Dec 04 2013

Second Chance Layover — Part 4 (FREE Holiday Blog Serial)

Sandra Bunino and I have collaborated to bring you a FREE holiday blog serial that runs in 18 parts of usually less than 1000 words for each post—easy reading on your lunch break.

Prefer to read on a Kindle or Nook? No problem, just head over to Smashwords every Wednesday beginning later today, December 4th for the weekly digest to catch up.

Otherwise, go here for:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

And now, PART 4 of Second Chance Layover (<<–Click title to read a quick overview / blurb of the story.):

Cover4Cal ~

It was Charli, but she hadn’t recognized me, not at first anyway. Had it been that long?

Wow! She had really changed, for the better, not that she was a woofer when we were kids, but a kid sister was mostly how I remembered her. She wasn’t a kid anymore. Had I not glimpsed her face first and recognized the way she leaned as she walked, like the job of dragging the world forward was her job alone, I never would have guessed. I would have noticed though.

Charli had definitely shed the little bit of baby fat I remembered. She had grown up. And out. And in. And out again. Like God had started with a roly-poly ball of clay before sculpting her into a masterpiece. My eyes traced the pleasing hourglass shape of her figure as I walked toward where she stood staring.

The hair was the same—caramel blonde and plenty of it—but gone were the braids from the days when she tried to sneak into Duncan’s and my Boys Only club. Gone was the color-coordinated scrunchy she wore to corral it in high school. In those days, whenever I got too close, she either skittered away—too cool for the likes of her older brother’s best friend—or she skewered me with a barb. Cal, Erkel called. He wants his high waters back. Do you wake up stupid or does it slowly overpower you as the day progresses?Charli_with_suitcase_at_feet

I smiled at the memory flashes she evoked. Smiling prevented my tongue from hanging out. Duncan would fuck me over good if he caught me even licking my lips in Charli’s direction. If I had a three-way with his other two sisters, I doubted he’d bat an eyelash. Charli, however, always brought out his defcon level ten over-protectiveness.

Damn. Better stop staring at her breasts!

“I thought that was you!” I said. To my relief, she finally smiled and pulled me into a hug. Her breasts disappeared from sight, but I could feel them, and much worse, every warm, lithe inch of the body pressed against mine. Her hair tickled my cheek. Get a grip, man! She’s off limits even in your head.

“Oh my God, Cal. What a small world seeing you here, of all places. Are you headed home to L.A.?”

“Home yes, but in the other direction—to New York…eventually.” I released a loud sigh. “The weather’s keeping me here at O’Hare a bit longer than I’d like though. Are you heading back home too?”

She shook her head, her blonde hair skimmed her shoulders and shimmered in the light. “I’m heading to Aspen. The whole Tierney clan will be there if I can get myself out of O’Hare first.” A husky laugh chased her statement curling her mouth at its edges and crinkling the corners of her eyes.

“Oh yeah! The famous Tierney family Christmas ski vacation. Duncan took me one year. God, you are a sight for sore eyes. I was so bored, you wouldn’t believe how bored … well, never mind.” I bit back the words. No way would I mention Meet-And-Go or Chartier. I thumbed over my shoulder at the coffee shop. “You got time to sit and chat?”

The coffee shop. Uh-oh. What would I do if Chartier showed up? She probably wouldn’t, and I hadn’t told her what I looked like. I owed her a quick text at least. I’d tell her my flight got moved up or something. No harm, no foul and no bad karma to chase me into the skies.

Charli opened her mouth, shut it again and paused, a shadow passing over face. “Yes. I have plenty of time to chat, but if you don’t mind, I need to use the ladies room first.”

“Sure. I’ll get the drinks ordered. What should I order for you? My treat.”

A hint of color flushed her cheeks. “You don’t have to do that—”

“I know, but I want to. What can I get you? Something hot or something cold?” I winked at her. Why the hell did I wink at her? No flirting!

She licked her lips and said, “Nonfat latte then.”

