* * * * *
Bobbie Jones—she’d tossed out Roberta along with her job, her tailored suits, and her frilly blouses—tapped her brilliant crimson lip with the tip of a matching manicured nail. A new woman with a new attitude. And no ugly, painful thoughts.
“I must have that cottage.” No, no, we can’t possibly do this. Bobbie quashed another annoying little Robert-whine. She was getting so much better at doing it, since that day in the salon, a little less than a month ago, when she’d decided every page of her life story needed revising.
Top selling real estate agent and self-proclaimed Cottonmouth maven, Patsy Bell Sapp’s mouth opened so wide, the wrinkles marring her tanned face vanished. Almost. “You don’t want that.”
Bobbie smiled. “Yes. I do.” No, we don’t. Buzz off, Roberta.
The house, little more than a cube tucked into a postage-stamp lot, was the antithesis of the pristine residence on the stately San Francisco street. Warren had chosen the property over having children, a plan she’d, no, Roberta had gone along with because being a parent was too awesome a responsibility.
“But the serial killer lives right across the street.” Patsy hacked out a cough, her penciled-in eyebrows disappearing into the fringe of her bouffant hairdo. With a vigorous shake of her head, multiple shades of gray sparkled in the sunlight.
“Excuse me?” Was the woman serious? Probably not. If she was, why would she even bring Bobbie by the rental?
Still looking at her, Patsy pointed at the shaded, two-story house across the street. “He’s a serial killer,” she mouthed.
The title had a ring to it, even if it was most likely a town joke. Serial killer. Didn’t that fit her mood to a T? Her mood, not Roberta’s. She itched with a mixture of danger, disbelief, and anticipation. Heavy on the disbelief part. But still, he must be a real bad-boy type to fuel such rumors. Back home in Head Hunters salon, she’d sworn to herself she was going to have sex with someone. And sex with an alleged serial killer sounded risky. Edgy. Exciting.
Just the kind of thing a Bobbie Jones, not a Roberta Spivey, would do. It would tweak Warren’s nose right out of joint.
And that’s what this whole excursion to Cottonmouth was about. Right?
If you enjoyed this excerpt, look for She’s Gotta Be Mine,Cottonmouth Book 1 and Fool’s Gold, Cottonmouth Book 2
She’s Gotta Be Mine is also available as an audiobook.
Also by Jennifer Skully
Baby, I’ll Find You
Drop Dead Gorgeous
Sheer Dynamite
It Must Be Magic
About the Author
Jasmine Haynes, Rita Finalist for Somebody’s Lover, plus two-time Holt Medallion and National Readers Choice Award winner, is the author of over 35 classy, erotic romance tales. Look for the final book in her popular DeKnight series, The Principal's Office. In 2013, she'll be starting a sexy new series for Berkley Heat, beginning with The Naughty Corner coming Oct 2013 and Teach Me a Lesson in Apr 2014. And there will be more in the sensual West Coast series! Of course, she’s also the author of the award-winning Max Starr psychic mystery series. And don’t miss her writing as Jennifer Skully, KOD Daphne award-winning author of contemporary romance, bringing you poignant tales peopled with hilarious characters that will make you laugh and make you cry. Visit her websites at jasminehaynes.com, jbskully.com, and her blog at jasminehaynes.blogspot.com
Connect with Jasmine Haynes & Jennifer Skully online
Jasmine’s Website: www.jasminehaynes.com
Jennifer’s Website: www.jenniferskully.com
Blog: www.jasminehaynes.blogspot.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/jasminehaynesauthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/jasminehaynes1
The Other Man (West Coast Hotwifing) Page 21
