Temptations: A Limited Edition Contemporary Romance Collection

by Blue Saffire

  I said nothing.

  “He’s upset because he likes you, too.”

  Michelle rattled off a phone number with a 408 area code, and I stayed frozen in my chair, crushing my lips together and wheezing through my clenched stomach.

  “I don’t have a pen.”

  “Hang on.” Michelle went silent and then my phone buzzed with a new text message.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll call him when I get home tonight.”

  “You have all day—”

  “I need to go home,” I whined.

  Michelle sighed. “Fine. Listen. You know I just want you to be happy. It sounds like until yesterday you were having a good time. Ian’s a good guy. And you need to stop freaking out. You do this every time you start to like a guy. You pull at threads until the whole thing unravels.”

  “I don’t want drama.” My head and heart ached in equal measure.

  “A little drama is what makes love love.”

  Steve called to Michelle in the background. “I need to go. Promise me you’ll call Ian.”

  “I promise. Go.”

  After I hung up, I tipped my coffee cup back to drain the last drops of liquid motivation and looked around the tiny airport. Coffee, shopping for sad trinkets, or wandering. These were my only options. Maybe, I could at least get some steps in. The last two days had sunk me in my Fitbit challenge.

  I walked the length of the terminal twice, and on my way back to the coffee shop, a voice sounded overhead.

  “Savannah Rosetti. Please come to the service desk. Savannah Rosetti.”

  My shoulders dropped. Please, God, don’t let my flight be cancelled or worse.

  I circled back to the airport service desk where an elderly attendant with a platinum blond fluff of hair smiled in welcome.

  “Are you Ms. Rosetti?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s a call for you on the courtesy phone.” She handed me a phone receiver dating from circa 1985, and I stretched the winding cord to bring it to my ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Savannah. Hi.”

  My hand shook, and I nearly dropped the phone.

  “Ian.”

  “Yeah. Look, I know you’re not thrilled to hear from me, and I’m sorry for paging you. I didn’t have your phone number, and I didn’t want to bother Steve and Michelle again on their honeymoon.”

  “It’s fine. I...”

  Ian cut off my thoughts while I was still pondering what to say.

  “I’m sorry. I blew up at you, and it had nothing to do with you.”

  “Nothing to do with me?” I stared at my shoes.

  “I’m not mad at you. I mad at…well, mostly myself, to be honest. I got some bad news. Or, it’s good news, actually, but still kind of agonizing.” He growled into the phone. “I’m not making any sense.”

  He made perfect sense. He just didn’t know it. The lump in my throat doubled in size.

  “I was going to call you,” I choked out.

  “You were?”

  “Yeah. I talked to Michelle this morning. She gave me your number.”

  “You talked to Michelle.”

  “Yes.”

  “You already know.” I could hear the cringe in his strained sigh that followed.

  “Know what?” Great. I was back to squeaking.

  The cotton-haired lady behind the desk darted her eyes at me and then back at her computer, pretending not to be listening. I turned around as if that would keep her from hearing.

  Ian huffed. “You’re not a good liar.”

  “Michelle didn’t know that I didn’t know. I told her that you’d told me about your ex, and she thought that meant you’d told me…everything.”

  “I probably should have.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “We hardly know each other. It’s none of my business.”

  Ian’s voice dropped, sounding far away. “Maybe. Maybe not. I wish I’d just told you instead of screaming at you. You were standing there in your towel. What I said was awful. I was awful. I’m sorry a thousand times over—if that could ever be enough.”

  I hadn’t thought it ever could be. I’d felt like disappearing—standing there practically naked. And then I was naked, charging at him. I closed my eyes, hoping to make the scene disappear from my mind.

  “I just wanted to tell you that I was sorry. I didn’t want you to leave town without knowing that I felt terrible. That I know how shitty I was to you.”

  “You were, but I get it. You’re going through something intense. I was just convenient.”

  “You’re not just convenient. You’re not convenient at all.”

  Air hitched in my chest. “I should go.”

  “Wait. Your flight’s not until after one, right?”

  “Y-yes,” I stammered.

  “Can we talk?”

  “We are talking.”

  “I mean face-to-face.”

  “I need to go home.”

  “Just a few minutes. You’ll get back through security in plenty of time.”

  I swung around toward the security line. “Where are you?”

  “Sitting outside the airport in my truck where you drop off passengers.”

  “Just a second.”

  I hung up the phone and strode through the exit, past the check-in area, and out the doors into the cold. My suitcase caught on a divot in the sidewalk. I yanked it, stumbled forward, and righted myself, scanning the curb.

  Yep.

  Ian was sitting in his truck. He started to get out, but I motioned for him to stay there. In the cab with him was probably a lot warmer than standing outside.

  I opened the back door of his truck and threw in my suitcase before climbing into the passenger seat.

  His widened eyes relaxed. “I thought you might have just hung up on me.”