I nodded. “One nonfat latte coming up. I’ll grab us a table if I can. Otherwise I’ll wait outside the door and we’ll find a couple of seats elsewhere.”

“Okay, be right back.” She spun and wove her way through the crowd toward the ladies room, no trace of a lean in her posture. The sway of her hips and the flashes of red on the soles of her high-heeled boots mesmerized me until she disappeared inside.

bigstock-Internet-Dating-47149081When my stupor wore off, I removed my cell phone and took my place at the end of the line. I tapped out a text to my mysterious Meet-And-Go assignation, making sure to invoke no embarrassing auto-correct gaffes:

Can’t make it after all. Got an earlier flight. Sorry. BroadwayBoundJD.

I hoped I didn’t come off too abrupt, but we didn’t know each other. I didn’t owe her anything more than a courtesy text. I had no sooner hit send, when an incoming text chimed.

Apologies but my plans changed, and I have to cancel. Safe travels to you. Chartier.

I chuckled under my breath, deleted her message and slipped my phone back in my pocket. Sorry Chartier. Charli trumped a stranger any day, week or year.


Want more? Be sure to come back tomorrow for Part 5!

Be sure to leave a comment. There **might** be an extra something in it for you later on…like say, an Amazon gift card for one lucky commenter each week. ;)

Dec 03 2013

Second Chance Layover — Part 3 (FREE Holiday Blog Serial)

Sandra Bunino and I have collaborated to bring you a FREE holiday blog serial that runs in 18 parts of usually less than 1000 words for each post—easy reading on your lunch break.

Prefer to read on a Kindle or Nook? No problem, just head over to Smashwords every Wednesday beginning December 4th for the weekly digest to catch up. Or catch up a little faster here:

Part 1

Part 2

And now, PART 3 of Second Chance Layover (Click title to read a quick summary of the story.):

Cover3Cal ~

With the press of a keystroke, I alerted the other bored and lonely travelers of O’Hare that BBJD was in the building. My location within the airport, I left blank. No point making myself a blue-light special before vetting out the clientele. Clingy, needy women were not my thing; neither was a quick, anonymous fuck in an airport. God knew I’d never been that desperate to get off.

Instantly, a list of screen names popped up—Anonymous, BabsAtLarge, Chartier, DaveS, FlyMeBaby, LonelyInIL, Sam, Sheila, WetNWild, and on and on. At least twenty screen names, ranging from the provocative to the mundane, filled my smart phone’s window. I scrolled through them and clicked on Chartier who had classified herself as a 25-35 female. Best to stick with my own age range, I supposed. She also claimed to be from the same part of the country as myself. We would have at least one thing to talk about…if I contacted her.

Maybe later.

A familiar antsiness took over and propelled me to my feet.

I walked the full length of my terminal. Twice. The adjoining terminal received an equally thorough tour until bored, I returned to my assigned gate. The faces hadn’t changed much during my absence.

My smart phone alerted me to a message. filled the sender window, “Someone wants to meet you” occupied the subject line. I clicked open the notification expecting my someone to be WetNWild or LonelyInIL Instead Chartier pleasantly surprised me by making contact. The link provided took me back to the website and into my inbox.bigstock-Business-Man-With-Coffee-Cup-W-7082647

Hi. I’m here in O’Hare and my flight is delayed. Isn’t everyone’s? Never done this before so am not familiar with any etiquette. Saw your listing and noticed we’re both from the same part of NY. Message back if you want to chat over coffee.

Hmm. Was it karma that the one other person whose link I clicked was the one who happened to contact me? I was due some good karma for a change.

I switched over to my tablet. If we corresponded more in writing, a larger keyboard would work much better.

Hi Chartier. Spotted your listing and also noticed the NY connection. Coffee sounds fine. I’m in terminal D. I saw a shop nearby but can meet you wherever is convenient for you.

I clicked send and kicked back in my seat. One coffee wouldn’t hurt. I could drink it quickly if I needed to make a quick escape. I hadn’t mentioned the length of my layover or my destination. Easy escape excuse fodder. She might not even contact me back, might have only been dipping a toe.


