Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Two Days and Counting
Yesterday's excerpt was the front page blurb and is mid-book. Excerpt two is from the first part of the book. Enjoy!
So much for the avoidance plans. There was nothing to done about it. Bret stepped forward to take the dish from Meg. Unfortunately, he was unable to quit staring, remembering the feel of those berry-colored lips against his. His dreams of her against him lured like a food craving in the middle of the night. He cleared his throat, trying to figure a way to get the Crock-Pot without touching her.
“You don’t need to be such a jerk.”
He pulled the pot from her hands, seeing a storm brewing in her eyes. “What?”
“You know what! If you’re waiting for me to apologize, I won’t.” She dumped her purse on a chair.
“I don’t expect an apology. You were drunk.”
“Shhh!” She glanced around the kitchen, checking both doorways.
He set the dish on the counter and lowered his voice. “Sorry. You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t think I do.” She tossed her coat to a chair with enough force to knock it over. She grabbed it and shoved it against the table.
He stifled a sigh. This was why he had wanted to avoid her. His discomfort level spiked into the red zone. “Alcohol will sometimes make you do things you wouldn’t ordinarily do is all I was trying to say.”
“Really?” She eased closer until she was an arm’s length away, her perfume wrapping around him in a spicy, control-wrecking haze.
“Look, you don’t normally drink. It was a one-time thing. It won’t happen again, right? There’s no need to be embarrassed.”
Her face screwed up with an emotion he couldn’t name. She flushed again, her eyes vivid in their blueness. She stepped closer to him and slammed her mouth against his.
Surprise made him open his mouth, which Meg took advantage of, the little she-devil. Her tongue brushed against his and he was lost. Somehow, one hand slipped to her waist. He pulled her against him. The other found its way into her hair, the blonde locks sifting through his fingers, reminiscent of the satin sheets from his dreams. She tasted of coffee and chocolate – two of his favorite flavors. He moaned or maybe she did, and his control snapped.
He twisted, trapping her between his body and the counter, and besieged her mouth. Tongues and lips dueled for control. He wasn’t sure who won. Her breasts brushed his chest, shooting off an ardent message to his groin. Her hands gripped his butt, pulling his hips against hers, locked in a union that beckoned for completion.
He wasn’t sure how far the insanity would have gone, except the swinging door squeaked only moments before he heard a voice.
“Whatcha doing?” Boo bounced into the room.
He jerked several steps away from Meg who swayed, then righted herself. She cleared her throat and pulled down her shirt. Her hair was tangled and her mouth was red and swollen, giving away that she’d been thoroughly kissed. “Nothing, honey,” she answered the little girl.
Boo studied both their faces. “Looks like what my daddy’s been doing a lot with my mommy.”
Bret clamped his mouth shut, distancing himself from the whole conversation.
“It was a happy to see you kiss, honey. Adults do that all the time.”
He shifted slightly so he could see Boo’s face. It was scrunched up in a frown, her expression debating whether to trust Meg’s answer.
Meg diverted her, God bless her. “I love your hair. Those barrettes make you look so much older.” She plugged in her Crock-Pot, not looking his way.
The distraction worked. The little girl grinned and twirled, showing the front and back of her hair. “I like it too. Thanks Aunt Meg.”
“No problem, sweetheart. Some night you’ll have to come spend the night with me and we’ll do hair and nails all night.”
“Oooh, when can we?” Boo bounced on her toes.
“Why don’t you go ask your mom when a good night would be?” She walked the girl to the swinging door by the dining room and waited until it shut behind her. She sauntered toward him. Even though he was a cop who daily faced down worse situations, he was wary of her intent.
She went past him and to the back door. She turned the knob and glared at him for a moment. “Just so we’re clear. Drunk had nothing to do with it.” Irritation flared in her eyes, her luscious lips firmed.
Bret glanced at the doors, assuring they were alone again. “Are you crazy doing that in this house? Your brothers, your parents, and your grandmother would have put us through the mother of all cross-examinations if they’d caught us.” He’d watched Olivia with Tom’s last girlfriend. No way in hell did he want to be subjected to that kind of thing.
Gee, yeah, I want to have hot, sweaty, bed-wrecking sex with your granddaughter, but hey, no, I don’t want to marry her.
Not the thing to say to Olivia Applegate or any of her family for that matter.
“Would have been worth it.” She slammed out the door, without her coat. He groaned with frustration, sexual and emotional.
The woman would freeze out there. What was she doing? He went out the door and walked the wrap-around porch, watching as she lifted a square pan from the car.
More food. Just what this house needed.
Slipping back inside, he was relieved to see Olivia back in the kitchen. Any buffer was better than none. Man, that woman could kiss.
This was not good. Not good at all.
Labels: The Sweetheart Dance