Romantic Interludes

by TWCS Authors

  His breath a little ragged, Justin touched his forehead to hers. “Thank you.”

  He didn’t say anything else except to get her order at a McDonald’s before they left town to head north to Elkridge.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?” April asked as she wiped at her lips.

  He had only seen that from the corner of his eye, because the majority of his focus was by necessity on the road and the slow traffic. The snow was coming down in blankets, it seemed to him. “I’m good. I’ll eat when I’m not gripping the wheel with both hands,” he said, trying to smile reassuringly. Really, though, the reason he’d put off eating was that he thought he could still taste her and he didn’t want that to go away.

  At least not yet.

  Her phone rang. “It’s my mom.”

  “Tell her I’m getting you home as soon as I can.”

  “I’m not sixteen!” she protested, laughing and shaking her head. “Hey, Mom. No, we’re on our way up now. Tell Hannah not to worry. Did you get to build snowmen? Great.”

  Justin chuckled as the conversation went on, wondering how it would be to get to listen to this kind of thing day after day. His heart felt full, but he needed to concentrate, so he did what he had learned how to do years ago and compartmentalized his mind. His body was already acting automatically. He was tense, his senses heightened insofar as they could be in the car.

  The windshield wipers were going as fast as they could. April craned her neck sideways to look at the sky. “Will we need snow chains?”

  He had to chuckle. “No one up here really uses them. We have them at the barracks, but the snowplows here are really good.”

  She relaxed back into the seat, her voice sounding embarrassed when she said, “Oh. Everyone said I should have them, moving here. I, um, learned how to put them on in November.”

  She sounded so brave, but still somehow vulnerable. It wrenched at him but he was also enormously proud of her. “You’re something else, sweetheart.”

  Turned out that the roads were still car-worthy when he left the highway to take the surface streets to her house. “Um, I think you should maybe stay,” April suggested as they drove carefully up her street. The snow was getting thick. “It’s not safe.”

  He flashed her a surprised smile. “Inviting me for a sleep-over, Mrs. Sinclair?” Part of him hated using that name, but it was hers and he blamed himself sometimes for that.

  Her blush was visible. “Yes, Gunnery Sergeant Clark. I don’t have spare clothes, but, um, you’re a Marine and I figure it wouldn’t be the first time you had to wear the same clothes a couple of days in a row.”

  “I think the record is thirty,” he said, remembering an exercise a long time ago.

  “Ew.”

  “Yeah.” He turned into her driveway and every muscle in his body relaxed. “And here we are. Oh, and, um, I have a duffle tucked down behind your seat. With some stuff.”

  “Stuff?” she asked.

  “An emergency bag. Just in case, you know? I make one every season.” He retrieved his duffle and then opened her door for her.

  Her smile was incredulous until she had to shield her face from the thickly falling snow. “You’re amazing.” The words were muffled behind the white paper bag with his cooling lunch.

  “Mom! Mr. Clark! You’re home! You’re home! Look! The snowman is over there and then I made lots of snow-babies but they’re getting covered up. Can we move them so they don’t get buried?” Hannah, dressed in a bright purple snowsuit and black boots, was on the porch. Snow was covering the steps that led to it already.

  “Are you staying?” Sue Peterson asked, her expression a toss-up between worried and hopeful.

  “I invited him, Mom,” April answered before he could. “No way could he get back safely tonight.”

  “The Weather Channel is saying you might have a blizzard!”

  “Could be, Sue,” Justin said as he helped April up to the porch and climbed up himself. “Your first one?”

  “Yes,” she said with a laugh. “Heavens. Well. It will be an adventure.”

  Hannah had both arms around April as they moved into the house. “And then I used an apple for the nose, because we didn’t have any more carrots, Mom. And then I wanted to give the snowman my red scarf but Gramma said I had to ask you and you weren’t here, so I put a towel around him instead.”

