by Fall, Carly
“Bridget?” he called out and didn’t receive an answer.
Figuring she must have gone to bed, he turned off all the lights and TV and went down the hallway to their room.
“Bridget?”
“Go away, Mason.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m sleeping. Go away.”
“Bridget, I have to talk to you.”
His words were met with silence, and he wasn’t about to take it.
Flicking on the light, he saw her curled up under the covers and went over to the bed.
“Bridget?”
“Please, Mason. Just go.”
She sounded defeated, and he realized that she must have thought that he jumped up off the couch to make a business phone call.
And he had, sort of. But it was an important phone call that had just significantly altered their future.
“Bridget, I needed to make that phone call. For us.”
She didn’t move, didn’t say anything. He pulled the covers down from her and rolled her so that she was on her back.
“Mason, leave me alone!”
He wasn’t going to do that. He was too excited and felt too good about the call. Climbing on top of her, he straddled her, pinning her hands above her head. He couldn’t help the grin that wouldn’t go away.
“Mason! I’m not in the mood for this!”
“Too bad,” he teased.
She stared up at him, her green eyes showing the hurt that her soul housed.
“I want you to listen,” he said, his smile fading, his mood turning serious.
Her answer was silence.
“I met this guy on the golf course a few months ago, and we’ve been playing together regularly. He owns his own business and offered me a job as the company Chief Financial Officer a couple of weeks ago. He wanted me to take over the accounting department, but also work on the company’s investments, as well as his own. I turned him down flat because I wanted partner, but I kept his card. I just called him. The job is mine. The pay isn’t as high, but the hours won’t be as long and I’ll be home more.”
Bridget’s face softened. “But what about partner, Mason? That’s so important to you!”
He shrugged. “Yeah, it was. But with this job, I’m still top dog. And besides, it came down to you or the partnership; there’s no question what’s more important.”
Tears glimmered in her eyes. “Are you certain? I don’t want you resenting me.”
Mason did a quick gut check. He had visions of a future where he was home for dinner with his wife and kids, a future where he wasn’t too tired to make love to the sexy Ms. B.
There was no resentment anywhere to be found, just peace and the knowledge that he was doing the right thing.
Staring down at the sparkling green pools of his wife’s eyes, he felt his body come alive for her, yet again. He lay out flat on top of her, spreading her legs with his own.
“I’m sure, love.”
He kissed her gently and pushed his pelvis into her core.
“Can we talk about those kids we wanted to have?” he whispered as he nipped her earlobe. “Or should we just do something about it?”
Bridget chuckled. “I love you, Mason.”
He let go of her hands, and they cupped his face. He kissed her bruised chin and then her neck. “I love you too, Ms. B. And Happy Valentine’s Day.”
About the Author
Carly Fall
Carly Fall is a wife, a mother, and a slave to Nicky the dog.
She loves to laugh, and thinks chocolate and wine should be considered their own food group. She also wishes Christmas happened twice a year.
Three years ago, she decided to take a break from writing business material and dip her toe in the fiction pond and has loved watching her imagination come to life on the page. She is the author of contemporary and fantasy romance.
Find Carly at:
Website: www.CarlyFall.com
Also from the Valentine’s Day Collection
The Gift
© 2013 Elise Marion
All film star Avery O’Dea has ever wanted is a normal home life outside of her career. Meeting Dominic Ramsey, albeit not through the best of circumstances, has made that dream a reality. A few months into their marriage, she’s finally living the kind of life she’s always wished for off-screen. So when their first Valentine’s Day comes around, she expects nothing less than what other girls get on the most romantic day of the year: chocolates, flowers, seduction . . . the works!
When Dominic Ramsay first met his beautiful wife, Avery, he was a struggling photographer and was able to devote much of his time to supporting her demanding career. Track forward twelve months and Dom is now very much in demand after successful showings of his work. He’s been offered the chance of a lifetime to work on a shoot in Paris and accepts the job, even though he’s been away from home a lot in recent times. Valentine’s Day is just commercialism gone mad, he reasons, and he’s sure Avery won’t mind that they celebrate on a different day.
Avery is crushed when the gift she receives from Dom makes her wonder if he knows her at all. Dom starts to wonder if Avery liked him better when he could devote much of his time to her. A chance meeting in an airport and advice from the most unlikely of sources just might make them realize what they have to hold on to and that the best gift of all is right under their noses?
Please enjoy this excerpt from The Gift:
Excitement hummed through Dominic Ramsey’s veins as he peered over the windowsill into the bedroom decorated with modern furniture and done up in cool shades of white and mint green. The door to the bathroom was slightly ajar, and the steam wafting between it and the frame told him that someone was in the shower. He held his breath and watched, waited for a glimpse of golden, sun-tanned skin and vibrant red hair. Within less than a minute he was rewarded for his patience.
She appeared.
His body reacted instantly—as it always did when she was around—and the sight of her wrapped in nothing but a bath towel, her wet hair falling down past her shoulders, made him forget that he was standing outside in the dark and cold. He was hot, on fire for the little vixen toweling off her hair, humming in that off-key way of hers that never ceased to remind him why Avery O’Dea had been dubbed “America’s Sweetheart” years ago.
