by J. L. Beck
Owen was panting next to her ear when she felt him nip her lobe. A small thrill of pain shot through her, making her wriggle on her impromptu seat on his cock. “If you apologize once more, I’ll seriously consider spanking you.”
Smiling, she dropped her head to rest somewhere around his throat. “Is that a promise?” Liv hoped it was. She was very ready to be naughty around him and didn’t expect to stop anytime soon.
12
Owen held Liv close as she rested her forehead against his chest. He softened and slid out of her, but didn’t want to break the contact between them.
“One of these days, we’re going to have to try this in a bedroom.” He rested his chin on the top of her head.
“Making plans for the future already?” Teasing filled her words.
“I am. I’m presumptuous like that.”
She nudged him back enough to look him in the eye. “Does that mean we’re okay?”
That was a tricky question. “We’re closer than we were when I got here. I adore you.” The confession slipped out without his permission, but he was glad to have it out there. “Spending time with you, whether it’s chatting over Chinese take-out, dancing, or fucking. I want you in my life.”
“Yeah?” Her smile was hesitant.
“Yeah. It’s going to take a little time for us to find that new line of trust. You should know that up front. But I want to get there.”
“I’d love that. I promise it’ll be worth your time.”
“You’re worth my time,” he corrected her.
She leaned against him again. “What are you going to tell Gabe?” Her words were muffled by his chest, and her warm breath teased his bare skin.
“I have his blessing, as long as I treat you right.”
“I’m not worried about that,” Liv said. “I’ll probably say this several more times before I know you believe me—I’m sorry. I never should have lied to you. I’m glad we’re closer, but that doesn’t justify the dishonesty. Still, I’m falling for you, Owen Griffin.”
It was funny how her words so closely echoed his sleepless thoughts from the night before. “I could see myself loving you for a long time.”
Someone pounded on the bathroom door, and they both jumped. Liv giggled softly.
“Are you going to be in there all day?” Someone shouted.
“Give me a minute,” Owen called back. He kissed Liv on the forehead and stepped away, trying and failing to ignore the reluctance at the sudden absence. “Say your goodbyes to your family and join me in my car?” he whispered.
She nodded.
He watched her dress, smirking at the way her flush deepened every time she met his gaze. Gorgeous. He was lucky. So very fortunate to have her. He was looking forward to seeing what the future held for them. Together.
Six months later
Owen parked his truck in front of a plot of land covered with rocks and scrub brush. Liv sat next to him, blindfolded.
She tilted her head to the side when he shut off the engine. “I feel like you’re taking me to your secret underground lair,” she teased. “Did I need to be blindfolded for the entire thirty-minute drive?”
“You wore it a lot longer last night and didn’t complain.”
She blushed. “Touché.”
He loved that he could still do that to her. “You can take it off soon, I promise.” He hopped from the vehicle.
Their relationship over the last several months had been amazing. He didn’t question her sincerity or honesty anymore. The deception about her identity was long behind them, and looking back he could smile at where it landed them, in each other’s arms, after it was all done. And every day they spent together, he loved her more.
Hanover hadn’t been happy to find out one of his site foremen was dating one of his managers, and ended Owen’s temp contract. But Hanover did like his work, and had helped him move into the subcontracting. Owen handled a lot of contracts for Hanover Homes, as long as he worked with someone besides Liv as a contact.
He reached the passenger side of his truck, and opened her door. Hands on her hips, he lifted her to the ground.
She laughed and covered his hands with hers. “I can do that myself.”
“I know, but I like helping.” He kissed her.
She giggled and leaned into his touch. When he drew his tongue along her bottom lip, she groaned.
He forced himself to step away. If he kept that up, he’d be stripping her down in the bed of the truck, and he had things to accomplish before he got that kind of distracted. “You ready?” he asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be. You’re making me nervous.”
He pulled off the blindfold and gestured to the land. “Ta-da!”
“It’s a bunch of dirt and rocks.”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s my dirt and rocks. I closed on the property yesterday. The house I keep talking about? I’m going to build it here.”
A grin replaced her confusion. “That’s fantastic. Congratulations. What kind of floorplan are you going with?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” A whisper of nervousness surged inside. They hadn’t talked about any of this. What if she wasn’t interested? Looking her in the eye, adoration stared back, and his confidence returned. He grabbed a shovel from the back of the truck. “I have to ask you something before I make any decisions like that.”
“Oh?”
“I’d like you to help. Picking out blueprints. Flooring. Cabinets. Bathroom fixtures. All of it.”
She shrugged. “Sure.”
“Because I want you to live here with me when it’s done. I don’t like sending you home at the end of the night, and I want a place that’s ours. Not mine, or yours, but belongs to both of us.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Are you asking me… Really?”
He kissed her again. “I love you, Liv. So very much. I want you involved in every part of my life, and I want us to live together.”
