“Still love me?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“You know you’ve put me to a lot of trouble,” he said, the caress of his fingers down her back counteracting the slight sting of his words.
“But I’m worth it,” she fired back.
He sighed, the warmth of his breath feathering across her neck. “Yeah. You are.”
“I mightn’t have said it much, but I do love you, Ryan.”
“Right back at you, sweetheart.”
And they set out to prove it all over again.
Would you like to read the prequel to Secret Lovers, book one in the Friendship Chronicles? Get a free copy of Turning Point (a short story featuring Connor’s mother and stepfather) by signing up for my Reader’s Group. You’ll also learn about upcoming releases, receive free books and short stories tied to my some of my series plus contest and special promotion news.
Also, I want to ask a favor. Word-of-mouth is crucial for an author to succeed. If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review. Even if it’s only a few lines, it would be a tremendous help.
Please turn the page for a glimpse of Clandestine Lovers, the next book in my Friendship Chronicles series and One Night of Misbehavior, a standalone contemporary Cinderella romance.
Enjoy!
Shelley
Excerpt – Clandestine Lovers
Do not screw up this speed date. This is your chance to find love. A husband. Everything you want for the future.
“No pressure,” Susan Webb whispered as she navigated the gravel path alongside the grapevines and went off-piste onto the freshly mown grass. Immediately, the heels of her black-and-red sandals sank halfway to China.
The cameraman following her snickered and kept filming while her arms windmilled wildly to maintain her balance. Thank goodness she’d donned a pair of sexy black briefs this morning. The thought raced through her mind as she teetered on the brink of flashing her bottom to the viewers of Farmer Wants a Wife reality show.
“Here, let me help,” a husky voice said.
A muscular forearm curved around her waist, the man’s strength holding her upright. A hit of citrus and leather engulfed her while heat massed in her cheeks.
Slowly, Susan turned her head to study her savior. She recognized his chiseled features immediately. Her chosen farmer—Nolan Penrith—and he was even hotter in the flesh. His light brown sun-streaked hair was neatly trimmed but still flirted with the collar of his cream shirt. He wore jeans and a brown leather jacket. Her gaze skirted down past his hips, lingered on the bulge at his groin and moved lower until her stare hit his brown boots. A soft chuckle dragged her attention northward to meet a crooked smile and brown eyes full of amusement.
“Ah, sorry,” she said, fervently wishing she could have a do-over. She’d ogled his junk, for goodness sake, right after almost flashing the reality show viewers. Time to fix this situation. She had to create the right impression. Her future depended on her actions today. “I’m not usually this clumsy.”
“No problem,” he said. “Let’s get you safely to the meeting spot so we can have a chat.”
Susan nodded, embarrassment quashing her ability to format further sentences. Luckily, her mind was still in working order. She grasped one of his arms and attempted to jerk her right foot free, preferably with her sandal still in place so she didn’t wobble like an undignified stork.
“That’s not the way,” he said, a laugh in his voice, and he tugged her back then scooped her up into his arms, striding away and leaving her sandals embedded in the lawn.
Susan became aware of the breeze at her butt and started to struggle. No, no, no! This was not happening.
“Don’t worry, I won’t drop you. A little thing like you doesn’t weigh more than a bale of hay.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Susan said, the chill on her backside confirming her fears.
A bark of laughter escaped the cameraman. Susan froze. She was gonna commit murder—if she didn’t die of mortification first. She glared over Nolan’s shoulder at the man, but all she could see was the blink of light on the side of the camera that indicated everything—including her butt—was being faithfully recorded. Gah!
Nolan set her on her feet, and she instantly flicked the back of her red dress down over her panties.
“Oops. Sorry about that, darlin’,” Nolan said. “Would you like something to drink?” He gestured to a jug of water and another of juice.
Heck, yeah! A margarita would be good about now. “W-water will be f-fine.” At least it would be something to do with her hands. Nolan had apologized, so she couldn’t hit him. The cameraman, however, was riding a shaky line.
