Twenty Times Tempted: A Sexy Contemporary Romance Collection

by Petrova, Em

  Sarah felt her resolve weakening from the instant he’d rested his warm hand on her leg. She looked over his shoulder, avoiding his direct gaze. “I understand that. Everyone has fears, Cris. Mine came true when you threw away what we had, what we could have had.”

  “I’m so sorry I was an ass. And I promise I’ll never do it again. Please, Sarah, please give me another chance. I almost lost you tonight. Don’t leave me. I love you.” Sincerity and desperation vied for a spot in his voice.

  The sight of tears in his eyes pushed her wavering resolution over the edge to oblivion. When she barely nodded her head, a brilliant smile broke over his face. He went to his knees between her legs and enfolded her in a tight hug.

  “I love you, Cris.” She smoothed her hands through his hair and allowed the texture to calm her. Exhaustion leeched into her bones. “Can we go to bed now?”

  They’d snuggled on his soft mattress. Just as she fell asleep, he tightened his arms and whispered his love against her hair.

  In the morning, across the breakfast table from Kit, in Cris’s shirt and a pair of his sweatpants, Sarah couldn’t summon even the smallest amount of embarrassment over her overnight visit. Kit greeted her with a cheery good morning, as though she had breakfast with them every day. He shoved the milk carton toward her when she sat across from him with a bowl of cereal.

  She was surprised by his offer to lend her a pair of athletic shorts and a clean T-shirt so she didn’t have to put on her stinky clothes to return home. Overall, he was a pretty cool kid.

  After a brief stop at her house, she traded her borrowed clothes for a clean skirt and sweater before heading to school. Cris was in Tom’s office. Seconds after she’d popped her head in to let Tom know she’d arrived, he and Cris left to inspect the water damaged stage.

  The first order of business was to send a mass email to parents, sponsors, and the media that the play would be postponed indefinitely. All tickets purchased for any of the three scheduled performances would be honored when the stage had been repaired.

  After she hit send on the notification, she wrote her report to the insurance company about last night’s fire. The fire had been contained to a small area, thanks in part to Kit’s quick action.

  Sarah relaxed back in her office chair, wiggling to get comfortable against the puffy hardness. Suppressing a yawn, she rested her eyes, hoping to ease the residual grittiness from the smoke and heat. The burning odor still lingered in her sinuses, but the rattling cough that had plagued her last night had finally dissipated.

  A timid knock sounded on the glass entry. She snapped her eyes open. “Come in.”

  The door swung open, admitting Mary Sherman. “I, uh... Can I talk to you?”

  “Sure. But aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

  “My paraprofessional is supervising for me.” Refusing to meet Sarah’s gaze, Mary settled on the edge of the wooden seat opposite Sarah. Her fingers clenched and unclenched in her lap. “I think I caused the fire last night.” When she finally lifted her eyes, the milky blue orbs swam in tears.

  Anger and confusion burned in Sarah, and her stomach knotted like a kink in a hose. “Why?”

  “I was really bothered by the new lighting configuration. I just knew it wouldn’t work. On Sunday night after rehearsal, I went to the gym and moved the spots to where they belonged. As I was...relocating them, I thought I pulled a cord loose. I tried to fix it, but I’m not sure I got it right.” She sobbed as tears fell freely down her sagging cheeks. “Oh Sarah, I didn’t mean to cause a fire. I was so worried all night. I’m grateful no one was hurt.”

  That would explain why when the lights first came up they illuminated an empty part of the stage.

  “Mary, people could have—I could have died. I explained to you why we had to leave things as they were.” Sarah dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands, in part to keep a level head, but also to resist the urge to reach for her Sharpie. She wasn’t giving into the overwhelming need for the comforting motion.

  Mary slumped back on the chair and tucked her chin to her chest. Her shoulders shook, and she pressed her hands tight to her face.

