Finding Home (34 page)

“Sure.” She scratched his spine lightly with her nails and said thoughtfully, “Or maybe you could just spend the night and we could go for an early breakfast before work. What’s your schedule like?”

“I wasn’t going in tomorrow until after lunch so, yeah, staying overnight sounds great to me.” He nuzzled her neck. “Besides, I think we have some catching up to do.”

Megan sighed contentedly. The rain drummed on the windowpane and the warm weight of her lover pinned her to the bed. She was so glad he didn’t have to leave tonight.

After a moment, Sean lifted up on one arm and looked at her with a little frown furrowing his brows. “Is this going to be okay? I don’t want to fuck things up moving too fast. I know you said—”

“Screw what I said. I don’t want to wait anymore, either.”

He grinned.

She felt a jolt in her chest at the beauty of his rarely bestowed smile. Yes, she’d seen him smile politely at people, but that full-on, broad and happy grin was a rare treasure reserved for her.

“Good.” He crawled up farther so he could reach her mouth, gave her a big, wet kiss, then rolled over to lie beside her with his head on the pillow facing hers.

Megan knew there were difficulties still facing them—given Sean’s background and the disparity of their ages, it was inevitable—but at this moment, she couldn’t imagine what those difficulties might be. She was completely and absolutely happy and whatever came later, they’d deal with together.

She turned her head to the side to look into his eyes. Reaching her hand out, she stroked his face. Her voice was hoarse with contained emotion as she whispered, “Welcome home, Sean.”

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Sometimes the only way to find your way home is to leave

© 2006 Bobbie Cole

Smoking weed while perched on top of her grandmother’s coffin in the middle of a downpour was not how Jillian had seen the trip from Oklahoma to Minnesota as happening. With flights canceled and the airline employees striking, she had no choice but to improvise and use her rock band’s hearse. And when Gran exits the hearse after the tires skid on a rain slick highway and the back door flies open, Jillian decides to make the best of the moment.

Things only get worse when they arrive in Minnesota and her oldest sister, Shari, has a stroke at the memorial service. Toss in the fact that their grandmother had led two lives—there was a whole other family they’d known nothing about waiting for them in Minnesota—and life suddenly becomes more complicated…even for Jilly and Shari’s mother, Donna…

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Leaving Mama
:

He sat beside me. “You’re not dying.”
“Then why does it feel like I am?” My eyes filled with tears again. “Because you just buried your mother a few weeks ago, and because for the first time since Shari was born, you and I are going to be all alone. Just the two of us. And maybe you don’t want that.”

I digested his words. “You think…you think what? That I don’t want to be alone with you?”

“That’s what I fear most,” he said. “You’re afraid you won’t be missed, and I’m afraid I won’t be enough for you. Afraid I won’t be able to make you happy once we’re alone again.”

“Oh, Jim!” I burst into tears and shook my head. “I am so sorry. I never meant…I mean, you’re right…we’ll be alone. But…you have to know how much I love you!”

“Sure.” He sighed and dropped his hands to his lap and stared ahead, past the door, into some corner of his mind where I couldn’t find him. “That’s why I wanted to pick up golf again, why I wanted to eat out more, do things as a couple. We haven’t done anything in so long, that I was afraid we wouldn’t know what to do with one another.”

Sure?
My husband sounded confused, like he dreaded our being alone while wanting it, nonetheless. My declaration of love only elicited a
sure
from him. Like it was something he believed but didn’t
feel
. Like nothing I said could possibly strike a welcoming chord within him, as if the words
I love you
didn’t mean as much as they once did when I said them. Had I not said them enough?

“What do you mean,
sure
?” I asked. “Don’t you believe me?”
“I hear what you’re saying, Donna, but to tell the truth I don’t feel it. I don’t…I guess I just don’t remember the last time you said
I love you
with passion. I used to make your toes curl—I used to be able to drive you crazy. I don’t feel the crazy any more. Maybe it’s just me. But I don’t see the girls being together—away from us for a while—as all that bad. I miss Shari and Jilly as much as you do, but I figured we’d comfort one another and even find that we enjoyed one another’s company again.”