Aware of the camera, she resisted the urge to snap out an insult or roll the cool glass across her cheeks to dispel her embarrassment. Instead, she took a quick sip and fought to regain her equilibrium.
She needed to flirt, needed to speak intelligently, needed to show herself to best advantage.
She needed to excel.
Nolan helped himself to a glass of juice and gestured to the tartan blanket, spread on the ground not far from the table holding the refreshments.
Susan crouched and placed her glass within easy reach, then she gingerly knelt and curled her legs to the side, taking great care not to flash her panties. Again.
Nolan dropped to the blanket with casual ease. “So you’re looking for a husband?”
Straight away, her hackles rose and an indignant retort sped to her lips. In her peripheral vision, she noted the cameraman shift positions to get another angle for his shot. She bit back her grumpiness and strove for a witty comeback, something to wow.
“A-are you l-looking for a wife?” Better, but what was with the stuttering? She didn’t usually stammer. She managed to shape her lips into something resembling a smile. Her friends would see the jagged edges, but it was her best effort when all she could think of was her bottom broadcast on national television.
“It appears so.”
The weird inflection in his tone tugged at her curiosity, and she opened her mouth to ask a question.
Before she could speak, he said, “I’m Nolan, which I’m sure you already know, and you, according to my list, are Susan. Tell me a little about yourself. I believe you work in an office? What do you do in your spare time?”
Oh, heck. Minefield alert.
She hesitated, frantically wondering how to break the news of her career change. “I’m r-really excited to be here, N-Nolan, and it’s great to meet you. Um…I…ah…like to dance. I go out with my f-friends to clubs and r-r-rugby matches. Sometimes we go shopping or to m-movies.” Her heart hammered like the beat in a fast dance, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth before releasing it to force her features into a happy, confident mask.
“Not many shops out in the country.”
“No, I don’t suppose there are.” Her fixed smile wobbled and tried to slink away to hide. Was he trying to sabotage her? Had he taken an instant dislike to her?
Too bad.
If they were destined to be together, he needed to know she possessed a steel rod of determination in her spine. She added a touch of sweetness to her smile and hoped she didn’t look like a caricature. “The internet works well for shopping. You can buy just about anything online these days from farm equipment to dresses.” Yay! No stuttering this time.
His brown eyes glazed over and he sipped his orange juice.
Heck, she was losing him.
Grab Your Copy of Clandestine Lovers
Excerpt – One Night of Misbehavior
A modern-day tale of Cinderella…
“Charlotte Joanna Dixon!” A shrill voice—her stepmother’s—hacked through Charlotte’s Saturday morning lie-in and intensified the boom, boom, boom of her aching head. “Of all the mornings for you to sleep late,” Elizabeth screeched. “Didn’t you set your alarm clock? I have to meet the fundraising committee in an hour.” The sharp accusations kept coming, accompanied by a
thunk on her bedroom door.
Charlotte stared up at the damp spot on her bedroom ceiling and started silently counting to ten. One. Two. Three. Snippets of music, memories of a sexy masculine form crept into her mind, and her count faltered. Last night she’d experienced the dizzy taste of freedom and now the thought of her normal routine rubbed like a raw blister. Her mouth settled into a mutinous line. Maybe she’d stay here all day.
“Charlotte!” Doors slammed. The water pipes in the old Victorian groaned as they gave up water for the shower. “Hurry up.”
Or not. Sighing, Charlotte scrambled into jeans and a T-shirt and trudged down the sweeping stairs to the kitchen. On automatic pilot, she started the coffeemaker then filled the jug to boil for Gran’s tea. While she waited, she trotted outside to grab the early morning post from the mailbox.
Soon the scent of fresh coffee flooded the kitchen, making her stomach lurch in protest. Maybe the last glass of Champagne hadn’t been the best idea. Gritting her teeth, she set the breakfast table, then swallowed down two headache tablets and assembled a tea tray for her grandmother. When she carried the tray and three letters upstairs, she found her grandmother was already awake, perusing one of the new craft magazines she’d had Charlotte purchase for her the previous day.
