Friendship to More
My spouse and I met at work while I was married to someone else. Before you think I caused a scandal, know this: I was only friends with him while I was married. But after I separated from my husband and was ready to date again I looked around me. Like many 20-somethings, I didn’t think there were many good men around. Then I considered my friend.
He’d had a good upbringing and had solid values. He had a good job. He was the same religion I was, which wouldn’t have been a deal breaker but certainly made things easier. And then I said to myself, “Why is this guy not taken? Well, fellow single women, who are apparently all idiots, since you didn’t take him off the market, I’m going to!”
As I said, though, he was my friend, so I was faced with the always-fun “how to turn a friend into a boyfriend” dilemma. He made it a little easier when he did a few things that told me he was interested too. We had been going out for a while, but as friends - he knew I had lost a lot of my friends when I left my husband, so he started inviting me places with his group of friends, taking me to dinner, etc.
One night at dinner I broached the subject. I told him I felt bad that we were basically dating without giving him any of the, um, benefits. ;-) That night after dinner we went to see a band, and as we watched he put his arm around me. Then when we parted ways that night, he kissed me. And so our relationship was born!
That was almost eleven years ago. We’ve been married for seven and a half years and have a three-year-old daughter we adore. And the best part? When I asked him before I had even sold a book if he wanted me to go back to work, he said, “Writing makes you happy. Stay home with the baby and write.” Wow, I love that man...
Excerpt from Talk to Me
Drew Milan watched, fascinated, as a leggy woman with unruly dark brown hair that reached halfway down her back twisted herself underneath the producer’s desk. As he continued perusing her body, he noticed her long, slim legs encased in skintight leather boots. Man, are those a sexy pair of boots! Kill me now, and I’ll go with a huge freakin’ smile on my face. He was a leg man, and this angel had been dropped from the sky especially for him. He must’ve done some good deed he couldn’t remember to have had this good fortune bestowed upon him. The question was, what she was doing crawling around under the equipment?
She started to back out, and Drew felt his groin tighten as inch by inch of glorious legs unfolded themselves. Finally managing to pull himself out of his reverie, he cleared his throat. The woman jerked and turned around, revealing a large set of light brown eyes, a small nose set into the middle of a long face with a pointed chin, and an incredible set of full, luscious lips.
“Can I help you?” The woman blushed furiously, her pale skin flushing bright pink.
* * * * *
Knowing instantly that this Adonis of a man was retired hockey player Drew Milan, the host of the show Jamie MacMahon was producing, she silently berated herself for blushing like a schoolgirl as she struggled to her feet and swiped at the dust coating her skirt. If I’d known I was going to be crawling around under the equipment first thing, I would’ve worn jeans.
A quick inspection of his barrel chest and huge biceps, both highlighted nicely by the skintight polo shirt he was wearing, confirmed he still kept himself in shape, even though he’d retired a few years back.
He appraised her openly, his gaze raking up and down her body. Not used to such unconcealed interest on the part of men—especially those she worked with—she wasn’t sure how to react. She attempted to ignore his heated stare. “Um, hi, Mr. Milan, I’m Jamie MacMahon.” You’re babbling…
“Jamie?” he repeated.
“Yes, your new producer.”
“Oh!” He looked dumbstruck. “I was under the impression my new producer was a man.”
Great. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Milan. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
He grinned, and his whole face transformed before her eyes. Oh, he still had a strong square jaw and high-slashing cheekbones that highlighted his closely cropped, jet-black hair, but his smile lit up the whole room. Blue-gray eyes the color of the sea during a rainstorm softened to a light aqua. Her breath caught in her throat, and her pulse began to thunder. She covered her heart, and Drew’s gaze followed the movement before returning to her face.
“I’m not disappointed. I’m surprised, but I’m most definitely not disappointed. And call me Drew. Mr. Milan makes me feel like an old man, and I shudder to think a beautiful young thing like you thinks I’m an old man.” His eyes blazed as he stared at her.
