by Casey Hagen
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Roxanne St. Claire. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Barefoot Bay remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Roxanne St. Claire, or their affiliates or licensors.
For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds
UNCONVENTIONAL SEDUCTION
A Scarred Hearts Novella
Casey Hagen
Hagen Novels, LLC
KENNEBUNK, MAINE
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Table of Contents
Blurb
Dear Reader
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
About The Author
Blurb
She’s poison to men . . .
Maureen LaCroix is certain of only three things: She’s looking down the barrel of forty; her life is a sea of uncertainty; and it appears she is metaphorical poison to men, as she has buried two much older husbands she loved—none of which inspires her to go looking for a relationship, and especially not with a man ten years her junior who has shadows in his eyes and a life as tangled as the seaweed washing up on the shores of Mimosa Key.
He’s candy to women . . .
Dominic Centore, injured shortstop for the Miami Marlins, is facing an uncertain career and news of an unborn child that may or may not be his. The timing is less than perfect for lighting the fuse on a fiery beach affair, but when has Dominic ever backed down from a challenge? Maureen LaCroix is beautiful and smart, and if she happens to be a widow and older than he by a decade, so what? Based on the lady’s protestations, he’s sure she isn’t looking at him as husband number three.
Together they’re unforgettable . . .
Dominic is lured by Maureen’s classy good looks, quick wit, and strength. He's all for an affair, but soon discovers Maureen engages more than just his body—she challenges his mind, his heart, and every other woman pales in comparison. For the first time in his life, he's entertaining thoughts of forever. All he has to do is convince Maureen it's time to forget her mournful past and take a gamble on a younger man. It won’t be easy, he knows. It will be an . . . Unconventional Seduction.
Dear Reader
Unconventional Seduction by Casey Hagen
Dear Reader,
Welcome to Barefoot Bay Kindle World, a place for authors to write their own stories set in the tropical paradise that I created! For these books, I have only provided the setting of Mimosa Key and a cast of characters from my popular Barefoot Bay series. That’s it! I haven’t contributed to the plotting, writing, or editing of Unconventional Seduction. This book is entirely the work of Casey Hagen, an author returning to Barefoot Bay and fast becoming a fan favorite.
This time, Casey gives us a smart, witty, unconventional forty year old woman who’s been married and widowed twice, and certain that happily ever after isn’t in her cards. But when a sexy, younger major league baseball player falls all over her (literally!), it looks like life has taken one more unexpected turn for the unconventional. This one is another winner!
Roxanne St. Claire
PS. If you love this island paradise, be sure to pick up one eighteen titles I’ve written set in Barefoot Bay. And there are more than sixty novellas in the Barefoot Bay Kindle World penned by other authors in the same setting. Come for a short visit or lose yourself on the beautiful beach and fall in love over and over again! All the books are listed at www.roxannestclaire.com.
Chapter 1
“What am I going to do with you, William?” Maureen LaCroix said as she ran her fingers over the curve of the smooth, Cherrywood urn propped next to her on the white, sandy beach just south of Mimosa Harbor.
Thank God her family couldn’t see her now.
Her sister, Laura, had finally found her happily-ever-after in the form of her seasoned husband, Jack. Within the first year of marriage they had produced a porcelain-skinned ball of baby perfection in the form of her drool-bucket niece, Amelia, now sixteen months old.
Laura had called her just that morning to tell her that she was pregnant again.
The rapid changes in Laura’s life only highlighted how stuck Maureen had become in her own.
She’d buried two husbands. The first, Patrick, had been laid to rest in a traditional Scottish ceremony, as per his wishes. William had wanted to be cremated, his ashes tossed into the Atlantic where he could travel the seas.
He’d loved sailboats, and lamented himself a pirate in a past life.
Now, here he sat, reduced to ashes, riding the sand with his clingy widow who couldn’t seem to give him up.
She’d gone full-blown nut bar.
“Your daughter is going to call me again to see if I finally did it. I should have just handed you over to her when she offered.” She curled her toes in the cool sand and closed her eyes as she listened to the gentle crash of waves on the beach. “It’s just hard, is all. With Patrick, I have a stone I can visit. He’s there. But if I let you go…where will you be? How will I talk to you and know you’re close?”
Rays of the sunshine peeked through the puffs of white streaking across the sky. A breeze whipped through just then, much stronger than any so far that day. She’d swear it was William, proving to her she wasn’t alone at all.
“Show-off,” she muttered.
Heaviness settled in her chest, making it impossible to take a deep breath. She folded her arms on her knees and rested her head on them, staring at what was left of her nine-year marriage to a fifty-nine-year-old financial advisor with beautiful thick, dark hair graying temples, who’d died from brain cancer. He’d had a flawless knowledge of wines and a knack for winning every hand of poker they had ever played.
