Sure she could. A million things. Maybe she should have had David introduce her to his parents first instead of waiting for the big Sunday barbecue. Maybe she should have...maybe she wouldn’t do a single thing wrong, and they’d love her just the way she was. “I’m special,” she whispered into his chest. “And they’re going to love me.”
He lifted her chin and kissed the tip of her nose. “Don’t forget I love you, too.”
She wouldn’t ever forget. She would never tire of hearing it, never stop believing.
“Come on. I want to meet your sister-in-law.”
If it was hard for her to meet his family, it was doubly hard for him to face his brother and the widow. She’d heard all about the terrible fight. But she’d be there to hold his hand just as he’d offered to hold hers when she went to her father.
Pushing through the gate, the sister-in-law was the one he took her to first. A pretty woman with auburn hair and brown eyes, she was laughing with a couple of boys Randi assumed were her own. The man beside her, a slightly younger version of David, tapped her shoulder.
They turned, a package deal, and David went to them, Randi’s hand in his.
“Randi, I want you to meet my brother Jace and his fiancée Taylor.” He didn’t call her Lou’s widow. The word choice was purposeful, carrying a wealth of meaning.
The barest of something flickered in Taylor’s eyes, mirrored in Jace’s. Relief? Happiness? Forgiveness? Then David grabbed Jace, giving him a hearty hug and a back slap, one Jace returned only a half second later.
Over his brother’s shoulder, David smiled at Randi and mouthed, “Thank you.”
Later, she’d thank him in return, in a hundred different ways, for showing her just how special she was.
* * * * *
Randi Anderson was a beautiful girl with an abundance of blond hair that glistened in the sunlight. David held her hand as if she might disappear if he wasn’t attached to her.
Evelyn had so missed the pure beauty of her son’s smile.
Heavens, she was floating on air. She’d been so worried about David. She’d feared he’d might leave the family forever over the whole business with Taylor and Jace.
Evelyn beamed, remembering that introduction half an hour ago. I want you to meet my brother Jace and his fiancée Taylor. David’s words echoed in her mind, and there was acceptance and forgiveness in the simplicity of them. Oh yes, life was perfect in Evelyn’s small world.
Well, almost perfect. She just needed to figure out what that frown on Mitch’s face meant, especially since normally chatterbox Connie had gone completely mum on the subject.
###
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Enjoy the following excerpts and meet the author!
Somebody’s Wife
Dead to the Max
Revenge Sex
About the Author
Somebody’s Wife Excerpt
The Jackson Brothers continues with Somebody’s Wife, Mitch and Connie’s story.
Copyright 2013 Jasmine Haynes
Cover Design by Rae Monet Inc
Connie Jackson wants another baby, but her husband no longer desires her. She’s beginning to suspect he’s having an affair. Once the woman with the smartest kids, the happiest home, and the best marriage, now she’s just somebody’s wife whose husband is cheating on her.
There’s only one thing to do. Connie’s going to have to seduce her husband back into her bed.
Mitch Jackson loves his wife too much to ever look at another woman. But his brother’s death has taught him that life can fall apart in the blink of an eye, and the fear of leaving his family defenseless if he’s gone has robbed him of a decent night’s sleep for the last three years. And now his wife wants another child they can’t afford.
When Connie pulls out all the stops, she becomes the seductress he can’t resist. Mitch has only one option, but if Connie ever finds out, it will mean the end of their marriage.
Excerpt
The scent of Connie’s flowery lotion seeped into the hall. Inside, only one bedside lamp was lit, throwing the corners of the room into shadow and delicately lighting his wife’s profile. Even after ten years of marriage and two kids, she took good care of herself. Some women went to pot, but not Connie. She was as gorgeous as the day he married her. More so, in fact. Those few hated extra pounds she’d never been able to shed after pregnancy gave her luscious curves and perfect breasts with the most enticing pair of nipples.
One leg raised to the stool at her vanity, she smoothed cream into her skin, long strokes along her calves, up her thigh, then back again. He watched, mesmerized by the silk of her skin in the soft lamplight and the rhythmic caress of her fingers. The lace thing she wore barely covered her butt cheeks, and her hair cascaded over her shoulder and down her arm.
She smiled at him. “Did you fall asleep out there, honey?”
He’d missed her smile. “What are you wearing?”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t just buy it. I was cleaning out my drawers this afternoon and ran across it.” She dropped one leg to the floor, then raised the other and started the creaming procedure all over again.
They hadn’t made love in two months. Almost three. He remembered it like a jailed man remembers his last taste of freedom. His mom had taken the kids after one of the barbecues, and the minute the door was closed, the curtains pulled, and the house silent, Connie unzipped his shorts and climbed on top of him right there in the front room.
He’d come after four fast, hard strokes inside her luscious body. His cock filled out his jeans. He’d slept well that night, really well.
Christ, he loved that she loved sex. When they were younger, it was anytime anywhere they could manage it. A little risk had made it even better.
After ten years and two kids, they’d grown past that stage. But Connie hadn’t stopped liking sex.
He hadn’t stopped either despite his constant worries. He wanted her now.