  “No. I wouldn’t just hang up on you. I’d cuss you out first.”

  Ian grinned. “You would.”

  My cheeks heated. “What did you want to say face-to-face?”

  “Just, I’m sorry.” He searched my face with a pleading look. “Tell me I can make this up to you.”

  “You want to make it up to me?” My question combined a squeak and a whisper.

  “I want to turn this car around and take you back my house and stay locked up for the next month. Bad weather or no.”

  “‘Tech billionaire kidnaps Dallas woman’ is a terrible headline.”

  “You could come willingly.”

  “Promise?” I flashed him a wicked, possibly siren-like smile.

  Ian leaned over the center console, pulling me toward him with nothing more than the intensity pouring from his eyes on mine. “This is a much better conversation face-to-face.”

  The minute his mouth touched mine, I forgot everything but the touch of his tongue. Strong and sweet and unwinding a desire that liquefied my insides.

  Thunk, thunk.

  Ian and I jumped back.

  A uniformed man’s smug smile hovered in the driver’s side window, which Ian rolled down.

  “You can’t park here. Unloading and loading only.”

  “We’ll be on our way,” Ian said and raised the window, turning to me. “So which is it? Loading or unloading?”

  I dropped back against my seat and released what felt like a lifetime’s worth of tension and fear. I could probably delay getting back for a couple of days with tales of the unpredictability of Montana weather. “I can’t believe I’m about to miss another flight.”

  “Perfect.”

  * * *

  The End

  Start from the beginning in my Thirsty Hearts series with Charming You.

  http://krisjayne.com/book/charming-you

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  About the Author

  Kris Jayne is a devoted writer, reader, and traveler. She spends her days blissfully sweating out the writing process in the Dallas area with he
r dogs, Otis the Shih Tzu, Rocco the Terrier, and Red the Foxy Mutt.

  * * *

  Her passion for writing is only matched by her passion for the adventures of travel. In 2008, she let a friend talk her into sleeping outside for the first time in her life when she climbed Mount Kilimanjaro.

  * * *

  P.S. If you’re buying her a gift, she has a penchant for single-malt Scotch and scarves.

  http://krisjayne.com

  First Comes Love

  Clara Stone

  First Comes Love © copyright 2019 Clara Stone

  * * *

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Created with Vellum

  First Comes Love

  Some loves are undeniable. Some burn with the heat of summer.

  * * *

  When Homer Lovelly pulled over to help a stranded damsel in distress, he never expected he’d meet his soul mate. But from the moment Claire clocked him in the head with her boot—and then kissed him—he knew she was it. She’d be his undoing.

  * * *

  Wild, sexy, and fearless, Claire is intoxicating. She’s also leaving at the end of summer, a few short weeks away. Homer knows he shouldn’t fall for her. He also knows he doesn’t have a choice. And with September rising fast on the horizon, he’s almost out of time.

  * * *

  The question is, can he convince Claire that what he feels is more than a summer fling, or will he watch as the woman he’s meant to marry walk out of his life forever?

  * * *

  See why fans of The Notebook and The Summer Boyfriend will fall in love with this steamy, summer-fling romance.

  1

  Claire

  Boom!

  A loud bang startles me, launching my heart into my throat. The car swerves to the right, pulling toward the sound of repeated flapping. I ease my uncle’s trusty Buick onto the shoulder and slam down hard on the brakes, coming to a full stop in Middle of Nowhere, Arkansas.

  Rain beats violently against the windshield, drowning out Belinda Carlisle’s voice on the radio. The wipers squeak back and forth in rapid motion, but I can’t see more than a few feet in front of the hood.

  Shit.

  Looking over to the passenger side, I pick up my handbag, the one I’ve used time and time again as a shield, and place it over my head. I know the moment I step outside, all will be lost, but I spent hours getting my hair to look like this. Still, there’s no saving it.

  Taking a deep breath, I step out of my car.

  “Oh, motha―” I groan as the first of the icy cold droplets hits my skin. Goosebumps rise, trying to warm my body from the inside out.

  I shiver, stamping my feet as I pull the handbag closer to my hair. Maybe it’ll magically protect it. A girl can hope, right? Ignoring the rain as best I can, I turn my attention to the whole reason I’m testing Aqua Net’s “all weather” claims. Squinting against the rain, I check down the length of the car. My front driver’s side tire seems fine. So does the back.

  Maybe I just imagined it?

  I head around the back of the car to check the tires on the other side. Bright white light cuts through the darkness above, shining against my skin and all the way to the hem of my skin-tight leather pants. My polka-dot sleeveless turtleneck is drenched, despite my efforts to protect myself with the largest purse known to man. I can feel it sticking to me as I brace for the inevitable thunder that’s sure to follow.

  Could this get any worse? Just as that thought crosses my mind, I step around the back of the car and get a glimpse of just how much worse my situation can get.

