by Marie Harte
“So what happened?” Ann smirked when she heard Riley’s muffled groan.
“I’ll tell you what happened,” said Maya. “Some creep decided he didn’t like my prices on Etsy so he started two-starring my stuff. I mean, you don’t like the work, fine. But to rate me low because I charge for shipping, like everyone else? Suck it, dickhead.”
“Nice mouth,” Riley yelled from the kitchen.
Ann turned. “Why are you yelling? You’re like four steps away.” In a house with an open floor-plan. Just as cute and tiny as Ann’s place, Riley’s had all the charm of a fairytale cottage. Wooden floors, creamy walls, comfy furniture. And that dream kitchen where good, sugary things came to life.
“I’m yelling because she gets hard of hearing when she’s drunk.”
“I’m not there yet,” Maya protested. “Besides, I’m not drinking because I’m angry. I’m drinking because I’m hungry. Where the hell are my cookies?”
“Cookies and wine. Yum.” The combination clearly indicated the trio’s lack of sophistication. Just the way they liked it.
Ann settled beside Maya on the couch and watched Riley work. She looked more like a model than an actual baker, with cocoa skin, bright brown eyes, straight black hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a face that could have made millions in advertising.
Tonight, Ann felt uglier than usual around her friends. She sighed. “Geez, Riley. Do you ever sweat?”
“You want my bodily fluids in your food? Really?”
Maya grimaced. “Christ. I’m drinking here. Do you mind?”
Riley snorted. “Whatever. Just make sure you use a coaster.”
“Yes, Mein Fuhrer.”
Riley flipped her off with a dough-covered finger.
Apparently done riling the cook, Maya tugged Ann to face her. “So, my day might have been bad, but yours is gonna get a whole lot worse. Get some wine in you.”
Dreading the bad news Maya looked all too gleeful to share, Ann fetched herself a glass and sat back down. “Go ahead. Shoot.”
“Drink first,” Riley ordered from the kitchen. “You’ll thank me later.”
“So you know too?” Ann took a sip and eased into the couch. Better to be relaxed when getting hit by a mental two-by-four, in her opinion.
Maya blew out a heavy breath and announced, “Jack’s back.”
Ann faltered a moment, then took another sip. A big one. “Jack Bloom?” As if Ann cared about any other jack-off. She mentally high-fived herself for the pun.
Maya regarded her with concern. “You okay?”
“I teach his nephew. I expected to hear about him at some point from his family. I mean, Josh is in my class.” She shrugged, trying to appear casual. “So he’s back in town visiting?”
“Back in town to stay, or so the rumor mill is spinning.” Maya finished off her wine, then started on the cheese plate.
“How do you eat so much and stay skinny?”
Maya shrugged. “Bad genes.”
They chuckled. It was no secret Maya had issues with her long deceased mother. Old wounds took a long time to heal, a lot like Ann’s emotional quagmire anytime she thought about Jack Bloom. “He’s back.”
“That’s what I said.” Maya watched her. “So?”
“So what?”
“So vent a little. Remind us all again what a stupid, lousy creep he was for breaking your tender heart at sixteen.”
“Seventeen. And we’ve been through this too many times to count.”
“Come on. He’s a loser and a shithead for getting you pregnant and dumping you in the same breath. For choosing Selena Thorpe of all people, a girl with breasts bigger than a pair of Goodyear Blimps.” Maya was on a roll. “For taking back his ring when he had the nerve to—”
Riley cut in from the kitchen, “Let’s be fair. Ann didn’t even know she was pregnant before suddenly she wasn’t. A blessing in disguise, I’m thinking. And it’s not like he dumped her because he found out. He never knew.”
Jack had never known about it, and she planned to keep it that way. A senior in high school planning to go to college, she hadn’t even thought about having a child. That nature had decided she wasn’t ready helped ease the grief she’d had over the incident. It still didn’t seem quite real, as if the experience had happened to someone else long ago. A faint memory, a bittersweet relief.
“But he ruined you.”
Ann frowned. “You know, Maya, you don’t have to be so dramatic about everything.”
“Yeah, right,” Riley added. “Drama’s her middle name.”
“Fine. ‘Ruined’ might be harsh. But the way he dumped you for that bitch Selena was just wrong, any way you look at it.” She held up her glass.
Ann clinked it with her own. “Well, that’s true. But my cousin told me that Selena’s on her third marriage, so karma’s on a roll.”
“I love karma.” Maya smiled. “Still, you need to get prepared to face that jerk. And let’s be honest. He might not have ruined you, but you sure don’t trust guys the way you used to. Not enough to date for more than a few weeks before you dump them. That all goes back to Jack.”
“Not true.”
Riley joined them with a plate of cookies. “I have to agree with Maya on this one. Not all guys are selfish idiots with the compassion of radishes.”
“Radishes?” Maya cocked her head.
“I’m in cooking mode. Gimme a break. Look, Ann, your parents are happy. And your dad is obviously a guy.”
“No, really?”Ann deadpanned, but Riley talked over her.
“He can’t be a total loser or your mom would have dumped him years ago, right?”