She’d started on her arms now, silking up those smooth limbs. Facing him as she stroked, she arched her neck and blended lotion into her throat, then her upper chest, her fingertips dipping down beneath the thin lace. Her dusky pink nipples peeked through the flimsy covering, tightening into nubs as he watched.
“Mi-itch.”
“Huh?”
“I asked if you were tired.”
“Oh. Yeah.” The outfit was cut high on her hips, her pretty little bush clearly visible through the lace.
“That’s too bad.”
“What?” Her scent wrapped around his gonads. He couldn’t think.
She jutted her hip, putting one hand on bare skin, her fingertips flirting with the lace edging. “I said, it’s too bad that you’re tired.”
God, he wanted her, needed to sink inside her gorgeous flesh and come until he was beyond worrying about anything but the warm fit of her body around him.
Hell, he’d be satisfied taking one tight nipple into his mouth and sucking it like fruit. He could taste her, feel her. His gaze fixed on the ripe melons of her breasts. He licked dry lips.
Meet all the Jacksons
Somebody’s Lover, Book 1
Somebody’s Ex, Book 2
Somebody’s Wife, Book 3
Dead to the Max Excerpt
Try a sample of Jasmine Haynes’s Max Starr Series, an erotic paranormal mystery/romance.
Thirty-something, down-on-her-luck accountant Max Starr has the unfortunate gift of being psychic, a newly-discovered wrinkle in her already messed-up life. Her husband, Cameron, is dead, killed in a botched 7-11 robbery two years ago. She’s cut herself off from friends, moved out of her San Francisco home in favor of a studio apartment, and dumped her flourishing career as a CPA to do temp work.
And now Max has developed an annoying penchant for attracting the spirits of murdered women. Okay, they possess her. And to exorcize them, Max must unmask their killers. But how?! By stepping into the void their deat
hs created, taking their jobs, befriending the loved ones they left behind. Max goes wherever she has to go and does whatever she has to do, with a lot of help from the ghost of her late husband Cameron and hunky and very enticing Detective Witt Long.
Excerpt from Dead to the Max, Book 1
Copyright 2010 Jasmine Haynes
Cover design by Rae Monet Inc
She’d dressed in a long, black skirt and white blouse, flawlessly pressed. She was perfect. The perfect daughter, perfect wife, and perfect employee.
Tonight she longed to be the perfect lover. They’d stolen quick, furtive moments together, but this was the first time she would have all night with her lover. Her body hummed, with anticipation, with guilt, with fear.
She’d parked her silver Maxima in the farthest corner of the San Francisco International Airport long-term lot, then caught the shuttle bus to the terminal building. She’d done everything he asked. Except wait outside the terminal. She wasn’t supposed to pace in front of the arrivals monitor, trying to decide if she liked the anxiety, the foreboding.
She slipped her wedding band and sapphire engagement ring into the inside pocket of her leather purse. His plane was five minutes late. Checking the arrival time for his flight one last time, she crumpled the bit of green paper with the flight information he’d given her, threw it on top of an already full trash can, then walked to the lounge area to take a seat.
His gaze swept her as he stepped off the escalator outside security, and her heart sank to the toes of her sensible pumps. The glare he shot made her tremble. Was he pissed? Had she ruined everything?
Two confused, blank-eyed children clung to his big hands.
His estranged wife met them, ready to take his kids from him.
He neither kissed nor touched the pretty, plump blonde. Her sole purpose was to pick up the children after they’d returned from a visit with his parents.
His hands now empty and his bag slung over his shoulder, he walked several steps behind them. His wife chattered at the children and ignored him. Clusters of travelers engulfed them until they disappeared in the throng surrounding the baggage carousel.
She lingered in the waiting area another ten minutes, then rose, dragging her leather purse up her arm to her shoulder, and headed for the front doors, a lump in her throat. Once outside, she stood at the curb for the next long-term bus. He was at the other end of the island, the way they’d arranged. His wife had unknowingly played into the scheme, telling him she’d pick up the kids but he’d have to take a taxi.
She wondered why he and his wife still played this silly game.
The night had cooled. Her silk blouse was thin, but the heat from rumbling buses swept beneath her skirt and set her on fire. She could feel the hot lick of his gaze as if twenty feet didn’t separate them, his anger and desire a potent combination.
Need, hunger, dread, and excitement formed a squirming package in her stomach. Butterflies. Spontaneous combustion.
He sat in the back of the bus, she in the front. They neither spoke nor looked at each other. The ride to long-term was the longest ten minutes she’d ever known. Finally they turned down her aisle. She couldn’t believe she was doing this, couldn’t imagine stopping it now. Wouldn’t stop it even if her life depended on it.
She exited from the front of the shuttle, he from the rear, the overnight bag now in his hand. Pulling out her keys, she pressed the remote alarm.
The bus pulled away. Her heart hammered.
His bag was on the ground beside them and his hands were up her skirt before she had the car door open.
He dragged her into the back seat. She spread her legs over him, straddling his thighs. The roof of the car scuffed her hair. Tugging on his zipper, she took him in her hand. He sucked in a breath; in the past, he’d always initiated. There wasn’t time to fish the condoms out of her purse. When she slid down onto him, he groaned, but he didn’t take his eyes off her face.