  My rear passenger tire is flat.

  “God damn it!” I yell, kicking at the offending rubber. My foot hits the rim instead, and I groan as pain shoots up my leg.

  I should have just stayed at Becc’s place. But noooo. I couldn’t do that, now could I?

  Way to go, Claire!

  The thunder I’d forgotten about finally cracks through the air, shaking the ground beneath my feet. I scream and jump, dropping the purse to cover my ears with my hands. Realizing my mistake, I scurry to retrieve it and slip, falling flat on my ass.

  “Seriously?” I yell, looking up at the sky. I throw one hand up, muddy water flying as I give the clouds the bird.

  Ugh.

  I whip my hands and brush them, hoping to . . . do what, exactly?

  Clean them . . . ?

  Laughter bubbles up inside my chest at the thought. Of course I would end up stuck in the middle of nowhere, drenched to the core, with no way to contact anyone and worried about cleaning the mud off my hands. I mean, what the hell else am I supposed to do?

  The familiar sound of tires on water-filled road grabs my attention. Hope swells inside me, and in that moment, I don’t care if I look like I just climbed out of a swamp.

  I push up to my feet and step toward the edge of my car, hoping to flag down my potential savior and praying I’m not going to be murdered by a serial killer. But before I get the chance to be noticed, the car rushes past, splashing a cold wave of water right onto my body.

  I shriek and squeal, dancing in a circle. I wipe the muddy road water from my eyes and glare at the disappearing tail lights, mouth agape. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

  The last of my patience is gone. My hair is ruined, my clothes are an uncomfortable second skin, and that asshole couldn’t even stop? Before I can think it through, I take off my boot and chuck it at the truck. I don’t even care that it doesn’t come anywhere close to hitting it. “Asshole!” I scream.

  The truck comes to an abrupt halt, its bright red tail lights shining through the downpour.

  “That’s right, asshole,” I mutter, feeling smug.

  The driver shifts the truck into reverse, and my satisfaction quickly disappears.

  “Shit!” I pull the other boot off my foot as I search for the handbag I lost when I fell. Spotting it, I pick it up, ready for a game of “dodge this.”

  The truck comes to a stop a few feet away. The driver’s side door opens. A frisson of fear trickles down my spine. Whoever’s stepping out of that truck could potentially kidnap and murder me. I’m in the middle of backwoods Arkansas, after all.

  They’re also my only hope of rescue at the moment.

  Yeah, let’s focus on that part.

  Please be nice. Please be nice.

  I take a deep breath and square my shoulders, tightening my grip on the only weapons in my possession.

  A boot in one hand, a huge purse in the other.

  The driver steps into view around the bed of his truck. He’s tall, and built, and suddenly this seems like a very bad idea. All I can see is a cowboy hat and a sliver of his profile, and I go into action, throwing the handbag without a second thought.

  He grunts as it hits him.

  “Hey!” His hands come up, guarding his face as he steps toward me with a weird sideways walk, like that’s going to help him get closer.

  Yeah. No.

  I pitch the boot in my hand as hard as I can.

  “Ow,” he yelps, just as the rain stops pouring over us. He glances upward, toward the sky, before dropping his gaze back to his hand and the boot it now holds against his chest.

  For a
moment, I lose my breath, and my insides squeeze tight. He’s a hell of a lot hotter than I was expecting. Hell, he’s a lot hotter than any of the previous boys I’ve been with.

  My car’s headlights reflect over the tanned skin of his muscular arm as he investigates the damage my boot inflicted. He twists and turns it in the light, and that’s when I notice it. Red liquid seeps down the side of his arm.

  Oh, shit.

  2

  Homer

  I’ll admit, when I stopped the truck and got out, this isn’t what I expected.

  Help a stranded stranger, yes.

  Defend against flying women’s accessories? No.

  Nor did I expect to find myself bleeding.

  “Oh, fuck. I’m so sorry!” she says, snapping me out of my daze. I lift my eyes from the cut on my arm. Her own are knitted together with concern, transforming her face from fierce defiance to something almost downhome and innocent. The type of face you’d never expect to contain the tongue of a sailor. It’s like she’s a walking, breathing contradiction.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I say, looking around her toward her car. The back left tire’s flat, making the car list sullenly, a horse with its back hoof cocked. “Doesn’t look like you’re going anywhere anytime soon.”

  She makes a face. “Doesn’t look like it.”

  I hold back the smile that’s begging to be let loose. I’m not sure what to make of this particular damsel. And it’s a far cry from what I’m used to around here.

  She’s drenched, like a cat thrown in a bathtub. Her blonde hair sticks to her face, and her clothing hugs every last valley and curve. She’s easily the most beautiful creature I’ve seen in my eighteen years. Definitely the most unpredictable, if the sting in my arm is any indication. Still, I can’t just leave her out here on her own, and that tire’s not gonna change itself.