Madison Layle's Blog

The biggest surprise was for her…

ISBN:  978-1-60088-906-6

Buy the Book

Cobblestone | Amazon | B&N | Kobo | All Romance eBooks

Excerpt: Scarlett Morris sipped her latte and stared at the cell phone resting on the café table, waiting for Bobby’s morning text. Once in a while she would glance out the window at the high-rise condo across the street, and her tummy would flip with a combination of excitement and trepidation. She was here, in San Francisco, and about to surprise him. The past few days had been busy, and she’d had little time to contemplate the fact he was within reach for the first time in weeks. But now, she was terrified she’d made a huge mistake. Not only was she showing up unannounced, she was here on a holiday. The biggest of holidays. He had plans to spend the day with his friends. He thought she was going to her parents’ house for dinner. What if…? The what ifs were killing her. When they had last been together in New York, they’d professed their love for one another. Bobby had been willing to sell his company and move to Chicago to be with her. But still, even after all that, she had her doubts, her worries. She blamed her ex-husband for her insecurities. He’d been cheating on her right under her nose and she hadn’t known for a full year. What if Bobby had someone else here? What if he was a…a typical guy…and needed someone more than once every couple of months? Rubbing her forehead, she stared at the black screen of her smartphone and prayed she wasn’t wrong about him. Hoped to God he wanted to see her. If he didn’t, if he wasn’t the person she thought he was, the last three days had been a total waste of time. They were probably a waste of time anyway, since no one seemed to be hiring, but the job hunting had been a start. A start to her moving to the West Coast and being with Bobby. If he didn’t prove to be a philandering asshole like her ex. Her phone buzzed, startling her when Bobby’s face popped up on the screen. She touched the message icon to read his text. Bobby: Good morning, my darling. I assume you are on your way to your mom and dad’s. Call me when you get there and let me know you’re safe. Love you! She responded with: Actually, there’s been a change of plans and I’m not going to my parents’ today. She took a last swig of her now tepid coffee, picked up her purse and phone and made her way out the door of the café into the cool, damp air of a San Francisco fall morning. Bobby: What happened? Don’t tell me you had to work today. You have to take Thanksgiving off. Your parents will be so disappointed. Are you at work now? Do you have time to Skype? Sarah’s here and would love to say hello to you. Scarlett’s heart clenched. His daughter was there? Shit! He hadn’t told her his daughter was with him for the holiday. Now what? Damn, damn, damn. This was not the way to meet his kid. At least she knew now that he wasn’t with some other woman. Bobby: Hello? Scarlett: I’m here. Bobby: I’m calling you. Before she could respond, her phone rang. She swallowed hard and touched the screen to accept the call. “Hey.” “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you going to your parents’? Did something happen?” God, she loved his voice, that sexier-than-sin Irish brogue, the deep tenor. “No, nothing bad happened.” Before he could say anything else, she took a deep breath and asked, “Can you see that little coffee shop across the street from the front of your building?” She knew he could. One night they’d been instant messaging on their computers, both from their workplaces, and he’d sent her a screen capture of Google Maps of the front of his building, with a red arrow pointing to his balcony. She was looking at it now. “Um, yes.” He sounded confused. “Do me a favor. Go to your balcony, and look down at the coffee shop, would you?” “Hold on.” She heard him say something, she assumed it was to Sarah, and then the sound of a sliding door opening. There he was, shirtless, phone to his ear, looking down at her. “Scarlett! You’re here?” She held up her hand and waved. “Surprise.” Her stomach clenched. He was on the fifth floor, but even at that distance she was sure she saw a wide grin spread across his face. And then a girl with long blonde hair appeared next to him and waved. Sarah. His twelve-year-old daughter. “Come up. Come up. I’ll call down and tell security to let you in.” The call disconnected and he disappeared inside the apartment. “Hi, Scarlett!” she heard Sarah shout. She waved and smiled. Neither seemed upset she’d dropped by unannounced on a holiday, although maybe dropped by wasn’t the perfect expression since she’d traveled two thousand miles to get here. After crossing the street, she stepped inside the lobby, surprised at how plain it seemed. She’d assumed someone with Bobby’s money, even though he claimed to live in a two-bedroom apartment, would have chosen a higher-class building. “Ms. Morris?” said a man near the elevator. She nodded. “I’m Richard.” He pushed the elevator button and the door opened. “Mr. O’Brian is expecting you.” With a smile, she thanked him and stepped into the elevator. He reached in and hit number five. “Have a happy Thanksgiving, ma’am.” Her stomach flipped again once the door closed and the car began to move. She should have called. Should have let him know she was in town. Should not have done this. He had Sarah for the holiday; he had plans with his friends. What an idiot she was to think surprising him would be a good idea. Okay, she had to admit it to herself. She’d wanted to catch him off guard. She’d rather know he was a rat now than after— The door opened and there he stood, all six feet of him, shirtless, wearing dark blue pajama bottoms and nothing else. Her heart skipped a beat. Then it stopped altogether when he pulled her from the elevator and wrapped her in a tight, warm embrace. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered in her ear just a second before he pulled back and captured her lips in one of those mind-melting, body-sizzling kisses. “Dad!” Bobby pulled back, grinning, touching her face, her hair, looking at her as if he couldn’t believe she was real. “Hi.” “Hi.” Her body hummed with arousal, and he’d managed to take her breath away with just one kiss. “Dad…” Scarlett peered around his shoulder to see Sarah standing in the open doorway with a huge grin on her face. Trying to calm her thudding heart, Scarlett pulled away from Bobby’s arms and smiled at the girl—almost a young woman. “Hi, Sarah,” she said a little nervously. This was not how she’d wanted to meet the girl. They’d Skyped a few times, just briefly on the weekends that she was with Bobby, but other than that they were strangers, and here she was crashing their Thanksgiving. Bobby took Scarlett’s hand and urged her toward Sarah. The girl wore plain blue pajama shorts and a T-shirt. She’d just turned twelve two weeks ago but seemed much older, much more mature. Scarlett had sent her a sterling silver and opal necklace for her birthday. Sarah wore it now, and Scarlett’s heart melted. Tears rushed to her eyes when Sarah threw her arms around her and hugged her. She’d never expected that kind of reception. “This is so cool you’re here,” Sarah said, taking Scarlett’s hand and pulling her into the apartment. “We were just going to go have breakfast and then we’re going over to the church to start preparing food. You’re coming with us, right?” She’d dragged Scarlett into the living room. “I…uh…” “Sweetpea,” Bobby said, a chuckle in his tone. “Let go of the woman.” His daughter turned around with a grin, letting go of Scarlett’s hand. “Sorry. You will, won’t you? Go with us? That’s why you’re here, right?” Finally getting hold of her tongue, Scarlett said, “I’m here to see you and your dad. I’m up for whatever you’ve got going on.” “How long are you staying?” She glanced at Bobby, looking for help. “Sarah, go take your shower. Let her breathe a minute.” Sarah’s grin was huge, her big, blue eyes alight with happiness. That the happiness seemed to be because of Scarlett’s presence confused her. “Be back in a minute.” She turned and practically skipped down a hallway, disappearing through a door. “Hey.” Bobby laid a hand on her arm. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “You didn’t tell me you had Sarah for the holiday. I shouldn’t—” Bobby cut her off with a hard, quick kiss. “Can’t you see how happy she is you’re here?” It didn’t make sense. She didn’t know the girl, was intruding on their father/daughter time. “And me. I’m ecstatic you’re here.” He pulled her into his arms again and kissed her until she moaned and melted against him. “How long are you staying?” he murmured against her lips. There was no mistaking the hard bulge pressed against her belly, even though she still wore her coat. Forever, she thought, but instead said, “My plane leaves Sunday afternoon.” The kisses moved down her neck as he pushed her jacket open and reached under her sweater to touch the bare skin of her back. “That’s not long enough.” The kiss deepened, his hands pressing her against his chest, and only the sound of the shower coming on down the hall kept her from shoving him onto the sofa and having her way with him. It seemed an eternity since they’d touched.

