.
Instead of ruminating on all her life’s pitfalls, she decided to people watch. The coffee shop was small and homey, probably why she chose it. The brick walls and reclaimed pallet wood floors gave it a hipster vibe. A dozen two- and four-top tables with mismatched chairs were scattered around, but she had claimed one of the worn leather chairs near the bathrooms. There was a dull buzz of chatter from the clumps of people sipping brew together. A few were loners, most with laptops, banging away at the next great American novel. The smell of coffee was everywhere, and beneath it hints of the bakery muffins she was trying desperately not to order.
Fat pig.
Looking over her steaming mug, she watched a young couple flirt. Probably a first date. The girl wore lipstick and had curled her hair. He’d clearly picked out a nice shirt.
Next to them, a man and woman in their twenties looked at their cellphones, barely talking. This woman’s hair sat in a frumpy ponytail. The man had a stain on his shirt. Stephanie wondered if the flirting couple saw where they were headed—the slow death of infatuation until a post from your Aunt Linda was more interesting than the man sitting across the table from you.
Oh God, what was she going to do? She’d have to go back to the apartment eventually.
“Excuse me, miss. Is everything okay?”
Stephanie startled, looking around to find the source of the voice.
He was standing at the side of her chair and taking up more space than one man should. Six-foot-six or seven, his broad chest and massive arms looked like he lived and breathed working out. His skin was a deep brown, and, with his black hair and accent, she pegged him as Latino. And one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen.
“I… uh… Yes. I’m fine. Thanks.” She set her mug down with a clunk. What in the world was a guy like that doing talking to her? She ran a hand through her hair, but she knew it was no use. She’d blown out of the apartment after the fight without even a glance in a mirror.
He observed her stammering and nervousness with a calm but determined expression. “Are you sure? You look like… Well, frankly, you look like you’ve been crying. If anyone is harassing you…” He didn’t finish, but he didn’t need to. This guy could take out anyone with a well-aimed punch.
“No one is harassing me.” No one here, she thought. “I’m fine. Really. Allergies.”
His frown let her know he wasn’t buying what she was selling. He nodded, took a step toward the counter and then swiveled. His jeans clung to his thick thighs as he moved once again back toward her.
When he sat down in the armchair opposite her, she felt her breath catch in her throat.
“Could I ask your name?” he asked, his accented voice so melodic and sexy she felt herself melting.
“Stephanie,” she managed, and then regretted it. Didn’t she know better than to give a strange man her name? “Johnson,” she lied. “Stephanie Johnson.”
“Stephanie Johnson, I’m Francisco. I’m not from here, but where I come from, if a man hurts a woman, we deal with it.” He leaned forward, massive arms on massive knees, his brown eyes locking onto hers as if he could see right through to her core.
“Did someone hurt you, Stephanie?”
She shook her head, but could feel the tears in her eyes betraying her. How could her life have come to this? Crying in front of a GQ model at a coffee shop when she didn’t even like coffee. Maybe she should move home to live with her mother. It was clear she wasn’t doing a great job of handling her life on her own.
When she didn’t answer, Francisco stood up, the leather chair groaning a sigh of relief.
Well, that was that. She’d managed to scare him away. Not that she was trying to entice him. He was way, way out of her league.
She grabbed her purse, shoving the unread book into it. Time to face facts.
But as she got up, Francisco was coming back, one of the chocolate muffins she was trying so hard not to eat in his hand. He looked crestfallen when he saw she was about to leave.
“I’ve been told chocolate makes people feel better.” He held out the muffin centered in his massive open palm. “Feel better, Stephanie.”
She looked at the muffin, the perfect gift, the very thing that would make her feel better. Then she remembered Jeremy’s words.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m off gluten.” Quickly, she strode around him and out of the shop, the door banging behind her.
Under the street lamps, she looked back one more time. Francisco was staring out the window at her, holding the muffin to his chest.
The nicest guy she’d ever met just bought her a muffin, and she’d refused. It was all pity, anyway. And right now, the last thing she wanted was pity.
