by Flint, Ember
He kisses my temple. “Jesting aside, I really strive to be all those things for you and our babies, darling, but if I manage to be a good man in any way for even a fraction of a second on any given day, it’s because of you, it’s because I have you in my life and you fill everything with so much love and joy and make me the best man I could ever be every day.”
I feel tears prick my eyes and my vision blurs slightly.
“God, I am so lucky to have you, so lucky to have your love,” I whisper on his lips and then I move my kisses down until I reach the hollow of his throat, making him grit my name.
“Alright, we’re getting too mushy here, let’s put an end to this!”
Sterling once more rolls me under him, making me laugh.
“We still have time before we have to go, right?” he asks, his voice turning husky again.
I nod, winding my arms around his neck. “Almost three hours.”
He smirks. “Good, shall we destroy this lingerie completely then, my sweet?”
I slide one of my hands away from his back and down his front, until I reach his erection, once more nudging into the curve of my belly, and I clutch it firmly, making him hiss.
I nip his earlobe as I start to stroke him. “That’s a great idea, love. Anything less would offend Lara’s sensibilities after all,” I say trying to keep a straight face.
“And we certainly can’t have that, can we?”
I feel his big hands come between us and rip the bustier clear off my chest and I gasp.
Damn, I love my man!
THE END
At the Stroke of Midnight
By EMBER FLINT
Seth Trenton is an all-powerful CFO entirely focused on his career and the growth of his family’s multi-billion company.
He’s constantly pursued by the wrong type of woman and is starting to feel like he’s cursed.
He has never had a relationship that really meant something to him and has never let a woman really get into his heart, despite his desire to fall in love.
He keeps his true-self hidden away behind a stern scowl, an irrepressible no-nonsense attitude and a code of unbreakable rules.
There’s just a person in his life that can go beyond all of that and find his smile. Just one person that really knows him. Someone that’s always been there. Someone he could not live without.
Evelyn Bridgeford is a sweet pediatrician that never felt like she belonged in the glitzy, ruthless circles of New York’s business world. She knows all too well the meaning of loss, but she won’t let the pain bring her down.
There’s just one thing that really bothers her and that’s the fact that she has never been in love, not even once. A hopeless romantic, she’s been waiting all her life to be jolted into love by that ineffable, all-encompassing spark, but she’s twenty-eight and it hasn’t happened yet and there’s one person who seems to share in her misery.
The only man she’s ever been able to open up to. The one that was always there for her. Her rock. Her protector. The only person that really knows her.
Seth and Evelyn have known each other all their lives and have been best friends for just as long, but is their friendship something more?
Did they always have in each other what they were looking for elsewhere?
A snowy night, a song and a dare will change everything forever.
This year at the stroke of midnight, Seth will see Eve in a completely different light.
Dear Reader:
Steam is literally going to come off the pages of this sensually sweet, no-cheating, HEA-guaranteed, New Year’s Eve story that starts clueless, ends too hot to touch and has a little bit of everything in it: holiday cheer, eggnog, champagne, fireworks of all kinds, an over the top, ultra-protective alpha hero who doesn’t even know how possessive he can be, a sassy, teasing heroine with a sharp tongue and the softest curves and more snow than New York has ever seen.
You will know they are in love from the start, but let’s see how long this madly in love unwitting couple has to wait until the veil drops from their eyes.
Count down to midnight and find out!
Copyright
Copyright © 2018 Ember Flint
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. To request permission, contact the author.
Note from the Author: this is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental. Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters are represented as 18 or over. Also, in real life, remember: always safety first.
Cover design by: Pink Diamonds Waterfall
Edited by: New Wave Romance
To all the people brave enough to take a risk where true love is concerned.
Excerpt of At the Stroke of Midnight
Chapter 1
SETH
My father steps inside and I can see his eyes widening. “How did Christmas explode all over this place?”
I smile as we both look around at the hundreds of white midget Christmas lights twinkling slowly all over my once Spartan-looking office and the baubles, little silver trinkets and decorations covering every available surface.
“Evelyn… she tried to get me out of the office to ‘refill my severely lacking holiday spirit reserve’ as she put it, and when I said I couldn’t, she conspired with Alan, stopped by while I was closeted away with our Board of Directors in the conference room and… I guess she got carried away a bit.”
My father laughs. “I should have known.”
He stares at me intently as with a long sigh he plunks himself in one of the leather armchairs in front of my desk. “Are you sure you’re okay, Son?”
“Sure, Dad, don’t worry. I’m just tired: we all are.”
He nods, but his bushy eyebrows furrow a bit; I can see much more grey in them now than I would have only a couple of months ago.
“Is something bothering you?” he persists, clearly unconvinced by my act.
