Rebecca Cartee, I can’t thank you enough for taking me on as a last minute client! I’m so happy you fell in love with my characters! You did a fab job editing and it was really great to work with you on this book!
Drum roll please . . .
I have had the most unbelievable support system this past year. These ladies flew in with flowing pink capes and saved the day for my first release. Since then, they have become the dearest friends to me. Wendy Shatwell and Claire Allmendinger, what is there left to say? I’d be lost without you ladies! I can’t wait to fly across the pond and give you the biggest (quite possibly the most awkward) hug I can give. I will then follow up with a crazy dance like The Carlton or something a little fancier that would require “jazz hands.”
And finally, I want to thank the many bloggers who have shown me support by promoting me in anyway, especially with reviews and spotlights. I truly appreciate all the time you put into supporting authors, especially us Indie ones!
I am a domestic engineer (born and raised in New Jersey) whose sole responsibility is guiding three young, impressionable kids into becoming phenomenal adults. This challenging yet rewarding work requires a lot of love (coffee), patience (wine), and determination (periodic exorcisms). I work all of this magic from the beautiful state of New Hampshire.
Before becoming a domestic goddess (not really), I spent over a decade working in the medical field, where I wore more hats than the queen.
I have loved the written word and the great escape it provides since I was a little girl. When I wasn't reading about people and the places they lived, I created my own characters and adventures.
Having found myself again, through my writing, with The Lost & Found Series, The One, and The GEG Series, has been nothing short of a dream come true. Also, it makes people feel better when I laugh randomly or talk to myself, knowing it's my characters and not "the voices" . . . that would be creepy.
In the Mix Spotify Playlist
Want to see what I’m up to? You can stalk me here at these spots!
Twitter: @JacquelynAyres
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/JacquelynAyresAuthor
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/jacquelynayres/
Coming Soon!
Crossing the Line (#3 GEG Series)
*This is subject to change as far as order in the series*
~UNEDITED~
Chapter One
Phobias.
We all have them. However, most of us don’t walk that fine line between fear and just plain crazy.
I do.
Do you?
Fear has existed as long as man has
“No shit, assmunch!” I say almost under my breath, crossing out that last statement. Ugh! Why did I agree to write this article?!
“I’m sorry, were you talking to me?”
I look up quickly. Shit—it’s Wednesday! It’s “Viking Day.” Did they have Vikings in Australia? If not then I think there’s been a mix up; his family must’ve immigrated there.
His name is Declan Pierce. And it was only an hour ago that he was piercing the ever-loving-hell out of my love tunnel with his giant Viking cock. One look and I swore he wasn’t going to fit, but he yanked my skirt up and pushed me down on my desk. His hand possessively, yet gently, grasped my neck. His fingers splaying the length of my jaw, holding me in place. He shushed me as his free hand found its way between my legs. I whimpered; I was so fucking wet for him and it put a cocky ass smile on his face. “It will fit. Let me show you how good it will fit, love,” he said while stretching my entrance with his thick, Viking-man fingers. Because I’m one who likes to see proof—I submitted. Ever get fucked so hard and good, you can’t keep your mouth from gaping open, or enable your throat to produce some sort of sound? That’s how he fucked me. Gaping-mouth fuck. And I loved it.
He commanded me to come—I came.
He released my neck and pulled out with a thunderous groan. “On your knees, Ms. St. Claire!” I obeyed and was rewarded with his throbbing, swollen cock, filling my mouth until it exploded, releasing another wondrous, epic groan from him. Afterwards, he sat in the plush chair, most of my clients seem to prefer, and helped me up onto his lap where he cradled me. His large hands caressed my body in nonchalant manner. It didn’t matter what kind of manner it was, he was touching me and that’s all I needed. Then, he started talking lowly in my ear, saying deliciously naughty things about my pussy. The first thing he said is a must. And I’m sure you will agree with me.