She’d never been so wet, so vocal, or come so willingly in her life.
Three power-thrusts later, he came.
She screamed.
* * * * *
She screamed out her orgasm. Tears gummed her lashes and rolled down her cheeks. Hands circled her throat. From the floor of the car, the rumpled bit of green notepaper, the one she’d thrown away, taunted her, and the empty condom wrapper shouted her shame. How had it come to this?
In that moment, before fear gripped her, before instinct took over, when her guilt was strongest, she welcomed Death. Welcomed it as the life was choked from her, welcomed it until her eyeballs ached and colors exploded behind her lids. Until blood from her bitten tongue leaked down her raw, bruised throat. And then her body fought for survival.
She tore at the fingers, shrieked, twisted, kicked, scratched, and punched. And still she couldn’t drag in a breath. Terror fisted around her heart and squeezed. Fear of death. Fear of life. Fear like she’d never known. Not even the night someone put a bullet in Cameron’s head.
Max Starr woke clawing at her throat, Cameron’s name breaking the thrall of the dream. Blood drummed in her ears. Her heart pounded against the wall of her chest.
But she could breathe. Oh God, she could breathe, sweet, clean air smelling of early morning, green leaves, and hope. She was here, in her bedroom, where she belonged. Safe.
“Are you all right?” Cameron’s voice, not spoken but inside her head, comforting, familiar, the way a dead husband’s voice should be, the only way a crazy, grieving widow should hear her husband’s ghost. But she’d have given anything to feel his arms around her right now. For real, not just in the erotic dreams he brought her.
Sometimes fantasies weren’t enough.
Like now, when her throat still ached. She lightly caressed the flesh, her fingers cool, her skin tender with residual effects of the nightmare.
“It was a dream,” she murmured for both their benefits. Maybe her worst nightmare—except for that night two years ago when Cameron was killed—but still just a dream. After a deep inhale, then a long sigh, the tension dribbled out her fingertips and the soles of her feet.
Physical, reality-based sensation returned—sheets tangled around her legs, her back stuck to the cotton. She pushed the bedclothes aside to let cool air from the open window blow across her naked body. In the elm outside her window, the stray black cat gave a pathetic mewl. She shouldn’t have fed it yesterday, but knew she’d do the same thing today. Her racing heart eased into a steady, normal beat.
“That was a vision, Max, not a dream.” Cameron’s voice again, always with her, inside her.
It had been his name that woke her. It wasn’t part of the dream, vision, whatever it was; his name was something she’d interjected into a reality that didn’t belong to her. Even now she sensed remnants of another’s strong emotions inextricably linked with her own.
In the dark corner across the room, dear departed Cameron’s eyes flashed. Despite the two years since his death, those glittering points of light, all she ever really saw of him, still gave her a little jolt, part excitement, part fright. The red tip of his spectral cigarette glowed. He’d loved them when he was alive. They’d been the death of him in the end, not by cancer, but by gunshot at the corner 7-Eleven where he’d gone to buy his last pack.
If you enjoyed this excerpt, look for all the Max Starr mysteries:
Dead to the Max, Book 1
Evil to the Max, Book 2
Desperate to the Max, Book 3
Power to the Max, Book 4
Vengeance to the Max, Book 5
Max Starr in Print on Demand:
Dead to the Max POD
Evil to the Max POD
Desperate to the Max POD
Power to the Max POD
Vengeance to the Max POD
Revenge Sex Excerpt
Try a sample of Jasmine’s erotica with her sexy new series about hotwives and the men who love them. Be warned, this one is pretty darn naughty!
Revenge Sex
Book One in the West Coast Series
A tale of hotwifing
Cover design by Rae Monet Inc
A man, the hotwife he can’t control...and the woman who wants to fix what’s wrong with him.
Tough, autocratic CFO Clay Blackwell strikes both fear and loyalty into the hearts of his employees. But he’s got one quirk no one at West Coast Manufacturing knows; he loves the idea of his live-in girlfriend Ruby being with another man...then coming home to him for the best sex of his life as she describes every naughty detail. He’s only got three stipulations: no sex with anyone from work, no sex with another man in their own home, and she always has to tell him when she has a date. The problem? What to do with a “hotwife” who has all the freedom any woman could want, but still can’t follow three simple rules.
Jessica Murphy has the utmost respect and admiration for her CFO. She also has wild sex fantasies about Clay every night. Not that she’d ever tell anyone. Until she walks in on Clay’s girlfriend Ruby screwing Bradley the financial analyst right on Clay’s desk.
All bets are off and a little revenge sex is the name of the game. Ruby thinks she’ll placate Clay by telling him to have sex with another woman to pay her back for all her rule-breaking. When Jessica learns about that, she makes up her mind to seduce her boss for keeps, not just one night of revenge.
But can she become the more-than-one-man woman Clay Blackwell wants? Or will his desires tear them apart?
Excerpt
Copyright 2011 Jasmine Haynes
Hoisting her onto the desktop, Bradley spread her legs and yanked on her pretty purple thong.
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