Charli ~

I shifted to lean on my left butt cheek while waiting for BroadwayBoundJD’s response. Great, pins and needles attacked my foot. I needed to get up soon before both feet fell asleep. A beep sounded from my laptop and message alert blinked on the screen. I smiled, excited my stranger had replied so fast. I scanned his message and tapped out a response to seal the deal. This was kind of fun in a weird way.

bigstock-Young-Woman-Pulling-Luggage-At-47058325Hi Broadway, I’m in D too and I need a change of scenery. I passed a coffee shop around Gate 10 so I’ll meet you there. I’m dragging a carryon the color of Pepto. Doubt if you’ll miss me.

Stretching my legs I tapped my high-heeled boot on the floor to wake up my extremity. I considered changing into the shearling lined Uggs tucked away in my carryon, but remembered Tiffany’s last report on the shoes men love and hate. According to Tiff, Uggs made the hate list along with Crocks as the unsexiest shoes ever. What’d they like? Pointy-heeled stilettos, of course. I stood and re-tested my sleepy foot. I pulled my phone from the inside pocket of my purse and poked the redial button. Henry picked up after the first ring.

“Hey. I have a hookup on Meet-And-Go dot com. His profile name is BroadwayBoundJD, so, on the off chance I end up in an airport dumpster, he’s your prime suspect.”

A chuckle erupted in my ear. “BroadwayBound doesn’t sound too sinister to me. What’s he going to do? Dance and sing you to death?”

I rolled my eyes. “Do you hear me laughing?”

“Go enjoy yourself, but more important, get me a good story.”

I slid my phone back into the pocket and stored my laptop in the carryon. After shaking out the last of the pins and needles from my semi-asleep foot, I flipped up the handle of my carryon and headed toward Gate 10.

People do this all the time, I told myself as the flashing neon coffee sign came into view. I took a deep breath and scanned the small space. A guy sitting by himself should have been easy to spot, however with all the stranded travelers, what if the shop was full of them? Why didn’t I get a description of this dude? I blew a frustrated breath upward, sending a stray lock of hair fluttering off my forehead.

My mother’s disappointed expression entered my head. I guessed I considered her to be the voice of reason. Who else did I have? As crazy as it seemed, I was the sanest one of my friends. Hussies filled the entertainment news industry. Most of my social circle wouldn’t think twice about a random hook up. In fact, after my story ran, a few would probably hop a cab to JFK for a quickie.

I must’ve looked like a royal loser as I stood near the entrance while people whizzed past me, focused on their own agendas. Everyone was so time-driven at airports. This was a stupid idea. I turned and started back to my gate. I couldn’t pull off this kind of story. I should have left the fancy stuff to Tiffany and stuck with back office research and copyediting.


I swung around, and my long hair hit me in the cheek. A man waved as he headed toward me. I was a bit nearsighted but refused to wear my glasses for anything but driving. I cocked my head squinting. Something familiar about his voice and gait struck me as he strode my way. I knew him, but from where? I focused on his features and searched his eyes for clues.

“Charli Tierney, I thought that was you.”

As though my body recognized him before my brain registered his identity, heat crept up my neck and into my cheeks. “Cal?”


Want more? Be sure to come back tomorrow for Part 4!

Be sure to leave a comment. There **might** be an extra something in it for you later on…like say, an Amazon gift card for one lucky commenter each week. ;)

Dec 02 2013

Second Chance Layover — Part 2 (FREE Holiday Blog Serial)

Sandra Bunino and I have collaborated to bring you a FREE holiday blog serial that runs in 18 parts of usually less than 1000 words for each post—easy reading on your lunch break.

Prefer to read on a Kindle or Nook? No problem, just head over to Smashwords every Wednesday beginning December 4th for the weekly digest to catch up.