Maya agreed. “I love your dad. My dad’s awesome, and Riley’s was great too. I mean, he didn’t kill her at birth and throw her back to the wolves, even though she was a scrawny, ugly thing. A lot like she is today.”
Riley rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m so thankful he didn’t murder his own child because I’m so hideous.” She’d lost him to cancer at a young age, but by all accounts Darius Hewitt had been an amazing man. “The point, Ann, is that you’ve let what Jack did mess you up when it comes to dating.”
“Oh, and you’re any better? How’s your love life?”
Maya snickered. “Try nonexistent. Say what you want about me, but when I want sex, I get it.”
“Sure you do, Miss Ass,” Riley mocked.
“Jealous?”
“Please. This baby got back.” Riley smiled and bit off the head of a sugar cookie man.
“You guys are terrible for my ego, you know that? After a week of dealing with hyperactive children, I’m told that I’m scared of men and made super-aware that I’m the only one of us that has no ass.” Ann drank more wine.
“Ann, get real. You’re petite and hot. All the guys are after you.” Maya helped herself to a cookie and bit the man’s legs off. “I love these.”
“You’re welcome.” Riley turned back to Ann. “She’s right. You could date, you just choose not to.”
“I’m selective. That’s not a bad trait.” She pointedly glanced at Maya—the polar opposite of selective—who ignored her.
“So what’s the plan?” Riley asked. “How are you going to handle Jack?”
“I’ll handle him just fine. Don’t worry about me. But you? I saw Anson yesterday.” A blunt effort to change the subject, and it worked.
Riley’s eyes burned. “That hack? I thought he lived in Portland.”
“Apparently he’s back. Dexter’s in town too.” Dexter Black, Anson’s cousin.
Maya choked on her cookie, then downed some more wine to clear her throat. “What’s going on? Did hell freeze over?”
Ann smiled at the happy coincidence, no longer the only one under the gun. “It seems that fate has given us back our worst enemies. Time for some do-overs, ladi
es. I tell you what. I’ll deal with Jack, and I won’t be pleasant. Aren’t you guys always telling me that I’m too nice?”
They nodded.
“Not this time. How about some payback on the golden boy for treating me like crap? If he has the audacity to even try talking to me, I’ll make him wish he’d never come back.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Maya said.
“Oh, you’ll see it. But you two have to stand up for yourselves too. Maya, you need to deal with the one boy who got the better of you. And, Riley, maybe you can finally put your rival in his place. What do you say?”
Talking about vengeance out loud had empowered Ann. Finally, she’d get Jack out of her mind and her dreams. Confront him head on, say what she’d been dreaming about saying for years, then leave him with his proverbial tail between his legs. Oh yeah, that totally had appeal.
Maya just stared at her.
“What?”
“Color me impressed. You sound a little mean, Ms. Wea-ver,” she ended in a singsong voice, imitating any one of Ann’s students.
“Hey, you try to deal with twenty six- and seven-year-olds all day. It turns you nasty.”
“If she can do it, I can for sure.” Riley rubbed her hands together and gave an evil laugh. “Anson Black, you are so going down.”
“No reneging,” Maya warned. “We see this through. It’ll make us all stronger in the end. Confronting fears, handling the past—”
“Eating more cookies,” Ann recommended, and bit right into her cookie’s nether region.
“Ouch.” Riley laughed and held up her own headless sugar man. “A toast to us. And may revenge be as sweet as the icing on my cakes.”
The heart’s best defense is a lusty offense.
Part-Time Lovers
© 2014 Shelley Munro
Clare Chronicles, Book 1
Now that Nolan Penrith is finished with the Farmer Wants a Wife reality show, he’s ready to get back to the farm and a normal life free of publicity. Normal also means resuming his relationship with divorced, solo mother Yvonne McDonald.
Except she seems determined to resist any talk of reconciliation. On to plan B: woo her to his way of thinking. And if persuasion includes plenty of raunchy sex, he’s ready to man up.
Yvonne McDonald might still have feelings for Nolan, but she resents the way he expects to pick up right where they left off. Still, she’s a healthy woman with a body that—damn it—melts for him, so maybe she can twist this situation to suit her needs.
All she needs to do is hold her heart out of reach, hold her head high, and enjoy his brand of lusty sex without a care in the world. Easy-peasy. At least until her plan gets a little kink in it…
Warning: Contains hot country loving between an arrogant, sexy farmer and a woman who intends to prick his confidence and slap him down—her way!
Enjoy the following excerpt for Part-Time Lovers:
Lord, her feet hurt.
Yvonne McDonald thumped the spent coffee grounds into her bin and started making a soy latte and two flat whites. While the coffee dribbled into cups, she filled a teapot with peppermint tea leaves and poured over boiling water while trying not to think about her cozy sheepskin slippers waiting for her at home.
The Clare town festival to celebrate the New Zealand spring was great in theory. Aunt Gina was cackling gleefully about their bumper takings this week, but they needed someone stationed at the door to draft customers into their bookstore café in manageable groups rather than massive herds. A set of the mobile yards the local farmers used for their cattle would do the job.
