A Valentine Dream

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I am alone. I have family, but they are not always around. What I do not have is a significant other - one to hold, kiss, caress – one with whom I share my dreams. So my days are filled with writing, cooking, cleaning – the sameness of my life. There is one that I think about, long for – dream about, but he is not here.

One hour bleeds into the next with very little to distinguish one day from another. Most of the time my solitary existence is tolerable, I have ways to entertain myself. Weekends are hard, nights are harder, but Valentine’s Day is the worst. The whole concept of the day is one where a woman is shown by a man that they are special, desired – worthwhile. I want to belong to someone.

I won’t be getting anything from the object of my desire this Valentine’s Day. I know that – I don’t expect it.

Valentine’s Day came, it wasn’t totally unpleasant. I got some work done. I prepared dinner for a neighbor. I watched a good movie on television, but there was nothing delivered to my door, no special phone call – no card in the mail.

I managed to push all that from my mind during the routine of the daylight hours, but when darkness fell and I was alone – the reality of my loneliness was magnified.

My bed is big; I only take up a fraction of its expanse. When I feel very lonely, I hug the pillow and if my erotic writing has aroused me, I do have a toy to take the edge off my sexual frustration. But what I miss most is the heat of a nearby body – the slide of his skin on mine – the privilege of touching his face, slipping my hand into his.

After much tossing and turning – staring at the stained glass window by my bed – I finally settled down enough to sleep. I don’t think I had been asleep very long before I was awoken by the bed moving just a tiny bit. Someone had placed their knee on the bed and the pressure of their weight made the mattress give. I was too drowsy to panic, so I held out my hand and you took it.

Instantly, my heart leapt. I didn’t have to be introduced to you – every cell of my body recognized you. Even in the darkness I knew your face, your touch.

“Hello, Baby,” you whispered. “I couldn’t stay away.”

“I’ve wanted you so long” My words were all the invitation you needed to hear. You came to me – covering me, capturing my lips, inhaling my breath – our tongues tangling as you claimed me for your own.

I felt my nipples peak and I arched my back, seeing contact with your warm body. A whimper of need escaped my lips and you rewarded me by skating your fingers down my middle till you were rubbing the sensitive flesh between my thighs. “Please,” I begged.” I spread my legs – waiting.

“Do you want me?”

“More than anything.”

You chuckle as you nuzzle your lips against my collarbone, I strain toward you and you seem pleased with my response. As you gently bite my neck, you slide your fingers into my pussy, massaging my clit, spreading my cream from end of my slit to the other – I moan in ecstasy.

“Let’s see how tight you are.” That was all the warning I received before you pushed two fingers up inside of me, setting up a rhythm designed to drive me crazy with desire.

“I need you.” I wouldn’t even say your name aloud, I was afraid to disrupt the fantasy. So many times I had rehearsed this moment, so many nights I had prayed for you to come – I wanted to do nothing that would break the spell.

“Roll, over.” You are dominant. I am submissive. You are man. I am woman. I obeyed.

“I love your ass.” You fondle and caress, molding the shape of my derriere. Tingles of excitement sparkled through my veins when you nipped the tender flesh of my bottom, scraping your teeth – nibbling, making me tilt my ass in the air, presenting myself like a mare in heat. “Spread your legs.” I comply. “Wider.”

I open myself to you and you throw back the covers, making a place for yourself – your proper place. My fingers clasp the sheet and I know my knuckles are white; I’m desperately trying to hold on to every delicious second. “Oh, Yes!” I can’t help but exclaim as you pop my bottom and run your hand once more through my aching, hungry heat.

I tremble with anticipation – AH! – at last, you tease me- just the head of your cock pushes inside of me. The stretch is exquisite – the burn is what I have craved. I push back, seeking more. You place your hands beside my head, one on each side of my pillow. Slowly – slowly – you push in, bucking your hips. I grind back, desperate for more. “More, more, more” I chant.

“Say my name,” you demand.

I whisper it.

“Say my name,” you command.

I shout it.

With all the power and passion you possess, you take me – plunging, thrusting, jarring my body – making the whole bed move. It felt so good! The moon came from behind a cloud, letting its cool rays filter through the gold and bronze beveled glass. I raise up, looking over my shoulder – I just had to see your face.

I’ll never forget – never. You are so beautiful. The ecstasy on your face – the pleasure that you were receiving from my body will stay with me for the rest of my days. You noticed me looking – you smiled, leaning forward to cup my breasts, milking my nipples. And when you did, the orgasm started. It was powerful – an explosion of heat and pulsating bliss. My pussy closed around your cock – rhythmically – pulsating and fluttering.

I heard you moan – growl – saying my name. And then I felt it – the rush of liquid heat that flooded me, the life-giving essence of your body’s response to mine. You kissed a line down my back – tiny, butterfly kisses. “Thank you,” you whispered.

I turned in your arms, seeking your kiss.

You weren’t there. You never had been.

It was a dream. You were my pompatus – my dream lover.

I rolled over, hugging myself. I pray your name. A tear drifts down my cheek.

I am alone.
Here is a dream scene from Forget Me Never – I guess it’s a fantasy of mine – I seem to deal with it often enough.

Sleep came and so did the dreams. But they were good dreams this time.  Savannah curled into a small ball and gave herself over to the memories . . .

Of being held. . .

Of being loved. . .

Of being with Patrick. . .

The bed gave and she felt her body give to the pressure, moving toward it instinctively.  Automatically her hands reached out for him.  He was here.  She had waited so long.  “Patrick.”

Joy.  Pure joy.  Her body recognized him.  His hands moved over her skin like life giving water over the desert.  With a sigh of unadulterated happiness she nestled close to him.  His body was warm and so familiar to her. 

“Give me your kiss, Savannah.”

She opened her arms and he was there.  In the moonlight she could see him – so dear, so real, so hers. 

“Open your mouth, Baby.”  The words were whispered against her lips and she opened to him – helplessly. 

Savannah ran her hands over his shoulders – he was thinner and there were ridges on his body.  Scars?  “Are you okay?”

“I am, now.”

She grasped his wrists, needing to ensure that he didn’t fade away.  He was here.  He was here.  He was here.  Pleasure overtook her.  Patrick’s lips slanted over hers – took her kiss, and she was lost.  She held his face and let him take what he needed.  His kiss was desperate and intense – and Savannah’s world righted itself after being storm-tossed for so long.  Their tongues slid together, mating and tasting.  Their moans of satisfaction and relief harmonized as they kissed – their bodies straining to get just as close to one another as possible.

“You want me, don’t you, Savannah?”  

“Always,” she answered.       

She could feel him next to her, on top of her – surrounding her.  He was here with her, his cheek rubbing against her face.  His breath was hot on her neck.  She could smell him – Lord, the wonder of inhaling his scent.  How she had missed this!  He pressed her into the mattress.  She could feel his weight, see the dark shadow of his big body looming over her – feel the throb of his erection between them.  Her own body answered by going soft and wet – readying itself for an occupation she never thought she’d be privileged to know again.  “Take me, Patrick.  I’m yours.”