“I enjoy your company!” I cried.
“You and I tolerate one another, and we’ve settled into a very blasé form of coexistence—we’re comfortable together. But we’re not passionate. We don’t have the same feeling we once had for one another.

I just hoped that you’d look forward to spending time alone with me. That’s all.“

“You want passion?”
“I deserve passion—we both do,” he replied.
“What about last night?” Now I was outraged.
“Last night was wonderful!” He turned to face me. “But today, it’s back to paychecks and promises, the kids, how we spend the day, everything but us. It’s not about
us
today, and it rarely is any more. I don’t see why we have to go through this drama every time one of the girls does something we don’t like. This isn’t the end of the world, Donna—Shari is in the hospital, and she wants to see her daughter. It’s not like they’re never coming back.”

Overwhelmed with grief over the pain my oldest daughters had inflicted and the fear that something might happen if I wasn’t there to protect them, I’d never considered my husband’s pain. The love of my life—the man I’d wanted to marry and have children with, the cornerstone of my very existence…and I’d taken him for granted. At least, he felt that I had.

His eyes stared ahead, the lines around them deeper than I’d seen in a long time, his jaw taut with tension, shoulders slumped as though he carried the weight of the world on them. How awful he must feel. I felt as though I were losing my children…and he seemed to feel he’d lost me, which meant there was obviously something else I hadn’t done right over the past few years if I’d alienated my children
and
made my husband feel as though he wasn’t important.

I felt hopeless. “What do you want, Jim? You want me to send the girls to the library or the neighborhood pool so that you and I can stay in bed and make love or read the comics or go play golf or do whatever it is that will make you happy?” My voice became shrill the longer I talked. “I feel betrayed—by Jillian and Shari! I resent the position they’ve put me in, and I am sorry if you don’t feel fulfilled with our relationship, but right now I am hurt and angry!”

He rose. “Well, don’t kid yourself if you think that’s going to solve anything. You’ll just manage to make everyone else’s day miserable if all you’re going to do is have a pity party every time you think of tomorrow.”

Pity party?

I ground my teeth and forced myself off the bed, snatching the clothes I’d shed off the bed and returning them to the closet where I grabbed the first pair of shoes I could find and slammed them onto my feet. I’d show him. He wanted happy, I would be bigod happy or die trying.

As for passion? Jim was nuts if he thought I’d want to make love to him after this. His words stung—I thought the previous night had been fantastic. And here he thought…whatever he thought. Did he think I’d wake up begging for more, when my life was falling apart? Fat chance.

Sexual intimacy was one thing—and we’d had that last night. But passion in the midst of turmoil, gut-wrenching fear, and pain for the loss I was feeling was something else entirely. How did he expect me to be passionate about anything when I was worried and hurt? Why did men always seem to think that sex solved everything.

Passion. I snorted. I felt tempted to tell him that if he wanted passion and felt I was so damned unable to give it to him, he should go get another haircut or buy another set of golf clubs and take Phyllis Wheat with him.

I was silent as we all climbed in the car and headed toward the restaurant the girls had chosen. Passion. My anger subsided as I took a long, honest look back at what he’d said. He hadn’t said sex…he’d said passion. A thirst for living, is what he meant. And I hadn’t been thirsty for anything that concerned just him in so many years that I couldn’t remember. Neither of us had craved passion in decades. Or had
he

wanted this, and I’d just been so wrapped up with paying bills and raising children that I hadn’t noticed?

Dear God. What the hell did he want, for me to buy some French maid’s costume or learn belly dancing, for me to buy sex toys or naughty lingerie? Give him a gift subscription to
Playboy
magazine or
Golf Digest
? Go down on him more than once a month?