He reached for the Canon EOS 5D hanging from its strap around his wrist and raised it to his eye, zooming in on the delectable curves beneath the pristine, white towel. A few shutter clicks captured the image on his memory card to be wiped clean once he’d printed the image for his personal collection—one kept under lock and key to protect them from being stolen or sold to the media. He’d been jet setting in and out of town a lot over the last few months, and photos like these were all he had to keep him going when he was in New York, Chicago, or Miami on business.
Dominic paused, his hand holding the camera steady as the lens zoomed in on the bronzed goddess who had turned toward the window and was now staring straight at him. At least, he thought she was staring straight at him. Through the sheer, white curtains covering the window, it was hard to be certain. He liked thinking she could at least sense his presence, that she felt his eyes on her, and that she felt the same thrill at being watched as he did when his gaze followed those slender fingers of hers up to where the towel wrapped around her chest.
Avery turned her back to the window before dropping the towel; it pooled around her feet, leaving every taut muscle and supple curve bared to his view. It was at times like this that Dominic was thankful for the privacy of the exclusive Beverly Park neighborhood and the lush covering of palm trees and bushes that shielded his private little peep show from the view of passersby. His camera clicked a few more times as he slowly looked her over from head to toe, from the cascade of titian curls slipping through her fingers as she swept the curtain of her hair away from her shoulders, to the lines and planes of her toned back and perfectly round, high, and firm ass, down to the legs he wanted wrapped aroun
d his waist. He nearly lost it when his lens zoomed in on her feet and the candy red pumps she was wearing.
“Holy freaking hell,” he muttered under his breath as she bent at the waist, flipping her hair over her shoulder and giving him a glimpse of succulent, pink flesh from between those delectable, plump lower lips. His cock pressed against the front of his jeans, hard, insistent, the blood there beating a staccato rhythm in his veins in time with the pounding of his heart and thrumming of his pulse. He gritted his teeth and jerked at the collar of his sweater with one hand. Suddenly, the charcoal gray pea coat he’d thrown on after leaving his plane was stiflingly hot.
“Come on, baby,” he whispered, urging her on even though he knew she couldn’t hear him. “Touch yourself for me, sweetheart.”
As if she’d heard him, she straightened and turned, displaying high, palm-sized breasts, rose-petal pink nipples, a diamond-studded navel, and the scintillatingly bare triangle between softly flaring hips. Those long, dainty fingers traveled over her skin, starting at the delicate goblet of her stomach, and running up over her ribs, inch by torturous inch. Dominic’s breath caught in his throat, the rush of his blood roaring in his ears as those manicured digits found her pebbling nipples. She gasped softly as she rolled them between her thumbs and forefingers before lifting the mounds with both hands and giving them a light squeeze.
Dominic captured the image on film, although he knew he wouldn’t need to look at a photograph to remember this moment; her face, lips parted, eyes closed as she pleasured herself, was permanently etched into his memory. The fingers of his free hand clenched and unclenched spasmodically, itching for a feel of her skin.
“Lower baby, lower,” he encouraged, his eyes already zeroed in on the place he wanted to see her hand.
One hand still working a tight little nipple, the other roamed back down over her stomach, sliding over skin still sporting beads of water, some of which were rolling along her skin, tracing the path his fingertips longed to follow. His groan was in tune with her soft moan as her fingers made contact with the undoubtedly moist center of her core.
A few more clicks captured her in the erotic pose, the glistening petals of her core parted and bared to his view, begging for his touch and his tongue. She moaned again, louder this time, sending another wave of desire and need crashing through him and he decided that he couldn’t take anymore. Dropping his camera back into its case, he lifted it and his overnight bag into his hands and thrust them before him through the open window. They landed on the carpet with hardly a sound, and his black boots followed as he parted the curtains and hoisted his six-foot frame through the window.
She didn’t stop, her fingers gliding over her inner folds and dipping into her tight channel. The scent of her arousal wrapped around him and drew him toward her like a moth to a flame. He slung his coat on the floor and reached for the hem of his sweater, a wide, lazy smile crossing his face as he locked eyes with her deep blue ones, gone wide and dark with desire. He trembled as her lower lip disappeared between her teeth and she reached for him.
“Honey,” he said, his voice husky with need, “I’m home.”
Purchase The Gift here:
www.bottomdrawerpublications.net/The Gift
Also by Carly Fall
Against the Ropes
© 2013 Carly Fall
Winning the next fight will mean nothing . . . if he can't win back the heart of the woman he loves.
Five years ago Dylan Gomez had it all. He was an up-and-coming boxer with a loving girlfriend, and his sights were set on the big league. Then he let the hype of the fans inflate his ego—he thought he was invincible. That all changed when an alcohol-fuelled decision altered the course of his life. He lost his girlfriend and then bit-by-bit his life crumbled around him.
Physical therapist, Regan Holloway, has coasted through life for the last five years. She’s been in the same place all that time and most of her things are still in boxes. Agreeing to a “friendly” date with a co-worker, she ends up ringside and face-to-face with the man she’d fled to forget—Dylan.