  “Let’s show Justin to the office, okay, Hannah? And then we’ll look through your things and pick some items you can use on future snow people.” She turned and crossed the entrance with its hardwood floor. “Sorry, Justin. Mom’s got the spare, but we do have a sofa-bed in the office.”

  “That’ll be great, hon, thanks.”

  Darkness descended even though it was still early enough in the afternoon as to normally be light. Hannah begged for a fire in the fireplace and April suggested they go get more wood in from the pile on the back porch.

  April—and Sue, Justin didn’t fail to note—made sure to include him in every aspect of the rest of their day while the snow crested the porch. Keeping the atmosphere of the house bright and delighted in the beauty of the storm and not focusing on the problems allowed the day to pass quickly.

  When it was time for dinner, Justin volunteered. “This was supposed to be my day to share with you,” he reminded April quietly in the kitchen while Sue and Hannah read a book near the fireplace. “I feel like a slacker.”

  “My kitchen, my rules. You can play sous-chef,” she decided, pushing him in next to the sink.

  Chuckling, he pulled her next to him. “Can I play with the chef?” he wondered, nuzzling her hair.

  “Maybe later?”

  He sighed, feeling contentment warm his torso. This was perfect. It seemed kind of miraculous that he was here, teasing April in such a way after all this time. And that she was letting him, encouraging him.

  She pulled back, a hopeful smile shining in her eyes. “Thank you. Thanks for the day and for getting us back home safe and . . . and . . .” Pressing her lips together, she seemed to have to take a moment. “And for waiting.”

  “You’re worth it,” he said simply.

  Dinner was relaxed, conversation flowing easily about the four of them. If Sue sent him way too many significant looks, he was only encouraged by the pleasure in the older woman’s expression. Hannah gained permission to call him Justin instead of the very proper Mr. Clark. Table manners were corrected by an eagle-eyed April. Very Norman Rockwell, to his mind. The whole of the day had been, in so many ways.

  God, I want this, he prayed with silent fervor. I do.

  “Come on, Hannah. Let Gramma put you to bed. I didn’t get to have a whole day alone with you and I want to end it with just the two of us.”

  Outside, the snow was still falling. Through April’s windows, he could see that his truck was getting buried past the tires. Hers was in the detached garage at the back of the property. The huge, leafless maple tree in the front had lost a medium-sized branch already due to the snow, but the branch had fallen harmlessly to the thick drifts that surrounded the base of the tree. The covered porch was collecting snow, too, from the windblown storm.

  Inside, Justin was sitting on the floor next to the stone hearth. The fire was the only light in the room as Sue took Hannah up for bed.

  “You know, what Mom really meant was to give us the time alone,” April murmured. She was curled up in the chair at his back. He could feel her legs move against his shoulders as she fidgeted.

  He leaned back against her a little and craned his neck to meet her eyes. “I’m not complaining.”

  “Me either.” She smiled a little, her eyes reflecting the orange flames from the fire so that she looked almost otherworldly. With a tilt of her head, she brushed her hand over his closely cut hair. “I enjoyed having you share the second half of the day, but . . . but I would have liked a little longer back in D.C.”

  “Me, too.” He watched her expression as she caressed him and then decided he could risk it. “Sit with
me?”

  She laughed softly. “I am.”

  Reaching up, he tugged her hand from his head. “No. Down here.”

  “Oh.” After a moment, with a quick glance to the stairs, she nodded.

  It only took a few moments after that for him to guide her around to sit between his legs, there in front of the fire. His chest was pressed to her back, his heart pounding into her as she relaxed against him. “Thank you,” he said, his words brushing along her temple.

  “Thank you,” she echoed. “It’s been such a great day.”

  Tightening his arms around her a little, he nodded. “Yeah. Perfect. Even with the blizzard.”

  He felt her laugh more than heard it. “I wonder . . . I’ve wondered a few times today, actually.”

  “About what?”

  She shifted, then, positioning herself so that she was half-turned into his body. He had no objections whatsoever. The fire sparked a little and they both jerked their heads in that direction, but no harm had been done and she turned again to face him. Her nose brushed his jaw and his body tensed as she sighed through parted lips. “About what kind of day we might have had, before, you know?”