Go here to read part 1 to catch up. I’ll wait…

And now, PART 2 of Second Chance Layover (Click title to read a quick summary of the story.):


Chicago O’Hare … it looked the same yet different from the last time I passed through. The bookstore had changed and so too had the fast food restaurants. The latest trendy franchises able to afford the exorbitant airport rental rates turned over with alarming frequency.

New faces were the same in their harried expressions as they moved from point A to point B, towing screaming kids on leashes or pushing them in strollers. Old-timers ambled arm and arm as if enjoying the sights and scenery of the Boardwalk at sunset. No doubt they had arrived at least two hours before their scheduled departure time from the cozy suburbs of Chicago. Crisp businessmen and women deftly side-stepped and dodged all of them with an efficiency borne from too many hours in airports.

I scanned my gate area. More people had arrived and filled in the seats near me. My laptop whirred in silent labor warming my thighs. Time to give the old girl a rest.Meet_Cal

Attention. This is a flight announcement for Eastaway flight 4500 leaving gate A-56. Our airplane has just taken off from New York. Estimated time of arrival is three hours. Please check the monitor for future announcements as we may have a gate change due to weather.

Three hours? My groan formed a chorus with others’ seated near me. I checked my watch. Three o’clock. Assuming the plane arrived at six, and allowing another half hour to clear out the arriving passengers and their messes, I’d be in my assigned seat by six-thirty. If we needed de-icing or O’Hare takeoffs were backed up, I might spend another hour inching toward the head of the runway. Wheels up at seven thirty and a three-hour flight to LaGuardia would put me in at ten thirty. Half hour to get my bag and catch a cab. Another half hour to Will’s house. During the day, I’d allow at least an hour. The half hour savings provided little consolation for the three-hour delay.

I rubbed a hand over my brow pondering my options. I had a long time to mull over my choices. A distraction from my thoughts would be welcome. Maybe a book or magazine and a coffee. Perhaps a movie? I had time for an entire movie on a rented DVD player.

I could also erase my memories over a drink or two or three. No. That wouldn’t work. I had tried it already. The only thing alcohol overdosing did was make me stupid, and then sick. Stupid could strand me at the airport even longer. With my back already sore from the L.A. to Chicago leg, my muscles twitching from inactivity, I dismissed imbibing altogether.

I scanned the area, drinking in the faces of my fellow travelers. An elderly man sat across from me chatting on his cell phone in a voice stripped of all discretion. Two seats over, a teen slumped down in his seat, ear buds firmly in place and his eyes shut. At least I think they were shut. Hard to tell with a canopy of bangs covering most of his face. The only sign of life from the boy was the rhythmic jiggling of a leg. If I cocked an ear in his direction, the faint rumbling bass of his music wormed its way into my brain. Next to him, a bottle blonde, middle-aged woman, probably the boy’s mother, flipped the pages of a celebrity gossip magazine. Her nails flashed by with each turn of the page—zebra print with red tips. Good God. As if the magazine weren’t bad enough.

An old unwelcome wave of anxiety washed over me. I hated those magazines—predatory, vicious, and unforgiving.

No. I wouldn’t think about her. My brain had grooves worn from too many “what if” and “if only” musings. Those types of thoughts did no good, and it was past time to let them go. I would let them go, and making a new home far away from the festering malaise was step one.

A white card near my foot caught my eye. I’d seen them around, stuck in the nooks and crannies of the airport vying for the nanosecond attention spans of by-passers.…the great place and way for busy travelers to meet.

I rolled my eyes and flipped over the card. Say goodbye to airport boredom!

Well, there was that.

A smart code on the corner tempted me to scan it with my phone, to bring up the website…just for shits and giggles. No big whoop. Curiosity. I doubted I would find many women other than barflies, cougars and hookers…mostly hookers. The men were probably the same pervs skulking about the restrooms. No, thank you. I only played on one team and had never been interested in sampling the other.