“Mmm . . . any idea how amazing it was to feel your tight, little pussy, pulsating around my cock?”
See that right there? That’s psyche 101 when it comes to sex talk. Men always want to hear about how big you think there cock is (in a positive light, of course). Well, women are no different! I don’t care if her vag lips are flapping in the wind and you can stick your hand up in there to give a “thumbs up” to your cock while you’re fucking her; tell her her pussy is tight! She’ll love you and your “big” cock a little more! ;)
“Ms. St. Claire? Ms. St. Claire?! Are you alright?”
“Huh?” I snap back.
“Are you ok?” He places the back of his hand to my forehead.
“Yes, why?” I ask nervously because he’s touching me!
“One minute I’m asking if you were talking to me, the next, your eyes glossed over, your face turned bright red, and you were breathing rapidly. Is everything ok?” He crouches down to me.
“Um . . . oh. Sorry.” I shake my head. “I was lost in my thoughts . . . sorry.” I say again.
“What on Earth were you thinking about?” He chuckles lightly. “I thought I was going to have to call a medic!”
I could easily tell him that I was lost in the thought of our impromptu “session” earlier but he probably won’t remember it to reminisce along with me. That’s because he wasn’t really here. He was only fucking me in my mind. He fucks me there every day, at some point. Always on my desk. My own little—made for my mind—porno: THINK OF SOMETHING HERE!!!
“I don’t even know,” I say and give him, what I think is, my most perplexed look.
“Are you diabetic?”
“No. Don’t be silly. I’m fine.” I wave his idea off.
“Have you eaten?”
“No,” I answer and feel my palms start to sweat. I’m just realizing how close his face is to mine.
“That’s it then!” He slaps his knee. “Here, I’ve brought you a coffee.” Taking it out of the drink tray, he places it on my desk near me. “Please, eat my muffin.”
I’d like for him to eat my muffin!
“Thanks, but you don’t have to do that.” I smile, eyeing it. “Maybe just half.” I give in before he puts in a fight. What? It’s the—limited time only—banana muffin from Dunkin’s. I’m not passing up on that shit! He nods, smiling as he pulls the plush chair (the one he was just cradling me on, telling me how tight I was . . . ahem) closer to my desk and takes his coffee out of the drink tray, as well. “You don’t have to bring me coffee every week.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want something else?” Declan reaches for my cup.
“No!” I smack his hand away and rescue my coffee.
“A little passionate about your coffee, aye?” His smile hits his eyes.
“Just a bit,” I agree and take a sip. “I meant that you don’t have to do this in general.”
“I rather enjoy Wednesdays now, if I’m to be honest.” He shifts in his seat. “This one hour of the week seems to be the only hour I get that has any normalcy to it.”
“Why do you say that?” I cross my legs, letting my right one hang over the left and it bops . . . bops . . . bops.
“I have to tell you, that’s terribly annoying.” His hand puts pressure on my leg to make me stop. I stare at his hand, secretly wishing it to travel to my lady business. Ugh! What is wrong with me?!
“Sorry,” I almost whisper. “So, tell me why you feel that way,” I continue.
“I
want to hear about your week. Tell me what’s new with your friends?” He taps my knee then pulls his hand away.
“Declan—”
“—Dec”
“Dec, this is the third week you’ve popped in on me with coffee. All we’ve done is talk about me. I’d like to hear some dialogue from you.” I’m calm but assertive, I think.
“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m not here for a therapy session. I’m here to talk to a very witty, charming, and beautiful woman. If I talk about me, you will turn this into a session and I will refrain from coming back.”
“Um . . . thank you for the compliment. No thank you to the judgment.”
“I’m not judging you. I just want to have coffee with you and pleasant conversation. I don’t want to come in here and unload my bag.”
I would so love for him to unload his bag!
Pull it together, Maddie! “Well, that’s not fair.”
“You listen to people all day, every day. Don’t you want to take a break and be the one to talk for once?”