She’s never felt like Cinderella before…

ISBN:  978-1-60088-899-1

Buy the Book

Excerpt:

Scarlett Morris sat down on the new leather couch, and the material made a rude sound as the air poofed out of the cushion. Frowning, she turned and lay down, setting her head on the armrest, and folded her hands over her belly. Wiggling her butt against the slippery leather, she tried to get comfortable.

“I knew it,” she whispered to the empty space of the cathedral ceiling above her. She had let the flirty, good-looking salesman talk her into this stupid sofa, and now she would spend the next ten years hating it—because that was how long the salesman said it would last. Maybe she could return it for a nice soft one that didn’t fart when she sat on it. It hadn’t done that in the store.

Rolling to her side, she reached for the remote sitting on the glass-topped coffee table. That had been a good purchase. She loved the antique look of the black wrought iron design. Unique. Well, not completely unique. It matched the TV stand where her new forty-inch HDTV sat.

It was her first night in her new condo. The view outside the windows was of the Chicago skyline. It was perfect.

Wasn’t it?

Monday morning she could walk to work instead of dealing with trains or paying for parking. She didn’t have a five-bedroom house to wander around in, get lost in. No backyard that needed tending, pampering, weeding, trimming, pruning.

“Oh, my God,” she said as her chin wobbled and she fought the tears stinging her eyes. What had she done? She didn’t even have a plant in her condo! Her rug was beige. Beige! Who wanted a beige rug? She’d never be able to wear shoes in her own house again.

Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself she was only renting. This wasn’t hers. She had a six-month lease, and she could move back to the suburbs as soon as it was up.

But her house was gone. Sold. Not hers any longer. She had never loved that house, but it had been home for the last few years. And she did have a really big pile of cash in a money market account because of the sale of it. She could get another house. A smaller house. One with a small backyard.

In San Francisco.

Her heart clenched at the thought, and she pulled her cell from her jeans pocket and checked the display. Bobby hadn’t texted her today. He usually sent her messages either first thing in the morning when he got up and she was already at work, or in the evening after he got home. But it was only five on the West Coast, on a Saturday night, so he probably wasn’t home yet. He tended to work later on the weekends, saying he liked the quiet of the office when no one else was around. She understood that, having done it often herself.

Since their parting in the airport in Orlando five weeks ago, they’d texted daily and talked on the phone a couple of times a week. The conversation was usually light, discussing their day, or just to say, “Hi, I’m thinking about you,” but every time, it made her heart ache just a little bit more.

It would be much easier being apart if there was a foreseeable end to the separation. There was none. She worked here; he worked there.

She was just about to turn on the television so she’d stop thinking about him when the door buzzer rang, startling her so badly she dropped the remote.

Jumping from the couch, she ran to the door and pushed the intercom button, her heart thudding. Had he been thinking of her? Had he come to see her?

“Hello?” she said, cringing inside at the hope in her voice.

“Scarlett! Let us in. We brought booze.” It was her friend, Kate, and that made Scarlett smile. She pushed the other button on the intercom to unlock the outer door, and then moved to the apartment door, opened it, and stood waiting, staring toward the end of the hallway at the elevators.

Kate and Janice, her two best friends, got off the elevator among laughter and giggles. Both women carried a bottle of tequila and another bottle of margarita mix. Strawberry for Kate, and lime for her and Janice.

“Fancy, fancy!” Kate said, giving her a quick hug then moving into the apartment. “Wow. We can tell who doesn’t have kids, can’t we? White rugs, glass tables.”

“Hi, sweetie,” Janice said, more subdued than Kate as she gave her a hug. “How are you liking the new place?”

“It’s…all right.” She followed Janice into the kitchen where Kate was already in the freezer, digging out ice cubes for the glasses she’d taken out of the cabinet by the sink. The open plan of the small condo was convenient, with everything centralized; kitchen, living room, just enough space for a tiny dining table, all open to everything else. The two doors on the other side of the kitchen led to the bathroom and bedroom. The bedroom was as big as the living room, and Scarlett had fallen in love with it, but the rest of it was just…

“It’s a place to live,” she said, keeping her voice even.

