“Nothing. It’s just hit me that this isn’t my place anymore.”
He hopped out of the car and trotted toward her door, a smile on his face.
He doesn’t get it. She held his hand as they walked up the back steps. She couldn’t help wondering how many more times they were going to get to do that. “What if the new owners don’t even take good care of the place? I think it was bought by a rental company or something. There wasn’t an owner listed, only a corporation. Do you think they’ll have different people in here every other week?”
“Would that bother you?” James asked, closing the door behind them and hooking his arm around Kay’s waist.
She shrugged. She knew it shouldn’t. She still needed the money from the house to get an apartment in New York. Even now that she and James were engaged she’d still need to live in the city at least part time. She couldn’t help but feel like she’d given up a huge chunk of her past. “It’s silly. I know. It’s just…”
“What?” He smoothed her hair away from her face.
“I don’t know. If I’d known you and I were going to get engaged, maybe start a family, I’d have tried to figure out a way we could have kept the house.”
James nodded, his eyes sparkling down at her. “It would be a great place to raise a family.”
Kay’s shoulders slumped and she looked down.
James tucked a finger under her chin, tipping her head back, the smile still on his face. “That’s why I bought it.”
The words didn’t process in Kay’s brain. “What?”
“Beach After Dark, the company that bought your house, that’s my company.”
Kay shook her head. “Your company?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, before I bought the restaurant I started a company. I picked up a few properties that I rented out. Renovated and sold a few others. I liquidated some to buy the restaurant but I kept the company going.”
“So you own this house?”
“I do. Well, we do.”
Kay’s heart swelled, her chest tight with emotion. She was too overwhelmed to even speak. We do. It’s our house.
“You okay?” Strong fingers wove their way through her hair and she pressed against them.
“I’m more than okay.” She reached up to touch his face. “I’m living a dream.”
He kissed her, his firm lips working against hers until she melted into him. Every swirl of his tongue seemed to be saying the same thing, over and over again, “this is real.”
He pulled back, his eyes mischievous, the lopsided grin back on his face again. “There’s one thing I have to tell you.”
“What?” Her brows pinched together. What is he up to now?
“I did feel the need to make some changes already. I hope you’re okay with that.”
“What kind of changes?”
He took her hand, leading her to the stairwell. “I felt something was missing, so I added this.” He stepped aside so she could see what he was pointing to. The thick solid post at the base of the stairs looked exactly the same, except now it had a carving etched into old dark wood: James + Kay 4-ever. “It kind of completes the place, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely.” She wrapped her arms around him, breathing in his scent, allowing his warmth to surround her. For the first time in her life she was certain, she was home.
About the Author
Karen Stivali is a prolific writer, compulsive baker and chocoholic with a penchant for books, movies and fictional British men. When she’s not writing, she can be found cooking extravagant meals and serving them to family and friends. Prior to deciding to write full time Karen worked as a hand drawn animator, a clinical therapist, and held various food-related jobs ranging from waitress to specialty cake maker. Planning elaborate parties and fundraisers takes up what’s left of her time and sanity.
Karen has always been fascinated by the way people relate to one another so she favors books and movies that feature richly detailed characters and their relationships. In her own writing she likes to explore the dynamics between characters and has a tendency to craft romantic love stories filled with sarcasm and sexy details.
For more information about Karen, visit her website: www.karenstivali.com
Look for these titles by Karen Stivali
Coming Soon:
Leave the Lights On
He was her best friend…until he became her fantasy.
More Than Friends
© 2013 Jess Dee
Lucy Lawson’s got it bad. Bad as in stunned speechless by the situation she’s in, by the feelings sitting on her chest, ready to explode. She’s in love…with her best friend.
Problem is, telling Sebastian Blackford could destroy the best thing in her life, but the longer she keeps her feelings under wraps, the stronger the need to spill her secret.
The last thing Seb suspects is that his best mate is madly, wildly in love with him, or that he’s the star of her seriously dirty fantasies. Worse, he’s just started seeing someone he’d like to see again—and Lucy knows it.
So why does her confession hit him like a runaway train? And why can’t he get her explicit description of her fantasies out of his mind? They’ve never been more than friends, but now that he knows how Lucy feels, everything is out of whack.
Seb figures it’s up to him to get their relationship back on track. He’ll do it too, just as soon as he establishes which track is the right one.
Warning: After reading this, you may just be tempted to jump your best friend. It’s recommended you keep your partner on speed dial or a toy with fresh batteries on standby.
Enjoy the following excerpt for More Than Friends:
“Okay, if you space out on me one more time, I’m going to start thinking it’s personal.”
Lucy blinked and brought her attention back to the man sitting opposite her. Not that she’d ever lost her focus. Nope, her attention had been on him the whole time. Maybe just not on what he’d been saying.
“Loo, that’s about the tenth time you’ve zoned out. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said in the last five minutes. You gonna tell me what’s going on?” He set his tea down on the table.
She shook her head as she looked at his cup. “You realize you are the only man in Sydney, maybe in the world, who drinks Earl Grey?” The cup seemed small and dainty beside his strong, tanned hand.