“I don’t just listen. I coach. I talk it out with them. Don’t slap a label on me.” I may have come off a little pissed with that last comment.
“I didn’t mean to state how you do your job. I just meant that I like to listen to you and . . . I don’t know. I should just go. I’m sorry for offending you.” He stands up.
I stand up with him. “Do you talk to anybody? Especially about your son?” I ask quickly.
“Have a nice night,” he says quietly before heading out of my room.
“Declan! Dec!” I call after and follow him down the hall. “Stop!” I grab his arm.
He knocks on the door to Ted’s office, ignoring my pull. “I’m sorry, we have to leave early today—something’s come up.” Dec says once he opens the door.
“Dec . . . wait.” I try to get him to turn but he is of Viking quality and I’m just, as Pa Ingalls would say, a half-pint. Finally, I give up. He and his son head down the hall.
Good job, Captain Asswhore!
Sneak Peek
Rescue Breathing
The Breathe Series-Book One
Written by Zoe Norman
Rescue breathing, also known as “the kiss of life,” is a rescue technique where one person provides air for someone who has stopped breathing.
- Excerpt from www.ask.com/health&fitness
CHAPTER ONE
Olivia
“There is a time in every woman's life when she needs to just walk away. This, Olivia, is that time.”
That lovely quote comes directly from the mouth of my best friend, Charley, over the phone and across the country. She is giving me her version of a pep talk, which I am grateful is not currently including a stream of expletives directed at my ex, Jay.
About nine months ago, I found out he was not just cheating. Nope, that would have been too easy. In fact, at this point in my life, I would pay someone to turn the hands of time back and make it that easy. No, Jay provided me with a much more interesting betrayal. Wait for it. He was married. With kids. The whole time we were dating. All three years of it.
It's okay. Take a moment to absorb that. It's taken me nine months to just scratch the surface of taking that in. I am now at that special place where I'm just angry. Angry and decidedly spending the majority of my time fantasizing about different ways to remove Jay's testicles in a painful manner. Charley is all too willing to assist with this part of the grieving process, even from the polar opposite side of the United States, since dealing with sobbing, falling-apart Olivia is too much for her to bear.
“Liv, are you listening? This is your opportunity to have some fun. Get the hell out of the city and breathe a little. You need some space from all this. Even if you don't see him anymore, you need to get out of town. Come to this conference. I'll show you around Seattle. We'll go out with my girls here. It will be so much fun. Maybe you'll even get laid!”
The conference she is referring to is an American Psychological Association conference where I'm supposed to present my most recent research to be published about trauma and servicemen. I've spent the last nine months of my grief process interviewing nearly every fireman, policeman, and paramedic in the city of New York. It's amazing how productive hating someone else and being devastatingly broken can make you.
“Charley, I'm not looking to get laid. My God, that's the last thing on my mind!”
This is a lie. A big, fat, stupid lie. I think about sex every time I go to bed. Not with my ex-that sex wasn't even that good. No, I think about the kind of sex I've always wanted, with a man who makes me feel amazing and cherished and isn't afraid of a little fun. So basically I think about my dream-man sex on the body of a celebrity. Whatever. It works.
“Charley, if I come out there, you know I have to actually work. It's a conference. I'd be presenting at three different lectures.”
I hear her sigh over the phone. “I know exactly what you're saying and I know you have to work. But you also have to have some fun, Liv. Hey, is that guy Rob going to be there? The guy you hooked up with at your last conference?”
I groan. Rob is a psychologist who presented at conference I attended in Chicago, several months after I found out about Jay. In a fit of sadness-and a tremendous amount of alcohol-I had sex with Rob in a stairwell of the hotel in which we were staying. Suffice it to say, it took me another two weeks to get him to stop calling me. The last thing I need right now is to run into him again.
“Absolutely not, Charlotte. That guy was like a leech. I have no interest in rehashing that disaster again.”