It had only been an hour since their fight, but Stephanie had nowhere else to go. New to the city, she didn’t have any friends. They were all in Michigan. And she didn’t know other places to visit to kill time. Besides, she thought. If she was going to have to pack up her shit and move home, there was no time like the frickin’ present.
She walked the three blocks to her apartment complex and took the stairs up slowly. Only a month ago, she’d mounted these same steps with Jeremy, hand-in-hand, so happy to see their new place. Now, the stairwell carpet looked worn and the paint was dingy. There was a smell of smoke in the air and an undercurrent of urine coming from one dark corner on the second floor.
A shit hole. How had she not seen it before?
The third floor arrived too soon and she stood in front of her apartment, staring at the door, un
able to move. What she should do, if she had balls, was march down to the coffee house and tell Francisco exactly what Jeremy had said. Yes, someone had hurt her, and Francisco could show Jeremy how to treat a lady. But, for someone who hated conflict that was a silly daydream. And, no matter how much Jeremy had hurt her, she didn’t want to see him beaten to a bloody pulp.
Punched in the beak once? Well… maybe.
Hand on the knob, she tried to talk herself into turning it. It was a solid minute before she was able to.
The door cracked open and she pushed in slowly. The smell of pot was immediate and overpowering. Jeremy had been getting high a lot more than usual lately. Before they moved, she’d never seen him do it, though she’d suspected a time or two. But now that they were living together, she realized it was an everyday thing. And it changed him.
Walking in, she followed the sounds of virtual shooting in the spare bedroom and Jeremy’s “office.” He worked from home as a product manager and graphic designer for an Internet company. But, as she stood in the doorway, she could see he wasn’t working. His first-shooter avatar was taking out aliens.
“You’re back,” he said, not turning around.
“Should I not be?”
He paused his game, swiveling in his chair. Sighing, he looked at her. “Are you ready to talk like adults?”
Ha. Adults? He was hilarious, sitting there wearing his Power Rangers T-shirt.
She narrowed her eyes. “Sure. Help me out here. Was it adult to call me a fat pig?”
He looked away, at least showing enough human decency to feel bad. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”
“Okaaay.” She drew out the word, searching for her next course of action. “What about the drugs? Have you thought about what I said?”
“Thought about it? Yeah. Changed my mind? No. It’s medicinal, Stephanie. Healthy.”
She fought to maintain her composure at his condescending tone. “Smoking it several times a day is healthy? You aren’t even sick.”
“You don’t have to be sick to get health benefits from it.”
Here they were again, right back to arguing.
“Whatever. I’m going to bed.” Maybe she could decide what to do with her life in the morning.
He didn’t stop her. She could hear the sounds of his video game resume the moment she left the room.
Slipping into her pajamas, she crawled under the covers. Alone in bed, her thoughts floated back to Francisco. Picturing his massive body, his arms like telephone poles, stirred something in her. It had been three weeks since she and Jeremy had done anything more than kiss goodnight. Three weeks with no man’s hands on her body. She ran fingertips down the front of her nightgown, feeling the rise of her breast. Sure, she’d put on weight over the last few months. The result of too much eating out at restaurants combined with the stress of moving. But the weight she’d put on had gone to her breasts and ass, something she’d liked until Jeremy commented that he liked thin girls. Athletic girls.
She was as far from athletic as you could get. She once knocked herself unconscious playing badminton.
But Francisco had brought her a chocolate muffin. He’d looked into her eyes. Sure, he probably didn’t find her sexy, but… What if he did?
Her hand slid over the hard rise of one nipple. Then the other.
What would his giant hands feel like there?
A burning began between her legs. Hot. Unquenchable.
What would his weight, his girth, feel like down there?
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Between Moons by Lilly Cain
By
Lilly Cain
Work has been the focus of Helen Mathews’ life for the last seven years. Determined to prove her father wrong, and that she is as good or better than a son would have been, Helen has sacrificed her personal life to make it to the top in her land development company. But putting the projects before friendship and love hasn’t been easy. Even when the project is as good for the community as a hospital, there are always losses.
