by Susan Ward
As wonderful as Jack is, it will end the same as all my relationships do; It will end badly with him moving on to the next girl. That’s what always happens.
Be smart, Linda. For once, be the girl who walks away.
My legs feel weak and shaky as I step closer to the door and away from him. “I had a wonderful time with you, but I’m going home. We’re over.”
Jack starts to quietly laugh and he closes the space between us. He takes my face in the cradle of his palms. “Oh no, Linda. We’re not over. I’m a guy who knows when he’s met forever.”
I stare up at him, my heart in my throat, and I don’t know how to answer that.
Jack surrounds me with his body, his arms braced on the door, his scent sending my senses into a frenzy as slowly he starts the dangerous decent of his mouth to mine. “One last kiss, Linda. Then tell me you’re going to walk away.”
Our passion ignites at the first touch of our lips and every part of me is instantly lost in him. My legs and arms lose their strength and I can feel myself in a fast free-fall, losing my power to leave him.
I twist out of his arms and step back quickly. I feel a stinging burn on my cheeks and realize my tears are flowing from my eyes in fierce currents.
“I can’t stay, Jack. If I do it means I’ve learned nothing from watching my mother. And I don’t think I can live with that.”
He brushes away my tears with both his lips and his thumbs. Then, he gives back the space between us.
“Leaving won’t make a difference about anything. It won’t make you a smarter woman and it won’t make us over. It’ll only make you gone. We are far from over, Linda, and we both know it.”
I stare at the pretty bright foil Back Street shopping bags and fumble to open the bedroom door. I feel the truth of his words in my core. By the time I reach the front porch, I’m breathing like I’ve just run a marathon and my arms and legs have lost all sensation.
The driver sprints around the black Town car and opens the door for me. Frantically, I look over my shoulder toward the heavy wooden front door I left open. I’m relieved that Jack didn’t follow. I don’t know if I’d have the will to climb into the car if he did.
I duck as I settle into the plush leather backseat. I look at the front door one last time. How easy it would be to step back into the house and run down the hall to Jack.
The slam of the car door makes me jump, and a few moments later my numb senses grow aware we are moving. I stare out the tinted passenger window, my teary eyes blurring and distorting the gorgeous, peaceful view.
Maybe Jack is right: I don’t know how to let a man be good to me.
~~~The End~~~
Thank you for reading. For more books in An Affair Without End Series check my website http://www.susanwardbooks.com/ for release dates. Or you can can follow me on twitter @susaninlaguna or like me on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/susanwardbooks?ref=hl
EXCERPTS
If you enjoyed One Last Kiss, you may enjoy The Girl on the Half Shell available now on Amazon, as the Parker Family Saga continues. Please enjoy the following excerpt:
The room is so quiet it is deafening.
I find Alan on his bed, casually reclined against a stack of pillows, dressed only in flannel pajama bottoms, and reading—of all things—the Wall Street Journal. There is a fire lit, the silver candlesticks flicker with flame, the bedcovers invitingly turned down as if in preparation for some sort of romantic scene. But he is focused on the Journal.
He doesn’t look at me and I feel stupid hovering by his door, so I start to wander around the bedroom, trying to still my frantic pulse. It’s a good thing that it’s an interesting room, otherwise my deliberate study would seem silly.
Even Alan’s bedroom is something I find weird and demands a certain amount of mental analysis. It looks like something from a nineteenth century English manor, elegant to the point of being almost a touch prissy. There’s an antique mahogany king-sized bed facing the fireplace; floral wingback chairs with pillows positioned before the hearth; and high-tech conveniences camouflaged in antique furniture. There’s a Monet on the wall; tall, polished sterling silver candlesticks; crystal; and fine, leather-bound, first edition books of classic literature. I sink down before a small, mahogany table where I find a stack of newspaper: Barons; the New York Times; the Washington Post; and the Daily Telegraph.
The warmth of the fire surrounds me like a caress, but I am quaking like a leaf. I wasn’t sure what Alan expected after he walked out of the kitchen. It would have been logical to assume that I would leave. But he knew I’d follow him. I don’t know why he’s ignoring me now. I look at the lit candlesticks—he wanted me to follow him.
I bite my lower lip and stare at my knotted fingers. I stayed alone in the kitchen for what seemed like ages, and now that I’ve done exactly what he expected me to do, nothing.
I struggle for something to say to break the silence. “You do have seven bedrooms. I counted them twice. But there are seven only if I include yours.”
He folds the Journal, tosses it on the table and fixes those penetrating, mesmerizing eyes on me. “Is this the room you want?” he asks, his voice gentle. “I meant it when I said you could have any room. It doesn’t have to be my room for you to stay.”