“I love you too.” She threw her arms around his neck.
“Is that a yes?”
She nodded. “Yes. Absolutely, yes. I’d love to build this place as ours.”
He handed her the shovel. “Do you want to break ground?”
She took the tool from him and strolled several yards onto the property.
“Hold it there,” he called, and grabbed his phone. “I want to take pictures.” He swiped the screen and aimed at her. “Okay, go.”
As she dug into the dirt, and he snapped photos, he couldn’t help thinking how perfect this was. He’d never been happier than he was with Liv, and he was looking forward to spending the rest of his life with this amazing woman.
The End
If you’d like to see more spicy-sweet, small mountain town romance, check out Renting Romance, and the entire Your Ad Here series, from Allyson Lindt
http://www.allysonlindt.co/your-ad-here/
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About the Authors
Allyson Lindt is a full-time geek and a fuller-time contemporary romance author. She likes her stories with sweet geekiness and heavy spice, because cubicle dwellers need love too. She loves a sexy happily-ever-after and helping deserving cubicle dwellers find their futures together.
Lesley Ann is a thirty-something British contemporary romance writer. She pretends to adult every day, hates ironing, and loves to sing badly when nobody’s looking. Sadly she’s never perfected the art of cooking, though she puts her husband through the torture of dinner every day.
Read More from Allyson Lindt & Lesley Ann:
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Lesley Ann: http://lesleyann.ninja
Crossing The Line
Amy L. Gale and Liz Gavin
Crossing The Line © 2017 Amy L. Gale & Liz Gavin
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be
reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Crossing The Line
One passionate night leads Nick and Jessie to betray family loyalties and student-teacher codes; now demons from the past force them to end it all or risk crossing the line.
Nick O’Halloran has a past he wants to keep buried.
Jessie Russo wants vengeance for hers.
After one passionate night, Nick’s and Jessie’s paths cross in ways that change them forever.
When they cross that line, there's no turning back. Will they toss family loyalties and codes of conduct to the wind? Or will demons from the past force them to end it all?
1
Nick O’Halloran
Stifling. Tall ceiling, ample room and yet, I can’t breathe. Yanking at the tux’s collar, I try to rid my mind of the memories. They cut me to the core as if it all happened yesterday, suffocating me. Painful images do that.
I so don’t want to be here!
Every year it’s the same hell. I should stop this. Dad doesn’t give a fuck about me. All he wants is a perfect picture with a caption like, ‘Loving husband carries on Iris Santucci’s legacy’ or some shit like that. Anything to garner more votes. Well, he’ll have to do without the happy family snapshot. I’ve busted my ass off cutting all ties connecting me to the Santucci’s. I won’t budge, no matter how low he stoops.
That goes for the rest of the family, for that matter. When Uncle Stephan’s gaze holds mine across the room and he sashays through the crowd, I glance around for the nearest exit. A rotund guest blocks Stephan’s way. My cue to escape to the deck.
A stunning sunset greets me. Few things compare to this beauty. Its calming effect eases my tense shoulders. Approaching the glass railing, I watch the purples and oranges of a cloudless Los Angeles summer sky, millions of lights twinkling in the distance. Breathtaking. Mom handpicked this hilltop for the headquarters of her foundation because of this view. West Hollywood beneath the wraparound deck and Santa Monica in the distance.
Disturbing images of her on the hospital bed flood my mind. It doesn’t feel like fifteen years. Fifteen minutes, tops. Resting my forearms on the railing, I hang my head and close my eyes. Breathe. Just breathe. I’ll stick around for another half hour, then I’m out of here. Usually, I succeed in pretending that losing my mom at fourteen didn’t affect me. At her foundation’s annual fundraiser, I barely make it through the night.
“Shit!”
The hissing whisper is followed by the sound of shattered glass far below. It’s too dark to make out who’s standing at the left end of the deck. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” a throaty, female voice replies, not quite convincingly.
“Hiding, huh?”
I stop a couple of feet away and she turns around. I’m hit with the most stunning pair of brown eyes I’ve ever seen. Large, bright and set on a face that’s close to perfection. Heart-shaped, classic features with high cheeks, luscious lips and a cute turned-up nose. Slim, slightly muscular body that her black lacy dress reveals tantalizing bits of, just enough to entice. Physical beauty by itself doesn’t appeal to me. I’m more attracted to intelligence and character, which accounts for my dry spell of late. Focusing on my career I’ve neglected my love life. I can’t remember the last time I had sex. Dude, don’t go there.
She seems uncomfortable with my ogling her, so I drop my gaze, plagued by the illicit images storming my mind. I offer an apologetic smile. “So rude of me to stare. Sorry. Nick O’Halloran.”
I use my mom’s maiden name, the way I introduce myself since I moved to Philly.
“Angie Bianchi.”