“If I let you go, I’ll truly be on my own. And did I tell you this island is shaped like a question mark? I’ll be left to my own devices, surrounded by the gulf waters, on a question mark. Kind of apropos, isn’t it? This is next-level dramatic. Total Nicholas Sparks material right here.” She sucked in a wobbling breath. “Hard to believe I’m scared, right? I mean, I’m all bravado and sass—”
“Is this seat taken?”
Maureen jumped and her elbow knocked into the urn, almost tipping it over. She clasped it with her hands, steadying it, and shot a glare over her shoulder. “A little warning would have been nice,” she said, her gaze landing on the Starbucks cup in the man’s hand.
The stranger grinned. “I thought that’s what I did. I mean, I could have just sat down whether you liked it or not.”
She looked him up and down. He stood at least six-feet tall, had cropped dark hair, a strong jaw, and was wonderfully tan. His knee-weakening smile revealed straight white teeth. He could give Clark K
ent a run for his money. His white chambray shirt hugged his muscles as the warm breeze washed over them. Dark hair covered his shorts-clad legs.
And there were no bare spots. Not like Patrick and William had each had. Patrick had hardly had any leg hair. William had had a couple of areas that had rubbed bare where he crossed his legs the same way each time.
She needed to get checked because it wasn’t normal for anyone, especially someone known for her damned flair, to be sitting on the beach, clutching an urn full of ashes and comparing the leg hair of the young hottie standing in the sand next to her with the leg hair of each of her deceased husbands.
Life had dulled her shine. Well, she was taking that shit right back, thank you very much!
She patted the sand next to her. “Have a seat,” she said, giving him a smile.
His warm, chocolate eyes found her and he winked. “Thanks.”
She slid off her hat and smoothed her hair. “Don’t thank me yet. There are conditions. What’s in the cup?”
He didn’t sit right down. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and glanced from her to the cup and back again. “Uh, coffee?”
“Are you asking me?” she said.
His eyebrow shot up as he lifted the cup. “Well, isn’t it obvious what it is?”
She squinted up at him, trying to avoid a particularly bright burst of sunshine stabbing her in the face. Every last one of her eye wrinkles was getting enhanced right at this very moment. “No, it could be hot chocolate.”
“Teenage girls drink hot chocolate,” he said, his mouth pressing into a hard line.
Such a shame with those full, kissable lips of his; they’d be soft, and she’d bet they were strong lips. Commanding lips. How long had it been since she’d been kissed by lips like that?
College maybe?
Her husbands, though she’d loved them, hadn’t made her forget her own name with a kiss. And with the way life had been just chugging along, with nothing sparking her interest or striking excitement into her heart, she could go for a bit of temporary amnesia.
But, today, she’d settle for coffee and company.
She held her hand out and wiggled her fingers. “Gimme.”
“You’re going to steal my coffee?”
“It’s not stealing if you give it to me. Consider me the troll under the bridge. This is the price to pass.”
He glanced around. “It’s a public beach.”
“Ahh, but sitting skin to skin with me will cost you,” she said.
His gaze locked on hers and he nodded. “Fine, but can I at least get a few sips? Otherwise I’ll be shit company.”
“Done,” she said and patted the sand next to her again, waiting for him to take the offered seat.
He dropped down next to her and stretched his legs out before him, crossing them at the ankles.
That’s where his bare spots would be…one day.
Jesus, she had to get a grip on that.
“How old are you?” she asked, taking the offered cup. Their fingers brushed, barely anything really, but the zing shot through her hand and up her arm just the same. She hadn’t zinged in years. Good to know the parts still worked. She had started to wonder if she had formed cobwebs.
She glanced up at him and found him studying her.
“Twenty-eight.” His voice dropped as he said it, the words cruising from between his lips, making her tremble.
Or maybe it was the fact that he was so young. So, this was her second-half-of-life direction, huh? Step out of the ordinary and into flirtmances with men who wouldn’t stick around for more than five minutes. All it would take is a young blond thing in a string bikini, and he’d launch himself off her patch of paradise so fast she wouldn’t even have time to commit the view of his ass to memory.
She pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. “God, you’re just a baby.”
He laughed. “Babies have mortgages and investment plans these days?”
“You know what I mean.”
He turned to her. “Yes, you mean compared to you. Although, I think the gap is a lot smaller than you make it sound. How old are you, anyway?”
She tipped the cup to her lips, finally taking her first sip. The hot brew slid down her throat, the hint of bitter lingering on the back of her tongue.
He took his coffee black. Interesting.
“It’s rude to ask a woman how old she is,” she finally replied.
“I thought I was asking the troll,” he said on a laugh.