I pick up one of the huge stack of papers littering the top of my large oak desk and I tap on it.
“Just going over this one more time, Dad. One can never be too sure.”
He steeples his hands over his chest, a crooked grin on his mouth. “You know I trust you, Seth. You’ve been my second in command for almost ten years now and since the Board agreed to put you at the helm of Special Projects, you’ve never steered us wrong. I’m sure your hunch about Smithsons Industries will pay off.”
I nod slowly. I know he’s right. This will really be the deal of the year, but one small mistake, one little overlooked detail on my part as I assess Smithsons and its financial prospects, and it could cost us millions. Sure, if I’m right we could make billions instead, but still I worry: it’s in my nature.
I shrug, my hands palm-up. “I can’t help it if I’m too much like you, Dad.”
He chuckles. “You’re not like me, Seth: you’re a better man than I could ever be, you make me and your mom proud every day and that’s why I know this company’s future is safe in your hands. And when the time comes—”
“Dad…” I interrupt him. I hate hearing him speak about retiring or worse: being sick or something. “Let’s not go there yet. You’re still green, greener than me some days and you’re the best CEO ST Worldwide has ever had or could have.”
The company has had a S. Trenton at its head since its foundation five generations ago, but everyone
agrees with me that, Simon, my father, is the first S. T. who cared for something aside from profit and loss in our family.
He shakes his head. “Some in the Board of Directors would not agree with you as you well know.”
“You’re still the Boss around here: get rid of them.”
“Your enemies close, Son. You know that.”
I chuckle.
“So, what’s on your mind?”
“Nothing that’s not work, Dad. I told you.”
“Then that’s exactly your problem, Seth.”
Okay, I now know where this is going and I don’t need this right now.
Better change the subject, before I end up having a conversation too much like the one I had with my other matchmaking parent earlier today.
“Has mom stopped running around in a panic yet?” I ask leaning back in my chair, a little smile on my lips.
I know it doesn’t reach my eyes as Eve, my best friend, would say, but I still have to try: my dad doesn’t need anything more on his already full plate right now.
As soon as I’m done with my report, we’ll have big decisions to make: I’ve been evaluating this acquisition for months. In the long run it will prove a valuable asset, but it will immediately require lots of attention and care which in turn means many more worked hours totalling for both of us and our senior management come January. I don’t want him to stress and worry over me just because I’m a little blue about my messy love life or more precisely, the lack of it.
My father’s gaze brightens. My parents are still very much in love.
“Not yet I’m afraid. You know how frantic she gets when she’s organizing the New Year’s Eve big bash. She never thought it would become this huge happening when she threw the party the first time. She’ll stop and finally rest a little when we sic Evelyn on her later.”
I laugh. My eyes fall on the electronic picture frame resting on my desk. It was a Christmas present from Eve last year. There’s a very long slide-show of pictures of us in a loop: from childhood to present day. I see there’s a photo of us in college playing now: I’m bend over nearly in a half and Evelyn is splayed on my back, her arms around my neck. We are bundled up in heavy clothes, snow falling around us, both laughing; her long golden hair cascading on both our shoulders, her large, sparkling, blue eyes flashing happily at the camera.
My father leans forward to see what I’m looking at and sighs, a fond smile on his lips.
“I’d better head home. I have to talk about that thing with Lenny.”
Lenny as in Leonard Bridgeford, Eve’s father.
That thing as in a multi-million-dollar contract for another potential mutually held investment trust.
ST Worldwide and Bridgeford International have been partners in multiple ventures for almost forty years.
“Okay, Dad.”
He stands up. “You’re coming?”
“In a while. I have to finish running over some last emails first and then I’ll head out to pick up Evelyn.”
As soon as my father leaves, my intercom buzzes.
“What?” I ask, pressing the speaking button.
“Seth, there’s a call for you.”
“Yes? From whom?”
“Uh…”
I frown at my PA’s apparent dithering. This is not his style.
“Alan?”
“Miss Suxon.”
I groan. “I’m not taking it.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll tell her you’re not available.”
I can hear the relief in his voice loud and clear.
“Oh no, Al, tell her I’m sitting right here, doing absolutely nothing. Better yet: tell her I’m playing ‘Candy Crush’ on my phone or something and that I won’t take her call, alright? We don’t want her to misunderstand.”
He laughs. “Okay, Boss. Are you heading out yet?”
“In ten minutes. Ask Jackson to come around. Evelyn is probably done by now.”
Chapter 2
EVELYN
“And remember, Sally: no more candy-canes-binging after midnight, all right? Now, your fever is all gone and your cold has definitely improved, so no more meds for you. We just have to make your tummy better, okay? If you do as mommy says and eat plain meals for the next few days, your tummy will stop hurting. You’ll be just fine, sweetie.” I smile down at the upturned little face until I see dimples appearing on it and chasing away the weary expression from the tiny child’s face.
