HotText

by Cari Quinn

  Hot Text

  Cari Quinn

  Sometimes what you think you want and what you need are two very different things.

  As a technical editor, Jeffrey Maddox deals with plenty of words, leaving him few to spare on people, except his baby sister. To keep Daisy from wrecking her newly rehabbed life by shacking up with her older, married lover Lonny, he impulsively texts Lonny’s wife, Karyn. And then meets her at a coffee shop on a snowy night, ostensibly to convince her to stay with her philandering husband.

  But soon texting turns to sexting. After spending the night getting to know Karyn, Jeff wants something much more personal—Lonny’s wife. For himself.

  Despite her misgivings about Jeff’s intentions, Karyn can’t fight their attraction. She’s still not divorced, though she knows there’s no way she’ll return to her husband. But maybe an amazing night of conversation—and even more amazing lovemaking—can lead to more than just one night of hot text.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Hot Text

  ISBN 9781419935336

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Hot Text Copyright © 2011 Cari Quinn

  Edited by Jillian Bell

  Cover design by Syneca

  Photography: Wallenrock/Shutterstock.com

  Electronic book publication November 2011

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.

  The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibility for, author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  Hot Text

  Cari Quinn

  Chapter One

  Jeff Maddox stared at the cell phone vibrating on his sister’s coffee table. “Did you get a new phone, Daze?”

  Mid-manicure, she concentrated on her French tips and shook her head. “Nuh-uh. Must be Lon’s.”

  Lon. Just the name made his hackles rise. “So your jerk of a boyfriend can’t remember to take his phone with him after he creeps out of here?”

  “More like swaggers,” Daisy said with a smirk, blowing on her thumb. She wiggled the rest of her fingers a few times and capped the bottle of polish. “He just forgot it.”

  With another wave of her hands, she jumped to her feet and strolled toward the narrow galley-style kitchen that bordered one side of the living room. “Gonna make some cocoa. Want?”

  “Sure,” he said, sitting down on the couch and grabbing the phone.

  He had no compunction about flipping it open and seeing who’d called because the creep was balling his sister. Noisily and often, if the disgusting sounds emanating through the paper-thin walls last night were any indication.

  Jeff shook his head. Didn’t it just figure? He’d intended to hang out with his baby sister for a weekend, relax, watch some movies while his own apartment got exterminated.

  Instead he’d been treated to an X-rated night of squeals and deep groans that would have put a porn star to shame.

  Worst of all, the guy was fucking married. He claimed to be separated. Most likely bullshit.

  His sister so didn’t need this crap. She’d finally been on the path to a better life. Instead of constantly changing jobs and moving in with one friend after another, she’d found a good position doing hair at a place on Main Street. Better yet, she’d signed a six-month lease for this apartment, located on the decent side of town.

  For a woman whose idea of routine meant keeping the same hair color two months running, she’d actually seemed headed toward stability. Jeff would be damned if she headed back down the drain thanks to Lonny fricking James.

  He stared at the phone and saw the caller’s name. Karyn. Well, well. The Mrs. calling to check on her less than better half. He’d done a bit of research into Lon’s background and he recognized the name. How many Karens spelled their name with a ‘y’? Not that many, especially those that would be calling Lon.

  Jeff’s thumb hovered over the buttons. Maybe if he had a talk with her, she’d find a way to keep her jerk of a husband home and drinking his own beer where he belonged. At the very least, he could expose the affair and make life difficult for the dickwad.

  Confronting the guy and asking him man-to-man to get the hell out of Daisy’s life hadn’t worked. Nor had warning Daisy about the long-range possible consequences. That left the wife.

  Contacting her might—all right, would—hurt his sister but he ranked her welfare as more important than her feelings. It also probably wouldn’t accomplish a thing. But he owed it to Daisy to try. Maybe one day she’d even thank him.

  Jeff shot off a quick text to Mrs. James while his sister sang about “booty popping” in a loud, off-key voice and nuked their cocoa.

  Ur husbnd 4got his phone. Meet u to return it?

  He waited impatiently, rubbing the sides of his boots together to try to get off some of the mucky slush. Winter had started early in upstate New York this year. Tonight’s forecast included sleet and he really had no desire to be out late driving in the mess. Saturday night meant more crazy drivers on the road than usual and he had half of a software manual left to edit. If Karyn James agreed to a meeting, he’d have to get in and get out fast. Hopefully she’d be in the mood to listen to reason.

  He also hoped he’d be able to pull more social skills out of his ass than he normally possessed. Cranky technical editors who spent more time meddling in their sister’s love lives than having one of their own weren’t exactly known for their winsome ways.

  Or maybe that was just him.

  After a moment, the phone vibrated in his hand. He glanced down and smiled at her reply. At least she had replied. Who’re you?

  A friend. Jeff almost gagged typing the word. Can we meet?

