by Vivian Ward
God, I love this woman.
“Don’t ever leave me, okay?” I make her promise.
“I won’t ever leave you, Mason.”
Clasping our hands together, we approach dad for one last time. It’s then that I know this is how it was always supposed to be, and I couldn’t have had a happier ending than this.
A Note From Vivian About “Only You”
Derek and I hope you enjoyed this story. The two of us sat down together one day—okay, several days—and brainstormed this novel for you. Yes, it was a quick read, but I swear to you, this book is novel length.
This is my first co-written book, and I couldn’t be happier with how it turned out. I never thought I’d co-write with another author, but Derek’s a pretty cool guy to work with and he listens to everything I tell him. Okay, most of the time he listens.
We wrote this story in about two and a half weeks, taking turns writing each chapter. Derek was Mason’s (stubborn) voice, and I was Penny’s voice. The hardest part was editing, of course, but it wasn’t too bad. We tried to tighten it up anywhere possible, which is why this was such a quick read. I hate books that sag in the middle or slowly drag out the story forever and ever.
I’ve been asked a few times whether or not I’d write another book with Derek, and that answer is: absolutely! We wrote in Google docs, passing it back and forth, reading over what the other wrote, and responding to the previous chapter in our own voice. Sometimes, he’d change what I wrote and vice versa, but I think it made a better story.
Thank you so much for all of your support. A lot of you helped share teasers and spread hype about the book, and we are so grateful for your help. We each have some amazing readers and we couldn’t do this without you. This book is FOR you.
If you’re reading our work for the first time, come join us in our private reading group (Vivian’s Voyeurs and Derek’s Dirty Subs) where we both host a bunch of giveaways and have parties. I’m always giving away shit, and I like to scatter it about so it kind of loots the internet. Sometimes I hold giveaways in my group, on my fan page, on my website, and in random reading groups on Facebook.
Giveaways are always rampant around release time, because I love giving stuff away. You can stay up to date about our upcoming releases by following our newsletter so you know when and where to look.
If you want to know more about us, you’ll have to become a stalker. Derek is very elusive and mysterious, but he’s also funny as hell.
I have family in Kansas City, Missouri, and my cousin introduced us over the summer when I went to visit family before the kids started school for the 2017 school year. Derek had always said that he wanted to be a writer, but he didn’t know where or how to start.
My wonderful cousin (yes, that’s with a pinch of sarcasm and a dash of love) said, “Hey, you should meet my cousin, Vivian. She writes and publishes her own books.”
So, when I went to visit, Derek was hanging out in the backyard with the family, eating BBQ (hey, it’s what we do in KC). I didn’t think anything about it, just figured he was there as a friend of someone’s.
That’s when my cousin introduced us and we started talking about books. This is normal conversation for me because all I talk about is books (ask Jillian Quinn), so I didn’t think anything of it. That’s when Derek started asking questions about how to publish. I told him if he was serious, I’d help him.
I have so many friends and acquaintances who say, “Oh, you just sit and make up stories all day. It can’t be that hard. I want to do it, too. Tell me what to do.”
Once I start explaining the whole process (and it really is a process), they slowly back away. They’re like, “Oh, wait….there’s work involved in this? I don’t have time for that!” I didn’t think Derek would stick around to learn it all, but he did and I’m happy for him because he has quite a bit of talent.
As for me, when I’m not busy “not working,” you can find me scrubbing down my house, plotting my next book, writing, reading my Kindle, talking on the phone with Jillian Quinn, or chasing after my minions who aren’t so ‘minion’ anymore now that they’re all in school.
My advice to anyone who wants to write is do it! Seriously, plot the story, or pants it, whatever, and write it. You can always edit it later. Never, and I mean never, ask friends or family to read your work to see what they think. You’re never going to tell someone they stink (even if they do), so your family’s not going to say anything critical about your work.
You can post snippets of it online to get real critique, and don’t think you’re horrible if you see some unkind remarks. When someone dings me in a review, I pay attention to that review because there is always room for improvement in anything we do. Writing is a craft that can never be truly mastered because the market is always evolving and changing, and the trends and tropes can change overnight.
Above all, the most important thing you can do is read. Read. Read. Read. Read, and read some more. You can study what works and what doesn’t, what you do and don’t like, and so on. I never see another author as competition—even the big ones—I see them as milestones. Like I said, there’s always room for improvement.
On that note, I’ve rambled enough. Happy reading!
