Summer's Temptation

by Ashley Lynn Willis

  I peer up at him. “Okay.”

  He looks hopeful but confused. “What does okay mean?”

  That’s a good question. I’m not sure what okay means, but I give it a stab. “It means, we try to make this work.”

  His hands squeeze mine tightly, and his body jerks as if he’s about to lunge for me.

  I throw my hand up to stop him. “Slowly. We go slowly, Tyler.” As he settles back down, I say, “I’m scared. I’m halfway in love with you already, and I need to know I can trust you before I give you all of me. Do you understand?”

  I’m not sure he’s listening to a thing I’m saying. He’s nodding, but he’s also staring at my mouth as if he’s wondering when I’ll shut up and he can kiss me.

  “Tyler!”

  He blinks, his gaze darting to my eyes. “What?”

  “Listen to me.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just… I didn’t expect you to forgive me for being with that… that…”

  “Bony blonde? I told you, I forgave you last week.”

  “I know, but I didn’t think you’d give me another chance,” he says. “I figured showing you the pictures was a long shot. I thought you might even hate me more after you found out I was stalking you. I’m not going to believe this is real until you let me kiss you.” His eyes go to my mouth again.

  I hook my finger under his chin and bring his eyes back to mine. “Tyler, listen, please. What I’m about to say you might not like, but I need you to do something for me.”

  “Anything.”

  I don’t want to hurt him any more than I already have, but I need time before we go public. “I want to make sure this relationship works without the pressure of everyone knowing.” I guess I’m a little scared I have some fatal flaw that drove Wyatt away, and Tyler might follow suit. I’d rather nurse my heartbreak in privacy than with the whole campus watching. “Can we keep this secret for a while?”

  He leans back, away from my finger under his chin. His expression isn’t hurt like I’d expected, but worried. “For how long?”

  I shrug. “I’m not sure. Long enough for me to know this is going in the right direction.”

  His expression tightens. “You’re afraid I’m going to cheat on you.”

  “No. I mean… maybe a little. I just… we… we’ve been together under false pretenses. I want to make sure when we’re really a couple, we’re not surprised by anything. Maybe you’ll think I’m too clingy, or I have annoying habits you didn’t see before.”

  “That’s not going to happen, but I’ll give you whatever you need, cupcake.”

  Hearing my nickname again warms me from my toes to my hairline. “Thank you.”

  He leans in, close enough that I can feel his breath on my cheek. “If we have to keep this under wraps for too long though, I’m going to get irritated. I want all the assholes on campus to know you’re mine.”

  “Patience, Tyler. Patience.”

  “If anyone knows how to practice patience, it’s me.”

  Thank God for that. If I’d been him, I would have given up on me a long time ago.

  He nuzzles the sensitive spot under my ear, the one that drives me crazy. “So we’re good?”

  “We’re better than good.” I tilt my head and press a chaste kiss to his lips to seal the deal.

  Before I can pull back, he digs his fingers into my hair and deepens it, coaxing my mouth open with his tongue. He delves inside, tasting me slowly, tenderly. His hands move to cup my cheeks, and I’m cocooned in enough warmth to make me deliriously giddy.

  “I missed you,” I say against his lips. I’ve missed his smooth skin. I’ve missed his roaming hands. I’ve missed the silk of his hair between my fingers. But most of all, I’ve missed his kisses and the way they send heat down to my very core. “You’re my sun, Tyler.”

  He smiles his ornery, one-sided grin that I love so much. “If I’m your sun, you’re my universe.” His smile quirks up a degree. “I take that back. You’re my black hole.”

  “Your black hole?” My mind goes to obscene places I don’t like. “I am not a black hole. Black holes are big and wide and stretched out. Everything about my hooha is tight, tight, tight.”

  He rolls his eyes, but they sparkle like aquamarines. “Get your mind out of the gutter, cupcake. That’s not what I meant. What I mean is that the moment you sucked me into your gravitational pull, I was a goner.”

  I wind my arms around his neck and press my body flush with his. “Nothing escapes a black hole.”

  He kisses the corner of my mouth. “Promise?”