  He was prepared to feel that sharp slice of regret at her words—so familiar to him—but it never came. Her mouth skimmed his skin and he turned enough to meet it with his own. He didn’t kiss her tentatively at all. He wanted her to know he was serious, just in case she still had any confusion on that score. One of her arms slid around to his back, the other behind his neck and he was more than happy to enfold her even more closely. He kneaded the indent of her waist, felt the small of her back under her sweater and she moaned lightly into his mouth.

  “I love you,” he rasped raggedly when he had to breathe. “I don’t think that’ll ever change.”

  She smiled and a light laugh came breathlessly from her. “Odd as it might seem, I love you, too.”

  His heart stopped then raced forward as he stared fiercely into her eyes. “Really?”

  “I’m kind of prone to that, to be honest. I fall fast.” She cocked a brow at him. “Is that okay?”

  “Okay? More than. Better than.” He tried to say more. He did. But nothing came out.

  She rescued him, turning to kneel between his legs, her back entirely to the fire. He could see her outlined by the flames and it was like a dream. “We’ll figure out the logistics, Justin. Later.”

  “Later.”

  It wasn’t always going to be this easy, he guessed, but this—this was more than he could have even thought to have asked for, only last fall. Privately, he promised to do his best to get April Peterson to change her name one more time.

  Something in the way she kissed him told him that he had a pretty good chance.

  Éire's Captive Moon by Sandi Layne

  Category: Historical Fiction

  Publication date: Jan 10, 2013

  ISBN (paper): 978-1-61213-137-5

  ISBN (ebook): 978-1-61213-138-2

  Summary: Éire’s Captive Moon, the first book of Sandi Layne’s Éire’s Viking Trilogy, brings you to the unsettled era of the early Viking raids along the coast of Éire—today’s Ireland.

  During a raid, herbalist Charis of Ragor is captured by the Northman, Agnarr Halvardson, to be his personal medicine woman and sex slave. She will do anything to return to her homeland and the children she left behind—even escape with fellow slave Prince Cowan.

  http://ph.thewriterscoffeeshop.com/books/detail/80

  Coming July 2013

  An Unexpected Woman by Sandi Layne

  Category: Romance

  Summary: He fell right into her arms.

  Southwest Florida, though a popular tourist destination, has been rather lonely for Associate Pastor Mark Countryman, until a chance encounter acquaints him with local girl Shelley Roberts. She’s a breath of fresh air, surprising and delighting him at almost every turn.

  Though she grows to care for Mark, Shelley finds that personality conflicts arise in every relationship. Diverse ideas about how to manage them clash as a hurricane approaches.

  “I despise Valentine’s Day.”

  Annalise, my co-worker and best friend, looked up from her laptop and grinned at me.

  “That’s unfortunate, Jada, since you work for a greeting card company.”

  It was unfortunate. After all, I hadn’t spent four years getting my English degree so I could spend my days writing sappy messages for greeting cards. However, my student loans couldn’t wait for me to write the great American novel, so I’d accepted the job at Heartfelt Designs writing Christmas card greetings. I never planned to make a career out of it, but that all changed six months ago, when I was promoted to associate writer within our Valentine’s Day division.

  Or as I like to call it, the eighth circle of hell.

  “I don’t understand, Jada. I mean, look at this place,” Annalise said, waving her hands around the room. “How could you not be in the Valentine’s Day spirit with all these decorations?”

  This year’s marketing campaign was Cupid’s Arrow, and the entire office looked like a bottle of Pepto Bismol had exploded on the walls. Splashes of red and pink were everywhere and hundreds of little Cupids with his bow and arrow dangled from the ceiling. It was enough to make any sane person go mad.

  Annalise, however, wasn’t sane. She lived for this holiday. Of course, she had an amazing husband who lavished her with love all the time. The constant arrangement of fresh flowers on her desk and the endless pings of her email were evidence that he was attentive and sweet.