David Sherman is good at winning. He’s built his company from the ground up and is ready to play with the big boys. Or big girls, in the case of his newest development. Helen and her company are the perfect partners for his current project. She has the drive and the power he needs. If only she’d stay put and stop disappearing on him. Something is wrong and if there is one thing he can’t resist, it’s a puzzle. Or a weeping woman.
When a Gypsy curse interrupts a life devoted to work, Helen must find a balance between the wilderness and the boardroom. But is there a chance for balance when David charges to the rescue? One thing for sure, Helen is no damsel in distress.
Lilly Cain
Copyright 2018 by Lilly Cain
Cover design by Candace Phillips Gilmer
Flirtation Designs
Discover other titles by Lilly Cain www.lillycain.com
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with others, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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To my family who are more patient than I am. And to my writing friends, Sara, Renee, Cathy, and Donna, who push me to do more. Thank you for being there.
Prologue
We’d like to congratulate Ms. Mathews on her recent closure of the largest deal this firm has seen in ten years. Raise your glasses and toast our sharpest nose for business, our shark in these shallow market waters, Ms. Helen Mathews!”
It was a perfect moment. The entire company had gathered to celebrate her promotion to partner, something she’d worked toward for the last few years with little time for anything else. The powerful owner of the company had his full attention on her. She looked fantastic, and the room was elegant—filled with white linen-draped tables topped with crystal and candles. The food was picture perfect, even if she couldn’t bring herself to taste it. Her stomach twisted as she waited for his toast to continue and the announcement to be made.
Henry Winfield, President of Multoma, raised his glass of champagne and smiled at the gathered executives at the head table. In turn, they raised their glasses and smiled, although to most observers it probably looked more like the baring of teeth in a pack of wolves, with none willing to show a moment’s weakness.
As Helen rose to accept her accolades, a disturbance at the back of the room drew the focus away from her and toward a small group of people. Two young men dressed in jeans and leather jackets pushed their way through the employees gathered in the hotel convention room, making way for an older woman. They rushed to reach the head table where Helen stood and the Board of Directors of Multoma Development International sat.
As they approached, the two men flanked the oddly dressed older woman. She seemed familiar, but Helen couldn’t quite place her. The woman was perhaps in her seventies, and wore a long, full skirt, a white blouse, and a ruby scarf wrapped around her waist as a belt. She was weighted down with rings on every finger, and wore her hair in a long, youthful hairstyle, even though it was fully gray. Her black eyes flashed at Helen, and her sneering smile was cold.
“Ms. Mathews.” The old woman spoke, her clear voice belying any trace of
age and certainly reaching all the corners of the room. “It is good to see that you’re being recognized as the shark that you are—a predator that would eat its own young.”
A collective gasp rippled through the room. Helen sucked in a breath, and lifted her chin in indignation. Heat rushed to her face and she could imagine the redness creeping toward her neckline when she heard a few tittering laughs somewhere toward the back of the gathering. Annoyance had her gritting her teeth as she struggled to produce her usual professional smile. Already there were motions indicating that security had been called, so Helen remained standing, facing the odd group.
“Many thanks for the compliment.” Helen controlled her voice to reflect only sarcasm, her intonation poisonous. “An insult so strong must indicate that I’ve moved up in the ranks of my critics’ black list. However, now is not the time to trade respects. Perhaps you could reach me at the office for an appointment.”
“I don’t think so. We’ve had our meetings, and you’ve still ignored our claim to our rightful land. We don’t ask for much. We rarely stay in one place, but still, we must have those few places where we can meet and be ourselves. The Rom will always be travelers, but you have taken away one of our last refuges.”
As the old woman spoke, Helen suddenly realized who the person before her was. This was the same well-dressed, professional lawyer, Miss Bianca Donceanu, she’d been meeting with over a land dispute, a dispute involving the very deal she was being recognized for. Her people were the Rom—a branch of American Romanians that retained their wandering Gypsy ways. They’d fought to keep the land—said it was their right to camp there annually as they had for generations—when in truth, the land belonged only to the government.
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