  Where?

  He typed with his thumbs, cursing under his breath. No wonder he rarely used his own cell. They were too hard to navigate with fingers bigger than a toddler’s.

  Shay’s Coffee Shp. 20 mins?

  He’d gambled on her being in town and available, and Cedar Hollow wasn’t very big. Daisy had mentioned where Lonny’s old house was, so Jeff knew Karyn didn’t live far away. Unless she’d traveled out of the area for some reason, she’d be able to make it, even if it was sleeting. And he certainly wouldn’t keep her long. Last thing he intended was to waste his night on small talk.

  Her answer came quickly. Thirty. What do u look like, frnd?

  In spite of himself, he caught himself smiling at the cheekiness of her answer. Brn hr, bl eyes. Tall. Gray ftball hoodie. He didn’t wear a winter coat. Boots were ba
d enough.

  K. I’m brunette, hazel eyes. Avg ht and wt. Name?

  He typed as fast as his clumsy thumbs allowed. Jeff. C U soon.

  He pocketed the phone and looked up when his sister arrived with two overflowing mugs of cocoa. She’d piled his high with the whipped cream she stocked just for him while hers was bare. As usual. His sister dieted constantly.

  Lonny probably liked his mistresses rail thin.

  Familiar acid churned in his gut. Nothing new there. He’d been churned up about this situation for too long now.

  Jeff rose and snatched the mug, sucking down a scalding mouthful of hot chocolate that left him wearing the whipped cream and sporting a burnt tongue. “For fuck’s sake, Daze.”

  “Who told you to wolf it down?” She set the tray on the coffee table and looked over her shoulder at him, her fringe of copper bangs falling into eyes the exact same shade of gray as their mom’s. “Where’s Lon’s phone?”

  He gulped more cocoa. “Thanks for the drink. Gotta go.”

  “What do you mean you have to go? You said you were staying ’til tomorrow night. What about the exterminators?”

  “Technically I only had to stay away one night. As a precaution.”

  “But you said you’d spend the weekend with me. I thought we could hang out.” She pouted. “We hardly ever see each other anymore. You’re almost as bad as Mom, always too busy.”

  Guilt kicked him in the shins, hard. “She’s trying to start her new business, you know that.”

  “Yeah, yeah. She’s a high-powered career consultant now. Yippee. What about you?”

  “What about me?” Hearing his defensive tone, he set down his half-empty mug and backed toward the door. “I’m around.”

  “Right. You’re always at the office, though we both know you only stay late because there's no one left to bother you.”

  She had an excellent point. His job at Cedar Hollow Form and Print jibed perfectly with his desire to avoid as much extraneous human contact as possible. The end-user software manuals he edited didn’t excite him but at least they were predictable.

  People weren’t. His ex-wives hadn’t been. The few friends he’d managed to keep in contact with since his school days never let him down but they were far-flung across the globe and busy with their own lives.

  Something he wasn’t, by and large. By choice, granted, but he didn’t have a lot to offer to conversations about white-water rafting trips or sojourns to Africa.

  He worked, he watched TV, he slept. Occasionally he dated—very occasionally—or visited friends out of town. Since his last divorce, he’d been content with his mostly solitary lifestyle. It didn’t require too much thought and he didn’t have to wonder if he lacked in some way. Working on his relationship were words that never entered his personal lexicon anymore.

  Thank God.

  “Is Lon coming over tonight?” he asked, not commenting on her assessment. Daisy knew him too well.

  When she didn’t answer, he nodded. “Just as I thought. I’ll catch you later.”

  “Wait. Wait! What about his phone?” She followed him to her front door and leaned into the hall when he kept walking. “What are you doing with it?”

  “Don’t worry. He’ll get it back,” Jeff called over his shoulder, his hand going to the cell in his front pocket.

  One way or another.

  * * * * *

  Karyn paced back and forth in front of a window at Shay’s Coffee Shop, certain she was making a huge mistake. Smart women didn’t meet total strangers who claimed to have their husband’s—estranged husband’s—phone. He could be holding Lon for ransom somewhere. This Jeff could be a hulking thug with an eye patch and a team of backup thugs to do his bidding.

  “Too many late-night movies,” she whispered to herself, rubbing her arms over her cardigan to ward off the chill. She’d already chugged a tall snowflake latte and the peppermint from the syrup still clung to her lips. She wanted another one but her waistline wouldn’t appreciate it. Nor would her wallet. Even if she didn’t care too much about her diet at the moment, she stuck rigidly to her budget, planning for those rainy days that insisted on showing up.

  “He’s late,” she added a moment later. She grimaced as she realized she was talking to herself again, precisely why she stayed home with her movies most of the time. Mornings teaching preschool at the local Montessori school made up the bulk of her social excursions, and for good reason. Three- and four-year-olds didn’t mind that Mrs. James had a few quirks.