Does he not want me in his room? A ragged breath forces its way from deep in my lungs. “Do you want me to go?” I murmur.
“Of course not. I want you here.” His voice is husky and his eyes are wandering in a leisurely hold that is tender and oddly comforting.
Thank you for reading. You might enjoy a sneak peek into Chrissie and Alan’s future, with Rewind A Perfect Forever Novella. Available now on Amazon:
He doesn’t laugh. Instead, his gaze sharpens on my face. “I am being nice, Kaley. I came to you. I got tired of waiting.”
What? Did I just hear what I think I heard?
Before I can respond, he says, “How’s your afternoon looking? Do you have time to take off and come see something with me?”
My afternoon? There is something. I’m sure of that, but I suddenly can’t remember a single thing.
“What do you have in mind?”
“I want to show you where I’ve been living. What’s I’ve been doing? I think you’ll find it interesting.”
Interesting? Why would I find it interesting?
“So, do you think you can cut out for a few hours?” he asks, watching me expectantly.
I focus my gaze on the table, wondering if I should go, wondering why I debate this, and what the heck I have on calendar that I can’t remember. God this is weird, familiar and distant at once, and I haven’t a clue what I should do here.
I stare at his hand, so close to mine, on the table. Whoever thought it would be so uncomfortable not to touch a guy? It doesn’t feel natural this space we hold between us, spiced with the kind of talk people have who know each other intimately. What would he do if I touched him…?
His fingers cover mine and he gives me a friendly squeeze. The feel of him runs through my body with remember sweetness.
Suddenly, nothing in my life is as important as spending the afternoon with Bobby and for the first time, in a very long time, I don’t feel like a disjointed collection of uncomfortably fitting parts. I feel at ease inside me being with Bobby.
I stop trying to access my mental calendar. I smile up at Bobby. “I’ve got as much time as you need.”
Bobby chuckles and his hand slips back from me. He rises and tosses some bills on the table. “Just a few hours, Kaley. I’ll have you back before the end of the day.”
I rise from my chair and think not if I figure out fast how not to blow this.
Thank you for reading. Continue the story of Chrissie and Alan in the second book of the Half Shell Series: Girl of Tokens and Tears coming Fall 2014. Please enjoy the following sneak peek as Neil Stanton re-enters the story:
“Here, you look like you could use this,” says a quiet male voice above me.
I l
ook up only far enough to see the carry size pack of tissue held out in long, tan fingers. I take one and anxiously dab at my tears. On the concrete walkway below there is a pair of some kind of work shoe and dark blue pant legs that look like they belong to a jump suit or something. Oh God, the janitor I barreled into. How humiliating is this? To be the girl alone on a concrete slab, crying and being consoled by the janitor.
I don’t look up, praying he’ll go away.
“Can I sit on your bench?” he asks politely.
I nod. “It’s not my bench and it’s a free country.”
He gives me a small laugh for that. I avoid looking straight at him, inhale another sniffle, and touch my nose with the tissue.
“Thank you. You’ve been very nice,” I whisper.
He settles near me copying my posture, feet on bench, legs bent and facing me.
“You know, Lambert will only bully you if you let him,” he advises kindly. “And he only bullies the students he thinks have potential they are not putting to good use.”
“Thanks. I’ll try to remember that. He doesn’t hate me. I have potential.”
He laughs and from a pack on the ground he takes a brown lunch bag and sets it beside him.
“Rough year?” He is carefully unwrapping some kind of minimart precooked burrito thing.
Jeez, is he going to eat that cold?
“Do you want a bite? It isn’t a terrible as it looks.”
I start to laugh when I really don’t want to. “Thanks, but no thanks!”
“Come on. What’s not to love? Week old beans. Week old rice and I’m not even sure what the sauce is. Be bold. Be brave. Eat a minimart burrito from yesterday.”
Ok, that was funny. I look at him then locking on green eyes and I see a really sweet teasing glint in them. His eyes are large, brightly colored and filled with a smile. Shoulder length blond streaked brown hair peeks out from beneath an army green bandana and the face of the janitor is tanned, really good looking…and really familiar.
Why does it feel like I know him?
“Are you homesick? Is that why you mope around campus all day?”
I lift my chin. “I don’t mope and how would you know what I do all day?”
He takes the keys hanging from his belt and shakes them. “There’s not much to do when you push a broom in the music department except listen and watch everything.” He takes a bite of his burrito. “You have Lambert’s class from 10 until 11. You sit on this bench until noon. You have a practice room from 1 until 2. You sit on this bench until 3. You have your lab with Jared the TA—who is hot for you, would really like to date you, and is afraid to ask—that’s at 3:30. And then sometimes you do another hour in a practice room, but most times you disappear from campus. You are back at 7 for symphony. That’s your Tuesday/Thursday schedule.”