  Sighing, Sarah laid her hands on her desk. “The fire marshal is inspecting the scene. He’ll let us know the cause of the malfunction and blaze as soon as he discovers it. When we know, we’ll figure out a course of action. For now, go back to your class and teach. I’ll let you know what he finds out.” Mary drew a deep, shuddering breath and heaved it back out. Sarah gentled her tone. “I hope, for your sake, you had nothing to do with it. You could lose your job over this, Mary. I’d hate to see that happen. Go on now. I’ll keep you posted.”

  Still not meeting Sarah’s gaze, Mary rose from her chair. “I’m so sorry. So deeply sorry.” She slunk out of the office, swiping the heel of her hand across her cheeks to remove the evidence she’d been crying.

  Sarah swiveled her chair until she faced the window behind the desk. The day was sunny but cold, typical for November. All the leaves had dropped from the trees and the schoolyard was brown and dormant.

  Chewing her lip, she considered her near-death experience, Mary’s confession, and what might happen to the woman. If Mary was responsible for the fire, it could mean more than just losing her job. She could go to jail. Sadness crested like a wave over her as she contemplated the woman’s impending fate.

  “Hey.” Cris’s voice interrupted her musing.

  Heart in her throat, she twisted around to face him. She jerked upright. “What did you find out?”

  He closed the door with a quiet click, then strode over to her desk. He propped his butt on the edge and reached for her hand. Weaving his fingers through hers, he rested their joined hands on his thigh. He held on the way he’d held her last night, as if afraid he’d lose her if he didn’t touch her.

  He said, “My preliminary finding is the ballast blew on a socket. It looks like that arced electricity up the catwalk support and straight to the overhanging curtains. The metal rod on the walkway wasn’t grounded properly.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Not positive, but that’s what I’m going with. I need to double check a couple of things, though.”

  “So it isn’t the wiring to the light?”

  A quizzical look passed over his face, lodging in shadows in his gray-green eyes. “Not at all. What made you think that? I approved the wiring right after the electrician worked on it.”

  The heavily pressing weight of Mary’s uncertain fate lifted off her shoulders the way a balloon floated away. “Mary Sherman just told me she was concerned she’d caused the fire by moving some of the lighting around on Sunday night. She said she pulled something loose and tried to fix it, but—”

  Cris shook his head. “The cords are plug-ins, the way you connect a printer to a computer. Even if she pulled it loose, it wouldn’t have caused this fire. It appears it’s just a faulty ballast.”

  “Thank God!”

  Cris stood, dragging her from her chair. He folded his arms around her and slanted his mouth over hers, driving all thoughts of wiring, crazy teachers, and fires from her mind. He slipped his tongue past her teeth and explored the depths of her mouth. Heat from a different sort of fire burst through her body as she responded to his urgency.

  The only thing that mattered was the press of his body against hers, the safety of his arms around her, and the love sweeping through her. He shifted his arms until he gripped her shoulders. He broke the seal between their lips and leaned his forehead against hers.

  When he spoke, his breath teased her face. “I get the shakes when I think of how close you were to danger. How close you and Trip were to dying.”

  She laid her palm on his chest, his heart beating strong and solid under her hand. “You know you were just as close. We could have lost you, too.”

  “But you didn’t. We didn’t.” When he pulled away, she was stunned by the love shining in his eyes. “I love you so much. I fell fast and hard for you, Sarah.”
>
  Her heart sped faster, galloping in her chest, making it hard for her to breathe. Her voice was raspy when she responded, “I love you, Cris.”

  “Trip and I talked it over this morning while I drove him to school. He thinks it would be “freaking amazing,” his words, if you’d move in with us. Says it wouldn’t be weird at all. I told him I’d ask, but I want to do this the right way, the way I couldn’t with his mom.” He wrapped his hands around hers and held them to his chest. “Sarah, I don’t ever want to lose you. You’re the light and the color in my life. I want you in my now, my later, and my always. Will you marry me?”

  Tears of happiness stung her eyes. Facing a life with him and Kit brought a joy to her she’d never imagined. He spoke of light and color, and the truth was, he’d brought the color back to life for her, too.

  “Yes!” She rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his to seal the deal, as if adding the final brush strokes to a canvas to complete the picture. “Yes!”

