Excerpt 1:
Clarke’s shocked exhalation and
subsequent silence erased the hope that she hadn’t been as bad as she imagined.
She twisted her hands over the chair arms again and didn’t meet his gaze. “I
haven’t been fair to you. Your reputation precedes you, of course. But I’ve let
that color my image of you.” Not to
mention what happened ten years ago. “Apposite is a long shot. Everyone
knows it. The sharks circle in the press, waiting for our collapse. The only
way we have any hope of making this work is by sticking together. You’re…” She
dared a glance Clarke’s way and faltered at the gentle compassion there. She
swallowed. “You’re Kai’s friend. Kai is the fairest, most decent man I’ve ever
met. If he says you’re okay, then that’s good enough for me.”
“Damn it. My reputation. Again. It
follows me everywhere I go. I wish you had reason to think well of me other
than just Kai’s opinion.” His face settled into harsh lines.
“I…” Surely she wasn’t the only one to
back away from him because of what had happened. Her opinion shouldn’t carry
that much weight. “Does it matter?”
He propelled himself off the desk and
moved to crouch in front of her. “What if I said yes?”
His eyes were much too close, filling her
vision with their green depths. She wanted to shout every time she laid eyes on
him. Either that or kiss him.
“Why would my opinion mean anything?”
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and for a
brief, wild moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. Her breath shortened
at the idea of his lips on hers. Her former self would have rejoiced. This
mature version was smarter than that.
Then he reared back and rose. Taking up
his seat behind the desk again, he gave her a hooded glance. “I can’t answer
that. Apology accepted. I’m glad we can work together. I was getting tired of
having to cut the air with a knife.”
“Great. Thanks. Listen, are you hungry?”
When his brows furrowed together at her non sequitur, she continued. “I…cook,
and I tried this pulled pork recipe that was posted online.” Damn, this was
hard. “Following a recipe is easier if I make the whole thing and freeze the
rest, but there’s way too much. Would you like some? I think the dish is pretty
good.”
She waited, wishing she could retract the
impulsively extended invitation. Trying to bury the hatchet was one thing, but
spending time with him was insanity.
“You bake? I didn’t see that coming. Why
did you make the whole batch? With a mind like yours, I’m sure cutting the
recipe in half would have been child’s play.”
“I cook,” she corrected. “I don’t often
bake.” Her inner critic mocked her. Pedant.
She paused but then continued, afraid she would lose the nerve to speak.
“Of course I could split the recipes, but cooking is relaxing for me. I don’t
want to spoil my mood by remembering what half of a tablespoon is, or halving
all the protein, so I make them as written. I’ve got a big freezer.”
The image of the classes at the Culinary
Institute in Pasadena danced in her mind. It would be great to learn how to do
the fancy stuff from the cooking shows, but she had never gotten further than
checking out their website. The most she had ever done was try the videos
online. Cooking was a hobby, that was all. Life didn’t reward the frivolous.
She remembered the time she’d brought cookies to a party at Attraction’s bass
player’s house…Terri shuddered at the memory. Clarke’s reaction had not been
kind.
Excerpt #2
“Why do you have so many lights on?”
Clearly startled by his voice, Terri met
his gaze.
She was wearing reading glasses. Every
fantasy about every teacher he’d ever had surfaced in his mind and between his
legs. Blood pooled heavy in his groin, and he was in danger of losing brain
cells, judging by the savage intensity of his hardening member. He wanted to
kiss her with her glasses on, watching her eyes go myopic as he drew closer.
Turning his body so he was in profile to
her, he crossed one leg over the other, masking the distortion of his trousers.
Her hair was down. His fantasies had
nothing on the reality of the thick, wavy mass. The curls fell into place in
long, sweeping layers along the side of her head and a quarter of the way down
her back.
He didn’t move. He didn’t dare. As he
watched, she snatched off the glasses and tossed them to the desk. In a
continuation of the same movement, she reached for the clip, which was lying on
its side on a stack of magazines similar to the ones she’d given him earlier.
“No.” He swallowed, trying to get some
moisture into his mouth. “Please don’t. Your hair…it’s gorgeous.”
She said nothing but let her hand drop,
leaving the barrette on the desk. Marking a spot on a giant handwritten sheet
she had been inputting into Excel, Terri turned her attention to Clarke.
“I’m interrupting.” He should turn around
and leave and let her work. “What are you doing?”
He watched as her attention went from him
to the spreadsheet and then back again. “Comparisons between the adds our
artists are getting and those of the major labels. We’re peanuts compared to
them, but some of our guys are holding their own. Mostly the ones who are good
at promoting the hell out of themselves online, like Jungle Ready. My guess is
most of those bands will drop us and go out on their own soon.” She reached for
the hair clip again but stopped. Instead she clasped her arms over one another
and leaned back in her chair. He remembered the look of a few moments ago and
marveled that she’d been able to put herself back together so quickly. Or
perhaps he’d been imagining the hurt that momentarily dashed across her face.
Her thumbs were moving across each other
in a nervous gesture partially hidden by her desk. She must think he couldn’t
see them. That gave him the courage to go on.
“Did you need something? I gave you all
the magazines. If there’s something you’re missing, tell me. Or you can go
online…”
With a growl, he moved from his spot
against the door. “I can get my own stuff,” he said in a sharp, staccato tone.
“From now on why don’t you let me get the magazines? Save you a trip. If you
don’t need copies, I’ll just get them for myself.”
Her gaze darted from the door and back to
him. Her irises widened as if she were frightened. He wanted to crowd her and
forced himself to stop at the back of her desk. Her gaze slid past him,
avoiding his eyes.
“That’s not part of your job
description,” she said, a quaver in her tone. Her smooth, pink tongue darted
out and played over the middle of her lips before retreating back inside that
luscious mouth.
Excerpt #3
Terri flipped on the living room light
and then flicked it off again. The light was too stark for the truth. Instead,
she opted for a table lamp she rarely used. Her hands wobbled when she turned
the light on, and she dropped onto the sofa in the hopes sitting down would conceal
the shake in her body. She might have been standing, naked, on a snow-covered
mountain.
“This is no time for games.”
His voice was flat and emotionless. She
had gotten used to his lilt, the pleasure emanating from within when he spoke
to her. This harsh quality was new and unwelcome—and her fault.
“I am not playing games.”
He raked one hand through his hair,
misery etched into the downturned lips and creased brow. Lowering his arms, he
stared at her, and the pain in his eyes made her want to go and hold him.
“I tried all the way here, and I don’t
remember you.” He gestured to the file folder. “You would think I would. Tyris
is an unusual name.” He tossed the dossier onto her coffee table. The damning
folder skittered across, spilling its contents like a dropped purse.
Moonlight glinted off his strong body,
casting shadows throughout the room. He began pacing, back and forth across the
short hallway between her kitchen and dining room, until she wanted to scream
at him to halt.
“An old friend of yours with dark hair
and bright red lips moved to Ontario. Remember who I mean? Did you know that? I
use the term ‘friend’ with sarcasm.”
She jerked upright. That could only be
one person. “Do you mean Lola?”
He nodded. “That sounds right.”
“No. She went to Fullerton, not Ontario.
She…oh…”
She was even more ashamed of herself for
not telling him the truth as soon as they’d become friends. If not then, she
should have told him after they were lovers. She had owed that to a man who
fought his demons and won. She needed to reveal her own shameful past, and
instead she had run from the idea. She had made him believe she was some
perfect person, when she was no better than he was.
“She told me about our past. My little
stalker. God, I feel like an idiot.”
Thanks for having me!
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