My God—he’s blatantly hitting on me. Maybe he hits on every woman he meets, the same way I imagine what a gorgeous pair of shoes would look like if I were wearing them.
She coughed delicately into her hand. Old? No. Unbelievably hot, yes. And wow, his voice was mesmerizing—rough yet sensual. Forcing herself to keep her focus on the job, she glanced at the studio behind her. “Well, Drew, the show is about to start. Anything I need to know other than what’s on the show log?”
He shrugged. “Not really. Gonna be a light show tonight, so keep the calls coming. I don’t like yammering on and on just to fill dead air.”
“Got it.”
“I don’t think I expect a lot from my producers, but apparently the guys upstairs disagree. Anyway, I’ll be gentle, I promise. Well, unless you don’t want me to be.” Throwing her a cheeky wink, he sauntered into the studio, sat, and picked up his headphones.
Jamie considered actually fanning her face, knowing she must be badly blushing. Glancing at the clock, she hurried to sit. They still had about ninety seconds until the syndicated sports show they aired from three to seven p.m. ended. There was a short ad sequence after that, and then they were on. She put the studio in queue so she could speak to him without it going on the air. “Do you need a countdown?”
“Just because I was a hockey player doesn’t mean I can’t count,” he chided her. “I had to read a scoreboard, you know.” He was separated from her by about ten feet and a pane of glass, but she could easily see the taunting smile playing on his lips.
Jamie blushed yet again. Dammit! “That’s not what I was implying.”
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’ve got it.”
Taking a focusing breath like she’d learned in her yoga class back in Buffalo, Jamie detected a hint of the scent he’d left behind—something that screamed “male.” It sent her imagination into overdrive, wondering what wonderful things he could do with that maleness. She’d seen his headshot in the main reception area when she’d come in for her interview but had no idea he was this gorgeous up close. She had a feeling he would wreak havoc with her peace of mind, and she wasn’t at all sure she was ready for his undoubtedly overwhelming presence. He had reduced her to a mass of shivering need within minutes.
Just last night she’d read that he’d come by the less than flattering nickname “The Beast” during his playing days in the NHL. Apparently he’d been a tough character on and off the ice, and with his hulking frame, the nickname certainly seemed accurate, but not in an entirely bad way—more like in a bad-boy way. Jamie shuddered. She was nervous as hell, and the undercurrent of sexual tension wasn’t helping matters.
For more information about Cassandra’s books, go to her website:
http://www.booksbycassandracarr.com.
Janet Fox
He Had a Stake in the Outcome
My hubby and I were set up by a mutual friend, and it was not love at first sight.
I was in the midst of a disastrous romance—painful, and wrong, wrong, wrong. I was working at the time at a place in New York (no names, please), and actually had suffered a string of wrong romances. (Honestly, I tended toward self-sacrifice on the altar of the men I worshipped.) I confided this latest disaster to a friend, Walter, who just listened...and then suggested a lunch date with someone he knew.
This guy—his name was Jeff—was one of the sweetest people I’d ever met. Did I fall in love right the
n? No, of course not. I was into self-abasement. How could I fall for a sweet guy?
Well, he was so sweet that he kept asking me out for lunch. After a time getting to know him I confided my misery—how my boyfriend did this or that, how miserable I was about this or that—and he listened, ever-patient.
And then came a lunch where I was spouting: it was awful, he was hurtful, what should I do? Jeff cleared his throat.
“Well,” he said, looking at his fork, “I really can’t advise you because I have a stake in the outcome.”
I sat back in the booth, and the heavens parted (or lightning bolts struck, or the earth opened...you get the idea) and I knew. I saw Jeff for the first time, and I was totally, goober-smacked, in love.
That was that, and we’ve been together for 33 years.
About Forgiven
Kula Baker never expected to find herself on the streets of San Francisco in 1906. The daughter of an outlaw, Kula is soon swept up in a world of art and elegance—a world she hardly dared dream of back in Montana. She meets the handsome David Wong, whose smiling eyes and soft-spoken manner have an uncanny way of breaking through Kula’s carefully crafted reserve. Yet when a mighty earthquake strikes and the wreckage threatens all she holds dear, Kula realizes that only by unlocking her heart can she begin to carve a new future for herself.