  THE END

  If you liked these characters - you can visit the world of Granite Pointe with these books:

  Cooking Up Love

  A Spirited Love

  Hearts In Harmony

  A Winter Wedding

  Exposed To Passion

  Bed Of Roses

  Much to her mother’s dismay, Gemma Brocato was born with a book in her hands, and learned to read shortly after. She’s able to read in a moving car without succumbing motion sickness, a fact she’s proud to share. After spending too many years making financial products and advisors sound sexy, she quit her full-time job to focus her efforts on contemporary romance novels. As a hybrid author, she has several indie titles as well as traditionally published work. She writes contemporary and paranormal romance.

  Follow Gemma on Amazon.

  Subscribe to Gemma’s newsletter.

  NOT ANOTHER SOLDIER

  Samantha Holt

  Chapter One

  Sienna

  I watch as they lower his coffin into the ground. Funny, I never imagined it this way. I think as soon as you marry a soldier you imagine what it will be like. How you will cope with the news. When they go on tour, you picture the uniformed man standing at your door or walking down your driveway to deliver the news. You see yourself crumbling.

  But that never happened. Rob didn’t die in the line of duty. Drunk driving. I couldn’t believe it. You kiss them goodbye as they go off to war and picture the worst while trying to hold onto your strength. Well most women do. I don’t know how I felt. Actually, no, I was worried for him. I hated the uncertainty it brought. But I do wonder if he was worth my worry sometimes.

  What you don’t expect though, are the cops on your doorstep, telling you your husband died because he was DUI. Thank God he didn’t hurt anyone else.

  So here I am, at twenty-eight, burying my husband after he flipped his car. I don’t cry. I can’t. I’m kind of numb. I wait to see if I feel something, try to summon some kind of emotion but it’s not there. I wonder if Rob took my emotions with him. Will I ever be able to feel again?

  The honor guard finish up and I nod in acknowledgement as distant family members and friends mutter sympathetic words and offer their help. I reply with some vague response. I’m not sure I want their help. Most of them didn’t care to visit when we moved, following Rob’s career in the army. And most of the ‘friends’ attending are Rob’s.

  Jess, my neighbor, offers me a sympathetic smile. I envy her. Always have really. I only moved here when Rob was promoted to Sergeant and I resented it. Elmsworth, Hampshire, is way out on the fringes of the city and it’s a ghost town. I rarely saw anyone and I didn’t make any friends. I’d meet a few nice women at the various events, the balls etcetera, but they never stayed in touch. I have some great work colleagues but we’re all so busy, we only see each other at Christmas events and stuff like that.

  I glance at her again, so composed and serene looking. Wives in the military fall into two categories. The introvert and the extrovert. There’s no in between. There’s the woman who knows everything, everyone, and is involved in all the events. She knows who’s coming, who’s going and who’s cheating on who. She organizes the community, knows all the wives by name and loves to arrange events to bring everyone together. The extrovert thrives on military life. And then there’s the introverts. Like me.

  Now I never used to be one. I used to be like Jess. I’d talk to anyone. That’s how I met Rob. My college friends dared me to chat the sexy soldiers up. But military life steals that from you until you’re nothing but a shell of yourself, too scared to even step outside your house. There’s a lot of us, but we’re all terrified of talking to each other.

  I do get along with Jess. She lives next door and always chats with me but we don’t socialize. She has three kids and my house isn’t exactly suited to her little ones with its gate free doorways and unpadded coffee table corners. And Jess’s social life revolves around the children. Toddler groups, baby massage, standing in the school playground. The power of the military wife, I’ve begun to realize, is in having kids.

  I sigh. I desperately wanted children, but Rob didn’t.

  And now I have to start over again.

  Most people leave, ready to go home for drinks and snacks. I’m not sure I can bring myself to do it. A hand comes to my shoulder and I jolt as I find myself staring into his tender blue gaze.

  Nick.