“Do you know how perfect you are?  Dreams of you kept me alive, Savannah.”  The rasp of his beard on her face and neck enflamed her.  She opened her legs, arched her back and thrust her breasts up for his kiss.  Her body, as well as her soul, welcomed him.

“You’re here.  You came to me.”  She held him to her as he sucked at her breast.  The sting of his teeth on her nipple assured her of his presence.  “I need you, so.”

“Good, cause I can’t wait.  I’ve wanted you for so long.”  His kiss returned to her lips – hard and hungry.  She wrapped her arms around him and held him close.  It had been so long!  Without any preamble, he surged within her and Savannah’s body protested.  She groaned.  “Did I hurt you?” he asked, a hint of panic in his voice.

“No,” she whispered.  It was a precious hurt – a welcome hurt. Her body had not known possession such as this in years and she wanted to feel it now.  “It feels wonderful.”  It felt wonderful because she could feel him – his hardness, his heat, the reality of him with her – over her – in her.  Patrick was making love to her and it was the answer to a thousand prayers – the fulfillment of a million dreams. 

She kissed him – licked him, bit at his neck, nipped his chin.  Savannah wanted to consume him.  Pumping between her thighs, a blessed pounding – taking, God yes – fucking - Patrick rode her unmercifully and she welcomed every thrust.  The bed jarred; her body quivered and convulsed.  She wrapped her legs and arms around him, every move he made, she answered with a whimper or plea for more.  “Yes, Patrick – more!”  Her hips lifted, she writhed beneath him as they both flew apart with groans of ecstasy.  Savannah could feel him give himself to her.  She could feel the rush of warmth shoot deep within her as her body accepted his seed. 

Patrick was home and she never intended to let him go again.



Savannah held on to the dreams and Patrick for as long as she could.  It was as if he held her during the night.  Strong arms cradled her.  She nestled into his broad hard chest and rested her head on his shoulder.  His lips kissed her temple.  He whispered words of love into her ear.  “I’ll be back, Savannah.  I’ve got to go now, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She held on to him – “No.  Don’t leave.”     

But when dawn came, her dream was gone. 

Opening her eyes to the morning light, Savannah stretched and yawned.  Wait!  Why did she feel differently?  And then the amazing dream she’d had came rushing back.  It had seemed so real!  She had dreamed of making love with Patrick before, but never had it be so detailed – or so fulfilling.  She had cum so hard that her body still tingled.  Savannah sat up, shaking her head in confusion.               

Laying there in her bed, Savannah looked around at the familiar room.  Despite the disappointment of finding herself alone, she couldn’t help but appreciate how good she felt.  For the first time in years she felt well-loved and peaceful. 

But it had been a dream, only a dream.   

Visit the Chocolate, Roses and Handcuffs Giveaway Hop for more fun.

All comments are put in the hat for drawings for my new cookbook and Forget Me Never – two each.

Thanks

Sable Hunter

My Favorite Things

Hey Guys! This should be fun. We are playing a game with the other SCP authors and learning about what our favorite things are. I’m going to talk about some of my favorite things here and I have games on my facebook pages for you to play.

I’m going to give you a glimpse into Sable Hunter here on my blog and then come play with me on facebook, too. On my facebook pages there are 5 games

My favorite food
My favorite holiday
My favorite vacation spot
My favorite singer
My favorite SCP book that I authored


In those games, you will guess my favorite from a list and tell me your own so we can share - and I will pick winners of each game for a copy of one of my books – I am recommending the Hill Country Heart series.

All comments here are also entered into a contest for more books – so I’ll be giving away a bunch!

Now - let me tell you more about me:

My favorite things are...

• color is purple – I love purple.
  
• gemstone is the amythest
  
• Movie is THE OTHERS with Nicole Kidman - - spooky!
  
• Way to relax – rocking on my front porch with the cats and drinking margaritas!
  
• Car is the LEXUS GSF Sport!
  
• Cookie is an oatmeal raisin
  
• Song is MY SHARONA!!!
  
• Book is Wild Card by Lora Leigh
  
• Friend is Ryan O’Leary
  
• Hobby is Ghost hunting
  
• College Football Team is the Texas Longhorns
  
• Professional Football Team is the Patriots
  
• Television show is THE GOOD WIFE

And there are so many other things that I could share. But what I most what you to know about me is that I love my readers. I value you. You are one of my favorite things in the whole world. I try to always reach out to you and let you know how much I appreciate you. I have said it before – but I’ll say it again – there are many reasons that I love being an author of erotic romance. It’s fun. I get to fantasize. I get to travel and pick out locales and settings. I love the fact that I can make a living at what I enjoy doing – but nothing is more valuable to me than the friends that I have made – the readers and authors that I have met, I will cherish you for a life time. YOU ARE ONE OF MY FAVORITE THINGS!!!

Thanks
Sable


Here is the SCP Blog link so you can find some more participants
http://secretcravingspublishing.blogspot.com/


And here is the SCP facebook page so you can find more contests.
https://www.facebook.com/sable.hunter.3#!/groups/256038187798868/?fref=ts


And here is where you can find me – there will be contests on both places – same contest – different threads.
https://www.facebook.com/sable.hunter.3#!/sable.hunter.3
that’s my regular page

and this is my fan page
https://www.facebook.com/authorsablehunter?ref=hl   Good luck and thanks again. 

Wounded Warrior Project

Christmas is the season of giving gifts. Some people think that gift giving makes Christmas less meaningful because it introduces commercialism into what they consider a strictly religious holiday. And I don’t want to downplay that part of Christmas, I go to church and I know whose birthday we celebrate – although it is my contention that Christ was probably born in October – but that doesn’t really matter. We don’t have to know a specific date to celebrate a great gift.

In my home we have always done Santa Claus. Now that it’s just Jess and I, we still go all out. I am in charge. He makes me a list and I make him one, but I make sure that we have the same number of gifts, I get the paper and all that is necessary to make everything pretty. As Jess has grown older (he’s 9 years my junior – little brothers!) his tastes in gifts has changed. We went through the transformer phase and the super hero phase – although I will tell you ladies, he’s not above wearing a cape, even now. We went through the video game phase – actually – that phase is still on-going, I think I bought at least a half dozen PS3’s this year. Then we went through the clothes-horse phase, the pimp my pick-up phase and the ‘I have everything I want – let me travel!’ phase. Whew! But in the midst of keeping up with what he wants and what I want to spend my money on, I have discovered something important, that you probably already know - the most important gifts don’t cost a dime.

I have raised Jess since he was nine years old, I was eighteen at the time and probably didn’t do everything right. Most likely, I have made mistakes in my parental/sisterly role. It is highly possible that I spoiled him, and probably told him too many times how handsome and smart he was – CAUSE HE BELIEVED ME!!! Ha! But I also know I did some things right because he is kind and loving and brilliant and the best friend I have ever had. So, the most important gifts that I have given him were not toys or clothes or even a vehicle – it was security, a sense of worth and unconditional love.

Read that last phrase again – because that’s what we all need – security, a sense of worth and unconditional love.