  I kiss his nose. “Promise.” I kiss his eyelid. “Promise.” I kiss his cheek. “Promise.” I focus solely on us, our bodies pressed together, my hands gripping his shirt, the clean scent of him. I can’t believe I was so willing to give this up for fear he’d hurt me.

  He laughs sweetly. It’s the first time I’d describe something Tyler has done as sweet, and it makes me smile.

  “Promises cubed,” he says. “Black holes. The sun. I should have known math and science would get you hot and bothered. Would you like me to recite the quadratic equation? Or how about I do a risk assessment of the security of our relationship? You did say you wanted to be an actuary. If that doesn’t wet your panties, nothing will.”

  I brush my lips against his. “No need, Tyler Mason. You’re worth any risk. Absolutely any.”

  Even ones of the heart.

  Excerpt from

  Autumn’s Fall

  By Ashley Lynn Willis

  Copyright © Ashley Lynn Willis

  Expected Release Date Fall of 2015

  After two weeks of living at the sorority house for rush, Liz and I shuffle into our blessedly quiet cottage.

  Liz moans as she sags onto the couch. “I’m exhausted.” She seems to meld into the cushions, filling every nook and crevice with her tired muscles and bones. “Thank God I don’t have to do that again.”

  “Don’t remind me.” I groan while lugging my bags toward my room. “I have one more year of rush to endure.”

  In the middle of prepping for it, rush seems fun and exciting, but by the end, every girl in the house craves a full night of sleep and a bottle of wine. At least all the hard work paid off. We have a pledge class forty-nine strong, and they’re some of the best girls we’ve ever recruited. Not one of them has a GPA under 3.5, and several were valedictorians or class presidents. One of them was both.

  We did good work, but thank goodness it’s over and we can get back to our normal routines. I step into my beautiful, glorious room that I don’t have to share with anyone. I love Hannah and Emma, but if I had to listen to Emma complain about the temperature one more time, I was going to strap her into a Snuggie she couldn’t escape.

  Deliriously happy to be alone and only hours away from seeing Tyler, I place my largest suitcase on the bed and unzip it. I’m about to unpack, but first, I survey the drawings above my headboard. I can’t stop the slow smile spreading across my face. Tyler has given me a sketch every day since we officially became a couple. Before rush started, I hung them over my bed.

  The first one is a star. It’s literally a fuzzy circle on the left side of a piece of paper, but in true Tyler style, he’s made it a beautiful fuzzy circle with tiny tendrils of light stretching out as if searching for something bigger and better.

  The second picture is of the dozen multi-colored roses he threw in the trash that Hannah and Liz rescued. He even included a perfect depiction of the crinkled Tiffany paper wrapped around their base. For the only pop of color on the wall, he shaded them brilliant yellow, pink, and purple.

  The third and fourth pictures are ones he drew of me my sophomore year without my knowledge.

  The fifth one, I can’t interpret for the life of me. It’s just two squiggly lines with a tiny number one on the top edge. Tyler refuses to give me clues to its meaning. Every time I ask, he distracts me with a kiss that turns into a fire. Unfortunately, the fire has to be doused quickly since we’re ta
king things slow for a while.

  The last picture is of my favorite sock monkey, George, swinging from a vine. Though Tyler hasn’t altered his features at all, the monkey seems to be smiling with wide, joyful button eyes.

  Tyler’s decided that every day for a year, he’ll draw me a new sketch or give me a picture from his repertoire. When he said a year, I nearly choked. He’s in this for long haul, whether I believe him or not. It seems, while I was gone, he hung up a dozen new sketches. A sticky note is attached to the drawing closest to my nightstand. I pull it off, careful not to smudge the pencil marks.

  I miss you. Three simple words, but they send my heart aflutter with joy.

  “Come watch Family Guy,” Liz calls.

  “I’m gonna unpack first.”

  Tyler’s at a baseball game with Dylan, but he’s coming over afterward, and I don’t want him tripping over my luggage when he tackles me to the bed. A shudder of longing rages down my spine. We haven’t had sex in weeks. Taking things slow after the hell we’ve put each other through is the smart thing to do, but I’m not so sure I can hold out any longer. Maybe tonight we should consummate our new relationship.