He shrugged. “I like it, as you well know. Now forget about the tea and tell me what’s bothering you.”
Her gaze drifted from his teacup to his chest, and she admired the way his T-shirt sat snugly across his shoulders. How was it possible she’d never appreciated the broadness of those shoulders? Had his hair been so long it had hidden their extraordinary proportions?
She sighed. “You wouldn’t believe me if I did tell you.”
Seb shot her a strange look. “When have I ever not believed something you’ve said?” He took a chip from their shared plate, dipped it into tomato sauce and popped it in his mouth. Then he repeated the process, only this time he popped the chip in Lucy’s mouth.
It was all she could do not to close her lips around his fingers and trap them there. But then trapping fingers, a chip and a dollop of tomato sauce in her mouth was hardly sexy, now was it?
She chewed thoughtfully and swallowed, desperate to open up with the truth and admit her feelings, yet paralyzed by the prospect. For the first time ever, she had trouble voicing her thoughts to Seb.
“You know, I’m a pretty good listener.”
She smiled, trying to keep the mood light while her insides were so heavy. “Then why do you always complain that I never stop talking?”
He grinned. “Maybe because you never stop talking.”
“I’m not talking now,” she pointed out.
“Which leads me to believe there is something very wrong, ergo my willingness to listen.” He dipped another chip and offered it to her.
She shook her head. Her stomach was queasy and trembling, and though she and Seb
always shared a plate of chips after seeing a movie together, she suspected fried food would do no good whatsoever. “I’m full.”
“Full of shit, maybe. C’mon, Lucy-Loo. Out with it. What’s bothering you? You fidgeted the whole way through the movie and haven’t been able to hold a simple conversation since it ended.” He gestured to the people sitting around them, enjoying a meal or a drink in the trendy little café in Newtown. “Everyone else here is chatting away. The only one not talking is you.”
“Okay, so you talk to me. Tell me how your hot date went the other night.”
The strange look was back on his face. “I spent the last five minutes telling you about it.”
She stared at him, dismayed. “You did?”
Seb nodded. “I did.”
Lucy gave him an apologetic look, staring into his eyes, willing him to forgive her.
Seb said something, but Lucy missed it, mostly because staring into his blue eyes dazzled her senses and once again took her breath away. A feverish flush seeped into her skin, heating her flesh. Just like that, Lucy was lost in a haze of desire, lost in the realization that her body was responding to Seb’s proximity. Being this close to him made her heart pound and her pussy clench. She wanted him fiercely. In a way she’d never desired another man. In a way she’d never desired a friend. In a way she had no place desiring a friend.
She had to say something, had to tell him how she felt. She couldn’t exist like this anymore, couldn’t go on living this way with him. Forever friends, nothing more.
“Lucy!” His sharp exclamation snapped her back to attention.
“I love you, Seb.” It was out before she had a chance to think twice.
“I love you too, babe, but if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m taking you to the closest medical center to have you checked out.”
“No, I mean I love you. Like, really, love you.”
He grinned his beautiful grin. “So you tell me every time you get trashed on red wine. You love me and you think I’m the bestest friend in the whole widest world.” He tapped her half-empty wineglass. “Although you surprise me tonight. You haven’t even had one glass. Usually you have to have three or four before you start getting this sentimental.”
She bit her lower lip, sucking it into her mouth before releasing it. “I’m not drunk.”
His grin told her how much he believed her.
“I’m not,” she said again. “Truth is, I’m stone-cold sober. And the reason I haven’t been concentrating is because I’ve been trying to figure out a way to tell you how I feel.”
Seb’s smile began to fade, and his blue eyes widened as he stared at her.
“It’s changed, Seb. Everything’s changed. I’ve changed. My feelings for you have changed.” She took a deep, fortifying breath and the words tumbled out. “Y-you’re not just my friend anymore. You’re…more. I dunno what happened. And I dunno how I never felt this way before, but I…I…” She pressed her hand to her chest. “I have all these feelings for you, just sitting here, pressing on my heart, and I can’t ignore them. Can’t pretend they’re not there or they’re not real.”
Sebastian’s jaw dropped open.
Now that the words had started, she couldn’t hold them back. Didn’t want to. This was Seb she spoke to, and she could tell him anything. Had always been able to, and now was no different—even though everything was different.
“I dream about you at night. And at work, when I’m not sleeping. Dirty dreams. Filthy, really. Dreams a girl shouldn’t dream about her friend, but there you have it. And when I see you, I wish, just wish, the dreams were real. I wish you’d kiss me the way you do in my imagination. Wish you’d tear my clothes off and do filthy things to me. I wish, wish that you felt for me what I feel for you, and we weren’t sitting here at this very moment, drinking red wine and Earl Grey tea.”
Lucy paused to draw breath, her heart beating frantically, her cheeks burning.
Seb just gaped at her.