My phone chimed as it scanned the code and pulled up the website. No harm in setting up an anonymous account just to see how many people participated.Meet-and-Go_barcode

A few keystrokes and BroadwayBoundJD in O’Hare was born. Let the ladies figure that handle out. The smarter ones might guess my occupation as an entertainment lawyer heading for New York City. The larger truth was I had deserted Hollywood for New York’s publishing community, film rights specifically. The much more personal truth was I was fleeing ghosts. I’d never believed in hauntings before. I believed in them now, the ones whose faint sobbing gasps in the still moments between sleeping and waking filled me with crushing guilt. The ones with sad, weary faces who pointed accusing fingers.

I shook off my melancholy. I’d entertained those self-destructive thoughts long enough. They had far overstayed their welcome, and my therapist had warned that dwelling on them did me no good. Like I couldn’t have figured that out on my own versus paying $240 an hour to be given common sense platitudes.


Want more? Tune in on Tuesday for part 3!

Be sure to leave a comment. There **might** be an extra something in it for you later on…like say, an Amazon gift card for one lucky commenter each week. ;)

Nov 28 2013

Second Chance Layover — Part 1 (FREE Holiday blog serial)

Did you have a nice Thanksgving? Did you go shopping today? Are you sick of leftovers yet? Whew! With Thanksgiving later in the month this year, we have even fewer days to Christmas shop.

Good news is Sandra Bunino and I have a treat for you starting TODAY (Black Friday which, like the store sales, actually started on Thursday) and running every weekday until Christmas Eve. We’ve collaborated to bring you a FREE holiday blog serial that runs in 18 parts of usually less than 1000 words for each post—easy reading on your lunch break.

I hope you’ll make Second Chance Layover a part of your daily routine, but if not, there’s always the weekend to catch up. (Click title to read a quick summary of the story.)

Prefer to read on a Kindle or Nook? No problem, just head over to Smashwords every Wednesday beginning December 4th for the weekly digest to catch up.

And now, at last, I present PART 1 of:

Second Chance Layover

Cover1Charli ~

An army of disgruntled passengers had settled in for a long wait in the gate’s packed waiting area. Without an empty seat in sight, I wrinkled my nose at bodies sitting and even lying on the worn carpeting. Didn’t they know about all the germs embedded in the carpet fibers? Gross.

At an unoccupied pillar, I converted my hot pink hard-sided carryon into makeshift chair. I fished my iPad out of my purse and refreshed the airline website.


The word blinked in red on my screen. Over the hum of activity, I heard a newscast from one of the overhead television monitors. A severe snowstorm had left its immobilizing effect from Canada and into the Midwest. I blew a long breath through pursed lips, imagining my mother’s rant: Abby and Erin arrived before the storm, because they had nonstop flights. Sure, because Abby and Erin married into money and didn’t work, not to mention worry about spending extra on nonstop flights. I scrimped to afford my midtown apartment, the exorbitant rent worth every penny.

I rubbed my left temple, laid my phone on my thigh, and scrolled to “Mommie Dearest” in my contacts. The reference always made me laugh, especially since it bugged my mother so much. Eileen Tierney’s parenting style was nothing like Joan Crawford’s, however she bore an uncanny resemblance to Faye Dunaway. Abby and Erin inherited her classic good looks and natural grace. The ‘perfect gene’ skipped me, the middle sister. I favored my father’s side of the family—good Irish potato growing stock with wide hips and the ability to drink most men under the table.

Phone to my ear, I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Hey Mom. I’m stuck at O’Hare on a layover…yes, the storm…I know…I had to work. Listen, I need to cut this short because I’m trying to save my phone battery. I’ll call when I know what time I’m due in. Love you.” I rapidly tapped the ‘End’ button. Did I imagine the ringing in my ears? I’d bet a million dollars my sisters and father were getting an earful of Eileen’s shrill voice. Duncan would be taking his sweet time in arriving as usual. I was always late; but my brother was always later, even though he never seemed to get reamed like I did. I guessed because he was my parents’ only hope of carrying on the Tierney name, not that enough Irish Tierneys didn’t already walk the Earth.