“Look at that rug. And that TV,” Kate said, clinking ice into glasses. “Man, if they were in my house there’d be a stain in five seconds and fingerprints all over the screen within ten.”

“And can you imagine washing the kids’ messes off those windows?” Janice asked.

“Gross.” Kate handed Scarlett a margarita.

“Thanks.” Scarlett sipped. Tasted like way more tequila than mix, but it had been a long time since she’d had anything stronger than wine. “I guess you guys got a pass for the night?”

“We told the boys they had the kids because we were going to go get drunk with our one and only single friend who just bought a condo in the high-rent district.”

Scarlett smiled. “I’m only renting.”

“For now,” Janice said. “If I could live here…” She sighed when Kate handed her a drink. “What I wouldn’t give to have a little place like this all to myself. No kids, no Brad, just quiet and those gorgeous city lights.”

No kids, no Bobby…just city lights and silence.

Scarlett swallowed back the jealousy. These women had husbands and kids to go home to. Love and home. She had white rugs and a new television. She hadn’t thought of any place as home since she moved out of her parents’ house when she left for college. Though she’d tried to think of the house in the suburbs that way, it had never really worked.

“So hey,” Kate said, putting her hand on Scarlett’s back and urging her into the living room. Scarlett sat down on the sofa, that horrible farting noise sounding again, making Kate and Janice giggle like little girls. Kate sat on the other end of the sofa from her, and Janice in the deep recliner. “Tell us about work. How’s everybody there?”

Scarlett proceeded to tell them about everyone they’d once known, and about the new hires she had met or had heard about. The three of them had started at Cappapelli Manufacturing around the same time and had become friends because they hadn’t known anyone else.

Only a year into their employment, Kate got married and immediately quit to start having babies—she’d had five kids in ten years. Her husband was a banker and they didn’t need her income. Janice lasted three years longer. She’d been married when she started at Cappapelli and worked through her first pregnancy, returning after just a six-week maternity leave. But her second pregnancy had been rough, and she’d been on bed rest for a good portion of it. The child was special needs, so the decision had been made that she needed to be at home with the baby.

Even after all these years, the three of them were the best of friends, though Kate and Janice had grown closer, bonding over motherhood, while Scarlett was the outsider. Always invited along, but never really belonging.

Being alone with them, here, tonight, without the children or husbands in tow was a treat they seldom managed any more.

Scarlett took a healthy gulp of her drink and continued talking, telling them a juicy story about a couple of young engineers who were caught having sex at the office. Laughter and even a few tears were shed as they drank and talked well into the night.

The ringing of the phone pulled Scarlett out of a deep sleep. She was on the sofa, her cheek stuck to the leather and her legs entwined with Kate’s, whose head lolled over the opposite arm rest.

Scarlett sat up to find the ringing phone, and her head thudded, the bright daylight coming through the open curtains blinding her.

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered, shoving Kate’s legs off with one hand and grabbing her head with the other. She rolled to her knees onto the floor, and her stomach heaved. “Oh, God…” She dug around in the sofa cushions until her fingers closed over the flat smartphone, and she yanked it to her face, trying to read the Caller ID with hangover blurred eyes.

The asshole.

 

* * * * *

 

“Yeah…” Scarlett’s voice was hoarse.

“Are you all right?” Bobby O’Brian sat up in bed, throwing the covers back as he spoke into the phone. He’d just woken up, having slept late since it was Sunday morning, and called Scarlett before his eyes were even fully open. “You don’t sound so good. Are you sick? I was worried when you didn’t answer my texts last night.” She’d never notanswered in all the weeks they’d been apart.

He heard rustling on the other end of the phone.

“Sweetheart?” He ran his hand through his hair, his heart pinching in distress. “Scarlett. What’s wrong?”

“Oh, God.” The phone clanked as if dropped. And then he heard vomiting.

He cringed at the sound. Poor Scarlett. His poor baby. God, he felt helpless. He should be there with her, holding her hair, putting a cool cloth on her neck.

Pacing beside his bed he waited, listening. A few more heaves, running water, flushing toilet. Finally, more rustling over the phone.

“Scarlett?”

“Yeah.”

“Sweetheart, have you been sick all night? Have you seen a doctor? Is it just a stomach bug?” He sank down onto the edge of the bed. “Aw, man, I wish I was there with you.”

“Well, you’re not.” Her voice was cold, flat.

“No, I’m not.” He rubbed that sore spot in his chest he always got when they talked. He missed her so much it physically hurt. “Are you going to be okay?”

“It’s just a fucking hangover. I’m not dying or anything. Oh, God.” And the phone dropped again. The water running. Flushing toilet.

A small smile curved his lips. She was hung over? He’d never seen her more than just the tiniest bit tipsy. Definitely never drunk enough to throw up. When he thought the phone was back in her hand, he said, “You there?”

“Yeah.”

“Sports drinks and lots of water today, darlin’.” He chuckled. “I hope you learned your lesson.”

His teasing was met with silence.

“Scarlett? You still with me?”

“No. I’m not with you. You’re on the West Coast and I’m here.” There was real bite in her tone, and it made him pause.

“You know I’d rather be with you,” he said, choosing his words carefully. They’d never really discussed their relationship, where it stood or where it was going. In fact, he thought they both avoided it because they disagreed.

“And when you do show up, will it be a quick one-nighter? Or do you expect me to drop everything for a full weekend? I’m not a fucking twenty-five hundred mile booty call, you know.”

“I know tha—”

“Do you? Do you know that? We’ve seen each other twice, and that’s what it’s been. Sex on top of more sex. What good is that? I just sit here waiting for you to call and let me know you’ll be in town? I can’t do it anymore.” A sob tore over the phone, breaking his heart. “I can’t do this. I need… I was better off before I met you.”

“Scarlett—” But the distinctive beep of the call being terminated had him pulling the phone away from his face and looking at the display, at her picture there.

He sucked in a breath and slowly released it. He didn’t like the burn at the back of his eyes or the way his stomach felt hollowed out. Why had he thought she was okay with their long-distance relationship? He’d pushed her into it. The second time they’d parted, she’d wanted to keep it simple, like the first, but he couldn’t do that. He really, really cared about her… Damn it, he loved her! She was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman, in a lover, in a life partner.