The men and women who serve in our military give of themselves that we might have those things as a country. They give us freedom, which in turn makes us feel secure. We as a nation owe our sense of worth to the fact that there are brave people in our midst who are willing to step in between us and any enemy we might have. These same men sometimes are called upon to offer the ultimate sacrifice of life or limb for our preservation. We are blessed.

So, doesn’t it make sense that we should, in turn, be willing to offer those same gifts to our soldiers, our veterans, our wounded warriors? I am privileged to be participating in this Wounded Warrior Project and to be donating in their honor. The link is below – and I encourage you to donate also. The greatest gift we can give is to lay down our lives for our friends and some of them have done so – it is very little we do to repay them, to offer a gift like this at Christmas.


I recently had a book released that featured a Marine who was a POW, the book is called FORGET ME NEVER. It was not a SCP release, but I’m sure they won’t mind, considering the theme. Patrick fights for his country, and his one greatest fear – is not bullets or roadside bombs, or even being away from home – his greatest fear is being forgotten. So many of our soldiers feel like that have been forgotten, they come home to find that living is harder after their gift of service than before. We shouldn’t let that happen – so in honor of Wounded Warriors – I post an excerpt from FORGET ME NEVER. – and it’s a tad racy!

The link is here

“Come on, Savannah.  Take a chance.  I dare you.  Go over and ask him out to lunch.” 

Savannah jumped for the second time in an hour.  She was caught.  “I didn’t know you were here, Tam.  I figured after four margaritas and three wine coolers you’d be in bed till tomorrow.”

“No, way.  Nana Fontenot said today was the day you’d meet - and I quote – ‘the warrior who will be your husband’.  And that alpha male in camouflage, my dear friend, is a warrior in anybody’s book.  If that marine isn’t your destiny, I’ll eat my Dooney and Bourke purse doused with Tobasco Sauce.”

“You’d better marinate it for a while.  I’m afraid it’s gonna be a little chewy.”  Good grief, she had forgotten about the old soothsayer’s prediction.  As much respect as Savannah had for other people’s beliefs, she didn’t give much credence to the idea she would meet her future husband today.  Although . . . if she had a choice, the man they were staring at would fulfill all of her dreams.

“I double-dog dare you.” Tammany wasn’t going to give up.    

“Double-dog?  Is that supposed to make me want to do this more?”  

“No, it’s supposed to shame you into doing it.  Now, get over there and make him want you!”    

She couldn’t believe the other woman was suggesting that she just stroll over there and proposition him.  As much as she wished she could pull it off, the whole idea was totally ridiculous.  He would say ‘no’, that was a forgone conclusion.   Even if she were a normal girl, she didn’t have what it would take to attract a man like him.  “You must believe in miracles.”

“Yes, and I also believe in magic.” 

Her friend sounded so certain.  Of course, they were just work friends.  Tammany had no idea about her past.  So far no one at the Center knew about Carville except her bosses.  Mr. Randolph had acted sort of shocked, but he had kept her confidence.  And Mr. Davis, her main boss, had said it didn’t matter one whit to him.  He had a brother with AIDS so he was sympathetic to such things and how such a devastating diagnosis could affect the family.  In many ways AIDS was the new leprosy, both were misunderstood diseases.  A little tremble of apprehension washed over Savannah, the whole idea of asking a man for his attention sent her into nervous dithers.  “You know I respect Nana Fontenot.  But in this case, she must have gotten her magical wires crossed.”

“Nana Fontenot is never wrong,” Tammany insisted as she stretched her lithe body and yawned, causing one bespeckled gentleman to stump his toe on the concrete floor as he appreciated her curvy body.  “That little hoodoo woman has predicted more marriages, births and deaths than the weather channel predicts rain storms.  Hell, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.  So, what are you waiting for?  Go get him.  He’s yours – Nana Fontenot said so.” 

Closing her eyes, Savannah took a deep breath and calmed her nerves.  Tammany only had her best interest at heart.  Glancing at her friend, she was amused to realize that she had come to town in her sleeping clothes.  The camisole and shorts were what she had worn to bed the night before.  Of course, Tammany could get away with it.  She looked sexy in anything.  After their night at Mulate’s, all three friends who had attended her birthday dinner capped off the evening with ice cream sundaes and cake on the Benoit’s houseboat.  It had turned into a slumber party, but Savannah had slipped away early because of her work schedule. 

They had all met through the Culture Center - either as volunteers, coworkers or benefactors.  Tammany Benoit, Francesca Leger, and Cato Vincent were beautiful, popular, and self-assured; everything that Savannah Doucet was not.  But that hadn’t seemed to matter to them, they always treated her as if she were one of them – and she was.  Tammany had seen to that. 

Tammany had been her first real friend.  Friends had been hard to come by for Savannah.  No matter where she had lived or what school she had gone to, it hadn’t been long before everyone would know and be talking about her stigma.  The circumstances of her birth were recorded in her medical file and the fact that she was a Carville baby would leak out.  Some teachers had even announced it in class as part of the education process, or at least that’s what they claimed.  They would always explain that Savannah didn’t have leprosy, but the look in their eye or the tone in their voice would always convey a little bit of fear.  So, it had proved impossible for Savannah to ever fully escape her past. 

But Tammany had been good to her and that kindness had been a rare commodity in Savannah’s life.  So when Tammany asked her to do something, Savannah found it almost impossible to tell her ‘no’.  “You just want to see me humiliate myself.”  She knew that wasn’t true, but Savannah felt a little grumpy – and a little hung-over.  Thank goodness her shift at the Acadian Memorial ended in fifteen minutes.  Although if the gorgeous hunk of a soldier they were eyeballing planned to be here all afternoon, it was going to be hard to tear herself away.  God!  She had never seen a more perfect man! He was big – really big.  Standing with his legs spread in a commanding stance, it was obvious he covered the ground he walked on and people trembled when he past by.  Savannah licked her lips.  What she wouldn’t do to get her hands on a guy like that!            

“It’s your birthday, Savannah.  Be good to yourself.  This man could be your soul mate.  Think of him as a gift.”  Punching her in the side, she joked.  “I’ll help you unwrap him.”

“He looks busy; I don’t want to disturb him.”  Savannah procrastinated.

“Are you kidding?  His very presence is disturbing everyone else.  I saw how those college girls were acting before you herded them outside.  Besides, you’re an expert on this stuff, Miss. Doucet.  Go over and offer your assistance.  It’s your job!  Now!”  Tammany gave her a little push. 

Apparently he was doing research on the Acadian refugees.  Why not offer her services?  And while she was helping him, she could pretend to seduce him.  She couldn’t help but laugh at herself a little.  “He does look like he needs help.”  Yea, she’d like to help him with a lot of things – like undressing, taking a shower, possibly even a back massage.

“Do it, Savannah.  You’re through here for the day, and I’ll stay until tardy Tulah Belle comes.  This is your chance; you don’t want to be the oldest virgin in St. Martin’s Parish for another year!”

“Oh, all right!”  She yelled so loud everyone turned and looked at her – except sexy Rambo, of course.  Tammany wasn’t going to leave her alone until she at least tried to hook up with this guy. Savannah’s dateless state was worrying Tammany to death.  So, she had to at least make her friend think she had a date the soldier.  Yea, that’s what she would do.  She could save face and the Marine could leave unencumbered.  “I’ll still make a complete fool out of myself,” Savannah grumbled as she took one step forward.  To make matters worse, Fred March was watching her closely and he didn’t look happy.  The man scared her a little bit.  Gracious, now she was stuck between a rock and a hard place. 

Tammany jerked her back.  “Give me those glasses.”

“But, I need them.” 

“Only to read.”  Savannah lost the battle, Tammany confiscated her spectacles and pushed her out of her safe zone into the scary world of sexual gamesmanship.  Walking as casually as she could with her heart in her throat, she stepped close to the marine.  His height made her look up and up.  Gee, he must be well over six feet.  Of course, at five foot three she had to look up at almost everyone over the age of twelve.  Clearing her throat, she whispered.  “Excuse me, but I’m in a pickle.  I’ll give you twenty dollars if you’ll pretend we’re going out to lunch together.” 

Patrick had been trying to find the surname LaVerdure on this vast list of names for about fifteen minutes, but he wasn’t having any luck.  All of the immigrants were recorded by ship manifesto, so he had to look in several different places.  Deep in concentration, it was a second or two before he realized someone was speaking to him.  The unexpected words coming from over his left shoulder irritated him a little bit.  “I’m not the kind of man that can be bought, honey.  And if I could – twenty dollars wouldn’t touch me,” Patrick drawled. 

“Dang, it’s just my luck to pick a man with principles.  What would you say if I threw in a couple of dozen homemade chocolate chip cookies to sweeten the deal?”  She might not be much of a temptation, but she could cook.  That was one of the things Savannah missed about not having a family.  Cooking for one wasn’t fun.   

Her quick comeback amused Patrick.  If the woman was half as sexy as that husky little voice, he was in for a better treat than cookies.  Turning, slowly – he let the anticipation build. 

Oh, hell yeah!  His day just got a helluva lot brighter.

A curvy little honey wearing a demure, lacy dress stood looking up at him with hope in her eyes.  “Well, hello Miss Prim and Proper.  You look like you’re in dire need of mussing up.”

Savannah ran her palms down the sides of her dress and smiled, sheepishly.  “Don’t tell anybody, but these are the clothes I wore yesterday.  I didn’t have time to go home and change.”

“Really, did you have a good time last night?” Patrick was enjoying this.  “I bet you made some guy a happy man.” 

“No, no,” Savannah fanned her hands in denial.  “I went out with the girls.”  Knowing Tammany was taking all of this in – not to mention Fred March, she repeated her request.  “Would you consider playing along with me?  It’ll save me some embarrassment.  Should I make it twenty-five dollars?” 

Patrick didn’t have a clue what was going on.  He had no idea what kind of game the little dove was proposing, but he definitely wanted to play.  “All right, I’ll tell you what - I say forget the money.  I’ll take you to lunch, but I want a half dozen kisses plus the cookies.  Deal?”   

“Kisses?” Was he kidding?  “Are you saying you’ll go to lunch with me?” she asked in surprised.  “No, you don’t understand.  That’s not necessary.”  Holding up one finger to pause the conversation, she glanced over her shoulder to the blonde at the help desk who looked back at them and winked big.  “Lord, does she have to be so obvious?” she muttered.  Leaning toward him with a conspiratorial air, she twisted her mouth into a cute little sideways knot and whispered.  “Actually, I’m trying to bribe you.  I know you don’t really want to go out with me.  Just pretend for a bit.  Please?”

For a moment, Patrick didn’t know what to say.  Was she serious?  Why wouldn’t he want to go out with her?  “Who’s pretending?  I want food for lunch and you for dessert.”  Patrick loved to flirt and he needed it – he was in for a long dry spell in Afghanistan.  A sweetheart like this would be good fantasy material for the long hot nights ahead with only his hand for company.    

He waited to see what she would do and what happened next made the earth move under his feet.  She smiled.  Her whole face lit up with the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.  Patrick lost the ability to speak.  He knew that smile.  He had fallen in love with that smile on a Halloween night seventeen long years ago.  The drawing he had made of her beautiful face and that incredible smile was in his duffle bag in his truck.  He never went anywhere without it.  Even though he had doubted the experience, for years he had looked for her everywhere he went.  Since joining the marines and seeing the horrors of war and the despair of humanity, he had laid down his dreams.  But he couldn’t seem to let go of the drawing or the memory.  And now here she was, standing in front of him like a gift from above.  His Destiny.                 

“Really?  You’d actually take a chance on me?”  For a brief moment Savannah let herself imagine what it would be like to go on a date.  A thrill rose in her chest almost making it impossible to breathe.  She had missed so much in this life because of Carville.  But there wasn’t anything she could do about it. 

“I’m not a gambling man, baby.  But I can recognize the Queen of Hearts when I see her.”  Patrick was having a hard time keeping his hands off of her.  They hadn’t even exchanged names and he felt totally proprietary about her.  It was like his heart recognized her or something.  No, chance didn’t have a damn thing to do with this.  Meeting Destiny was fate.  

“No, you misunderstood me.  All I want is a few minutes of your time.” With a hand on one hip and a thoughtful expression on his face, he seemed to be deciding if he were wasting his time with her.  “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”  She blushed, realizing how that sounded.  Lord, he looked even better up close.  From across the room he had been the total package.  Up close, he was absolutely stunning – deep dimples and the bluest eyes this side of heaven.  “What I mean is - I just noticed that you seem frustrated.  My name is Savannah Doucet and I’m something of an expert with this stuff,” she pointed at the wall.  “Is there some way I can help you?”

“I’m Patrick O’ Rourke.  And it’s very nice to meet you.”  Very nice.  Feeling playful, he chose to deliberately misunderstand her.  “So, you’re an expert at relieving frustration?  That might be interesting.”  Mouthwatering, that was what she was.   

“Oh, my goodness,” she put her hands over her warm cheeks.  “No, I’m not an expert at that.  I don’t have any feminine wiles.”  Savannah was flustered.  Taking a second to look around the Memorial, she was relieved to see they were alone except for Tammany who was on the phone and not paying them any attention at the moment.

“I beg to differ,” he flirted, blatantly.  Stepping back, he slowly took an inventory of her body from head to foot.  His love was just a little bit of a thing: small bones, lush mouth, dark hair and huge black eyes – no they weren’t black.  Are your eyes blue?”  He could lose himself in those dark, haunting eyes.  This woman was off-the-charts sexy.  

Frowning slightly, she answered him.  “Yes, they’re a drab navy blue, I guess.”

The look he was giving her was so intense; it made her feel like tiny flames of fire was dancing over her skin.  Savannah couldn’t help but stare back.        

“I don’t think they’re drab at all.  I think they’re beautiful and mysterious.”  What was an even bigger turn-on was the intelligence that shone out of them.  Patrick felt his heart pound as they engaged in a mutual eye-fuck.  Damn, he had it bad! 

Savannah didn’t know what to say.  She was in unknown territory.  This man seemed to be flirting with her.  There had to be some mistake.  Maybe she wasn’t experienced enough to tell when someone was serious or teasing her.  It would be better to get the conversation back on a safe topic.  “Are you looking for a particular name on the wall?”

She was nervous.  He could tell.  Damn, she was cute, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on her.  “Actually, I’m looking for the LaVerdure family. But, I’m not having any luck.”     

A surge of courage welled up in Savannah.  It was as if someone else was in charge of her body.  For once, she wanted to be normal and see how it felt to flirt with a man.  Going for broke, she decided to see if she could a reaction out of him.  “Well, today’s your lucky day.  Because I’m just what you’ve been looking for.”  She took one small finger and drug it down his bare arm from the bend of his elbow to his wrist. 

“Hot damn, baby.” Patrick hissed as closed his eyes.  His whole body went into lust mode.  She didn’t know how right she was.  It was true, she was just who he had been looking for – for what seemed like forever.  “You have my complete and utter attention.” 

“If I have your attention, then open your eyes, Patrick.  Watch me.” 

Like his heart would give him a choice?  She didn’t know it, but he was completely at her mercy.  “Yes, mam.”  He bet Savannah could get him to do most anything her heart desired.  Mesmerized, Patrick watched her every move.  She backed up about six inches, glanced around the room, and what she did next shocked the shit out of him.  First she graced him with a saucy little wink, then proceeded to let her gaze slide down his body – and swear-to-God - she got hung up on his manhood like it was a speed bump.  Little hot-stuff looked his bulge over real slow, he didn’t have to glance down to see what she could see, he could feet his dick rise as fast and hot as the temperature on a sultry Louisiana day.  There was no doubt about it; his cock enjoyed being at the center of her attention. 

She didn’t stop there.  Oh, no.  Sweet-doll checked out his thighs, his knees – hell - she even stared at his feet, probably wondering if his size twelve combat boots were any indication of the size of his cock.  (It was, by the way.)  Patrick couldn’t help but chuckle as she took the time to follow the same path back up.  The little minx stared at his package until he was fully erect and throbbing. 

“Did you get the response you were after?” He couldn’t help but laugh.  Damn, he wanted to touch her so much.  He was so happy.  Again, she smiled.  And he couldn’t help it – he grinned right back.   Patrick wanted to pick her up, twirl her around and carry her off into the sunset.  He was so glad to see her; it was like being reunited with a long lost friend.  

“Actually, I got a lot bigger response than I ever dreamed.  I’ve never done that before.  One of my girlfriends did that to a guy at Mulate’s last night.”  Leaning close to him, she whispered.  “You are a lot more well-endowed than Leon.” 

“Give Leon my sympathies.”  Patrick was enchanted.  “Are you always so bold?”  It didn’t matter if she was or not, he wanted her anyway.   

“No, I’m not bold at all.  I’m usually very shy.”  A look of guilt washed over her face.    “Gee, I guess I had better level with you.  I hate to start any friendship out with half-truths.”  She took him by the arm and turned him so they both faced the wall.  To quote an old song, the simple touch of her hand on his arm was giving him day dreams about night things right dab in the middle of the day.  She stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.  “Do you see my friend over there?”

“You mean the blonde with the mile-long legs?”  There was no way he could have missed the looks that she and Savannah had been exchanging.  Was he attracted to the other woman?  He might have been, if there had been no Savannah.  But since laying eyes on his Destiny – there was no other woman in the world.  “And I certainly wouldn’t classify you as a bother.  I think you’re adorable.”

“You don’t have to be kind.”  She spoke so off-handedly that Patrick realized she wasn’t taking anything he said seriously.  Now why was that?  He watched her glance over at the young woman behind the desk again who winked and gave them a thumb’s up.  “Yes, that’s my friend Tammany.  She’s very beautiful.”  Damn, she was caressing his arm, petting him and Patrick didn’t think she was even aware of it.  “She wasn’t going to leave me alone until I tried to ask you out.  But I can’t be mad at her; she only wants what is best for me.” 

Teasing her was fast becoming his favorite sport.  “So, you don’t really want to help me with my research?  You just want me for my body?” 

Thanks for reading – here’s the blog hop link and the Wounded Warrior link.
Thanks for stopping by.
All comments will go into a hat for ebooks – please leave a Christmas message for our troops and I will see to it that it is posted in the proper place.     

Sable's Interview with the FABULOUS Ciara Ryan

To kick things off, this is her bio. 

Just about the only place you're sure to find Ciara, is at Churchill Downs on the first Saturday in May, a tradition she never misses.  A small town girl from Bliss, Kentucky, Ciara is a country girl with city sensibilities. With a bit of luck and some savvy investing advice from her uncle, Ciara was able to parlay the profits from years spent as a child model into a future for herself, one that included graduating a proud Wildcat and opening up her own freelance photography business. Whether she's taking pictures of the wildlife in her home state, or snapping shots of the runway in Milan, Ciara always has a story in her head that needs to be told. Her only requirements to write are a cashmere sweater, a glass of wine and your willingness to be seduced by her words.

AND NOW FOR THE INTERVIEW

Sable:  Tell me about the series that you have written?

Ciara: I've got three series' out right now. The first series is called But I Need This Job. I don't think I have to explain it too much with a title like that, but I'll tell you what inspired it and that should explain it. I had this crappy job at an office when I was 19. I hated it, the only reason I stayed there was because my boss was this uberhunk that made me pulsate with desire. He knew all the girls at the office wanted him but he wasn't a dick when he could have been. He was sweet and nice to everyone no matter what. Well, one day I screwed up huge. A shipment was supposed to go out and I forgot to do the paperwork or something, like I said, I didn't like the job, I only stayed because of him. Long story short, he calls me into his office at the end of the work day. Okay, this is devolving into one of my stories so I'll keep it short. Anyways, he calls me in and tells me he has to fire me and the entire time I'm thinking, "oh my God, I hate this job, but I would so offer to sleep with him to keep it", and that's where the title and concept came from. It's the first series I wrote when I was planning on self-publishing, so maybe it's not my best work, but it's sort of like my first time having sex, it might not have been that good, but it'll always be my favourite.

The second series I have is called All Access Pass. Is there a female out there who doesn't have a fantasy about bedding a rockstar? Nuff said.

The third series and my personal favourite is Classroom Confessions. This is eight steamy shorts about naughty encounters with teachers. Allow me to tweak my comment about my All Access Pass series: Is there a female out there who doesn't have a fantasy about bedding a teacher? There's the lucky girl who runs into a former teacher she had a crush on and, well, you know. There's also a pretty heated encounter between a TA and a teacher in a barn during a field trip. I won't spoil it for you, but there's a lot scorching stories in it. It's the most recent series I've written and not to pat myself on the back too much, but I think you can see how I've grown as a writer and damn if there isn't some of my absolute hottest encounters to date. As much as the But I Need This Job series is and probably will always be my favourite because it was my first, I think Classroom Confessions is how I'd like to be measured, at least so far.

Sable:  What do you have in mind for your next book?

Ciara: I actually met a new friend online the other day. She's a bartender in Vegas and very sexy to talk to. We were talking and she told me about a cute guy who came into her bar the other night and I found myself asking this question: Have you ever wanted to hookup with a customer? As you might imagine, this led to quite the animated conversation and it gave me the idea for my next series. I'm thinking about writing a series of stories about bartenders hooking up with patrons. You know. "Hey. I'm off in an hour, why don't you stick around for a drink after the bar closes?" That sentence sends my naughty brain off into a thousand different directions, but it eventually comes back to sex on the pool table. Do you play, Sable?

Sable: I can handle a cue. And I love to play with the balls.

Ciara: And now my brain is off and running again.

Sable: Which would be easier - give up internet for a month or sex for a month?

Ciara: Sex for sure. I'm a self-confessed clothes whore and as much as I love spending a day at the mall, I spend hours online shopping. I gave Andy, the UPS guy, a box of chocolates and a card for Christmas last year, that's how often he delivers to my house. Don't tell my mom this, but I love betting on the horses online. I know I shouldn't but it's one of my guilty pleasures. I'll pull up the live feeds and put down a couple bucks on the fourth race at Aqueduct or Hollywood Park. A guy I liked in high school was way into gambling online and he taught me all about it. It's such a rush. My uncle will kill me if he sees this. Do you ever go to the track? It's so thrilling to feel the ground shake when the horses rush past you. All that power makes my body tingle sometimes.

Sable: I grew up around horses, but I don't go to the track.

Ciara: That is going to change. I'm taking you and we're gonna wear fancy, ridiculously-expensive hats and have a blast.

Sable: I can't wait. Which reality show would you like to be on?

Ciara: I can tell you which show I wouldn't like to be on. America's Next Top Model. I modeled a bit when I was younger and I will I tell you something. I do NOT miss doing it. All the bitchiness, the backbiting and catty drama is not worth it. Which one would I like to be on? Hmmmmmm. I guess since there is no such thing as "reality" television, I'd choose one of those dating shows, maybe the Bachelor. No, wait. The Bachelorette would be better. That way I'm in control. What girl wouldn't want all those hunky guys fighting over her while you jet across the globe? Hot springs in Sweden with a group of six-packs, I mean, men all around you. Dinner under the Eiffel Tower, just you and Mr. Sparkly Smile. *Swoon*. A girl can dream can't she?

Sable:  What is your favorite sexual position?

Ciara: Sable! You know I'm shy about sex. HA! I almost said that with a straight face. Wow, this is a tough question to answer isn't it. What's yours?

Sable: Oh my goodness! You would ask me that, well I love missionary because I can cum quicker that way, but I also love the intense up against the wall feeling and I’ll tilt up my bottom to one particular guy anytime.

Ciara: Damn. See, now I love those, too. I guess if you had a gun to my head, I'd pick on top. Oh God, this is such a hard question to answer. I love how intense missionary can be when your eyes meet, and I must admit that I'm a girl through and through; I love it from behind, my hair being pulled. Is it getting hot in here? Maybe you should give me a minute...No, wait. Better yet. Stay...You do a lot of walking don't you?

Sable: I run regularly.

Ciara: Yeah, I could tell when you walked in. Your ass is fabulous. Sorry. Where were we? I think if I had to pick one, it'd have to be me on top. I know, I'm weird aren't I? But nothing brings me more pleasure than feeling a guys hands on my tits while he's as deep inside me as he can be. I know that from behind is best for going deep. God, I need another drink. But I love tossing my hair around while I'm grinding. I love looking down at him and seeing the pleasure on his face, his gritted teeth. Maybe I'm a secret Dom or something. You have got just the plumpest bottom lip ever, Ms. Hunter. Has anyone ever told you that? Oh, and I love that he can watch me play with myself while I'm on top, that drives me around the bend. Damnit! Is it too late to change my answer to that? I know it's not technically sex, but I like to be watched while I'm touching myself. I feel like such a pornstar when he's watching me and the thought of his cock getting harder turns me up even higher. You should not have opened up this can, Sable...Okay, on top is my final answer.

Sable: You sure?

Ciara: No. I mean, yes. We'll never get through this if I keep thinking about it. Best to move on for now. Maybe we can continue the conversation when the tape recorder is off.

Sable:  I think that could be arranged. Do you listen to music while you write?

Ciara: Nothing with words. I'd love to be able to crank up something industrial like Nine Inch Nails and just let the music fuck me while I'm writing something intense, something down and dirty, but I find the words too distracting. I can listen to instrumental when I write, but only as background noise. My favorite is the soundtrack to the movie Unfaithful, there is some soft, sexy, and absolutely beautiful music on it and every once in a while, I'll catch a note over the clatter of the keys on my laptop, or the scribble of the pen on paper and it'll transport me to a part in the movie that revs me up even more. I like to be relaxed, comfy if you will, when I write, hence the cashmere and wine. I know it sounds sort of, I don't know, pretentious, stuck-up maybe, but I honestly can't write anything except for notes and edits if I don't have on cashmere. The softness of the fabric against my skin is so erotic. Any writer who writes the kind of stuff you and I do, is a bald-faced liar if they tell you that they don't get turned on when they are writing it. And any of them that says they don't occasionally take a quite sojourn into the land of selflove when they are writing, is a God-damn, bald-faced liar. It's just us girls here, right, Sable?

Sable: Ummm.

Ciara: Good, then I can tell you this. If you've never touched yourself while wearing cashmere, you are missing out. I love my alone time.

Sable: If the truth be know, Ciara, so do I. Although, your wardrobe choice is more classy than mine. I go more for comfort – just shorts and a tee.  What does Ciara want for Christmas?

Ciara: More cashmere. I'm not sure really. I could think of a million things I'd love to buy, but I know this about myself. I don't shop so much because I want the stuff necessarily, I shop so much because I like shopping. So, I guess a black American Express card with an unlimited balance is the short answer. Oh, and someone to pay it off after of course. Or Channing Tatum.

Sable: Is there a topic that you consider too kinky for Ciara to write about?

Ciara: Hmmmmmmmm. I write what excites me, what interests me. There's a lot of I haven't tried sexually still, I still have lots to experience. I'm sort of old fashionrf I guess. I like guy/girl stuff. Don't get it wrong, I like girl/girl and any other variation, but I'm not going to write stuff like pseudo-incest. Here's how I see it. Whatever turns you on, turns you on, I'm fine with it as long as nobody is being exploited or mistreated, but some stuff just isn't for me. So as far as stuff like anal and threesomes and foursomes or whatever, that's stuff I'll write about. I write some hotass stuff, but I'm kinda old fashioned.

Sable: Tell us about your writing process?