The bell over the door dinged a cheerful welcome. Yvonne didn’t bother to glance up since they’d hired two students to help. The two teenage girls could do the smiling thing. She bashed her bell to signal order up.
“My feet hurt.” Kelsey loaded her tray with the coffee, tea and a plate of fresh scones, jam and clotted cream.
“We need to hit Gina up for spa visits,” Yvonne said, almost moaning at the decadent thought. What she wouldn’t give for a man to greet her at home. Never mind the hot sex. She’d settle for a foot rub.
A flood of whispers stormed the café. Stray words struck Yvonne like bullets. Farmer. Reality show. Susan. Nolan.
“Yvonne.” The familiar masculine voice hurled her into the past…
A dark bedroom.
Naked bodies sliding together.
Mind-numbing touches.
Pleasure storming her body, culminating in sweet, sweet bliss.
Stellar sex. Superior and awesome and stellar sex.
Another word bullet hit, and her head jerked up at the repeat of her name.
Nolan.
Damn, the man.
Her gaze settled, and irritation punched her in the chest, stealing her ability to breathe for a few seconds. She glared at Nolan Penrith, the bane of her life. Tall and lean from hard physical farm work, he was a male in his prime. His light brown hair—currently full of blond streaks from a fortnight of spring sunshine—needed a cut but he suited the unruly curls. His brown eyes sparkled with open admiration as he stared at her, and his sensual lips curved upward in a smile of greeting.
This acknowledgement with the underpinning of lust was a new development, and the hair lifted at the back of her neck in a silent warning to take care.
She ripped her scowl from his tempting smile and started to build the next order. A skim milk latte and a hot chocolate. Her disobedient mind refused to focus and like a rambunctious child, darted back to thoughts of sexy Nolan.
The man owned a farm on the outskirts of Clare and recently he’d brought fame and notoriety to the country town when he took part in the reality show Farmer Wants a Wife. The minute he’d started dating women from the show, their…fling—the best description for their relationship—ended.
Kaput. A full stop on her sex life.
Yvonne frothed a jug of milk, the hiss and whir of the coffee machine overly loud and rubbing her nerves raw. The café section of the bookshop had become library quiet, but she didn’t intend to glance up to see why.
She. Would. Not.
She sucked in a deep breath, tried to ignore the zing of sensual awareness tugging her breasts, the tremor of her hand guiding the coffee machine, the clamp of invisible hands constricting her ribs. She brushed off her hormones’ celebratory rumba.
“Yvonne.”
Cursing under her breath, she gave up the fight. She tore her gaze from the steaming milk and glowered at the man. “Nolan, what can I get you today?”
“I’m here to ask you to dinner,” he said in a husky, jump-in-bed-with-me-now voice. “Tonight.”
Yvonne’s mouth dropped open. Shock kicked her square in the solar plexus while irritation charged like a mad bull seconds later. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Her voice emerged in a high-pitch shriek, the register of her tone reminding of her of a squeaky cartoon character. The customers in the café were pin-drop quiet now, entertained by the impromptu Nolan and The Dumped Girlfriend show.
Nolan straightened, his good humor visibly cooling. He shot a glance to his left, one to his right. “No. I’m asking you on a date. If tonight doesn’t work, we can try another night.”
“You’ve treated me like a dirty secret,” she snapped. “And I don’t need your mother’s shrewish attention focused on me again.”
The man had rocks in his head if he thought she’d come running after his behavior. And the way his witch mother had flown around town on her broomstick to spread rumors about Yvonne’s morals. Bah. Elizabeth Penrith might consider herself Clare royalty, but that didn’t give her the right to treat people like crap for not measuring up to her lofty standards.
“Our dating has nothing to do with my mother. Look, we can’t discuss this here. The café is too busy. I’ll see you later
at your place.”
The bell tinkled as someone left the café.
Yvonne didn’t blink. “I’m not a disposable commodity for you to discard then pick up when you have no better offers. I’m tired, my feet hurt and all I want to do is go to bed.” Her good-for-nothing husband had left her and walked away with another man. Nolan had searched for a wife elsewhere. The third time was not a charm.
“You tell him, love,” an elderly woman called from her table over by the magazine stand.
“Make him grovel,” another woman shouted out her advice.
“Don’t throw him away,” a teenage girl said. “Give him a chance, or better yet, toss him my way.”
“Make him work for you. He should apologize.” Elderly Mrs. Wright added her two cents in a deep voice.
Yvonne felt heat rise up her neck to take residence in her cheeks and gave silent thanks to her Maori grandmother. Not many people would notice her discomfort.
“Tonight,” Nolan repeated in a firm voice. He turned to face the café patrons and bowed from the waist, straightened and strode from the café. The doorbell tinkled for long moments then silence fell—a long one in which everyone studied Yvonne.
Ignoring the weight of stares, she focused on her coffee art. Once she’d completed her design on the top of her latte, she set the coffee on the counter. “Order up!”
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
Served Hot
Copyright © 2014 by Marie Harte
ISBN: 978-1-61922-380-6
Edited by Noah Chinn