He rubbed his fingers over his forehead as he stared at her smiling picture on his phone. A picture he’d taken of her on sitting across from him at a little pub in St. Augustine as they shared a plate of nachos.

He took another deep breath. He had to do something about this. Looking around his condo, he felt lost. He needed her. But his life was here…

A chance meeting…again.

ISBN:  978-1-60088-887-8

Buy the Book

Excerpt:

Bobby O’Brian slid onto the stool at the bar and ordered a Bud Light. Sweat made his dress shirt stick to his back, and he tried to loosen the kinks from his neck by rubbing it, but that didn’t do much good. He’d stuffed his tie into his pants pocket hours ago, giving up the pretense.

He hated Florida. He hated humidity. He hated attending these stupid conferences to drum up more business. He’d normally send his operations manager, but Joe’s wife was about to pop out a baby, so he didn’t want to stray too far from home.

The lounge in the Hilton where he was staying, a short way down the road from the one where the conference was being held, was cool, and slowly his body temperature seemed to slide back toward normal. It was so bad he’d thought about grabbing a cab for the half-mile walk. He, who at home would run five miles every morning, was going to expire from ninety-five degrees and ninety-eight percent humidity. He missed cool, fresh, damp San Francisco, and he’d been gone only a week so far.

Lifting the icy bottle of Bud, he laid it against his neck and sighed. It was late, and he should head to his room, but he’d bet his last dollar the maid turned off the A/C again so it’d be toasty when he got there, and he’d have to wait for the temp to come down.

He yawned before tipping the bottle and taking a long pull from it, the cold drink so good. “Your kitchen still open?” he asked the bartender when he walked by.

The younger guy nodded and pulled a menu from near the cash register behind the bar. “Back page only after ten.”

“Thanks.” Bobby turned to the back page and was just about to order a burger when a tingle went down his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Slowly, he swiveled on the bar stool and looked into the quiet lounge. A few couples occupied tables. Four women sat in a corner booth, laughing in short bursts every so often.

His heart stuttered when he spotted her.

Her dress was long and loose, thin straps exposing slim shoulders, white with some big bold flowers all over it. She wore sandals, and her hair was pulled back.

She’d come in the far door of the lounge and slid into a vacant table against one wall, pulled a laptop from her bag, opened it, and powered it on then reached into the bag and grabbed a legal pad, pens, and a cell phone.

As he watched, she waved away the waitress and bent forward, writing furiously on the legal pad while glancing at the computer screen that lit her beautiful face, lush lips, and reflected off her stylish, wire-rimmed glasses.

God, how he’d missed her.

Scarlett. Sweet, shy, sexy, sinful Scarlett.

It had been five months since he’d spent the most amazing weekend of his life in bed with the woman. When they’d parted, they agreed it had just been a short interlude; they both had their own lives. But he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. The way she moaned his name when she was about to come. The way she could blush so prettily then boldly suck his cock. But mostly, the way she made him feel like the most important person in the world…for the short time they’d been together.

Maybe it was their history, the fact that she’d had a serious crush on him when they were in college. Or maybe it was because she was a woman who wanted him only for his body, not his bank account. She’d wanted him when he was a poor guy on scholarship to the University of Minnesota. She’d wanted him before he was “somebody,” and that made him feel…

It made him feel.

His life since his divorce a decade earlier had been a swinging door of beautiful California women. Cold, calculating bombshells who’d cared about what he could buy them rather than what he could give of himself. He’d come to think of that as normal, especially after his wife had cheated on him. But Scarlet had been so different. She was the one who decided their lives were too different and that the weekend they’d shared together was all there would be. It hadn’t been him giving the talk to a woman who thought because he fucked her he was going to give her diamonds and pearls.

Letting Scarlett walk off into that bright, damp, post-snowstorm afternoon had nearly killed him. He’d wondered if he’d ever find anyone like her, someone he might be able to love-to open his heart and give it to. So he’d gone home from Chicago and drowned himself in work, barely coming up for a breath so he was too tired to remember their weekend together. Too exhausted to wake up sweating and hard, needing her soft, sweet body.

And then she walks into the lounge in his hotel in Orlando, Florida, when neither of them lived anywhere near this Godforsaken place. If it wasn’t Fate, what was it?

“Did you want something from the kitchen?” the bartender asked.

Bobby shook his head, not turning around. “No, thanks.” And then, holding his half-empty beer bottle, he got up and slowly made his way across the lounge, to the woman of his dreams, his fantasies, his heart.

He slid into the seat opposite her and just stared. She was so concentrated on whatever she worked on she didn’t even notice him there. Her bottom lip was tucked between her teeth, her eyes flitting back and forth across the screen as she madly scrawled on the legal pad. The other thing in her hand wasn’t a cell phone as he’d thought, but a calculator.

“Hello, Scarlett,” he said softly, intentionally strengthening his Irish brogue she’d loved.

Her head popped up, her big, dark eyes wide behind her glasses. She sucked in a breath and promptly choked.

A meeting brings them together, but a snowstorm keeps them that way.

ISBN: 978-1-60088-887-8

Buy the eBook 

Excerpt:

Scarlett Morris slid into the only empty seat in the packed boardroom and fumbled with her leather satchel to extract a legal pad and her favorite pen, which seemed to have fallen to the very bottom. She couldn’t find the damn thing.

Her head throbbed, and she prayed if she kept her head down none of her co-workers would notice her reddened eyes and Rudolph nose. She wasn’t a crier, and now she remembered why. She wasn’t one of those cute women who had a single tear daintily drip from one eye. Nope. She was a snotty, blubbery, sobbing, puffy-eyed mess when she cried. And she’d spent a good part of the morning in tears.

Fuck him. Fuck him ten ways to Sunday, the fuck face. She hoped his plane crashed or he had a heart attack while screwing that bimbo flight attendant.