“Morning, Gran. How are you feeling? You have mail from your friends.”
“Charlotte.” Gran put down the magazine and peered over her glasses. Her blonde curls were already brushed into submission and a pale pink lipstick gave her face a touch of color. She cocked her head in Charlotte’s direction like an inquisitive bird. “You were late home. Tell me about the ball.”
“Shush, someone will hear.” Heat suffused Charlotte’s cheeks as memories of the previous evening rose to thump her over the head—seductive music, dancing, glasses of tickly Champagne. Many glasses of crisp, fruity Champagne. And Zorro.
Her entire evening summed up in a few words. She’d let a tall, masked man seduce her with his charisma and endless glasses of Champagne. The night of freedom had gone to her head along with the alcoholic buzz, and for one night, the mysterious and very sexy Zorro had shoved her loneliness aside. Unsteady hands poured tea for her grandmother. After adding a touch of milk, she handed over the cup and saucer.
“I danced so much my feet are sore,” she said, opting for a partial truth. She did have a blister on her little toe.
“Good. Did you see Elizabeth at the ball? What about Jenny and Rachel?”
Charlotte plopped on the end of Gran’s bed and nodded cautiously. The pain was muted now, the tablets working their magic. “They seemed to enjoy the ball. Everyone danced all night. The band was excellent.”
Gran’s faded blue eyes twinkled behind the lenses of her glasses. “Did they recognize you?”
“They didn’t glance at me twice.”
“I told you so.” Her grandmother’s gaze zeroed in on her neck.
Charlotte recalled the addictive kisses Zorro had trailed down her throat, the sensual bite and suck, and groaned inwardly. Kisses plus suction equaled one thing. Hickeys.
“Did you meet someone special?”
“No,” Charlotte said quickly. Too quickly.
“I see.”
Charlotte was glad someone saw because she didn’t understand her actions of the previous night. Yes, she’d had too much Champagne, but she’d known what she was doing. No one had forced her to kiss Zorro or to run her hands down his naked chest. Heck, no one had forced her to scream with the pleasure of her orgasm either. It was as if an alien had taken possession of her—one who enjoyed the heck out of sex.
“I think I’ll go down to breakfast this morning,” Gran said unexpectedly. “I want to hear about the ball.”
“I’ll help you dress.”
“There’s a tube of concealer in my dressing table drawer,” Gran said. “Perhaps you should apply some to your neck while I’m taking a shower. You don’t want Elizabeth asking embarrassing questions.”
No, she did not. Half an hour later, Charlotte had breakfast ready and Gran was seated at the table, eating a bowl of porridge.
Elizabeth stalked into the kitchen and sat beside her mother. “Coffee.”
“Elizabeth,” Gran said in a sharp tone. “Charlotte isn’t your maid.”
Elizabeth yawned and smoothed a hand over her neat blonde bob. “I provide her with a roof over her head and a small wage. The least she can do is make me breakfast on a Saturday morning.”
Charlotte frowned in Gran’s direction. Mother and daughter couldn’t be more different in temperament and often butted heads. She wasn’t about to get into the middle of one of their arguments. She rose from the table and her dry toast, grabbed a mug and poured coffee for Elizabeth. On hearing the clomp-clomp of footsteps on the stairs, she pulled two more mugs from the cupboard. She handed one to Jenny and the second to Rachel as they sailed past to join their grandmother and mother at the table. All four women were petite and blonde with blue eyes. Jenny and Rachel wore jeans and silky tops to highlight their curves while Elizabeth stuck with classic—black trousers and a feminine blouse in baby pink.
“What’s for breakfast?” Jenny asked. “I’ve got the munchies.”
“There’s fruit and cereal or I can make some more porridge,” Charlotte said, praying none of them noticed the love bites. The concealer hadn’t exactly lived up to its name.
“I’ll have toast,” Rachel said. “Whole wheat.”
“I’ll have fruit and cereal,” Jenny said.
Without a word, Charlotte started preparing the requested breakfasts.
“Did you enjoy the ball?” Gran chirped.
