The No Sex Clause

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The No Sex Clause Page 14

by Glenys O'Connell


  She smiled at him as Sofia helped her with her veil. The older woman then reached up to lay a gentle kiss on Anna’s cheek and moved back to her pew. The service had begun.

  * * *

  Jed’s parents had offered to pay for a lavish reception, but Dan and Sofia would not hear of it. Graciously, they explained that Anna was their daughter and they would cover the wedding expenses. So the adjoining church hall was filled with long tables groaning under food prepared by the church women’s group. Swathes of white organza, pink and white ribbons and rich greenery decorated the windows and walls, while vases filled with bunches of pink and white roses, the one item Sofia had let the Walkers supply, stood in profusion on the tables.

  When the bride and groom took the floor for the first dance the band played The Last Waltz and Anna saw Sofia, Jed’s mother, Mia, and a number of other women wiping sentimental tears from their eyes. There was so much love in the room, Anna thought she’d burst with happiness, especially when Jed bent his head to whisper in her ear: “I want to dance every dance with you.”.

  When the bride and groom were ready to leave, a cluster of women gathered around her begging her to throw her bouquet. So Anna turned and following tradition, closed her eyes and threw her bouquet over her shoulder. The young women, some of whom had called her Mouse so long ago but were now friends, scrambled to catch the bouquet as it arced towards them amid cheers.

  “Oh, my God – it’s me! I caught the bride’s bouquet, so will I be the next to marry?” Maria Wilson squealed. Catching sight of Joey’s face as he beamed down at the country singer, Anna was pretty sure that Maria’s wish and the prophecy would come true very, very soon.

  Then she and Jed were alone at last. He drove carefully through the February snow to the hotel where she had rented the honeymoon suite on the same day she met Jed – the same suite they’d stayed in on their very first night together on the night of the high school reunion. They had both agreed there would be something satisfyingly symmetrical about staying there for the first night of their honeymoon.

  Pushing open the hotel door, they passed into the warmth of the lobby where, sweeping her effortlessly off her feet and past the smirking receptionist, Jed carried her up to their room. As the elderly elevator creaked slowly up to their floor, he kissed her thoroughly on her lips, her neck and her bare shoulders until she tingled with anticipation as her legs went weak.

  “Just one thing, Anna,” he said when he raised his head, as the elevator bell announced their arrival at the penthouse honeymoon floor. “You remember the last time we were here?”

  “Oh, yes,” she replied, languorously.

  “Well, this time I want you to forget about that damned No Sex Clause.”

  Anna laughed. “I don’t think that applies to us anymore, do you – and besides I seem to remember you saying that some rules are made to be broken,” she teased.

  “And I intend to break that one many, many times during all the years we’ll have together,” he told her, his voice full of promise.

  About The AuthorGlenys O'Connell is a former crime journalist on a daily newspaper and publisher of a community newspaper. Covering serious crimes led her to a degree in psychology and a career as a counselor. She is the author of a number of published romantic suspense and comedy novels and children’s’ books. She has shared her writing skills as a creative writing teacher in third level and online. She has also published several books on mental health issues and is an award winning playwright. After years of travelling and working abroad, she now makes her home in rural Ontario, Canada, with her husband, four grown up children and two spoiled cats. You can read more about Glenys & see her other books on her Amazon page or write to her by email.

  Author’s Note

  Thank you for reading The No Sex Clause. I hope you enjoyed Anna and Jed’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you had time, it would be wonderful if you would consider putting a review up on Amazon – every writer gets a boost out of seeing reviews by readers!!

  Read An excerpt From My Latest Romantic Suspense:

  Saving Maggie (Crimson Romance)

  Chapter 1

  The woman in the sexy little red convertible looked perky from behind. Her glossy long hair was pulled up in a careless ponytail and swayed from side like a cobra charmed by an Indian flute as she bopped to the music from the car radio.

  Even at a car’s length away, the driver behind her thought this was the sort of hair a man could run his fingers through and grasp playfully. He wished now he were piloting his own expensive roadster rather than the sedate brown sedan he’d rented especially for this trip. His own car was the sort that would impress the kind of girl who drove a bright red convertible with the top down on a windy spring day.

  He imagined himself overtaking her, seeing her look over at him, her eyes widening in admiration as she took in his expensive ride and wealthy, groomed good looks.

  Then she’d remember him and smile…

  He gunned the accelerator and with a disdainful purr the rental spurted forward, pulling alongside her. He glanced over, hoping to catch her eye. But she stared straight ahead, singing along to some mindless pop music and oblivious to his look of longing.

  He didn’t matter to her. She didn’t remember. She didn’t smile.

  Irritated now, he jabbed the accelerator and zoomed past her. He knew soon they’d meet again.

  Then he’d refresh her memory.

  * * *

  Maggie Kendall was just leaving Fried Heaven with two cups of the diner’s delicious coffee balanced in her hands, when a tall, dark-haired stranger pushed open the door so suddenly that it caught her, and hot coffee sloshed wetly down the front of her white silk shirt.

  “I am so sorry!” His handsome face flushed with embarrassment as he grabbed a wad of paper napkins from a dispenser on the nearest table and began to mop at the spill. His touch on her upper breasts was electric—it sizzled all the way down to her toes, leaving her breathless. Brushing his hands away, she snapped: “You’re making it worse. My office is just across the road and I can clean up there.”

  The man snatched back his hand as he realized the inappropriate intimacy of his touch. Blushing, he tossed the damp napkins onto a table and jammed the offending hands into his suit pants pockets. “I…at least let me pay for your dry cleaning,” he stammered, but Maggie was already halfway out the door.

  “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it,” she muttered, avoiding his gaze. A second later she was gone.

  * * *

  Josh Tyler blinked, staring after her as the door slammed behind her. He’d been intent on cleaning up the spilled coffee mess and had acted without thinking. Now his fingers telegraphed the sensation of her warm, soft femininity and his embarrassment deepened. He hadn’t felt this awkward since high school.

  “Don’t pay any attention to her,” a plump teenager behind the counter said. “That’s Maggie Kendall. She’s from the city.” She made the words sound like an accusation rather than a statement, and Tyler bit back a smile.

  “Now, Alicia, Ms. Kendall’s a nice enough woman, and she’s worked wonders with the Gazette since she bought out old Dan Warrington,” an older woman sitting by the electronic till said in a warning voice.

  “Yes, but she’s strange. People say she sees things…like, a second sight.”

  “Alicia! That’s enough. Now serve the gentleman and then get back into the kitchen and help Sam with the cleanup.”

  Tyler wanted to ask more questions but was pretty sure the eagle-eyed cashier would slap him down, so he ordered coffee and a Danish to go, paid and left the store.

  Outside on the broad sidewalk, his eye was caught by the large sign on one of the offices across the road: The Woeful Creek Gazette. Maggie Kendall was an attractive woman, if maybe a bit highly strung. But he had no wish to get close to any member of the Press, and certainly not to someone with a reputation for ‘seeing things’.

  Reporters and psychics were, in his
experience, about equal in the charlatan stakes.

 

 

 


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