Gritting her teeth, she scrabbled around in her bag until she got hold of the pen and pulled it out with a little too much triumph. Swallowing hard, she set her bag on the floor and poised her pen over the paper.

She should have called in sick. It wasn’t as if this was an important meeting. She was the VP of Manufacturing. This was a marketing meeting, which had little to do with her. She was only here because she needed to fill in for her boss. He was on spring break with his kids, enjoying some warm weather in Mexico, while she stayed here and froze her butt off. Spring, my ass.

Scarlett glanced up and around the table, hoping her bangs covered enough of her face so that no one noticed it was a blotchy mess. Not one person glanced her way; they had fallen silent and stared toward the front of the room. She turned her head to see what they looked at, and her breath lodged hard in her chest. She gasped, and then she choked.

Dropping her pen and covering her mouth, she squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to stifle the coughs.

Dear Lord, if you care about me at all, let the floor open up and swallow me whole.

The VP Finance, seated next to her, slapped her on the back a couple of times, making her fall forward and her eyes widen in pain. The woman on the other side of her, someone she’d never seen before, held out a bottle of water.

She grabbed the bottle, twisted the lid, and tipped it into her mouth, dribbling the liquid down her chin and onto the front of her blouse.

Really?

“Sorry,” she croaked to no one in particular.

Of course, when she looked up, all eyes in the room were on her, including the gorgeous, dark, bedroom eyes of the man who had been her fantasy all through college—and beyond.

“Are you all right now, Ms…?”

Damn. It was definitely him. There was no mistaking that deep voice with the tiniest hint of Irish brogue to it.

“Scarlett. Morris. Yes. Thank you. Sorry.” She took another drink from the life-saving bottle of water.

His smile was the same as it had been eighteen years ago. Sweet, sexy, endearing. Only now he had a neatly trimmed black mustache and goatee that added a hint of the devil. His boyish, pumped-up, football playing good looks were gone, and now he was…

He was still muscular, solid biceps and shoulders evident under his light blue button-down. He’d removed his suit jacket and it hung over the back of his chair. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing lovely forearms with the perfect smattering of dark hair, but his tie was firmly in place. He looked comfortable. Confident. In charge. And just as mouth-wateringly yummy as he had eighteen years ago. Maturity had certainly worked in his favor.

“Well, now,” he said, tipping his head ever so slightly in her direction and giving her another little smile, “as I was saying…”

She didn’t hear a word. Rather, she didn’t hear the sensual, sexy sound of his voice form actual sentences. She’d dreamed of this man. For many years she’d used him to fulfill her late-night, lonely fantasies. They had graduated college together, and for the four years prior to that at University of Minnesota, she’d been not much better than a stalker.

She’d known his class schedule, when and where he usually ate lunch. His football schedule. She attended every game just for a glimpse of him, all sweaty and playing hard, even though she found sports boring.

She’d been a shy bookworm who maintained a ninety-eight percent grade point average. She didn’t go to parties, and she sure didn’t date. But there’d always been something about this one guy that made her crazy. Mostly, she’d just wanted to get through school and get out into the world where things would be different, where the bookworm would turn into a butterfly.

Turned out she’d pretty much remained the shy, nerdy girl. She had a great job but, as of this morning, she also had the official divorce decree from the court, ending her three year marriage.

Irreconcilable differences. Uncontested, of course, because even a brainy bookworm wasn’t dumb enough to stay where she wasn’t wanted. She got the car and the house. He got the busty blonde he’d been screwing for at least a year.

Worst of all? Scarlett had been completely and totally clueless about the fact that their marriage wasn’t perfect.

She jerked her mind away from Fuck Face and back to Robert O’Brian. Black hair, midnight blue eyes, killer smile. The ultimate tall, dark and handsome with the sexiest accent she’d ever heard. He’d also screwed his way through the entire cheerleading squad in his four years at U of M.

Scarlett had often wondered if that made him better in bed. Practice makes perfect, right? Fuck Face had blamed her for being cold, but maybe if he’d had as much practice as Robert, he could have warmed her up. She hadn’t been a virgin when she got with FF, but she’d been close. He had no patience. She thought it would get better the longer they were together. It hadn’t.

She’d resigned herself to living with it because she really did love him, cared about him, wanted to make him happy, rushing home at the end of each day to make sure he had a hot meal when he got home…whenever he got home.

But he’d sought out another woman instead of trying to make it work.

Scarlett bit her lip and watched Robert’s mouth move as he spoke. She was sure, if she were with someone like Robert, who so clearly knew what to do with a woman, she wouldn’t be cold. Or bored. That was what she’d been with FF. Bored. In the few years they were together, the sex had been monotonous. And when they were together, when they happened to have coinciding days off work, he watched sports and she read a book. She was pretty sure FF had never picked up anything more mind-stimulating than the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition.

“…and that is why I hope you consider O’Brian Logistics as your leading partner in overseas distribution.” Robert’s confident smile made her tingle, especially since he was looking right at her when he flashed those gorgeously straight and ever-so-pearly whites.

Scarlett smiled and nodded, desperately ignoring the flutters in her tummy.

The CEO of Cappapelli Manufacturing, the company where Scarlett had worked for more years than she liked to consider, said, “Thank you, Mr. O’Brian. You have given me and my crew something to think about. Peter, do you have any questions?”

She stopped listening again. She was an engineer and didn’t care how her products got to where they were going. Transportation or logistics weren’t her problems. Her position put her in the middle, between the designers and builders of the fiddly little products Cappapelli sold. Their goods were used in almost every country around the world. Tiny items hidden in the mechanics of everything from cell phones to pencil sharpeners. How they got there? She had better things to do than sit in a meeting dealing with that part of the business.

Robert sat down and leaned back in his chair. What an alpha, what confidence. What a hunk. He had a slight smile on his lips as he listened to the conversations around the table, but those amazingly deep blue eyes were all business.

Photo by Antonio Litterio via Wikimedia Commons

“You fail only if you stop writing.” – Ray Bradbury

The truth is, I didn’t write anything last year. I was so stressed out with my health issues and struggling to lose a significant amount of weight so the surgeon would do my heart surgery that I just couldn’t sit down and write. I was dealing with depression and pretty serious anxiety on top of feeling like crap all the time because I wasn’t sleeping and couldn’t breathe.

