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The sensation that she was being watched prickled over her skin and she lifted her eyes to find her husband staring at her hungrily from the doorway. “Hey baby, what’s the serious look for?” He asked gruffly, making her belly quiver just by licking his lips.
“Uh, nothing too important. Did you finish up everything you needed to?” Her voice came out breathy and husky with the desire rolling through her veins.
He nodded, and moved further into the room, pushing the door shut behind him. “Lolly looks good, and the hands have everything under control for the next couple of days.”
“That’s good. When should we expect Lolly’s new baby?” she asked, rising from her chair in anticipation. She couldn’t care less about the pregnant mare right now, but this was part of the game of seduction between them. She enjoyed the pursuit. The feeling of his need for her when he pushed her into an intimate situation in an inappropriate place.
“Six more weeks.” His response barely registered as he reached for her and slid his hands up to release her long red hair from its braid, weaving his fingers through the long locks to separate them before fisting his hands in them and pulling her head back to kiss her deeply.
She loved the way he took the kiss from her, not asking, not teasing, just taking what he needed and giving her back what she wanted. It set off explosions in her brain and her core heated quickly. Rubbing against him like a cat, she tugged at his shirt, pulling it free from his belt, and pushing her hands underneath to reach his bare chest. Years of hard ranch work had etched muscles like granite into his body, and she paid homage to each one with a caress or squeeze. At the same time he ran his own hands from her scalp to her ass, stealing squeezes and strokes of his own.
Parting with a gasp for air, she moaned when he nipped her earlobe. “We have to leave in an hour,” she murmured.
“I only need half that,” he growled against her ear, spinning her and pinning her to the top of the desk, her laptop closing with a sharp click.
Best-selling author, Lori King, is also a full-time wife and mother of three boys. Although she rarely has time to just enjoy feminine pursuits; at heart she is a hopeless romantic.
Jennifer Garcia's love of travel began when she went to the West Coast to visit her father at the age of three. Her home until she was sixteen was a small coastal town near Boston. She currently resides in Los Angeles with her husband, two sons, and two dogs.
Her lifelong love for reading and writing was put aside for many years while she made her way in the world and nurtured her young family. Even though she is older, and life never seems to settle, she's finding her way. Believing she can do it all, with the help of her family, she worked on her first novel during the late hours of the night while balancing the rest of her life during the day.
Jennifer believes in writing love stories that connect families and touch hearts.
Excerpt from “Mistletoe Magic”
“Doing some last-minute shopping?” Ethan asked.
Melanie blinked rapidly before nodding.
“I am,” she replied stiffly. “You?”
He lifted the gold bag, giving it a little shake.
She nodded. “For someone special?”
“For my wife. You?”
“My husb—”
Her reply was cut short when the lights dimmed, and the elevator lurched to a stop.
“Fantastic,” Melanie mumbled.
The emergency lights flickered on, and Ethan pushed the alarm button before grabbing the elevator’s phone. Melanie listened intently as he barked orders to someone before slamming down the receiver.
“The entire block is in the dark,” Ethan grumbled. He removed his jacket before settling himself on the floor.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting comfortable,” Ethan said. “The guy said it might be a while.”
Melanie glanced down at her silk dress.
“I’m not sitting on this dirty floor.”
Ethan shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Melanie eyed his jacket.
“Speaking of suits, isn’t that Armani?”
“I have no idea which expensive name is stitched on the label.”
She smirked. “But you know it’s expensive.”
“There isn’t a suit in my closet that didn’t cost a fortune. My wife insists upon it.”
“Maybe that’s because your wife has good taste.”
“Maybe that’s because my wife is too hung-up on labels.” Ethan loosened his tie and sighed tiredly. “Just sit down. I hate enclosed spaces, and you’re making me nervous.”
A stubborn Melanie remained on her feet, but the four-inch heels of her favorite boots weren’t the most comfortable, and after a few minutes, she finally relented and removed her coat. It was far less expensive than the dress, after all. She placed it on the floor before slowly sitting down.
“See? Isn’t that better?”
Melanie sighed loudly.
“One of us should probably conserve our cell battery,” Ethan suggested, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “My Blackberry has a full charge, so I don’t mind keeping mine on if you’d like to save yours.”
With a nod, Melanie reached into her bag and turned off her iPhone.
“You don’t want to text someone first?” Ethan asked. “Your husband might worry if you come home late.”
Melanie somehow resisted the urge to laugh.
“No one worries about me,” she said.
A brief look passed between them before they both quickly looked away.
Excerpt from “The Little Drummer Boy”
Rum pum pum pum.
It’s faint, but it’s there. A quiet, rhythmic beat that blends into the night. How this old man heard the sound is beyond me.
“You hear it, don’t you?”
With a nod, I look around, hoping to find the source of the sound. The man points toward the coffee shop’s covered alleyway.
“Back there,” he says.
The carolers begin their rendition of “O Holy Night,” and once again, I hear the “rum pum pum pum” coming from the darkness.
Intrigued, I step away from the old man and walk slowly toward the alley. Each step brings me closer to the beat, until finally, I see a little boy, nestled in the corner. His only light comes from a lantern, and a snare drum rests in his lap. The drum is scarred and the strap is frayed, but it’s obviously his most prized possession.
Probably his only possession.
Does he live here? In this filthy alley? And where are his parents?
“Shall I play for you?”
His voice is just a whisper. His clothes are dirty and ragged, and the faded blue jacket he wears is about three sizes too big.
“I heard you playing,” I tell him, keeping my voice soft and light. The last thing I want to do is scare the kid. “You’re very good. Are you alone?”
He nods.
“Where are your parents?”
His face contorts in pain, and my stomach lurches. He can’t be more than five years old. Maybe six.
“Shall I play for you?” he asks again. A little stronger this time. A little more determined.
Because I don’t know what else to do, I nod. The covered alleyway has thankfully kept most of the snow away, so I find a flattened section of shredded cardboard and sit down. I don’t think about the fact that I’m probably ruining my thousand-dollar suit. I just sit and listen.
The boy’s sticks pound the head of the drum.
Rum pum pum pum.
Rum pum pum pum.
Each rhythmic thump pierces my soul, and when he comes to the end of his song, I reach inside my jacket for my wallet.
“No, sir,” he says softly. “I don't need your money.”
It’s hard not to laugh. The kid is surrounded by dumpsters and living in a cardboard box. If anyone needs my money, it’s this child.
“What do you need?”
“Just food.”
“I can pay you with food?”
The boy nods vigorously, and I notice his eyes are suddenly a little brighter. The poor guy is probably starving and could definitely use a bath. Dirt cakes his face, but he has the biggest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Why don't you come home with me?” I hear myself say. “My wife loves to cook.”
He shakes his head. “I can't leave. My mom told me to stay here. I have to stay here.”
“How old are you?”
“I'm six, sir.”
“Do you have a name?”
“My name’s Luke.”
“Well, Luke, my name is Justin Banks, and it's cold out here. It's going to keep snowing.”
“Yes, sir,” he whispers, his voice trembling.
“I could take you home with me for a little while. You could take a bath and eat some dinner with us.”
At the mention of a bath, he smiles.
“And then we can try to find your mom and dad.”
The little boy bows his head, and when he looks up at me again, the light in his eyes is long gone.
“My mom told me to stay here.”
I close my eyes in frustration. I can talk a judge and jury into almost anything. Have I really met my match in a six-year-old living in a cardboard box?
Maybe so.
But I have a secret weapon.
Sydney Logan Bio:
Amazon best-selling author Sydney Logan holds a Master's degree in Elementary Education. She is the author of five novels - Lessons Learned, Mountain Charm, Soldier On, Once Upon a December, and Pros & Cons. Sydney has also penned several short stories and is a contributor to Chicken Soup for the Soul.
A native of East Tennessee, Sydney enjoys playing piano and relaxing on her porch with her wonderful husband and their very spoiled cat.
Visit her website at www.sydneylogan.com.