  Lucky bitch.

  “Valentine’s Day is for people who are in love, or at least pretend to be,” I muttered, groaning a little when an image of a sickeningly sweet couple standing on a yacht appeared on my monitor. Like that’s relatable in this economy. “Billions of dollars are spent each year on this one day. Shouldn’t you show your love year-round?”

  “You should, but not all couples do. Some need reminders.”

  Austin, my ex-husband, had always needed reminding about important dates like birthdays or holidays. It would be so easy to blame my cynicism on him, but truthfully, I’d always been a little disgusted by all the hoopla surrounding Valentine’s Day.

  I was clearly in the wrong profession.

  “Do you know what you need, Jada? You need Cupid to shoot you in the ass with one of his arrows. How long has it been since you’ve gone out with someone besides me?”

  “Umm . . .”

  “That’s what I thought! It’s Friday, Jada. You should do something besides sit at home.”

  “I have plans.”

  Her eyes brightened. “Oh?”

  “Yep. There’s a Brad Pitt marathon on cable, starting with Thelma and Louise and ending with Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”

  Annalise groaned. Luckily, her phone rang, rescuing me and allowing me to focus on my laptop once more. I finally found a picture of a young boy kissing his little girlfriend on the cheek. It wasn’t terribly original, but it was cute enough to make me pause and jot down some notes.

  Young love is forever.

  Valentine’s Day is like first kisses . . .

  Love is eternal, no matter the age.

  Remember when I used to meet you at the door, wearing nothing but an apron, and you’d lift me onto the kitchen counter . . .

  “I’d cross out that last one,” Annalise said as she peeked over my shoulder.

  I wrinkled my nose. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe we should pitch an erotic e-card line. Think Mario would go for it?”

  Mario was our division supervisor and always eager for fun, creative designs that customers might not find with the larger greeting card companies. He’d loved our Men in Uniform e-cards we’d developed just in time for Father’s Day.

  “He’d probably go for just about anything you offered him.”

  “I’m not dating the boss, Annalise.”

  Annalise wiggled her eyebrows. “Who said anything about dating?”

  “I’m not do
ing that, either.”

  She giggled and returned to her desk just as Heather, one of our interns, walked into the room. She took one look at the decorations and began to clap wildly.

  Kill me.

  The rest of the afternoon was the same. Everyone in the office was just so festive, eagerly anticipating February 14, and far too excited about the holiday party, where our Cupid’s Arrow line of cards and gifts would be unveiled.

  I felt like Scrooge, and it wasn’t even December.

  With a heavy sigh, I closed my laptop. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be down in the dungeon.”

  That’s what we affectionately called the basement, home of our graphics department. Some of the more devoted artists were famous for living in the dungeon for days while working on a project. The lack of windows meant no natural light, and the place was always freezing.

  “I hate going down there,” Annalise mumbled.

  I shrugged. “It’s not so bad. I have a meeting with the new illustrator.”

  “Nathan Reynolds,” she said, sighing dreamily. “Tall, dark, handsome, and single. Twenty-seven years old. Originally from Oklahoma City. Lives in the West Village.”

  “Do you know his social security number, too?”

  “No, but I could get it.”

  I rolled my eyes. Annalise was far too nosy for her own good.

  “Wonder what would bring an Oklahoma boy to New York City?”

  Maybe I’m too nosy for my own good, too.

  Annalise shrugged. “No one knows. Rumor has it he’s pretty private. He doesn’t really socialize with anyone outside the office. They say he’s wicked talented, though.”

  “Maybe he can take this Valentine’s theme and do something creative with it. Something that’ll make me a little less desperate to stab the nearest Cupid with his own pointy arrow.”

  “I still say you just need a Cupid of your own.”

  “Actually, that’s the last thing I need.”

  My best friend grinned. “Tall, dark, and single. I’m just sayin’ . . .”

  Whatever.