After my October surgery, I spent the rest of the year healing and getting used to a whole new way of life. That is when I started experimenting with new cooking techniques and cuisines and became my half of the contributions to WritingAndEating.com, but now it’s time to get back to work!

This year has gotten off to a very good start. I’ve completed a novella, one of four that Kate and I are writing for a lovely little anthology set in the Okanagan. And just the other day I turned in my first completed manuscript to my publisher. The first one in over 15 months! Story #2 in that series is well on its way to getting written too.

It feels so great to be writing again, and to be in the frame of mind that my creativity is flowing, and the voices are returning. Yes, as a writer, I have voices in my head, but don’t worry, they don’t tell me to do things. They mostly bicker and do naughty things to each other. *grin

So what is my form of writing and eating when it’s more writing than eating? I’ll start with Writing At Home.

On a perfect day (which almost never happens), I sit down at the computer around 8am after getting up, taking a shower, and making my first cup of coffee. I spend about an hour fulfilling my Editorial Director duties at Cobblestone Press, another half to one hour with personal emails and Facebooking, including a couple of games, and then I make my breakfast. I always have the morning news on TV while I’m doing this first part of the day. I can’t stand not knowing what’s going on in the world. Once I’m fed and the news is over, I shut off all the noise and outside distractions and write until lunch. Stop and have lunch, usually sitting at my desk back on Facebook and on the TV I’m watching one of my DVR’d shows that my family doesn’t watch with me. Then after lunch I put in a couple more hours of writing until it’s time to start dealing with what’s for dinner. As I said, this almost never, ever happens. This is the perfect day when I’m the only person in my house. Usually, my mornings are similar to what I stated; shower, coffee, news, Cobblestone work. It’s what happens after breakfast that is up in the air because…

First and foremost, I have to have the dishes done. If the words aren’t flowing, I get too distracted too easily and I’ll go clean the kitchen instead of writing. I’m not a clean freak. In fact, I’m a pretty terrible housekeeper, but the kitchen is my space that my family isn’t allowed in much, and I tend to take better care of it than anywhere else in our little apartment.

After a clean kitchen, pretty much all I need is my coffee, which is always fast to make with my Keurig. I have a variety of flavored coffees – Irish cream, coconut, chocolate/macadamia, and vanilla – I rotate through while I work, though I have to stop drinking at 4pm because I can’t sleep if I have any caffeine after that time. I have about a cup an hour when I write. I used to smoke, and always took a break every 45 minutes to go outside when I was writing, so now it’s coffee not cigarettes (I’m 3.5 years nicotine free).

The other thing I must have when writing at home is silence. No family around anywhere, and that isn’t always easy. In fact, it rarely is. My husband does shift work, so I have no idea from one week to the next when he’ll be home, sitting at his desk that faces mine, playing computer games. He even got a tablet for Christmas, and the man insists on playing his video games with the sound on. I’ve chased him to the bedroom more than once! And I would like to know the science behind the fact that I can sit at my computer and Facebook, play solitaire or Candy Crush for an hour or more, and he’ll not say one word to me. The second I open a file to write, there’s some very important (at least in his mind) conversation we must have.

Then there’s my teenaged daughter. She recently got a job that is right across the street from our house, so there’s no telling when she’s popping in and out, after school, going to work, coming home early… It’s rather distracting.

Life was so much easier when hubby worked days, and kiddo was in school, so I had six solid hours a day to work, and all I had to do was make sure I made dinner. Even that got left undone at times because if I had six hours to write, sometimes I got so into it, I lost track of time. That hasn’t happened to me in a very long time.

Oh, I have what is now a funny story. At the time I felt like the worst mother in the world, now I know that this stuff happens, and she has something to tell her therapist about.

I was right in the middle of writing a full-length novel, and I was really into it, the words flowing like sweet honey. It was awesome. My kiddo comes home from school, and I sent her into my bedroom to watch TV. I just couldn’t stop. At the time, my husband was working days but had a long commute to get home, and putting in a lot of overtime. Some nights he didn’t get home until after 9pm.

My daughter comes out of the bedroom and asks for dinner. I look at the clock and it’s only five. I tell her another hour. She was in first or second grade, and had learned to tell time.

She comes out later and asks for dinner, and I think I said, “Just a minute,” and kept typing.

A lot later, she comes out and says in a very aggravated tone. “Mom, can I have dinner? I have to go to bed in ten minutes!”

Holy crap! I’d starved my kid until 8:20pm because I couldn’t stop writing! I fed her something unhealthy, I’m sure, to make up for ignoring her, and after that I was a little more prepared to have food done at 6:00 like a normal person.

Yes, I love my family, but they should have to follow a schedule! ha ha

All of that leads to my next post in a couple of weeks: Writing Out.

This was originally posted by Anna Leigh Keaton at: WritingAndEating.com

I’m baaaack!

I’ve completed, turned in, and signed a contract for the first in the A Dirty Little Affair to Remember series with Cobblestone Press, my first book since my heart surgery!

I will keep updating as I get a release date and cover art.

Thank you everyone for sticking with me!

A holiday romance anthology presented by Fast Foreword, an imprint of Foreword Literary

ASIN: B00GLEY2OY

Buy the eBook from

Amazon

 

The story, Christmas Spice by Anna Leigh Keaton, contained in this anthology is available for free on this site under Free Reads in the 12th Night anthology.

This anthology contains these stories:

Christmas Spice by Anna Leigh Keaton
Homecoming by D.R. Slaten
A Not So Lonely Christmas by Jody Holford
Naughty or Nice by Amanda Bouchet
Put a Bow On It by Zrinka Jelic
The Silent Stars Go By by Peggy Barnett
The Messenger by Kim Kasch
Office Santa by E. Rieder
Kinky Bells by Sidney Bristol
Snow and Love by Callie Russell
Secret Santa by Kyra Mason
Counting by Numbers by Leslie Wright
Christmas Sex Magic by Philippa Ballantine
The Murder King’s Christmas by Jamie Leigh Hansen
Second Chance by J.A. Pope
Guardian Angel by Laura Kreitzer
No. 18 by Morgan Carey
And we have a dino porn parody to put at the end for the lols
Ruined by the Reindeersaurus Rex by Arthur A. Author

Separated by war, she's awaited the return of her lover and mate...until now.