Derek’s Dark Desires
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About the Author
Derek Masters is an erotic romance author from the Kansas City, MO area. He graduated from the University of Kansas with a degree in criminal justice, but discovered that writing was his true passion. You can often find him talking sports at local hole in the wall bars or working on his next novel in a crowded coffee shop.
www.derekmasters.com
[email protected]
Also by Vivian Ward
Please check out my website for a complete list of all of my novels. If you enjoyed the book you just read, please consider taking a moment to let me know by leaving a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. I appreciate your support more than I could ever express!
www.authorvivianward.com
One Wild Night
Copyright © 2017 by Vivian Ward
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is for all the naughty girlfriends, boyfriends, wives and husbands.
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Chapter One
Beth
“Beth, there won’t be anything for you to do. This is a guys-only trip,” my husband says.
Shaking his head, he rubs his eyeballs with the palms of his hands, hoping I’ll drop the subject.
If only he would be so lucky. I’m not dropping it, and I am going on this alleged guys-only trip.
“Tom,”
I say. “It’s not going to kill you to take me with you. What’s the worst that could happen? So what, your wife tags along with you and your friends. Big deal!”
A heavy sigh escapes his lungs, and his shoulders hang in defeat.
“Look, Beth, I’m not the one who will have a problem with you joining us. It’s the guys who won’t like my wife tagging along. Believe me, babe, I’d love to bring you on the trip, but I’m not sure the guys will like it.”
I walk over to him and drape my arm around his shoulders, taking a seat on his lap.
“Honey,” I pick up his chin to make him look at me. “Everything will be fine. Nick and Dave won’t mind. We’ve all been friends for so long that they’re not going to care if I soak up some rays and catch up on some reading while you guys make fools of yourself.”
I must admit, a large part of me is curious what the men do on their little weekend trips in the wilderness. Last time they all had a boys-only weekend, they went hunting back in November.
I’m not sure what took place but what I do remember is that when Nick came home with my husband, he had a giant schlong drawn on the side of his face, pointing to his mouth—in black permanent marker.
I shrugged it off to the fact that boys will be boys and didn’t ask for any explanations. I assumed they were all drinking and pulling pranks on one another, but all that matters is that they had fun. Judging from the looks of them when they got back, they had a little too much fun.
Besides, all I cared about was the fact that they didn’t bring home any animal carcasses. I cringed at the fact that they were going deer hunting, but I didn’t say a word.
I never say anything when he wants to do something with the guys, but I have nothing to do this weekend. My plans with my best friend Kelly fell through.
I’m not even sure why I call her my best friend. Maybe it’s because we’ve been friends since we were in seventh grade and we were always so close, but these days, I hardly know her anymore.
Right before I met Tom, she started dating Kenny. A total douchebag, but who am I to tell her anything? I’m only her best friend of 20 years. What would I know?
Once she met him, our relationship ceased to exist. I was always chasing after her, calling her, making plans with her and she’d dodge my calls or bail at the last minute.
Around the same time was when Tom and I developed a friendship. I’ve never been good at making friends with girls, but with guys, it’s always been so easy. They don’t ask to borrow shit, they don’t hate on you or your clothes, and they sure as fuck don’t gossip like some of my female friends in the past have.
Maybe Kelly hooking up with Kenny was a blessing in disguise. When I met Tom, we hit it off right away. There was something about him. He had this calming effect on my soul that I’ve never experienced in anyone else’s presence. I know that as long as Tom’s around, I’m happy and I feel safe. I never have to worry about anything.
Time seemed to stand still—and it still does, even to this day whenever we’re together. We’ve only been married for the last eight years, but they’ve been the most glorious, most wonderful eight years of my life. Well, that plus the two years before we got married.
I’d say I wasn’t sure that we were even supposed to meet but looking back on things, I know that we were destined to be together.
It was a rainy evening in April, just a couple of days after I’d filed taxes. My car had taken a nosedive, and I hadn’t paid the extra fee to get my refund instantly so I was stuck riding the bus until payday when I could afford to get my car repaired.
Unfortunately, that was still another 10 days away since my paydays were every two weeks.
Not wanting to stand in the pouring rain under the very crowded and flooded bus stop, I ducked inside of a small coffee shop while I waited on the next scheduled stop, armed with my favorite magazine.
“Can I have a medium coffee? Six creams and twelve sugars, please?” I asked the barista, shivering from the cold rain on my skin as I walked up to the warm counter.
“That’ll be $1.92, please,” she smiled as she placed my pile of creamers and sugars on the dirty silver countertop.