Excerpt from Forgiven
“I had this dream. In the whispering restless dark I saw myself dressed fine, because my pa and I had made a proper home, because Pa had taken on proper employment. I could read books all day long if I wished, in my own parlor, in my own silks and velvets. I could catch the eye of a gentleman. A gentleman who would treat me right so I’d never have to cook or scrub or sew again. A gentleman who’d look on me with soft eyes.
A new century lay open before us, where all things could be made clean and shiny, even a man’s soul. Why, I’d heard that men could get up in the air in flying machines, men flying like birds. If that were true, why then, anything was possible. It might even be possible for me, the part native daughter of an outlaw, to become a lady.”
For more information about Janet and her books, visit her website: janetsfox.com.
Margaret Caroll
A Walk Through the Plaza
May 14, 2009, was a beautiful warm evening in Santa Fe, New Mexico. My friend, Nuala, and I were there on vacation, and had spent the day hiking at Puje Cliffs, sacred lands for the Anasazi. Nuala was supposed to be getting married that weekend in Rye, New York. Her fiance had called it off. She wanted to get out of town, go somewhere and forget what was supposed to be happening. I had some vacation time coming, so off we went. New Mexico was breathtaking. The Plaza was packed. We arrived at the restaurant, Mark Miller’s Coyote Cafe, and were told it would be a short wait for dinner. We waited in the rooftop bar with its stunning view of the sunset lighting up the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. I got chatting with a man who gave that view a run for the money! His name was Rand Carroll and he had a smile as bright as the New Mexico sky. Way too soon, our table was called and we left. I could have kicked myself for saying goodbye, but was in a great mood just for having met him. I was happy the entire next day as we hiked some trails Rand Carroll had suggested. I showered and changed for dinner and applied my makeup with care. We’d been in Santa Fe long enough to know everyone in town walks through the Plaza at night. Unless I had completely imagined the chemistry between us, I figured it was a sure bet that my handsome stranger would be there tonight. I looked around at first and was sad not to see him I guessed I must be reading too much into it. And then - like the parting of the Red Sea - there he was. Standing in the middle of the crowd, smiling at me. Like he’d been waiting to see me for his entire life. He greeted me by name, like we were old friends. And asked if we could join him and his friends for dinner. Nuala had called weeks earlier to book Geronimo, the hottest restaurant in NM at that time. As I lied and said we’d be delighted, Nuala tried to tell him about our plans. I kicked her. So hard she probably still has a bruise. Nuala is a good sport. We ditched our plans and joined Rand Carroll and his friends. They were riding Harley Davidson motorcycles - I had never seen one up close! We hopped on the back and roared off into the night. I still remember Nuala in her pearls, holding on for dear life to some guy with a ponytail (I got to ride with Rand). Rand Carroll and I were married exactly one year later - to the day. Guess who did one of the readings at the ceremony?
About A Dark Love
A Dark Love received a starred review in PW when it was released, made their Top 100 Books of 2009 list and was nominated for a Rita (RS category). It can be purchased in bookstores, at Amazon or Barnes & Noble online
Excerpt from A Dark Love
The cab dropped Caroline in a seedy part of town, one block from the Greyhound bus station. Pippin let out a small whine of protest when she bundled him into the tote and hoisted it onto her shoulder before entering a fast-food restaurant she had visited several times in preparation for this. The lunch crowd hadn’t arrived yet, and the staff behind the counter didn’t even glance up when Caroline entered. She made a beeline for the bathroom.
The place reeked of cigarettes and the musky smell of homeless people, perfect for her purposes. And, thankfully, deserted. With her heart hammering inside her chest, she made for the roomy handicapped stall at the end. Bolting the stall door behind her, she set the tote down. Pippin stuck his nose out, sniffed and yawned before curling into a ball and drifting back to sleep.