“I lay in the bath earlier, thinking about you. Fantasizing about you. I touched myself, wishing it was your hand. Couldn’t stop touching, until…until…” Lucy closed her eyes, mortified that she was voicing all of this, yet unable to stop. After months of keeping it to herself, the confession felt liberating. “I came thinking about you. And it wasn’t the first time. But the thing is, I don’t want to just fantasize anymore. Don’t want to just dream about you. I don’t just want to be your friend. Can’t be your friend, ’cause what I feel for you goes way beyond friendship. I’m like, wildly, crazily in love with you.”
“Lucy…” Seb’s voice sounded hoarse, scratchy. He looked dazed. “Geez, I don’t know what to say.” He drew a shaky hand over his shaved head.
Her breath caught in her diaphragm and she hiccupped. “Say you feel the same way. Or at the very least, tell me there’s a chance you could feel this way.”
“I love you too. You know I do.” Again he drew his hand over his head. “You’re my gal, my friend, my mate. ’Course I love you. Just…”
Lucy’s heart stopped beating. Or maybe her lungs stopped working. She couldn’t tell. “Just…?”
His blue gaze held hers. “Just…not like that.”
There’s no defense when love blindsides your heart.
The First Time Again
© 2013 Barbara Meyers
The Braddock Brotherhood, Book 3
Once Trey Christopher was the small-town golden boy. Now he’s just another burned-out, washed-up ex-quarterback with a bum knee, a tarnished reputation, and a simple wish. To be the kind of man he can face in the mirror.
Moving back home is a start, as is hiring a down-on-her-luck local woman to help him out around his grandparents’ old homestead.
The last thing Baylee Westring wants is to clean house for a high school crush who barely remembers her name, but Trey’s money will finally top off her get-out-of-Henderson-forever escape fund.
Before she hits the road, though, Baylee’s got something for the man she still finds wildly attractive: the virginity he almost—but not quite—took during a drunken teenage party.
Neither is prepared for the emotional impact of that encounter. But just when Baylee dares to believe in happy ever after, an old enemy turns up to even the score. And Trey finds his heart left in the red zone, with his last chance for love ticking down to zero.
Warning: Contains an overeducated housekeeper who’s open to receiving a pass or two, and an ex-football player who can’t seem to stop himself from showing her all his moves.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The First Time Again:
Baylee’s grandparents’ best friends, Mike and Josephine Pritchard, had lived on Sycamore Road. During her youth she had occasionally visited the Pritchards with them.
She wouldn’t apologize for being late. Best to let T. C. know who was in charge. It had taken her a while, but she was learning. She wasn’t going to be a doormat for anyone. Not anymore. And certainly not for some overbearing guy who sounded like he was used to ruling the world and getting his own way.
The address on Sycamore Road turned out to be the Pritchards’ house. It didn’t look much different than Baylee remembered. Josephine, whom everyone called “J”, had passed within the last year. Baylee wasn’t surprised to see not much about the property had changed. There was a black Porsche Cayenne parked near the back porch. Turbo, she noted as she drove past and parked a few feet away. Money.
Yippee! Her heart did a little pitter-pat. She could name her own price.
She’d always liked the Pritchards’ place. It was nestled in the midst of some gently rolling hills with the Blue Ridge range as a backdrop. The house was set far enough back from the road to offer privacy, but not anonymity. The old barn was empty now, as was the feed lot and the chicken coop. A few other outbuildings were ready to tumble down, taking the rusting fences surrounding them along.
Trees dotted the yard and the pastures beyond. Birds chirped and flitted in the branches, an
d a couple of squirrels gallivanted underneath the big oak closest to the house.
Near the porch were flowerbeds badly in need of weeding. A twining rose climbed up a trellis. The old swing still hung at the end of the porch. Baylee could remember sitting there contentedly, swinging and daydreaming to the rhythmic squeak of the chain against the hooks while the adults gathered around the wicker table to drink glasses of sweet tea and chat amicably.
A pang of longing for those simpler times hit her. She hadn’t known then how many mistakes awaited her, how many difficult lessons she had to learn. But learn from them she would. Her new motto was a slightly amended version of “Been there; done that”. To which she had added “not doing it again”.
She got out, mentally debating about using the front door or the back when she noticed the Cayenne’s Florida vanity license plate. TC9. She stared at it while several possibilities she’d chosen to ignore clicked into place.
T. C. Trey Christopher? Nine. His number with the Jacksonville Jacks?
Could it possibly be? Of course it could. The Pritchards were Trey Christopher’s maternal grandparents. In fact, he’d been at their house on a few of those occasions when she’d visited as a child. He always seemed to have a pack of other boys with him, and she’d learned early on to avoid them because they’d do nothing but tease and torment her if she invaded their territory. Which seemed to be everywhere except the back porch where the adults lurked.
She had more memories of him than those from childhood, one in particular which had plagued her all through high school and beyond.
She hesitated a moment longer before she climbed the three stairs to the porch and realized she wasn’t alone. A man seated at one of the four chairs surrounding the table used another chair as a footstool. He had one leg outstretched on it, the other bent at the knee. An ice pack was balanced on the outstretched knee.
His arms crossed his chest, his thumbs tucked underneath his armpits. His head was down. There was a mug on the table. Was he asleep?
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