  There’s always one man, I’ve noticed, who the wives sort of adopt. We feel sorry for them, having to sleep in shared rooms and living off the same food day in day out. I don’t think the food is so bad—the military is pretty good about offering anything from burgers to salad—but everyone still complains. So we all invite him round to dine with us. To fill him up with home cooked food. Only when our husbands are around, you understand. Gossip runs rife in military communities. You can barely talk to another man and when your husband is away… well, you’d better watch your step. In some regards, the military community is one of the most supportive groups you will ever find but it’s also the most vicious. A kind of ‘we protect our own’ mentality. Fair enough really, but it’s draining to be a wife sometimes. The soldiers always come first. Just occasionally, you want to go ‘what about me?’

  Anyway, Nick is this man. There’s something about him that begs you to take care of him. Yet he’s the strongest, most powerful looking man I’ve ever seen—a soldier, like my husband. I don’t know if it’s his soulful eyes or the slight limp that does it, but every woman wants to feed him.

  And as he was Rob’s best friend, I frequently did. Everyone lusts after him, not that they ever said it. He has a raw look to him. Like God had started to give him movie star looks and then got bored. His nose is slightly crooked, probably from fighting when he was younger and his skin isn’t as youthful as it should be at the age of thirty. That’s the effect going out to Afghanistan has on you apparently. For every year they’re out there, it actually ages them an additional two. You see it even in the faces of the young guys. Their eyes are sunken, their skin worn.

  But Nick carries it off flawlessly. His tanned skin and dark blond hair work perfectly with his beautiful physique. He doesn’t have stubble normally but he’s obviously not shaved this weekend and he has a dusting of it across his jaw. I itch to touch it. His uniform makes my knees a little weak.

  Something flares in his eyes as he skims his gaze over my tight black dress. I’m totally decent. The length of the skirt is long but it’s close-fitting. I have a pretty good figure, as Rob used to tell me, but honestly, once the compliments stopped coming and the affairs started, I stopped seeing my figure as attractive.

  The fact that I’m sensing some kind of awareness from Nick at my husband’s funeral is very disturbing.

  “How are you holding up, short stuff?”

  I shrug. He always calls me that. It’s like a private joke. I met Nick the same night I met Rob and I’m not exactly tall so he called me that and it stuck.
/>   “I don’t know right now.”

  “Kinda numb, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s to be expected, Sienna.”

  I nod. If anyone should know, it’s Nick. He attended the funerals of the three guys who died in the firefight that injured his leg. He wraps an arm over my shoulder and takes me to the edge of the grave. I stare at the coffin for a while but it’s hard to believe Rob is in there.

  “I was going to leave him, you know,” I mumble.

  I glance at him to see his nod. “I know, Sienna.”

  Nick knows everything. Well, almost everything. Rob went on a six month tour last year and told Nick to take care of me. Why Rob cared, I don’t know. I think it was more a case of ‘keep an eye on her.’ Rob didn’t really trust me, which was funny because he was the one who cheated.

  But Nick took that order seriously. He had to stay behind because of his injury so he took it upon himself to be my constant companion. I teased him for being my shadow and our friendship was gossiped about but I didn’t care. I relished every moment with him. Nick is funny and caring, and I always feel like myself again with him. The person I used to be before Rob.

  I’m exhausted. I fight a yawn and stumble slightly as I finally turn away from the big hole in the ground. I’ve been working at the hospital, probably putting in more hours than I should. They told me to take time off but I couldn’t. What would I have done sitting in an empty house all on my own? I can’t wait to leave that place.

  A reassuring, strong hand comes around my waist, fingertips practically burning through the thin material of my dress. Nick’s clasp on my ribs feels so essential, as if his touch is the most important thing in the world. I try to brush this thought out of my mind. The last thing I need to be doing is thinking about how alive this soldier makes me feel.

  A soldier.

  Never again.

  Cradled into his side, he escorts me under the little arched gateway to the car. He doesn’t speak, only holds me. My legs are like jelly. I suspect all the strength, all the detachment is slowly deserting me. Damn. I was hoping to keep a hold of it. It would be nice not to have to face up to any of it.