Shame on you!
I cautioned myself.
If you have that particular sex act down to the point where you can count the number of times you’ve done it per month, then you’ve considered it an obligation instead of a pleasure.

One ordinary woman…two extraordinary hunks.

© 2006 Eve Vaughn

April Johnson is just a regular woman, taking one day at a time, who always manages to get into sticky situations.

At her high school reunion April’s life changes forever when she finds herself falling for Richard Slick, nerd turned hunk. Matters are only complicated when Marcus, the man who broke her heart in high school and who’s now a big time actor, makes a stunning declaration.

April lands smack in the middle of a love triangle and must decide between these two studs. Her choice leads to heartbreak, the discovery of her self-worth and learning that it just might be possible to love two men. Some lessons are worth learning.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Life and Loves of April Johnson
:

“Marcus?” I asked in confusion. The sudden sexual tension between us could be cut with a knife.

The next thing I knew, he lowered his head and crushed my lips with his.

I froze. This was something I’d fantasized about since the moment I laid eyes on him, but I couldn’t believe he was holding and kissing me as though he couldn’t get enough.

Marcus lifted his head to look down at me, never letting go of my trembling body. “Don’t you like this? I thought you had a crush on me.”

I tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t budge. “I don’t need a pity kiss.”

“This just underlines the fact that you know absolutely nothing about me, because if you did, you’d know I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.”

“And why would you want to kiss me after everything you’ve said?”
“I don’t know. Damn, April, I just felt like kissing you, and I’d actually like to kiss you again, so how about shutting up and letting me?” He lowered his head again.

I stood still as his mouth moved over mine. It wasn’t as though I’d never been kissed before, but the lazy fumbling of two experimenting adolescents didn’t count. This was my first kiss of passion and I didn’t know how to handle it. “Let me taste you, April,” he muttered, pushing me against the wall and grinding his cock against my thigh.

My lips parted slightly, just enough to let his tongue slide into my hesitant mouth. He tasted of mint, spices, and a flavor unique to him. I could feel my body softening against his. My nipples grew hard as rocks and I was sure they’d poke holes right through my robe.

My pussy clenched, responding to the new sensations coursing through my body. I’d fingered myself plenty of times before, but never had I felt this hot, needy feeling before. In that moment, I didn’t know what Marcus’s motives were for kissing me like this, but I didn’t care.

All I wanted was for him to keep kissing me like this, but soon, even that wasn’t enough. I wanted more. As if he’d read my mind, he lifted his head, a surprised expression in his eyes. “Whoa. I never thought…” He broke off and buried his face in my neck, trailing kisses over my heated flesh.

I reached up and threaded my fingers through his silky blond locks. His tongue grazed my throat. Moisture formed between my legs.

Damn I was horny.

Marcus’s hand slid lower to squeeze my ample bottom, pulling me closer still. He squeezed and kneaded my ass in his palm as though it was a lump of clay and he was a sculptor. “Yes, Marcus. That feels so good,” I moaned, leaning my head against the wall.

“Let’s go up to your room,” he muttered against my neck.

I opened my eyes to look at him, not believing what he was asking. I knew if we went up to my room what could happen. Did I dare take this irreversible step that would probably change both our lives forever? My head said no, but my pussy screamed yes.

“Well?” He lifted a dark blond brow, waiting for my answer.

My pussy won. “Okay.” I took his hand in mine. I wasn’t thinking straight at the moment. The only thought in my mind was letting Marcus have his way with me.

I led him up the stairs to my room, my breathing shallow with anticipation for what was soon to happen. “Nice room,” he casually commented and closed the door behind him.

“Thanks.” I gulped.

This was it.

I watched in fascination as he began to remove his jacket and then his T-shirt. This was the first time I’d seen him without his shirt on and his torso was everything I’d imagined it would be. He was lean with a well-sculpted chest and ripped stomach. You could probably bounce a quarter off those tight abs. It was easy to see he was an athlete. My eyes widened as his hands unbuckled his belt and undid his pants.