Dylan’s turning his life around and working his way back up the ranks; he’s got a big fight lined up in thirty days that will be his ticket back into the pros—if he can win. The only thing holding him back is an old shoulder injury and Regan not being by his side.
When Max, Dylan’s manager, convinces Regan to come with them and work on his shoulder for the fight, she knows she needs to keep things professional so that she won’t be hurt again.
In the thirty-day countdown to the big fight, secrets are revealed, their passion is reignited, and the past threatens to haunt their future. On fight day, Dylan and Regan are truly against the ropes.
Please enjoy this excerpt from Against the Ropes:
Unfortunately, she knew ten minutes into this date that he wasn’t for her. Hell, she knew it when he’d asked her, but the thought of spending another Saturday night alone didn’t appeal to her at all, and on a whim, she had said yes.
She looked around the casino bar. Slot machines rang and whistled in the background, along with the hum of people talking and the eighties music trickling out through the speakers above. People were standing two deep at the large, oak bar, and excitement crackled in the air for the night’s festivities. A month ago, she’d been talking to Brett about sports over lunch when he asked her if she enjoyed boxing. Regan had cringed at the question. She used to love the sport, but that had changed. She had nodded and smiled absently and a week later, Brett asked her to this boxing match.
Currently, they were waiting to be called for their dinner reservations. Afterward, they would go to the match. There was a time in her past—a time she didn’t like to think about—when she’d spent many days and nights in the boxing community. Now the closest she got to the ring was her kickboxing class at the local gym.
“I’m looking forward to tonight. There’s a couple of really good fights on the card,” Brett said, leaning forward with a smile. “I’m glad you came with me, Regan.”
She returned the smile. “It was nice of you to ask.”
He prattled on about some office gossip and Regan became antsy. Honestly, Brett was everything a woman should want in a man, but he was boring her to tears. Finally, after twenty more minutes, she stood. “I’m going to the bathroom,” she said. At the same time she heard the maître-de call Brett’s name. “I’ll meet you in the restaurant.”
“Sounds good,” he said, standing, and Regan could feel his stare on her back as she walked away.
Once in the restroom, she used the toilet, and then put the seat down and sat. Why had she agreed to come to a boxing match?
Her head swam with memories of Dylan, her former lover and the one that no other man could compete with, even though he had hurt her worse than anyone ever had in her life. Being of Mexican descent, his skin was sienna brown, his eyes almost black. They were warm, and she swore that they sparkled when he laughed. Dark hair framed high cheekbones, full lips, and a nose that bent slightly at the bridge. He had considered his body his temple and worked out religiously, weightlifting and hitting the heavy bags. With his good looks and rock-hard body, he was truly the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Regan had been certain Dylan was going to make it big in his boxing career, but she hadn’t seen or heard anything about him in years. It was as if he had just . . . disappeared.
She shook her head as if doing so would get him out of her mind. Most days she was able to keep thoughts of him at bay, but deciding to attend a boxing match had brought up hurt, anger, and memories of their time together. Really, she just wanted to leave, but she knew she couldn’t.
Brett had made reservations at the most expensive steakhouse in the hotel, and she had caught a glimpse of the boxing tickets lying on the table when they were having drinks. He’d paid seventy bucks per ticket for ringside seats. The amount of money he was spending on this night, combined with his excitement for the fights, made her feel like she couldn’t let him dow
n.
Sighing, she stood up, left the stall and washed her hands. She studied herself in the mirror and ran her fingers through her shoulder-length hair. Her eyes were sad, but memories of Dylan always did that to her. She opened her purse and put just a touch of pink blush on her fair skin and a little balm on her lips. Tucking her chocolate brown shirt, which was the exact same shade as her eyes, into her jeans, she decided she would get through this night, let Brett down gently, and that would be the end of it. Or, who knew—maybe Brett would grow on her.
Feeling a little lightheaded from the wine, she opened the bathroom door and looked around for a moment to get her bearings. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a red duffle bag, and a shiver traveled down her spine as goose bumps crawled across her skin. Slowly, she turned.
Dylan strode toward her, his big body gliding through the crowd. At his side was his trainer, Max, carrying the red bag. She looked Dylan up and down. He wore loose, black sweatpants and a black T-shirt that hugged the ridges of his chest. Sweat glistened on his face and wet tendrils of black hair were plastered to his neck. His dark eyes were focused straight ahead.
Was he fighting tonight?
Oh, no. Why hadn’t she looked at the fight card?
Because she never thought in a million years that he would fight in a casino located in Indio, California. His fights had always been held in larger cities, like Los Angeles or Las Vegas. Never had he fought in a place like the small Dreaming Casino in the middle of the desert.
He hadn’t seen her yet, and she tried to head back into the bathroom, but it seemed her feet wouldn’t move. She felt panic well within her as he approached, now about fifteen feet away. His gaze fell on her, and she detected a hitch in his smooth gait. Their eyes locked as he approached, and she felt as though she were about to be swallowed up by the massive man coming toward her.