My eyes round and I tense. Jeez, maybe he’s not just the janitor. Maybe he’s a stalker or something!
“How do you know all that?” I ask fearfully.
“I push a broom, remember?” he replies casually.
I start to gather my things.
“Hey,” he says putting his hand on my arm. “You don’t have to run for security, Chrissie. I would never hurt a hometown girl. The rest of the girls I stalk are in trouble, but you’re pretty much safe. We’ve got that whole SB thing going on. Like comrades bonded in warfare.”
His boyish eyes start to twinkle above an endearing smile. I stare at him. Chrissie: he knows my name. SB thing? He’s from Santa Barbara too. I study him more closely and I just can’t place the face. I know I know the face, but I’m not connecting the dots, and I’m not tapping into that instinct thing telling me if I use to like him or I should run.
He frowns. “Now I’m hurt.”
Crap, he can see I’m not remembering him.
He tosses his unfinished burrito into the bag. “Do you forget every really, really cool guy who does you a really, really big favor?”
I feel my heart drop to my knees. Really, really cool guy….Oh crap! Neil Stanton. Yep, I definitely remember him. The jerk from that night Rene and I went clubbing at Peppers before spring break. The guy who thought he needed to give me life advice after making a fool out of me. In my memory I can still hear him saying Didn’t Daddy teach you anything about how the world works.
Or enjoy the first novel in the Perfect Forever Novels: The Signature. Available Now. Please enjoy the following excerpt from The Signature:
She became aware all at once how utterly delightful it felt to be here with him, alone on the quay, with the erotic nearness of his body.
She closed her eyes. “Listen to the quiet. There are times when I lie here and it feels like there is no one else in the world.”
“No one else in the world? Would that be a good thing?” he asked thoughtfully.
“No. But the illusion is grand, don’t you think?” she whispered.
Krystal turned her head to the side, lifting her lids to find Devon’s gaze sparkling as he studied her. He shook his head lazily. “No. The illusion wouldn’t be grand at all. It would mean I wasn’t here with you.”
It all changed at once, yet again, and so quickly that Krystal couldn’t stop it. The ticklish feeling stirred in her limbs. Devon’s words, as well as the closeness of their bodies, should have sent her into active retreat, and instead she felt herself wanting to curl into him. What would it feel like if kissed me? Would I still feel this delicious inside? Or would that old panic and fear return?
Laughing softly, Devon said, “I’m not used to relaxing. Can you tell?”
“I wasn’t used to it before Coos Bay, either. There is a different pace of life here. At first I thought there was no sound. That’s how quiet it seemed to me. Then I realized that there is music, beautiful music in this quiet.”
After a long pause, he murmured, “You’ll have to bring me here every Saturday until I learn to hear music in the quiet.”
Krystal smiled. “Once you hear the music it’s perfect.”
“It’s perfect now to me.” His voice was a husky, sensual whisper.
He was on his side facing her. When had that happened? An inadvertent thrill ran through her flesh, and she could see it in his eyes—the supplication, the want, and an unexplainable reluctance to indulge either.
Devon was no longer smiling, his eyes had become brighter and more diffuse. His fingertips started to trace her face with such exquisite lightness that her insides shook. For the first time, in a very long time, she felt completely a woman and wanting.
Was it possible? Had she finally healed internally as her flesh had done so long ago? Was she finally past the legacy of Nick? Was what she was now feeling real? Should she seek the answer with Devon? Or was it better to leave it unexplored?
“You are a very beautiful woman,” he whispered.
She watched with sleepy movements as his mouth lowered to her. It came first as a touch on her cheek, feather soft between the play of his fingers. Her breath caught, followed by a pleasant quickening of her pulse. She was unprepared for the sweetness of his lips and the rushing sensations that ran her body. His thumb traced the lines of her mouth, as his kiss moved sweetly, gently there.
His breath became rapid in a way that matched her own, and his mouth grew fuller and more searching. The fingertips curving her chin were like a gentle embrace, but their mouths were eager and demanding. Flashes of desire rocketed through her powerfully. Urgency sang through her flesh, a forgotten melody, now in vibrant notes. She found herself wanting to twist into him. Reality begged her to twist back.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Susan Ward is a native of Santa Barbara, California, where she currently lives in a house on the side of a mountain, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. She doesn’t believe she makes sense anywhere except near the sea. She attended the University of California Santa Barbara and earned a degree in Business Administration from California State University Sacramento. She works as a Government Relations Consultant, focusing on issues
of air quality and global warming. The mother of grown daughters, she lives a quiet life with her husband and her dog Emma. She can be found most often walking at Hendry’s Beach, where she writes most of her storylines in her head while watching Emma play in the surf.
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Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EXCERPTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR