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I hope you enjoy reading my sexy contemporary romance novels, as much as I enjoy writing them.
My fast-paced stories have realistic characters with hopes, dreams, temptations and impossible dilemmas. I hope these extracts will entice you to read on...
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“I’m leaving tomorrow,” she announced before she’d even sat down.
She’d dressed up. Did she think it would soften the blow? She looked like the bluebell fairy, all floaty skirts and wild purple hair. On anyone else, it could’ve been a thrift store costume. But Mandy was ethereal, sexy as hell yet somehow untouchable. Was she already withdrawing because she was leaving? He picked up a stick and poked around in the bonfire, trying to sound normal when all he wanted to do was beg.
“I haven’t been home all summer. I should go back for a duty visit before uni.”
“We could go together?”
“God, no!” she laughed, tucking the silky skirt beneath her as she kicked off her shoes and sat cross-legged on the grass. “Can you imagine? My dad would have a fit if I turned up with you in tow.”
Odd they’d been so close all summer, yet they’d never once discussed the long connection of their families.
“He never approved of me, did he?” he remembered.
“I can’t imagine your folks would be any more approving.”
“They might. They’ve always wanted me to be happy.”
“You don’t think they’ve been indulging their only son? There’ll come a point when they’ll expect you to grow up and toe the party line. Don’t you want to do something useful with your life?”
“Plenty of time for that,” he insisted. “My priorities are different.”
“You mean all this arty nonsense?” she scoffed, which shocked him.
He’d meant his priority was her. She’d possessed his every waking hour as well as his dreams. He’d believed she felt the same. But something about her closed expression stopped him from saying so.
“It’s not nonsense,” he said, floundering around in the dark. “I know I’m good. I can do something with it.”
“Like what? Painting’s not real life, Joel. It’s a game. You’re chasing rainbows, putting off the moment when you have to face the future.”
“I thought my future would be with you.” He took her hand, desperate to feel the heat of her as his heart was clamped by icy dread, his beautiful dream slipping like sand through his fingers. “Real life seems less of a cage with you there beside me.”
“Nice line. How long have you been practising that one?”
He’d been sincere but he laughed along with the joke. He hardly recognised himself. He’d become so much putty in her hands but he couldn’t bear the thought of being without her…
Grace glared at them. Sam didn’t bother to move his hands. If anything, he pulled the girl harder against him, a defiant glint in his eye. Grace had never seen Sam look like that. He looked hungry. And strangely sexy in his own dishevelled way.
The girl kissed him, her lips deliberate as she kept her eyes on Grace. Grace wanted to slap the smirk from her face but when Sam made no attempt to kiss her back, the girl shrugged and eventually slunk away.
“Why did you tell her you’d been dumped?”
Sam grabbed at the bottle precariously balanced on the fruit machine. “What would you call a dirty weekend with your ex?”
“That’s stupid,” Grace laughed. “Dixie went to his twenty-first party. Big deal. It’ll be your turn next year. Who will you invite from school?”
“That’s easy.” He combed his fingers through his untidy shock of black hair. “I was the school odd-bod, remember? There was only you.”
She remembered, even through the drunken haze of too much vodka and champagne. It had always been the two of them. Until Dixie. And then there were three.
“Here you are, like a mermaid in your sexy see-through top.”
His hand was on her arm, the heat of him, next to her breast, the nipple poking through the thin fabric of her top. It was suddenly hard to breathe.
“Dance with me?”
It was a slow number, barely recognisable over the raucous beat of the party. Sultry, though, throbbing through the wooden floor, up through the soles of her feet to thud against her heart.
“Our song,” he whispered against her hair.
Black Velvet, she recognised it now. Remembered Sam’s crush on Alannah Myles. Felt strangely thrilled that Sam had called it their song. They’d always had each other. And Sam was right here, kissing her for the first time, an intense meeting of lost souls. It had always been their destiny to be together.
Danny was strangely riveted. “What happened next?”
“I can’t blame Sam. I totally seduced him.”
“You’d be pretty hard to resist, twenty years ago. Not like now, with your puffy red face and mascara filling your wrinkles.”
“How can you make me laugh at a time like this?” She fished another tissue out of her bag. “I need to start buying waterproof mascara.”