ISBN: TBD

Buy the eBook | Buy the Kindle version

Excerpt

The night club was packed for All Hallows’ Eve with many partygoers in costumes, which made those that needed no such embellishments fit right in…not that blending in meant much anymore. Since the Day of Enlightenment, there was little point in hiding true identities nowadays.

Desireé had chosen to go costumed as a human, which meant she wore what she normally did: a hoodie plus a simple top with jeans and flats. Nothing dressy or special. She was in no mood to attract attention from anyone other than Logan, who was an apparent no-show…again.

Plenty of other supernaturals were in attendance. She was certain she’d spotted at least two real vampires, three nymphs, a quintet of witches, and even a leprechaun. The latter was not short or redheaded, nor attired in all green, but his thick brogue was a dead giveaway…along with an affinity for spinning a gold coin between dexterous fingers. Surprisingly, she’d identified no shifters yet, at least not that she could tell, but then shifters had ways of easily blending into the human populace. After all, they were human part of the time.

One glance at the clock on her cell phone told hermidnightwas only moments away. The witching hour some might say. “The moment of truth,” she murmured.

Would he appear at long last? Was he still alive? Would he even recognize her after all these years? Of course he would. They were mates. They would know each other anywhere. He could find her easily, or he should be able to, unless of course her presence amid the masses diluted her scent. A pang of anxiety in her gut testified to her inner battle. Hope dwindling, she frowned. If he doesn’t show, it’s for the best, she told herself. Liar, she admitted seconds later.

He’d vowed to come for her when the moon was full—a vow sealed with a bite. She hadn’t fully understood the meaning behind the mark he’d left on her back then, but she did now. If he didn’t return, he’d sealed her doom, and she tried to hate him for that.

There had been many full moons since they’d last been together, too many, and he hadn’t appeared once in five long years. She prayed tonight would be different.

Surely a full moon on All Hallows’ Eve would be even more special, more sacred to him.

With one hand she cradled her wine glass, sipping from it as her other palm drifted over the faint scar left by his teeth years earlier. A tingle of arousal swept through her at the lightest stroke of her fingers across the scar. Flashes of the steamy, decadent moments preceding his bite teased her mind and heightened her arousal, so much so she squirmed a little on the barstool.

Readers and friends,

I want to say thank you for the wonderful support you’ve given me simply by buying, reading and enjoying my work. The emails I receive when one of my stories touch your heart or excite you are the things that keep me going.

This has been a tough year for me, and I haven’t been as prolific with the books as I normally am, but I’m hoping that in the new year, I will be back on top of my game.

I thought about keeping this to myself, and just dealing with it, but I feel I owe you a reason you haven’t been able to find any new Anna Leigh Keaton releases for a long time.

About 10 years ago I was diagnosed with an ASD (Atrial Septal Defect) in my heart. Simply put, I have a hole in the wall between the right and left side of my heart. I put off surgery for a long time because first I was just getting my writing career off the ground, and then because my cardiologist said there’d been no change in 5 years, so maybe it didn’t actually need to be fixed. I’d undergone a procedure in ’05 where they tried to close it using a catheter, but that failed to work, so the only course of action after that was open-heart surgery. Well, when the cardiologist even hinted that maybe it wasn’t necessary, that’s what I went with.

A couple of years ago I started becoming symptomatic. Shortness of breath and extreme high blood pressure whenever I exerted myself. I was sent to a surgeon who said it had to be fixed, ASAP, but, I had to lose 65lbs before he’d cut me open. I’m overweight, I’m diabetic, and he wasn’t going to take the chance of something going seriously wrong. That was almost 3 years ago.

Long story short, I lost half the weight and then seriously tore up my shoulder, so I could no longer work out with weights. Because of the breathing issue, the only exercise I could do for 2 years was walking, on flat ground, and not fast. December of last year, in a last-ditch effort, I went on the Ideal Protein diet plan and was able to get the rest of the weight off needed for the surgery.

I am scheduled to go under the knife October 4th. I have one of the best surgeons in western Canada, and everything should go well.

I have spent the last year concentrating on my health, and dealing with the anxiety of willingly getting my chest cavity cracked open. Therefore, my creativity has fallen to the wayside and my muse went on a nice long vacation somewhere warm and quiet. I have a call into her and should be hearing from her soon.

Thank you again for being so wonderful to me as a writer. You are the reason I do what I do, and I feel a little guilty I’ve failed to fulfill what you expect from me.

I promise that 2014 will be a fresh start for me, and I hope you will hang in there with me for just a few more months.

From my heart,

Leanne aka Anna Leigh

To save her marriage, she must learn to let go...

ISBN: 9781419945830

Buy the eBook from
Ellora’s Cave

Excerpt:

Kerri Anne Shields stepped through the door and pressed her back against the wall, trying to blend into the darkened shadows. Music, not too loud but with a beat that reverberated in her chest, surrounded her.

What am I doing?

The question, or a variation of it, had repeated itself continually in her mind since she’d slipped on the silk top and skin-tight, thigh-hugging leather skirt earlier.

The dim lighting of the club wasn’t low enough, she thought as she scanned the tables and lounge areas. It was a massive room with a polished bar at one end long enough to seat twenty, bottles of expensive liquor sparkling in the glow from the recessed lighting overhead.

The small round tables, fanning out from a darkened stage, were nearly full. There were men sitting with men, women with women, couples, and some tables with three or four in every state of dress from casual denim to leather to…Kerri gulped. Nothing. There were women sitting at those tables, some on chairs, some perched on men’s laps, others on their knees next to the chairs, completely naked except for collars around their necks. Some were attached to leash-like things that their… Oh dear God, what am I doing here?

Owners. Masters.