Charlotte frowned in Gran’s direction, noting the satisfied glitter in her eyes. A secret smile played on Gran’s lips as she studied her granddaughters and daughter. Then she shot a mischievous glance at Charlotte, her granddaughter by marriage.
“I want details,” Gran said. “The spicier, the better.”
“I wish they’d had an ordinary ball instead of a costume one,” Jenny said. “It was difficult guessing identities. I don’t want to waste effort playing nice with men who don’t have money.”
“That’s not a good attitude,” Gran scolded. “When I was a young girl, we accepted dances from everyone who asked us. It was good manners.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Times change, Gran. Women can vote now.”
“I want the girls to make good marriages,” Elizabeth said. “Money is important.”
“I don’t want a traditional relationship,” Jenny said. “I want a career plus a rich man. Did I tell you Marlborough Media is looking for a junior designer? They’re starting interviews on Tuesday.”
“Are you applying?” Rachel asked. “You’d have a good shot since you’re already working there. More coffee, please, Charlotte.”
Charlotte’s ears pricked, and she wondered if there was the slightest hope of scoring an interview. While she loved Gran and didn’t mind looking after her, she’d kill to break into the graphics field and gain more independence. No rich men for her. No marriage either. She wanted to step into Ms. Independent’s shoes and answer to no one but herself.
“I’ve already booked an interview slot.” Jenny flashed a grin, sharing her confidence with each of them in turn. “I intend to grab that spot.” She shook out her long blonde hair and picked up her coffee. “I heard they’d stopped taking applicants because they have enough.”
“Charlotte wants to go into graphic design,” Gran said casually.
“Charlotte?” Elizabeth’s plucked brows rose to new heights. “How are you going to manage a job? Who is going to look after Mum when her lupus flares up? Who will run our errands? No, it’s impossible. We need Charlotte to cook meals and run the household for us.” She reinforced her words with a glower that dared Charlotte to argue otherwise.
Charlotte picked up her toast with a trembling hand and forced herself to take another bite. It helped to still the tap-dancing in the pit of her stomach and dammed
up her words of protest. She was saving every cent she could, but her bank account remained depressingly small. One day, she promised herself.
“She doesn’t have the qualifications to apply for the job,” Jenny said, her tone and pointed look running along Smug Street. “So it’s a moot point. I hope Ash Marlborough sits in on the interviews. He’s amazing. And he’s single.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to have an in with a rich bachelor,” Elizabeth said in a thoughtful manner, obviously dismissing any further thoughts of Charlotte getting a job.
“Exactly.” Jenny smirked in Charlotte’s direction again. “A job and a rich lover in one swoop.” She’d made a turn onto Complacent Drive.
“He has scars on his face,” Rachel said with distaste. “I can’t look at him for longer than a few seconds. Imagine having to kiss him.”
Jenny shrugged. “Who cares what he looks like if he has money?”
Charlotte wanted to clap her hands over her ears, or even better, go back to bed. Instead she dispensed toast, fruit and cereal and made another pot of coffee, tuning out the usual morning discussions and avarice from her stepmother and stepsisters. Her mind turned more pleasant corners, drifting to the previous night and her Zorro lover. He’d asked her for a dance early on in the night. They’d laughed and talked about the different costumes. She’d felt like a real princess in her apricot ball gown with full skirts and the beaded bodice that cupped, lifted and flattered. The best part was her invisibility to her stepmother and stepsisters. Her dark brown wig and skillful makeup, courtesy of Gran’s best friend Esther, had completed the fantasy, and Zorro’s attention made her feel extra special. Their conversation had morphed into design and different advertising promotions they’d enjoyed, and an undercurrent of lust hummed between them, growing more urgent as the evening progressed. Charlotte removed the dirty plates from the table and made Gran another pot of tea, the twinge of her muscles reminding her of their frantic lovemaking. Heat burst onto her cheeks, her hands shaking as she stacked the plates in the dishwasher.
Reunited Lovers (Friendship Chronicles Book 2) Page 19