by Connor, Eden
Continuing past the farm, he turned right onto De Marco Farms Road. He was barely thirty, but his body ached. His knee pained him most of the time. His ribs had been cracked so often, he used them to tell the weather, but the beautiful spring day took his mind off his pains.
The lane was flanked with peach trees laden with pink blossoms. Slowing at the first mailbox, he tried to peer though the evergreens, but couldn’t see past the driveway. He’d graduated high school with Colton De Marco, but Colton wasn’t the brother he needed to see. A few minute’s drive brought him to a mailbox on the opposite side of the road. Jay turned into the driveway. If Eric wasn’t home, he had a place farther up the road where he could kill time.
There was a car in the driveway. Eric’s wife’s car, he guessed. A smile twisted his lips at the memory of the town’s biggest Romeo, on his knees at the local mall, proposing to the short brunette. Jay had been on hand, signing autographs at a fundraiser for the wheelchair basketball team his brother played on. Sure enough, the young woman opened the door before he got out of the rented Escalade.
“Hello, Amy. Looks like Eric’s not home?”
She waved, pulling on a jacket while coming down the steps. “He’s up at the camp, Jay. Nice to see you. I was just about to leave. I’m umpiring Jonah’s baseball scrimmage. Just keep going, the road dead ends at the top of the mountain. Eric’s truck will either be at the gym, or his workshop, but you can’t miss it.”
His heart gave a hard thump. “Scrimmage’s at the high school, I guess?”
She smiled. “Yes. Poor kid, with all the excitement over Dan and Cynda’s wedding this weekend, he can’t wait to get in the box and swing a bat.” She laughed. “To tell the truth, I’m expecting a few brush-back pitches, if they send him to the mound. Kid’s not too happy about having to wear a lavender bow tie.”
His kid. Jay was certain Jonah De Marco was his kid. What he was unsure about was how the De Marcos were going to react to the news.
Coming in January 2014:
Rain On Me (Give Me Shelter, Book 1)
When detective Zin Jackson has to submit to shibari master Ray Casey in order to investigate District Solicitor Brice Hammond’s involvement in an illicit gambling ring, will the hard-hearted undercover cop take a chance on love with the dominant mailman, or let the personal storm hanging over her head be her excuse not to take the risk? (IR, BDSM)
RAY
I twisted my wrist, trying to give the flower a wide berth.
Somehow, the band got caught between the links of my watchband and snapped. The magazine sprang open. I stuck my head out the open window, staring in dismay. Envelopes fluttered to the ground like wounded quail. The colorful postcard landed on top of the soggy mess.
It would be this household’s mail I dropped. Heaving a sigh, I shoved the transmission into reverse, squinting into the rear view mirror to be sure I wasn’t about to back into an oncoming vehicle. Growling a litany of curses, I reversed couple of feet, set the park brake, and shifted enough cartons so I could climb out of the truck.
Just when I swung the passenger door open and planted a boot onto submerged gravel, I heard a voice say, “I’ll get them!”
Everything looked washed-out today, but a circle of ruffle-edged crimson unfurled in the open door of the small Mazda parked in the drive. Next, I saw a pair of red galoshes. The boots had white polka dots, shoes a child would wear.
Rooted to the gravel at the top of the driveway, I peered through the water pouring off the bill of my cap. The boots skipped and splashed through puddles outlined by ragged grass and waterlogged dandelions. A filmy skirt swirled around lean, brown thighs.
I know the names of everyone who lives here. I wanted the person underneath the umbrella to be Zinnia, the young woman who received postcards from all over the globe. Or even her sister, Delphine Marie. Definitely not Regina.
The figure raced past me, skidding to a stop beside the channel of muddy rainwater beneath the mailbox. Swallowing hard, I watched her pluck the floating envelopes out of the water with slender fingers. She spun, tilting the umbrella so I could see her face. She was beautiful and she didn’t look a day over twenty.
“Hold this for me,” she demanded breathlessly. Her voice was soft, but high-pitched.
My heart stuttered. Her eyes were so dark, I had a crazy notion of being sucked into orbit around a faraway world. My brain seized on her first and final words. An image of dragging her into my arms made me rivet my limbs to my side and clench my fists.
She gave the umbrella a shake. “Will you hold this for me, please?”
A sheen of cherry gloss clung to her sensuous lips. The urge to sink my teeth into the succulent flesh slammed into me. The thrill racing down my spine wasn’t from the water running down the back of my neck.
Her dark eyes grew wide. “Hel-loo?”
I dragged my gaze away. Behind her, stiff metal tines held the silk taut. Rain battered the thin membrane, driving nature’s rhythm into my blood. The images flashing through my mind made me tighten my fist on the umbrella. God, she’d look gorgeous tied with red ropes.
I could only imagine what she might say to that.
I watched her eyelids move from side to side, seized by the urge to stroke the tight curves of her lashes. Why was I imagining her wearing nothing but that thin coat of color and my handiwork? Her dress was gauzy, unbleached fabric, revealing as much of her figure as it hid. I pictured her, tied and bound, at my feet. To my dismay, my cock began to harden.
She lifted her eyes again, but slow. I spied the flicker of heat in her gaze when she raised her head. “You must work out.”
“I work security some, at Wofford College. They let me use the gym.” This was polite conversation, not interest. Why would she be interested in me? “I see your mama’s flower vine is up and growing again.”
“I think she’s darin’ you to break off her first clematis bloom of the season.” Her smile widened and her eyes lit with humor. She had one dimple. I ached to slide my thumb across that adorable dent. “For the third year runnin’.”
I couldn’t help but smile back. “Well, one thing’s for sure. She does have a knack for raisin’ pretty things. And that boyfriend sendin’ you postcards from all over the world sure must be jealous of this rain.” I had no idea where that last line came from. I had no fucking business trying to find out if she was seeing anyone.
She cocked her head and her smile grew wider. “Why would you say that?”
I lifted a finger to her shoulder, careful not to touch her skin. Catching one of the droplets sliding down her arm with my nail, I looked into her eyes. “Rain’s bound to make your man feel bad, ‘cause this drop of water’s doing what he wants to be doing, sliding over your bare skin.”
Did you love Incidental Contact? Then you should read Soft Sounds of Pleasure by Eden Connor!
When Colton De Marco stumbles onto his fantasy woman sunbathing in the nude, he can’t turn down the chance to make a decade of fantasies about Lila Walker come true.
Lila’s gorgeous, younger mechanic is a welcome distraction from her unpaid bills, her ogre-in-law, and her hurt over those who’ve turned away. She can handle their friends-with-benefits arrangement, but when Colton pressures her to attend his nephew’s baseball games, she knows the entire town will be talking. After all, her husband’s only been dead nine months. What’s a lonely widow to do when Colton won’t take no for an answer?
Give the town something to talk about, of course.
Little does she know, Colton’s planning to throw a curve ball she won’t see coming.
WARNING: This book contains graphic sex acts. This book is intended for adult audiences only. Please protect your copy of this file from minors. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual locations, events, organizations, or persons, living or dead is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Characters and incidents depicted are entirely products of the author’s imagination and are not meant to
be construed as real.
Word Count: 80,510
Also by Eden Connor
Carmine Club
Forceful Negotiations
Those Devilish De Marco Men
Soft Sounds of Pleasure
Wildly Inappropriate
Incidental Contact
Standalone
Breaking Glass