  Just the thought of Tyler between my thighs makes me giddy with desire. Oh yeah, tonight is definitely the night. I’m in the middle of a scandalous fantasy involving me, Tyler, some fuzzy handcuffs, and a feather when I hear a knock at the front door. The TV mutes, and few seconds later, I hear a deep bass voice. It’s not Tyler. He’s not coming over until this evening, and the cadence is too fast for him anyway.

  I can’t make out what the person’s saying, but Liz’s voice follows his, and her tone is higher than normal. Their mumbling carries on for another five or ten seconds. Then very distinctly, I hear Liz yell, “Shit!”

  I slap the sticky note back onto the sketch before I hurry to the living room to make sure Liz is okay.

  Just before I turn away from my wall of drawings, a familiar voice says, “Cassie?”

  I whip around.

  Wyatt stands in the doorway.

  I press my palm to my sternum, trying to keep my heart from exploding. “Wyatt?” Of all the things I imagined saying when I saw him again, dumbly muttering his name wasn’t one of them.

  I stare at him with what I’m sure are the widest eyes he’s ever seen. He’s perfect as always. Blond hair gloriously disheveled in a way that hides the effort he’s put into it. His usually fair skin is tanned golden, making his gray eyes bright and clear. He’s polished to a spit and shine, no wrinkles in his chinos or button-down. I’ve always thought of him as being from the wrong era. He belongs in times past, when people dressed their best no matter the day or time. My hand goes to my disheveled ponytail, and I smooth the stray strands around my face.

  “How… how did you get in?” I mutter. I recognize the question as silly the moment I ask it. Obviously Liz let him in.

  “Your roomie left the door open.”

  I exhale a long breath, and my brain turns over, the synapses firing. “Is she okay? I heard her curse.”

  “She’s fine.” He rocks back on his heels. “There was a scratch on her passenger car door. I asked her what happened.” He shrugs, the fabric of his shirt moving gracefully over his broad shoulders. “I guess she didn’t know about it.”

  No wonder she left the door open. Liz’s parents gave her an early graduation present: a bimmer convertible. It’s her new baby, and heaven forbid anyone touches it or even looks at it cross-eyed. The front door slams, and Wyatt flinches. He must be strung tight to jump like that. Not that I care.

  I wipe my sweaty palms on my shorts. “Did you need something—”

  “Where’s the fucktard!” Liz growls. She rounds the corner, nostrils flared like a raging bull, and walks up behind Wyatt. One of her hands is held high, and her fingers are covered in something white. “It’s chalk. You marked my car with fucking chalk! What’s your problem?”

  Wyatt mashes his lips together, and I can tell he’s stifling a smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I thought it was a scratch.” Guys don’t bat their eyelashes, but Wyatt’s eyes are fluttering innocently, and strangely, it does nothing to diminish his masculinity. “It looked like a bad one too. The kind you can’t buff out.”

  I gaze from him to Liz and back. She’s fuming. He’s suppressing a grin.

  Wow. All this time, and nothing’s changed. Wyatt’s still driving Liz crazy, only this time I’m pretty sure he had a goal in mind: get Liz, the girl who hates him, out of the way so he could get to me. That should disturb me, but I’m just enjoying the show. Does that mean I’m over Wyatt? My heart does a little happy dance at the prospect.

  Liz pats Wyatt down as if she’s a police officer looking for drugs. “Where is it?”

  I don’t want to find this funny—Wyatt’s the enemy who nearly ruined my life—but given all the crap Liz has put him through, like the time she stole the hard drive from his laptop just for kicks, she kind of had it coming.

  He holds his hands high, lips still mashed together and eyes twinkling. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The chalk, jerkwad! I know you did it.”

  She dips her hand into the chest pocket of his button-down. I press my knuckles into my mouth, trying not to laugh. I should be taking Liz’s side and berating Wyatt since technically I hate him, but I’ve missed watching Wyatt and Liz go at it like siblings. When we were dating, his favorite pastime was annoying her. She’d never admit it, but I think she enjoyed it too. He gave her a reason to think of devious ways to retaliate. Her hand comes up empty, and she reaches for the front pocket of his chinos. I never figured she’d go there since it’s so close to his package.