I snapped open my suitcase and pulled out my laptop from a padded interior pocket before making a second call. After powering up, I switched back to my phone and scrolled to “Master of My Universe” in my contacts. With a chuckle, I hit the ‘Send’ button.

Henry picked up on the first ring. “I thought you were on vacation?”

I snorted. “Vacation is planting my ass in the sand with an umbrella drink. I’m going to the Tierney family ski condo, also known as hell. Let’s just say I’m on an anti-vacation.”

“Okay then, I thought you were on your anti-vacation.” His voice was flat, but I’d bet the store his mouth wore a hint of a smile.

“I’m stuck in another type of hell: O’Hare Airport. But good news, I have my laptop. Give me an assignment.”bigstock-Ohare-Airport-33566192

Papers shuffled in the background, probably the ‘fluff piece’ pile on the corner of his desk. “Ah, I got something here. I was going to give it to Tiffany, but it’s perfect for your situation. There’s this website called Meet-And-Go dot com where you can meet random strangers at the same place such as airports, bars, museums, parks, whatever. Go on and see if you can hook up with someone at the airport.”

My eyes widened. “Hook up with someone at the airport? What? Are you pimping me out now, Henry?” I grinned picturing old Henry turning a deep shade of red.

“Not ‘hook up’ as in ‘hook up’. Go find a friend, Charli, then write about it. I’ll run the story as a human-interest piece. We need some fluff pieces next week. There’s always a lull between Christmas and New Years.”

“When am I going to get something with real meat?” I had paid my dues in research and editing. I was ready, but convincing everyone else was the challenge.

“Let’s see what you do with this, and we’ll talk after the New Year. Merry Christmas, Charli.” Click.

I typed the website into the address bar and hit ‘Enter.’ The shining point of this assignment? Stealing from Tiffany, the Queen of Fluff. She would have loved the assignment, loved yet another chance to flaunt her stuff.

I opened an account on and added enough personal information to give me access to the next screen. The long list of members’ claiming to be at O’Hare and looking to meet others amazed me. So many people on the site. Interesting.

The challenge lay in finding the one least likely to be a serial killer. Oh yes, players abounded on Meet-And-Go, pictures and all. Pass. I hated when people tried too hard. I scrolled down and scanned the list. Someone’s hometown of Upstate New York caught my eye, and I clicked on the profile for BroadwayBoundJD. Kind of skimpy. I guessed he shared my hesitancy about sharing personal information with strangers. I clicked on the message option and typed.


Want more? Tune in on Monday for part 2!

Be sure to leave a comment. There **might** be an extra something in it for you later on…like say, an Amazon gift card for one lucky commenter each week. ;)

Nov 26 2013

Guest Post from Jorja Lovett on Staying True to Her Voice

Welcome to my guest poster today, Jorja Lovett! I was first introduced to Jorja by way of her Naughty Fairy Tale, Jackie and Her Loose Talk. An odd but catchy title, I thought, and boy what a knockout talent. I was very taken with Jorja’s writing style and I’ve definitely added more of her works to my TBR pile. Here to talk about her “voice” and her latest release (with it’s totally gorgeous cover), I’ll leave you in Jorja’s capable hands:


One of the first things we learn about writing is the importance of finding your ‘voice’. I admit when I started I really didn’t know what it meant. My early attempts were basically trying to emulate authors I’d read, or writing what I thought publishers would go for.

It took me a long time to discover I just had to be me. I didn’t have to have a gimmick, I could simply write about what I knew best – the people and places in Northern Ireland. When I did that, my personality came through.

I’ve been told my ‘voice’ is naturally funny due to my dry sense of humour. I’m happy with that – it means I’m doing it right! Although, not everyone gets it. My turn of phrase and sense of humour don’t always meet with the approval of some international editors, and I’ve been forced to turn it down in the past. That’s why I love my series, The Wild Irish Wolves – I got to keep my Britishisms. Hooray!