She pulled out the scissors and comb, looked in the mirror, took a deep breath and began snipping. Her long brown hair drifted to the floor like dying leaves from a tree in autumn.
Caroline cut in a line around her neck, just above her chin. Pulling the ends straight up in sections over her head, she jabbed straight down in short strokes, the way her hairdresser did. The result was passable, she decided.
She swept the loose hair from the floor and flushed it. Tearing open the dye, she mixed it up in the sink. She knew exactly what to do. She had purchased a box several weeks ago and memorized the instructions before tossing it into a public trash can on the way home.
Porter didn’t approve of women who dyed their hair.
She lined the neck of her tee-shirt with paper towels before donning the clear plastic gloves and applying bleach from the roots all the way through to the ends. She took care not to drip on her shirt.
She needed to wait twenty minutes. Ammonia stung her nose and eyes. Her shoulder and back muscles ached. She had spent the night locked in their bathroom at home, curled on a bath towel on the cold tiled floor. Praying Porter wouldn’t break the door down. Too frightened to sleep. Tempted to unlatch the window and climb out, taking her chances in the narrow airshaft that separated their house from the one next door. But she was afraid the noise would attract Porter’s attention. She had made up her mind. Today would be the day. And now it was happening.
Tears sprang to her eyes as the full impact of her actions hit home. There was no going back. He would kill her if she did. Caroline tried to push the thought from her mind. She didn’t want to lose her nerve.
The door to the ladies room swung open, making her jump. She prayed it wasn’t anybody requiring use of the handicapped stall. But luck was with her. She listened to sounds from another stall as the minutes ticked by, trying not to think.
When twenty minutes had passed, she stood stiffly and rinsed in the sink, blotting her hair as best she could with paper towels. She ran the drugstore comb through her new short locks and surveyed the result.
A stranger gazed back with short blonde hair, a neck that was exposed and eyes that were hollow, haunted. She couldn’t bear the sight. She slipped the oversized sunglasses back on, waiting till her eyes adjusted to the dimness.
She checked her watch for the thousandth time. She was on schedule.
By now, he knew.
The thought sent a jolt of fear sizzling through her like an electric current, robbing her breath and making the stall spin. S
he squeezed her eyes shut and grabbed the cold porcelain sink for support. She took a deep breath, licked her lips and tried to swallow. But her throat refused to close around the ball of solid fear inside her. Because she knew as sure as she stood here that his search had begun.
She opened her eyes and reached with unsteady hands for the People’s tote bag, which now held all of her earthly belongings. She took one last look in the mirror at the frightened stranger.
“Alice Stevens,” she whispered. “Good luck.”
Lyn Cote
The Light that Illuminates
I met my DH at a church singles New Year’s Eve party. He didn’t make much of an impression on that first meeting. But the next time I met him, it was as if a bright light shone all around him. I kept blinking and looking around but the bright light was only around him! I took it as a sign. We were married nine months later and are still together over 35 years later!
About La Belle Christiane
Can the beautiful daughter of a French courtesan find a love that lasts for a lifetime?
In the early 1770’s, Christiane Pelletier, an extraordinarily beautiful young woman, is next in a line of courtesans who have been favorites at the French court during the reigns of two monarchs. Yet she longs to be the beloved wife of one man, not a lovely piece of human art passed from one noble to another. And the winds of change are sweeping Europe.
After her mother’s violent murder, Christiane flees France with her renegade father. In the Canadian wilderness, she survives the shock of leaving a life of wealth and privilege. To escape frontier violence, she moves southward only to become involved in the burgeoning American Revolution. Daughter of a French courtesan to frontier wife to companion of Lady Washington, Christiane moves into the heart of the American rebel elite. But one man in her life can never be forgotten. Once he was her friend. Now he has become her enemy. Will he prove to be her destiny? Only God knows.
How I Met My Husband: The Real-Life Love Stories of 25 Romance Authors Page 5