Even though it was well past any rush hour for coffee, brown coffee rings occupied most of the counter space. What once was, or still could’ve been, a polished, shiny, reflective surface was dull, dingy and dirty.
It reminded me of how I felt, still soaked from the rain after a long day of work, eager to get home and put on something clean and dry.
Careful not to drop my magazine or get it wet, I cautiously dug into my pocket, fishing out my crumpled dollar bills.
“Here you go,” I said, trying to smooth the money as I handed it to her.
The frown on her face as she accepted my crumpled money was a reminder of my ugly day that I had wished would come to an end.
“Sorry,” I apologized, lending a weak smile as my peace offering. “Have a great evening.”
With almost 20 minutes to kill before I could begin my journey home, I walked over to an empty table that was next to a man who couldn’t stop watching me.
I think he’s smiling at me, I thought to myself.
Yeah, he was probably inwardly making fun of me. The awkward, wet woman who is disorganized beyond belief.
Placing my mountain of cream and sugar on the bare table, I slowly began adding the deliciousness to my cup of black coffee.
“Do you often have coffee with your sugar?” he teased, a smile tugging at the corners of his gorgeous lips.
His smile warmed my heart. It was dazzling, whimsical and contagious.
Goosebumps ran down my spine, causing me to shake as a nervous laugh escaped my throat.
“I like sweet things,” I replied.
Pulling my Cosmopolitan magazine out from under the crook of my armpit, I was careful not to get it wet as I took my seat at the table, slowly stirring my coffee.
“If you like sweet things, why are you reading such a dirty magazine?” the handsome stranger asked.
Furrowing my eyebrows, I looked at the cover to remind myself what’s in that month’s issue.
• 10 Tips to Plumper Lips
• Get Abs In Time for Summer
• Give Him the Blow Job He Craves
Oh my god!
The heat spread across my cheeks and down my throat, reaching my collarbone. It was only at this point that I realized that my throat was dry and I choked trying to answer him.
He laughed at me.
“Cat got your tongue?”
I took a sip of my lukewarm coffee and let it moisten my throat.
“No, I just had a dry spot. Didn’t your mother ever teach you any manners?”
“Didn’t anyone teach you not to be such a naughty girl?”
The way his eyes locked in on mine took my breath away, and I could hear my pulse echoing against my ear drum.
He’s totally flirting with me, and he’s so cute!
I chose to ignore him and take another gulp of my coffee before it got too cold that I’d have to throw it out. You’d think if they can’t at least wipe down the counters, they could make fresh coffee. This stuff had to be what was leftover from breakfast. It was stale as hell.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“One thing my mother did teach me is to never tell a stranger my name,” I batted my eyelashes at him.
Two can play this game.
“Well,” he extended his hand. “My name is Tom.”
When we shook hands, I couldn’t help but notice the surge of energy that rushed through my body, tingling my inner core as our skin came into contact with one another. It turned all of the feelings of giddiness into volts of electricity.
“There,” he said as if he’d made some valid point. “Now, we’re not strangers. What’s your name?”
“You’re awfully full of yourself,” I replied, unable to stop smiling at him. My cheeks were beginning to hurt as long as I’d been smiling at him. “And my name is Beth.”
He eyed me, drinking in my appearance. My sandy brown hair was a dripping mess, causing it to curl up at the ends. Nervous that he might disapprove of my appearance, I did my best to ring the water from my hair and twist it into a low bun at the nape of my neck.
“You’re beautiful, Beth,” he watched me intently. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing at a coffee shop on a Thursday night all by herself? Don’t suppose you have a big, mean boyfriend or husband, do you?” he looked around.
There was nobody in the coffee shop besides us, an elderly couple and a homeless man. Obviously, I was there alone.
“If I did, that wouldn’t be any of your business.”
He frowned at my sarcasm.
“But, since you seem like a nice guy, I’ll answer your question.” His steely eyes perked up as he closed his book, holding onto my every word. “I’m here alone. I just got off work, and I’m waiting for the bus to go home.”
He seemed surprised as his mouth opened to speak but then closed it before opening it once again.
“Beth,” he looked around outside. “A pretty lady like you shouldn’t be taking a bus back and forth. It’s too dangerous in the city. Let me give you a ride home tonight.”
I started to object, but he cut me off.
“And before you say no, let me just remind you that it’s raining and getting dark pretty quickly. It’s the least I can do so I can go home with a clear conscience.”
“A clear conscience of what?” I asked him.
“That you got home okay. I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you,” he grinned at me.