  Wyatt must have also considered that pocket safe because his face goes slack. He jerks his hands down so fast, his forearm hits Liz on the side. “Stop, Liz!”

  “Found it!” She holds up a small pouch in triumph, but it’s not the kind of container she was looking for.

  In her hand is a small robin’s-eggshell-blue leather pouch with the name Bernstein emblazoned in gold. I know exactly what’s inside.

  A black velvet box with a one-carat diamond marquise ring.

  The ring we picked out together.

  My engagement ring.

  My throat swells shut. I can’t speak. I can’t even catch my breath.

  Wyatt steps toward me, eyes steely-gray and full of an emotion I don’t want to identify. “We need to talk, Cassie.”

  Acknowledgements

  To my critique partners, Suzie Quint, Cristen Abrams, Stefanie Pristavu, and Grace Tierney. Your insight has brought my characters to life. To my beta readers, Keri Kennedy, Silvia Curry, Casey Harris, and Lisa Greenwood, your feedback has made this book stronger. A special thanks to Red Adept Publishing, especially Laura Koons and Cassie Cox. And lastly, thank you Glendon from Streetlight Graphics for a lovely cover.

  About the Author

  Ashley Lynn Willis lives in the Midwest with her husband of twelve years. For eight years, she worked as an engineer in general aviation but quit her job to be a stay at home mom to three precious children. She began her writing journey in 2009 and has been penning her imagination ever since.

  Find Ashley Online:

  http://authorashleylynnwillis.blogspot.com/

  http://twitter.com/#!/AshleyLWillis

  http://www.facebook.com/#!/profile.php?id=100002829151062

  The Calling

  by Ashley Lynn Willis

  Copyright © 2011 by Ashley Lynn Willis

  Available Now

  Mandy Hardy lost more than a breast to cancer; she lost her fiancé when he dumped her a week before her mastectomy. Her ego bruised and her self-esteem battered, Mandy’s sure she’ll never fall in love again.

  Justin Seward is a headstrong Coast Guard Rescue Swimmer with a heart of gold and the supernatural ability to command the seas. He had to hide his feelings while Mandy was engaged to his best friend. Now that she’s free, he’s vowed to mak
e her his.

  Together, they may hold the key to each other’s salvation. But when Justin’s past catches up with him, and Mandy’s ex-fiancé wants vengeance, they realize they might not live long enough for happily ever after. The Calling is a contemporary romance with a paranormal twist.

  Chapter 1

  Justin dangled his feet out of the door of the hovering helicopter and prepared for a free-fall deployment. The air above his head pounded to the rhythmic beat of the rotary blades, the thunder of it filling his ears. Beneath him, the waves churned white from the force of a summer squall, the swells striking at one another, their crests exploding with spray.

  A wave pummeled the port side of a thirty-foot sailboat, seizing the vessel in its uncompromising grip and swaying it viciously. An hour ago, the vessel’s emergency beacon had activated, sending a distress signal to the Coast Guard’s Rescue Coordination Center. Since the boat hadn’t sunk, the beacon activated when it rolled. Based on the sheared mast dragging against the bow, the vessel had submerged and righted itself more than once.

  The helicopter pilot, Lieutenant Dale, spoke through the intercom, “I don’t want you on that boat with the mast unsecured.”

  Justin’s jaw clamped tighter than a vise as he readjusted his intercom. He was itchy as hell to get inside that cabin. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Foster was almost killed by a loose mast last year.”

  “I’m twice as capable as Foster, and you know it.”

  “Cocky bastard,” Dale grumbled, but a hint of amusement tinged his voice.

  A swell plowed over the boat, sweeping across the deck before slipping back to the boiling ocean. The sea had been churning restlessly for hours, savagely beating any ships that dared cross the colliding weather systems. Large commercial vessels bore the brunt with shivering hulls and seasick crews. The smaller boats, carrying families on day trips or weekend excursions, risked disappearing as if they’d never existed, resting in the mud at the ocean bottom, their occupants still inside. As he watched the sailboat below him, he wondered how long he had until the ocean’s cruel fingers claimed it.