Ciara: Wine. Cashmere sweater and a pair of worn jeans I've had forever. There's a rip just below the back left pocket and my ass shows a bit. They're so 80's. My friends call it my "writing uniform". My girlfriends know they can borrow anything in my closet. Anything except that pair of jeans that is. Those are off limits. They know I'll smack a bitch for even looking at them. I've had those jeans since I was 16 and they are just like the jeans in the Sisterhood Of the Travelling Pants. Not in the sense that they fit everyone perfectly, but in the sense that no matter if I've gained a few pounds, or lost a few pounds, they always fit me just right. They're that one pair of jeans that we all have, that no matter what is going on in my life, I can slip them on and revel in how great my ass looks in them. I warned you I was a clothes whore. You probably wanted to know where I write, how I edit and all that technical stuff and all I want to do is talk about my jeans. I either write at the dining room table or on the couch, that's pretty much it. I can usually finish one of my short stories in a few hours if nobody calls or distracts me. I try to limit my intake to a glass and a half, two glasses of wine tops. It loosens me up a bit, helps me forget my everyday troubles. If everything in my life is pretty much chill at the moment and the scene I'm writing is steamy enough, I'll inevitably end up on the couch. God, I can't believe I'm telling you this. My process does have a somewhat quirky aspect to it. Almost everything I've ever written has started out as a scribbled sentence on a scrap piece of paper. The back of a receipt or the tab of a friends cigarette pack is where most of my stories take their first breath of air. Rarely, if ever am I in the vicinity of a notebook when an idea hits me. I have a stack of blank notebooks in my desk drawer with blank, crisp untouched pages and I have a drawer full of crumpled receipts and scrap pieces of paper with one or two lines on them. The idea for one of my All Access Pass stories literally came to me when I was at dinner with my parents one night. "I already paid for it, Honey," my dad said when I reached for the bill. "I know, Dad. Just want to write this down before I forget." I have that receipt in that messy drawer still, with, "The first time I heard Stone Carlson sing, was also the first time I ever felt wet.", scribbled on the back of it. Try having dinner with your parents with that line running through your head the whole time.

Sable: Do you enjoy connecting with your readers?

Ciara: Nobody has really reached out to me yet. I've had a couple guys email me, but as a fellow writer of erotic literature, I don't have to tell you what those emails were like.

Sable: What's the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you?

Ciara: Wow! Loaded question. Believe it or not, I'm actually kind of shy, but I'll share something with you. When I was 9, my mother caught me playing doctor with a boy. Not terribly embarrassing is it? Ohhhh,  I probably shouldn't tell you this, but the boy was my cousin. Wait! In my defence, we'd only met once in our lives and we were like 5 years old and the truth is, I didn't know he was my cousin when he was examining me. It was all sort of innocent. I mean, I kind of knew what was going on, but not really, if you know what I mean. To this day the fact that it was my cousin just mortifies me. And now I've gone and told you and your countless legions of readers, so just great. Smooth move, Ciara.

My Facebook fan page is here

The excerpt below is from and the link for that is on Amazon

_________________

From Classroom Confessions: Book 2

 Teacher Scores

“So you used to teach grade eight?” I asked when I was unable to locate yet another quote.

Wendy flipped the page on the test in her hand and looked at me. “Yes, and grade three before that.”

She told me her whole teaching history; told me that she understood how hard it was to get her foot in the door like it had been for me.

“It was part of the reason I gave you the job,” Wendy said. “I remember that feeling; getting turned away at every interview. Except I think it was a little different for you, you didn’t get hit on and then rejected when you refused to accompany your new prospective boss to dinner."

I laughed. "No. I went out with mine when she asked.”

Wendy joined in the laughter. “That’s right. You did.”

We both fell into a hysterical laughing fit and when that had passed, we talked some more. Even though we had both stopped working, it was nice to sit there and talk with her without having to worry about hiding my raging hard-on.

“I feel like a cup of coffee,” Wendy said.  She was already getting up out of her seat, heading for the door with my coffee mug in her hand.

“Sounds good.” I went back to looking things up on my laptop.

I was making progress. With any luck, we would be done before our mugs were empty and I could get my long weekend under way.

The blinds shot up and crashed against the window. I looked away from the computer screen, it had grown significantly darker outside and I could hear the faint rumble of thunder off in the distance. Now I really needed to get out of here before the rain started. I turned back to the screen and got down to work.

A minute later I heard the door open and Wendy walk in. The door slammed shut and when I turned my chair to see her, she was standing a few feet away, holding the bottom of her white shirt away from her body.

“I’m all wet,” she said, looking at me with her big blue eyes.

My eyes were still a bit out of focus from all the computer time and when they readjusted, they followed her up from the floor, tracing a path up the rain darkened thighs of her jeans, across the damp fabric of her now practically see-through white shirt; it was the first time I’d noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra and her dark nipples were rockhard, almost tearing through the fabric. I lingered there for a few more moments, unable to tear my eyes off of her tits. The words suck, lick, fondle kept flashing across my mind and when I looked up at her face finally, her hair was a sopping mess, a clump of her blonde locks stuck to the side of her face just below her cheekbone.

That not-so-hard cock from earlier was gone now, in its place was the biggest erection I had ever had. I was so hard it almost hurt and I didn’t try to hide it when I readjusted my cock.

Wendy walked over to me slowly. As her nipples got closer, my mouth started to water. She stepped in between me and the desk and hopped up onto it, her perfect ass making a loud thud as she settled in. She wiggled her ass back and forth. I heard her shoe hit the floor and her bare foot was in my lap a second later, massaging my aching hard-on.

I put my hands on the arms of my chair and leaned back. “Umm-hmmmm,” I sighed.

The Next Big Thing Blog Hop

Hello everything. Martin Crosbie  invited me to participate. If you haven’t read his MY TEMPORARY LIFE, you really need to. It is a bestselling novel that amassed many 5 star reviews and brought its author much recognition. He is about to release the sequel and I, for one, can hardly wait. By the way – the book title is – MY NAME IS HARDLY.

I would like to introduce you to my newest work.

You can find it in the book section of my website.

Ten Interview Questions for The Next Big Thing:

What is the working title of your book?

The title of my new book is “I’LL SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS”.

Where did the idea come from for the book?

I’ll See You In My Dreams is the fifth installment in the Hell Yeah! series. As I write the story of the McCoy family and their friends, the individual characters begin to haunt me, I guess you could say. They each have a story to tell and Zane being blind and wanting to be loved just tugged at my heart, so he got his own book. His heroine, Presley, isn’t perfect either. But Zane sees only beauty, for he looks at her through the eyes of love. It’s a touching story and also has more on the McCoy family and lots of hot sex. Ha! 

What genre does your book fall under?

My book is an erotic romance – a full length romance with laughter and tears and plot twists, but it takes you behind the bedroom door.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition? –

Zane is gorgeous – dark hair, scruff of sexy beard and a body to die for . . . . let me see – I would ask Joe Manganiello to star as Beau and Presley would be played by Sarah Shahi of Fairly Legal fame.

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

Zane Saucier is a cowboy, a horse whisperer, a brilliant attorney - and he's blind. Nothing seems beyond his reach, but love. Presley has a mountain of her own to climb; she's not perfect either, but she does teach Zane one valuable lesson: no eye sees as clearly as the heart.