Sally nods very seriously under her mother’s fond scrutiny. “I will listen to mommy, Dr. Bridgeford, I promise.”
“I know you will, dear, and you know what else?”
The little girl slowly shakes her head.
I smile at her mother. “I’m sure by the start of the new year, you’ll be well enough to have a nice, delicious cup of hot chocolate, what do you say?”
The little girl positively beams. “With a marshmallow in it?”
“But of course, sweetie.”
My grin gets bigger as I ruffle her beautiful curly brown hair and chuck her softly on her little chin with the back of my hand.
I turn around to look at her mother and I see her discomposed expression.
“She’ll be just fine, Catherine,” I whisper to her.
She nods, forcing her mouth in a thin, close-lipped smile.
That’s when I realize she’s no longer worried for her little girl —after all she’s on the mend—, but is looking embarrassed instead.
I think I know what the problem is and I berate myself for not reassuring her beforehand. I’ll do so immediately.
I walk to my little desk, veritably buried under a small avalanche of files and folders, and I bend down to open its first drawer.
“You know what else, Sally? It’s snowing so bad that I would not wish for your mommy to leave home and go buy the things to make you that hot chocolate, it would be too cold and then she’ll be sick and we don’t want that, do we?”
The little girl shakes her head. “Nooo!” she states loudly, her slightly glassy, brown eyes widening as she sniffles a couple of times.
“I knew you would agree with me, Sally. You’re in luck though, you can still have your hot chocolate as soon as you’re healed, ‘cause Santa left me something extra for you, he knew you’ll be around today.”
The child’s face brightens all over and she smiles again. “He did? How did he know I was sick?”
I walk back to her and crouch to her level. “Santa knows everything, sweetie. Here you go: all the makings for the best cup of chocolate you can have in New York City!”
With an exaggerated flourish I hand her a pink cup with a kitty cuddling up to a snowman on it, a little bag of mini-marshmallows and a satchel of instant-chocolate powder.
The child stares at the bounty with a look of wonder and I feel a sense of sadness coming over me at the thought that something so little could mean so much to her.
I stand up and turn to her mother.
She takes a shaky breath and squeezes my hand. “Thank you, Evelyn.”
“Don’t mention it and remember: plenty of chicken broth and plain stuff to eat for the next two days, okay?”
She nods, hurls her child up in her arms, making her giggle, and starts to leave, then she stops at the door of my small office. “Happy New Year, Evelyn.”
“Thanks, Catherine, you too. Bye Sally.”
The little girl waves at me, clutching the pink cup to her chest and I smile to myself.
I really love this part of my job.
“Hey Siri what time is it?” I ask to the empty room.
My phone comes to life and I’m told it’s just after 6 p.m.
The small clinic is eerily silent and dark right now, most of the people volunteering around here already left to be with their families.
Pictures of loving couples and toothless smiles of babies flash in my mind and I push them aside.
I sigh, looking around to make sur
e I haven’t forgotten something. I spot my worn copy of ‘Emma’ on the edge of the desk, almost completely buried under an uneven pile of files and I tuck it under my arm.
I think I’m going to re-read it tonight.
A few hours with Jane Austen keeping me company are exactly what I need to charge my batteries in preparation of tomorrow night, ‘cause for me New Year’s Eve is one evening I have to put my simple life as a pediatrician away and wear the corporate mask. A long night of schmoozing and rubbing shoulders with some of the most overbearing, pretentious members of the upper echelons of New York’s society.
But I shouldn’t be so unkind: it might be a little —okay a lot— insufferable to be surrounded by simpering fools trying to get to my father’s through me, but then a lot of the guests will end up making huge donations to BWB —my family non-profit, medical research foundation.
I head that charity and it has given to my life more meaning that I could have ever hoped for.
My father established the Bianca Wells-Bridgeford Foundation in my mother’s name and memory a year after she passed away and for fifteen years we have touched more lives than I could count and I couldn’t be happier about it.
Also, I have to show my support for Bridgeford International, my dad’s hedge fund company: I don’t have an active role in it, I’ve never had a head for business, healing people was always more my kind of thing, but I love being there for him.
Plus, this year will be different: I actually have a date for the party.
I don’t know where this is going to go or if this is going to go somewhere.
It’s going to be a first date and I don’t know Daniel that well: he is a new researcher at the foundation and seems like a nice guy. He’s cute and we have a lot in common, working both in the medical field.
Okay, there was no spark for me when we met —I’m actually starting to doubt that the spark really exists since I’m twenty-eight years old and never felt it in my life—, but if it doesn’t work at least I will have made a new friend.