She handed him the cup and let the smirk settle on her lips. “Oh, look at you with the smart mouth. I think I like you. Maybe I’ll share more than a few sips of your coffee with you.” She winked. “I’m turning forty soon.”
He raised a brow and brought the cup to his lips. “Really? I never would have guessed.”
She tried to ignore the way his lips hugged the cup, but God, he gave good mouth. His tongue darted out and licked the spot where her lips had been, and by the way she reacted he may as well have tasted her neck, or breast…maybe even lower.
She blinked. “Oh, you lovely, lovely boy…didn’t your mama teach you it’s bad to lie?” she scolded, attempting to cover for the way she’d just panted over him like a bitch in heat.
“Lying? I don’t know what you see when you look in the mirror but I see long, smooth legs, gently sun-kissed skin, an elusive dimple on the right that only seems to come out with your smart-ass smirk, and fascinating olive-green eyes ringed with gold that look like they may have seen a bit too much in this life. Nothing that says almost forty.”
Her jaw fell open.
“Maybe the evidence is stamped on your butt,” he said, keeping a straight face before taking a sip of coffee.
She threw her head back and laughed. Years of sadness and worry rose off her fatigued chest, and drifted off with the gentle sweep of salty, ocean air… and a dose of him.
“I can tell you one thing,” she said, taking the cup back. “You’re not going to find out.”
“Bummer.”
She leaned over and bumped him with her shoulder. “Oh, come on…you’re young, strong, way easy on the eyes—you can have any piece of arm candy you want. You don’t need to waste your time fooling with me.”
He squinted at the sea. She didn’t know what he saw there, but his face lost a bit of its playfulness; his upturned lips straightened, and he sighed. “Twenty-somethings are tiresome. They’re all worried about their yoga, lattes, selfies, and Snap Chat.” He cupped his neck and tilted his head back in a stretch. “I’ll pass.”
“Cynical. Normally that would amuse me, but you’re too young to slide into celibacy.” She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. The sunlight caught his face at just the right angle and something about him niggled at her. “You look familiar. I can’t place it, but I feel like I’ve seen you before.”
***
“It was only a matter of time, I guess.” He held out his hand to her. “Dominic Centore, injured shortstop for the Miami Marlins.”
She slid her palm against his. “That’s it. My brother-in-law, Jack, is a huge baseball fan. Makes me watch it all the time when I’m there.”
Her fingers were so small and delicate for someone with such a big… attitude. She was a bundle of contradictions.
He’d seen her park her cherry-red ‘64 Chevy Impala convertible in the same spot every morning for the past week since he’d arrived in Mimosa Key. He’d be lying if he didn’t say he loved watching her climb out of that sweet car. She drove barefoot and pointed those toes out until they touched the pavement. And the way her calves flexed as she did it?
Hot. As. Hell.
He’d had teenage fantasies of legs like that, and never quite found a woman who could compete with those dreams… until now. The best part? She wasn’t some interchangeable young thing flitting about. The kind he had to worry about being genuinely interested in him and not just the cash he came with.
“He makes you watch it? You don’t like baseba
ll?”
She pursed her lips and shook her head. “I don’t have the patience for baseball. There’s a lot of sitting in front of the TV, waiting for something to happen. I’m not a patient woman.”
He nodded in agreement, but held up a finger. “I suppose there is, but in all fairness, when you’re on that field it doesn’t feel like there’s a lot of waiting.”
She tipped her head and watched him. “What does it feel like?”
Like flying.
“A mix of exhilaration and lung-crushing pressure. I’d be lost without it.” He’d miss the clay the most. The scent of it, the way it dug into his pores, and no matter how much he scrubbed a bit of it always lingered in the cracks of his skin. He loved the way it weathered a ball and glove, giving them character.
Giving them a story.
His story.
She slipped her fingers under his and took the cup. “Is there a chance you won’t make it back out on the field?”
Yeah, and it terrified him, but he couldn’t say those words out loud. Not yet. “There’s usually that risk for any player. In this case, more risk since it’s the rotator cuff in my throwing arm. I have three more weeks to make progress. If I don’t make enough—surgery. Going under the knife is a gamble. Some bounce back. Some don’t.”
She leaned back on her hands, the position thrusting her breasts out. If it had been any other woman, he’d bet it was intentional. Not her. He found the gap between the buttons of her shirt revealing a glimpse of the curve of her breast where it swelled up over the cup of her bra. Heat spread through him. A genuine desire to touch her, something he hadn’t felt in far too long, because the women he’d been around the past few years had done absolutely nothing for him.
“So, are you one of those players who blows his millions, and if he’s injured he’ll be destitute, reduced to sacrificing himself to becoming a male escort or worse, taking a job in customer service?”