  Regular people, on the other hand, just might.

  She fumbled for a tissue, just to give herself something to do. She had all kinds of things in her pockets. Bandages, a mini highlighter, spare change, throat lozenges. Though it was Saturday, she’d helped host her school’s open house and still wore her teacher gear. The only thing that marred her tidy appearance was the streak of yellow paint on one thigh of her khakis. Served her right for painting the minute she got home instead of changing into a smock. But she’d been wrapped up in thinking about the release of throwing paint on canvas, desperate to put the long day of hyper kids and parent-teacher conferences behind her. Though she loved showing off her school and meeting her kids’ families, today had been more trying than usual. For once her heart just hadn’t been in it.

  She glanced at her watch again and sighed. One hell of a way to spend her wedding anniversary. And her divorce papers sat on her grandparents’ antique table in her dining room, just where they’d sat since the process server had handed them to her.

  She hadn’t been able to look yet. Tomorrow she would. She’d handle what needed to be done. First she had to get through today.

  In a moment of weakness, she’d called her soon-to-be-ex-husband. She didn’t want to reconcile. Far from it. She’d just wanted to know if he had noticed the date or if he’d left her to shoulder that burden alone like all the rest he’d dumped in her lap.

  Lon had been typically reticent to discuss the significance of the date or anything else. Once upon a time, she’d found his strong, silent routine a turn-on. In those days she’d found everything about him sexy. His personality, his intelligence, the way he made love to her in such a strong, focused way, as if he knew exactly how to give her pleasure.

  In the beginning, he had. She hadn’t had any complaints sexually for a long time. By the time she did, her concerns outside the bedroom were much more pressing than her increasingly frequent inability to get off with her husband.

  She worried the long braid she’d pulled over one shoulder, her gaze on the line of cars creeping past the coffee shop. The turbulent twilight sky spit sleet and the tap-tap-tap of it on the tin roof rose above the piped-in jazz. Voices hummed around her, soft and comforting. Nice to hear people talking and laughing. Her house felt so quiet now with Lon gone. Probably why she kept the movie channel on night and day. Anything to fill the silence.

  The silence in her head was harder. Mornings tested her. Sometimes even the memory of Lon’s cold body seemed better than the void of her empty bed.

  Not that she cried. She couldn’t seem to dredge up any tears. She’d tried. Repeatedly. Surely it wasn’t right for a woman not to cry over her husband asking for a divorce.

  Months had passed since that night and she still hadn’t. She almost wanted to, just to prove she wasn’t broken.

  Karyn tugged on her braid, just about to check the time again when the door opened with a little jingle of bells. She glanced at the man that entered the shop, glanced away. Then she glanced back, shocked at the tickle of awareness along the back of her neck as she checked out his profile.

  He looked like an ordinary guy. Average—the same matter-of-fact label she’d assigned herself years ago. Golden-brown hair, no stubble to speak of, firm jaw. Good lips, even with the little scowl that pulled them down. She couldn’t see his eye color. Maybe hazel, like hers.

  Her gaze skipped along broad shoulders, landed on his gray football hoodie. Great. This guy—Jeff—with the p
encil stuck behind one ear sure didn’t look like a thug, thereby debunking most of her other theories. Which meant she’d just been ogling a friend of her soon-to-be-ex-husband.

  Didn’t that just figure?

  He turned his head and settled his gaze on her where she stood beside the little round table she couldn’t manage to actually sit at. Her stomach tightened in concert with her throat but she strode forward and stuck out a hand. “Jeff?” she asked, hoping she sounded polite rather than tense. “I’m Karyn.”

  “You’re Lon’s wife,” he said, keeping his own hands in his pockets.

  Finally realizing he had no intention of accepting her hand, she pulled back. “For the next little while, yes.”

  “You’re divorcing.”

  No man had ever used such a brusque tone with her before. She didn’t mind. At least she knew how he felt. He wasn’t playing games. For whatever reason, he didn’t like her and made no bones about it.

  Karyn stiffened her shoulders. “If you’re his friend, shouldn’t you know that?”

  “I’m asking you.”

  “Yes. We’re divorcing. What is your last name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  He didn’t reply but by then she’d found something else to occupy her attention. His eyes.

  Though she’d expected them to be as serviceable as the rest of him, they were a smoky blue-gray fringed in dark lashes. Pretty eyes. Even when he stared her down like a cop might a perp. And not just any perp. One who was heavily armed and an imminent flight risk.

  Her skin prickled under his intense scrutiny. Something about the way he looked at her—in her—made her warm all over, even places she’d assumed had frozen permanently.

  “Maddox,” he said finally, lingering over the word as if he expected her to respond in a predetermined fashion. The name wasn’t familiar.

  “Why do you have Lon’s phone?”