“Here, let me.”
He licked the tissue and applied it to the streaks on her face. For once, she was too exhausted to care what she looked like as she snuggled into the warmth of his shoulder, staring at the gulls as they wheeled and whooped above the harbour.
“I’m guessing you got pregnant? What did he say?”
“He didn’t know. But now I have to tell him everything because his daughter wants to meet him.” Another tear escaped down her cheek. “Everybody’s going to hate me.”
They’d loved each other all through that one stolen night, right until the first glimmer of watery daylight. Even drunk on vodka and champagne, Grace had never felt more alive. Sam was her soul mate. How had she never known that before?
When she woke up, Sam had gone out. He stayed out for hours and when he came back, he turned on the TV without saying a word.
“I made chilli. Something to do, left here on my own.”
“I already ate, thanks. Hangover munchies, you know how it is?”
She sat on the arm of the sofa, sick with dread. “What’s wrong?”
“You know what’s wrong. Listen, I’m sorry. But please can we not talk about it again?”
Still, he didn’t look at her. He couldn’t be sorry. He must see they were meant to be together. She stroked his arm but he shrugged her off, leaning as far away from her as he could get.
“Look Grace, stuff happens. I’m not sure how I ended up in your bed but the sooner we can forget about it the better. When Dixie comes back, Christ! This would kill her. Don’t even think about telling her.”
“But last night you said she’d dumped you.”
“Well today, I know I was being a tit. I’ve spoken to her. She’ll be back tomorrow, as planned. We’re fine.”
“What about me? Should I just disappear? Everything hunky-dory because you and Dixie are fine?”
The sarcasm bounced off him. He’d reduced their connection to a drunken fumble. A mistake he didn’t want to pick over. Dixie returned to claim Sam’s bed as well as his heart and nobody noticed how distraught Grace was. She’d never been more lonely.
By Christmas she knew she was pregnant.
…Hardly a love affair. Not yet anyway. And hardly likely to become one, when they only had a week. It could be nothing but a passing moment, nothing to do with reality. But how she wanted that one perfect week. And if she was going to behave like a different person, at least she looked the part.
The corset felt like fancy dress, the perfect disguise to hide behind, although it was straining to contain her boobs. But when it got the attention of the overworked barman, she was pleased she’d been brave enough to abandon her everyday clothes.
She was nervous and wanted a vodka but made do with tonic and lime as she’d promised to drive Jake home. She may be sleep deprived but she wasn’t deluded. She knew the evening wasn’t going to end with a peck on the cheek but she’d stopped being shocked by how much she wanted that.
She wondered where he was. Was she meant to hang about until he spotted her? Which wouldn’t be easy in this crowd. It seemed the band had quite a following. Their logo, Morgan Run was daubed like graffiti on the drum kit and a fair number of T-shirts. There was a buzz of anticipation and she hoped they were as good as Jake obviously believed.
As she squeezed her way to the front, the lights dimmed and the cheers tingled up her spine. The first three on stage were a lethal combination of looks and swagger. But when Jake strode out, he nudged them into a different league. His skinny black jeans were sprayed on the muscles of his thighs, his white shirt fastened by a single button at the waist. His cuffs were undone, wafting in the lights as he caressed the saxophone, eyes closed against the glare.
Then he sang solo and a hush fell over the crowd as he stood alone in the spotlight, his gentle voice haunting in the rustling silence. He seemed lost in some rapturous world away from the noise and the drunken adoration. Evie stood transfixed by his mouth and the thought of what it was going to do. He played again, the most poignant saxophone blues she’d ever heard. She wanted him so much she could barely breathe and she ached to reach out and touch him. He opened his eyes and looked into her soul. Then he smiled, just once, before he disappeared.
She felt dizzy and tried to laugh at herself. What was she, sixteen again? It was only a song and he was a performer. He got paid to make people feel like that. But she still wanted him. It was a terrifying cocktail of guilt and excitement.
She made for the ladies’ room. But the corridor was crammed with gorgeous young girls, all tanned in tight little dresses. A sudden commotion and there he was, basking in the attention. Still playing to the audience, he tugged on the ends of a towel he’d slung around his neck. The white shirt was damp, clinging to the honed contours of his chest…