God help me, she’s got a sexy dimple on her right cheek when she smiles. “Who are you hiding from?”
“I didn’t say I was.”
“Didn’t say you weren’t,” leaning against the railing, I return her grin with a mischievous one. I may have been out of commission for a while, but I recognize flirting. And little Miss Perfection here is flirting with me.
“Touché.”
Yep. Flirting. I’m game. “Fair enough. How about a guessing game?”
“Game on. What’s the prize?”
“We get to know each other better.”
“Assuming I want to know you better, right?”
Her smile falters and I think I know why. Angie’s hiding something just like I am. Not to worry. Although our attraction is sizzling hot, I’m not looking for commitment.
“Guilty as charged,” I lean closer, invading her personal space and whisper as if conspiring. “I promise we’ll talk about topics you’re comfortable with.”
She exhales loudly, feigning boredom. “Fine, I guess. If you insist.”
“I insist.”
“I’ll go first,” her breathy whisper grips me by the balls. “You looked so sad before I dropped my glass,” she hesitates when I raise an eyebrow. “What? I was watching you, okay?”
“Not complaining, sweetie.”
“Wipe the smug smile off. You looked familiar. I was trying to place you.”
“Yeah, let’s go with that.”
“It’s the truth!”
“I live in Philly and I’m guessing you’re local.” when she nods I complete. “Highly unlikely we’ve met before.”
“Good point. Don’t change the subject, though. Why were you sad?”
“The Iris Santucci Foundation fosters stem cell research aiming to cure Lou Gehrig’s disease. I’ve heard them say they’re optimistic to make a significant breakthrough soon. My mom had Lou Gehrig’s. She passed away and I was thinking this research could’ve helped.”
“So sorry to hear that.”
“Enough of this downer stuff,” I smile into her eyes and she holds my stare with confidence. “Why did you drop the glass? Not drunk, are you?”
“No! I mean. I drank, but I’m fine. I got clumsy.” Her smile is radiant as she steps closer.
I reach out and twist the tip of her long hair around my finger. She runs the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip and my blood boils. “That’s a relief. I don’t take advantage of drunk women.”
Tipping her face up, Angie rests a hand on my chest, another on my nape. She spears her fingers through my hair, bringing my head down until our lips almost touch. Sweet torture.
I frame her face, thumbing her lower lip. As she inhales, my cock twitches in response. When she parts her teeth, I watch in awe as her tongue circles my digit before she sucks it into her mouth. My turn to sigh. As Angie’s tongue swirls around my thumb, I graze the side of her neck until I find a sensitive spot behind her ear. She moans when I nibble at it and her hand travels from my chest to my butt, squeezing me.
“God, that’s hot,” I whisper into her ear.
I grab her soft butt cheeks and crush her curves against my body as I cover her lips. She invades my mouth and I suck at her tongue, pinning her against the glass railing. I moan inside her lips when my cock stabs her lower body. Maybe I’m going too fast. That’s when her arms snake around my waist, pulling me closer. Guess she’s fine with this speed.
Splaying my hands on her hips, I anchor her against me as I deepen our kiss. My palm caresses the underside of her breast while my fingers tweak the hard nipple over the thin material of her dress. She moans and thrusts her breasts up.
When we come up for ai
r, her tongue finds my ear. “This corner is tucked away and all, but I wouldn’t want to be caught with my hand in your pants.”
The idea of her giving me a hand job makes me harder, but I’d rather sink my dick in her sassy mouth. I trace her lips with my index finger and they curl up as if she’s reading my mind. “Who said anything about hands? I’m done with this party anyway. We should take this conversation to my place down the street. Actually, John Cartwright’s place. He lets me stay there while he’s in Wales shooting an episode of Doctor Who.”
My childhood friend is one of the few ties I’ve kept to my former life, because he saved me from myself after mom passed.
Angie laces her fingers through mine and pulls me across the deck. As we cross the threshold, I pull her back against my chest and steer us through the sea of people.
“Nick!” I ignore Stephan’s bawl and don’t look around me in case my old man happens to be sneering my way. He can go up in flames for all I care.
Reaching the street, I let out a long breath I didn’t notice I was holding. The fresh night air cools my blood down and I tuck Angie beside me, running my hand over her arm. “Did you leave your coat inside?”
“I didn’t bring one.”
“Oh, the chilly breeze isn’t causing the goosebumps then?”
“That too, silly.”
I don’t remember the last time I felt so at ease with someone I barely knew. Or when a woman made me feel like laughing so hard. Our chuckles echo in the deserted street as I punch in the security code. John’s little rascal jumps on our legs as we step inside the house.
“Ah, she’s precious,” Angie crouches to greet the Norfolk terrier.
“Penny’s the worst watchdog ever.”
“C’mon, Nick. Look at her face,” Angie smooches the top of the dog’s head. “She’s too cute to watch anything.”