I hear her giggle on the other end. “Liv, please. I haven't seen you in ages. I miss you. Just come out to Seattle. If there is a happy side effect, it's that you get out of New York, and if you're able to put some of the Jay stuff to bed, all the better, but at least we can visit, okay?”
I sigh. “Okay, okay, okay. I'll come out. I'll send you the itinerary when I get it. I do know I'll be at the Fairmont Olympic, but I could probably use a ride when I get there if you don't mind. Maybe we can have dinner the first night?”
“Yay! That's the spirit, girl. Oh my God, I can't wait to see you! Liv, you won't regret this. I promise you, I'm going to make it all better. I love you, Livvie girl.”
I laugh as my heart clenches. Charley has been my best friend since we were in school together at Columbia. She moved to Seattle a few years ago for work and I miss her terribly. Not having her here during all this has been terribly difficult for me.
“I love you too, Charley. I can't wait to see you.”
We hang up our call and I collapse into my couch. The conference is next week. I have a lot of work to do before I leave, not the least of which is call our travel coordinator at NYU and get my flight plan together. I pick up the phone and dial away.
***
My flight out to Seattle is tomorrow night and I'm still packing. I decided to take the last flight out in the hopes of getting a little sleep before my plane lands. It will mean arriving very late at night, but that will allow me a full night's sleep before the start of the conference.
I have all my clothes laid out in front of me. I have all the usual work stuff-skirt suits, pant suits, sensible shoes. But knowing that Charley wants to go out, I decide I should also pack some cute stuff too, so I've included some short black skirts that are fun, a couple of sexy tops, and some real fuck-me stilettos. I don't know who I think is going to fuck me in these shoes, but it's worth a shot, right?
Just thinking about having sex with someone else, despite all my late-night fantasies, makes my stomach roil. I wish my heart didn't hurt so much still. I'm lucky I never run into Jay at all. My guess is that he's-smartly-avoiding the places I might be likely to see him.
My discovery of his infidelity (it's easier to just call it that at this point) came on the heels of another revelation that I thought would be the best part of my life. I found out I was pregnant. Jay and I had always been careful, but fate has its way of intervening. An
d intervene it did. I had never thought anything about the fact that he'd never had me over to his place. Or that there were weekends he didn't contact me at all despite having had plans. Or that there were times of the year he was flat-out nervous. When you're desperate to be loved by someone, someone you are sure is your soul mate, you gloss over these items for which the rest of the female world scream, “There Is A Fucking Problem Here!”
So when I told him I was pregnant and he freaked out, I was stunned into silence. I mean, I wasn't exactly prepared for it, nor had I been expecting it, but I certainly wasn't shrieking, “Fuck!” at the top of my lungs or “How the fuck did you let this happen?” From there, it was all downhill.
During his tirade, he said, “I don't want any more kids.” And there it was. What other kids? What did he mean? And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he told me that he was married, had two kids, and lived in a brownstone on the Upper East Side. And in that one quick moment, my entire life fell apart and his went back to normal.
Jay and I had been seeing each other for three years, since grad school. He was bright, handsome, and slated to be a very successful psychiatrist. He also seemed to be increasingly unavailable. Scheduled visits, phone calls where he was whispering. I talked at length with Charley about this. She told me that I was being paranoid, that it was in my head, but I knew it wasn't. And then, the “incident.” Two weeks late on my period, vomiting in the morning, hypersensitivity to smells, and fifteen positive at-home pregnancy tests revealed what was now obvious-I was pregnant.
When I finally allowed Charley to convince me to go to the doctor to run a test and that too was positive, I decided that it was time to tell Jay. I called him and asked him to come over for dinner. He hemmed and hawed, complaining about some work commitment, but in the end, he agreed to come for dessert later in the evening. I was nervous, although I didn't know why. When I told him about the pregnancy, he blanched visibly and fell back into the couch. Not the response I'd been hoping for.
In the Mix Page 31