She dabbed her fingers over her perspiring top lip. She wasn’t sure she could do this. Sensory overload. Tension and lust filled the air, and she fought against their grasping, invisible fingers.

Her gaze shifted to the lounges, set up a few steps higher than the tables against the long wall. These rounded booths were surrounded on three sides by high backs, which kept them private from the other booths. But from her vantage point, she could see into each one of them. Some were totally dark, others had flickering candles on the tables. All had people in them. The place was packed.

What she tried not to see, not to stare at, were the couples engaged in sexual contact. But how could she ignore such a thing when she was surrounded by it? When the curiosity nearly consumed her? These people were doing in public things she refused to do in the privacy of her own bedroom.

In one booth, a woman was beneath the table, her head bobbing up and down, the man’s eyes half closed in obvious ecstasy. At a table not ten feet from where she stood, two men kissed, deep and with tongues while one of them fondled the other’s exposed penis. And at yet another table, a woman on the floor on her knees touched herself intimately while the man seated next to her watched and tugged at his erection.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Her heart thudded too hard. Her mouth was dry. Her body tingled every time she let her gaze wander to a new scene.

Kerri eased sideways toward the exit. She needed to leave before she lost the tight hold she had on herself.

“Hey, baby.”

She stifled a yelp as Malcolm stepped out of the shadows.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to show.” He moved close to her, cupped her cheek in one big hand and lightly pressed his lips to hers.

That one little touch made her shiver as visions of what went on around them clouded her mind.

When he pulled back, she searched his dark eyes. Did he really want to have sex with her in public? In front of an audience? Surely she wasn’t the only one who stared so openly.

The strange thing was, the thought didn’t disgust her. In fact, looking into Malcolm’s eyes, taking in his dark Italian complexion, she felt a tiny wave of need she tried so desperately to quash.

Kerri raised her hand and touched his chest, the silk of his shirt, smooth and warm beneath her fingers. He was the epitome of walking lust, dressed all in black. With his dark hair, dark eyes and the build of an athlete, he was an imposing figure. But she’d been with him long enough to know he was as soft as a marshmallow on the inside.

She licked her lips with a quick flick of her tongue. If he was such a marshmallow, why here and why now? The Devil’s Den wasn’t a place for a tender, gentle man. She hadn’t known the place existed a month ago. Not until Malcolm told her about it and asked her to read a couple books he’d bought for her.

Books about submission and dominance. Bondage and discipline.

The lights dimmed even more, and a spotlight flicked on, illuminating the stage, drawing Kerri’s attention.

In the center of the stage, a woman stood, naked, attached to some kind of X-shaped contraption that kept her arms and legs spread wide.

“That’s called a Saint Andrew’s Cross,” Malcolm whispered.

His warm breath on her ear made her shiver and fist her hands to keep from touching him.

She’d read about things like the St. Andrew’s Cross. It was less elaborate than she expected. “What’s going to happen to her?”

“Watch.”

From the right entered a man dressed in all black leather—vest, pants and a hood that covered everything but his eyes and mouth.

Kerri’s gut clenched, and she looked away. The figure was scary, but that wasn’t why she couldn’t watch. Kerri’s self-control was slipping, and she couldn’t let that happen. She was strong. She needed to fight the urges.

Malcolm’s gentle hand lifted her chin and turned her face toward the stage. “Watch.” His voice was firm yet soft, and she glanced up into his eyes once again.

“I want you to watch and tell me if what you see makes you wet.”

Her breath caught for an instant because her nipples tightened at his words. Who was this man? Malcolm didn’t talk to her like that.

He turned her head again so she looked at the stage. The hooded man held a riding crop, and he was teasing it over the woman’s breasts, flicking the little leather piece across her nipples.

Malcolm wrapped his arm around Kerri’s waist, his big, warm body along her side, his hand settled proprietarily at her hip. The position was common enough in their relationship, but right now, it felt different. Very possessive. Very sexual.

Those books she’d read talked about the give and take, push and pull of a discipline-submission relationship. All very technical. Scientific.

Logical.

The fact that her tummy quivered as she watched that horribly masked man fondle the woman’s breasts with a hard piece of leather was definitely not discussed in those books.

The shot of excitement at seeing a naked woman spread out like that was new and a little terrifying. Kerri was one hundred percent heterosexual, but that woman, with her big breasts, small waist and flared hips, was beautiful. Tantalizing to look at. The expression of rapture on her face as the man slowly lowered the tip of the riding crop, over her belly, to the neatly trimmed thatch of pubic hair, made Kerri yearn to let go and let herself experience all she tried so hard to avoid.

Did she, herself, want to be bound naked and watched by several dozen people?

Kerri bit her tongue and gave her head a small shake.

No, she was sure she did not. That was not who she was. This was not who she was. She was not leather and silk. She wasn’t a woman to submit to anyone, especially her husband. She’d worked too hard to maintain her independence, to never let her sexual needs dictate how she functioned.

When the woman’s soft moan carried to her across the room, Kerri’s core clenched, and she had to look away.

Tears stung her eyes and she tried to blink them back. She could not battle the urges when surrounded by so much brazen sexual conduct.

“Shh,” Malcolm whispered in her ear. “It’s okay.”

He didn’t try to make her look at the naked woman again. Instead, he stepped in front of her and laid his warm, soft lips against her temple.

“You’re not ready for this. Let’s go home, baby.”

Her heart ached; disappointment in herself weighed her down, but she nodded and turned for the door.

Malcolm needed more than she gave him. But to give him everything would ruin her. He was unsatisfied and it broke her to know it was she who kept him from being happy.

She was weak and it shamed her. She should be strong enough that she could watch such sexual congress without so much need building within her.

Malcolm held the door for her, and she stepped out into the night, sucking in the damp chill of early fall into her lungs. Malcolm slipped his hand into hers, and they walked to her car, where he held the door for her and she got behind the wheel.

Finally, Kerri looked up at him. “I’m sorry, Mal. I…”

He kissed her to silence her. “I’ll follow you home.” He kissed her again and then shut her door, smiled at her through the window and winked. He wasn’t upset with her.

He never got upset with her.