Usually my snarkiness comes out in the banter between my characters. There’s nothing like a feisty woman to make a relationship interesting, and if you’ve read The Wolf on the Hill you’ll know what I mean. Mia isn’t exactly pleased about her attraction to bad boy Caleb.

In book two, my heroine, Naomi Duffy is a spiky, fiercely independent woman, and Alpha Rory has a hard time getting close to her. He breaks down those barriers with some smooth talking, and special *cough* moves.

Here’s more about the book:

wolf on the run_lovett
As a police officer and Alpha of the Olcan Hills’ pack, being a protector is in Rory Blake’s DNA.

When Naomi Duffy turned up heavily pregnant and alone, Rory’s natural instinct was to look after her. However, her fierce need for independence over the years has ensured they’ve never been anything more than friends.

Naomi has spent too long trying to keep her daughter safe to jeopardise everything for a fling. But, when her past threatens to catch up with her, Rory is the only person she trusts with her life.

Thrown together, the couple finally succumb to their passion and it’s all too easy to forget the danger lurking in the hills.

Do Rory and Naomi have a future together, or will secrets from the past tear them apart?

Want an excerpt? Here you go:


Naomi came after Rory, pitting her stealthy grace against his sheer power. In his peripheral vision, he could see the wisps of her breath spiralling into the cold air as she forged ahead, determined to catch him. Rory snorted, sending his own white breath curling up into the atmosphere.

He led her over the hills, their claws making short work of carving up the cold, hard terrain. Naomi never lost ground. Even when he made a turn towards the woods on the boundary, she kept pace.

The chase awakened something deep inside him—that animal freedom with no responsibilities except the survival of himself and his pack. The spiky silhouettes of barren trees lined his path, like broad strokes of a black marker pen scratched against the silver sky.

He dodged in and out, never slowing, with Naomi always in pursuit. Occasionally, a pair of woodland eyes blinked at him from the darkness—a rabbit, a fox, observing their bizarre courtship.

Rory had no doubt the exhilaration of their illicit run would end in wild sex between him and Naomi. It was like a very enthusiastic bout of foreplay without actual touching.

They crunched through the leaf-littered forest floor until he tired of being the hunted. He looped back the way they came and stopped in a clearing. In all aspects of life he preferred to be the one doing the chasing, but at this moment in time he wanted nothing more than to be caught.

He shifted back into his naked, horny self. Naomi came to a skidding halt seconds later, scooting a bundle of leaves over his bare feet. “You can run, wolf lady, I’ll give you that. Now can we go back to bed?”

She shifted back to stand beautifully naked before him. “Not until you say it.”

“Say what?” He was hard as hell and ready for round two.

“That I’m as good as you.” She gave him a flirty smile. One which said she was looking forward to the future rather than staring back at the past. The run had obviously done wonders for her too.

“That was probably a fluke. I don’t think you could keep up with me on a normal day. You know, one where you haven’t seduced me on top of a car boot and made me carry you home first.” The play fighting wasn’t limited to their animal personas. Not when it proved such a turn on. Human or wolf, the scent of Naomi’s arousal would always draw him to her.

“I didn’t hear you complaining at the time. But, if you’re tired, just say and we’ll call it a night.” She shrugged her shoulders, making her boobs jiggle enough to bring his erection to full strength once more.

He stepped forward and brushed her wild hair from her face. “I’ll never be too tired for you, Naomi. I’ll race you back. This time the winner stays on top.”

She grinned, eyes twinkling as bright as the stars. “You’re on.”

This was one race he intended to lose.

Available from:

Totally Bound
All Romance eBooks

About Jorja:JorjaLovett_avatar

Jorja Lovett is a British author with both Irish and Scottish roots, which makes for a very dry sense of humour. Writing since she was old enough to wield a pen, it wasn’t until she joined her crit group, UCW, that she pursued her passion seriously.

Now, with Joe Manganiello as her permanent muse, if she can leave the pause button on her Magic Mike dvd long enough, she hopes to spend the rest of her days writing steamy romances.

Connect with Jorja: Facebook, Twitter, Blog, Website

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