More than one sentence – I know – but – oh well.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

This book will be self-published. I have 7 traditionally published and 7 self-published. I like to have control.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

I write fast, as long as I’m in the right frame of mind. The first draft of “I’ll See You In My Dreams” took two months to complete.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

My Hell Yeah! series is similar to Lorelei James’ books.

Who or What inspired you to write this book?

What inspired me to write this book was a young girl that I knew who had a cleft lip. I saw how reticent she was to meet anyone’s gaze and how she was always left to one side. After I had created Zane’s character, I thought how special it would be if he fell in love with someone who thought they were unlovable and then let him make her feel like the most special woman in the world.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

I have included the McCoy’s of Tebow ranch and their ups and downs in this story, especially Aron’s disappearance. There is also the introduction of a group of new characters who will enrich the series. Since Zane is blind, it gave a whole different perspective to everything – I had to use his other senses, it made the sex really challenging to write.

Zane also has a guide dog and a guide horse – so I worked in the cowboy angle. He raises registered cattle and shelters abused horses. I fell in love with Zane.

Here’s an excerpt - - 

Presley dressed for Zane. She knew it didn’t make any sense, but she did. Today, she wore her version of a power suit she had purchased at a second-hand store. It was appropriate office attire, but she felt comfortable in it. The pants were linen and the top was silk. Presley preferred feminine clothes with soft lines and softer fabrics. With her coloring, she usually chose jewel tones. A short jacket completed her deep blue ensemble. As usual, she avoided looking in the mirror. Even when she put on make-up, she glanced up or concentrated on just one feature at a time. Pink lip gloss was her only choice of make-up for her mouth, anything that would draw attention to her problem was avoided – so no bright colors, just the barest hint of pink.

What would today bring? She had spent a couple of hours the night before reading everything she could find about Zane online; about his family, about the firm and the cases they had handled. She had felt respect for the man, before – but now she felt awe. Time after time he had taken on people’s problems, represented the underdog, stood between hopeless situations and lost causes. She knew there were some people who practiced law to make money – and apparently he did, but he had high standards and a big heart and Presley wanted to be a part of his life so bad she could taste it.

But she also saw photo after photo of him with beautiful women hanging on his arm. Just this past weekend he had been a part of the McCoy wedding held at Tebow Ranch. Everyone knew who the McCoys were – and everyone was beginning to know the Saucier brothers. Zane wasn’t married, but it was obvious he could have any woman he wanted. So what would he want with her?

Zane would never want her for her looks or be attracted to her – but he could need her. So as Presley prepared for her second day of work at Saucier and Barclay, she prepared to make herself indispensable to one handsome lawyer with a heart of gold.

When she arrived at the office, it was a little different than the day before. Presley didn’t wait to be shown in, nor did she linger at the front desk, rather she went right into the big boss’ inner sanctum – just like she belonged. Without hesitation, she threw herself into the task. Glancing through his calendar, she got everything ready.

Looking around the office, she checked everything out. His computer was on. His water pitcher was full. The blinds were cracked at just the angle she had noticed they were at yesterday. What else? Presley’s eyes roved the room – ah, the ivy! Yesterday she had noticed it and wondered whose responsibility it was to keep it watered. As no one had – she supposed it might be hers. It was a beautiful display and very real as she could tell from the one or two partially yellowed leaves. Finding a watering can, she pulled a chair over near the window. A shelf over the top held the spreading green vine. But it was high – and she had on high heels. So she had to be careful.

Stretching up, she almost had it. Dang! If she were only a little taller, biting her lip, Presley gave it everything she had – and slipped. “Ratz!” she squealed and tumbled backwards – right into Zane Saucier’s arms.

“Gotcha!” He had walked in and after listening for a few seconds, he had known exactly what she was doing. But instead of scaring her, he had placed himself near in case she fell. Talk about something being in the right place at the right time! Now, he didn’t have to wonder what kind of body Miss Presley had, because he held it to his own – intimately. Not being able to see, he had grasped her wherever he could to ensure she hadn’t slipped to the hard floor. One hand splayed over her lower abdomen, her hips ground back into his groin. The other hand cupped one luscious breast like it was made for it – and perhaps it had been – because Zane had never known anything that had felt so right. She was soft, curvy, rounded in all the right places – Miss Presley Grace Love was the perfect armful. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Presley managed to whisper. “I’m sorry, I landed on you.”

“I’m not, I’m glad I was here to catch you.” And he wasn’t letting her go very fast. Her breathing was fast and shallow. Zane did move his hands to slightly less conspicuous spots; he had no intention of embarrassing her. But he did enjoy the feel of her in his arms. “You shouldn’t have climbed up there like that, it’s dangerous. We have people to water the plants with long wands and proper tools.”

“Sorry,” she managed to apologize. “I thought I was helping.”

“It’s okay, no harm done. I’m just glad I walked in at just the right moment.” He had to smile; she just made him happy. And he needed that. The last twenty-four hours had been full of nothing but worry. First the brucellosis scare had thrown him for a loop and then had come the run-in with the cougar. Rex was going to be okay, but the vet had insisted on keeping him for a day for stitches and antibiotics, and then he would probably need some recuperation time. There had been no life-threatening injuries, but the lab had come away with some deep scratches and a few bite marks. So for the first time in a long time, Zane was having to get around on his own with one of the despicable canes that Margaret had hated so.

“Me, too,” she conceded. Letting out a deep breath, it occurred to her that she hadn’t moved. She was still lounging in his arms like she was at home, there. Good grief! What he must be thinking! “Sorry,” she managed to begin pulling her body away from his. It was hard. She felt entirely too comfortable there. “I need to move.”

“Quit apologizing. Holding you wasn’t a hardship.”

Presley blushed. Zane couldn’t see, thank goodness.

Stepping back, she noticed Zane’s tie was crooked. “May I?” she touched his chest. “Your tie needs straightening.”

“Okay,” he readily agreed. “I thought I was all spiffed up.”

He held up his head and stood still while she rearranged and tightened it a bit. Being this close to him made her quiver. There was no doubt in her mind that her head would rest naturally against his chest. At this angle, Presley could gaze at his face – the strong jaw, the kissable cleft in his chin. “Smile for me,” she requested before thinking.

“Why?” he asked but he smiled and she had to laugh a bit.

“I knew it. You have dimples,” and she touched the one on the right side with her index finger.

“Turn-about is fair play; let me touch your face so I can ‘see’ you.”

He lifted his hands and Presley panicked. “No!” she almost shouted and backed up, catching her heel on the leg of a chair and sitting down hard.

“Presley!” Zane bent over and held out his hand, feeling for her. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she said with a resigned embarrassed tone. “I just landed hard on my bottom. I’m fine.”

“I didn’t mean to frighten you; I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”

He sounded so contrite that Presley felt ashamed. “It wasn’t you, I’m . . .” The phone rang and she breathed a sigh of relief – saved by the bell. “Let me get that, excuse me.” She jumped up and went for the phone.

“Hello?” she asked breathlessly.

Zane was a bit confused. Her reaction to his request to touch her had been so unexpected.



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