May Book: The Landry Family Series
Reader Group: http://bit.ly/LandryReaderGroup
All are standalones. But the traditional reading order is: Sway, Swing, Switch, Swear, and Swink.
He’s a bad boy. She’s a good girl. Together, they’re fire. A standalone romance that’s free in Kindle Unlimited. http://ow.ly/pDhs30juVnq
She’s a single mom. He’s used to getting what he wants. Who is stronger? Standalone romance, available in KU and Audible. http://ow.ly/HyFK30juVra
Baseball standalone romance for all you loving this sports season! 🙂 Available on Amazon, in KU, and Audible. http://ow.ly/cbai30juVwe
He let her go once. He won’t that happen again. Free on KU and available on Audible. http://amzn.to/2FVoLXM
When these two are together, the sparks that fly threaten to burn the whole place down. A sizzling office romance in KU. http://amzn.to/2FTjFvm
The Landry Family Series is now available as a box set. Grab it and fall in love now. Available in KU: https://amzn.to/2FS0SzG
The bell chimes as the front door closes behind me. I’m to my car in record speed. I need space. I need air. I need to think. When my phone buzzes right before I pull out of the parking lot, I know it’s Pepper and she’s not going to quit until I give her something to occupy her mind.
“Fine!” I nearly shout into the phone. “His cock is about ten inches, if I’m guessing, and he fucked me in about every position I could explain. My favorite, though, was the corkscrew. Not sure what that is? Google it.”
My finger goes to swipe off the call when I see the name on the screen and drop the phone. “Shit!” I cry, digging through the items on my passenger’s side floorboard until I find the glowing device.
My heart is pounding as I try to decide whether to end the call or talk to Lincoln. Mortified, I bring it to my ear and squeeze my eyes shut. He’s silent.
Maybe he didn’t hear. Please, God, don’t let him have heard that.
“Hello?” I eke out.
“I’d say ten inches is fair and I’ve made a note about the corkscrew. Glad I called,” he chuckles.
“I want a chance to win you over,” he breathes, peering at me. The way his eyes search mine make it seem like time stands still. “Will you let me try?”
He forces a swallow and the look of hesitation, the internal fight he’s having, isn’t lost on me. It’s there, right beneath the surface, and when I add my concerns to the mix, it’s enough to make me balk. Just a bit.
“I’ll think about it,” I whisper, holding on to the little strand of courage I have left.
Instead of responding, I ask, “Where’d you get that scar over your right eye?” I reach out and press gently on the raised skin. I expect him to pull back, but he doesn’t.
My hand shakes as I touch his warmed skin. His forehead is silky and smooth. I’d like to run my hands over every inch of it, feel it ripple beneath my fingertips.
The corner of his lips twitch. “Lincoln hit me in the head with a baseball.”
“Bad reflexes on your part?”
“Wicked curveball on his,” he says, his face breaking out into a full smile.
“I thought he played center field?”
“He does. But he pitched some growing up.”
We stand inches apart, my hand gently brushing down the side of his face. Although I feel like he’d stand here all night and talk to me, it’s not possible.
“I really need to get back to work,” I say, trying to unlock my eyes from his.
“Dinner? This week?”
I can barely resist the look in his eye, the one that implores me to say yes. The one that makes me believe he really does want to have dinner and spend a few hours with me.
I need to get away, put some space between us while I can.
“We ran into each other tonight,” I shrug. “If we’re supposed to see each other again, then I guess we will.” I start to turn away before I completely buckle under his gaze.
“How am I supposed to get ahold of you? I don’t have your number,” he calls after me.
Heading up the steps to the Savannah Room, I glance at him over my shoulder. “You’re the Mayor. Figure it out.”
Our breathing quickens, the blues of his eyes growing stormy. A chill tears through me as he accidentally-on-purpose brushes his arm against mine. It’s like muscle memory, my body remembering exactly what to do around his.
My knees dip, my mouth waters, and I fight the ache in between my thighs as he looks down at me like it’s me he wants for dinner.
“What if I throw breakfast in afterwards?” he prods. “Does that make me, I mean it, more appetizing?”
That’s all it takes, that one little hint of arrogance, that brings me back to reality.
I flip him a smile. “It makes it less, actually.”
His own smile wavers. “I get that you probably hate me.”
“You’re right. I do.”
“I want the chance to explain.”
“You have the same chances of getting the chance to explain as I do of getting what every woman wants.”
I lean in, like I’m going to tell him a secret. Whispering, I say, “Being able to eat all the pizza and not gain an ounce.”
Turning on my heel, I head to the back as his chuckle fills the room. “That was good. I’ll give you that.”
I shrug and keep walking.
“You can at least let me apologize.”
The authority in his tone, like I owe him something, stops me in my tracks. I whirl around to face him. “You don’t deserve a chance to apologize to me.”
“I didn’t say I deserved it,” he says earnestly. “But I would love the opportunity to do so.” He forces a swallow, my eyes glued to his lips. “I would appreciate the chance to get to see you again.”
The snicker that comes from me is unexpected by both of us. “So charming. I forgot how good you are with words.”
“Does that mean that’s a yes?”
“That means that’s a no,” I smile. “That means I’m not about to let you come in here and look at me with those bright blue eyes and make me forget what it felt like to have you rip my heart out.”
He flinches. “I didn’t mean to do that, Ellie.”
“Don’t act surprised,” I laugh angrily. “There’s no way you thought I just went on with my life after you left. I dated you for four years, Ford. And after what we went through …”
It’s me gulping now, the anger so palpable that I almost have tears in my eyes. My hands shake as I remember the fight that ensued after he told me he was enlisting.
“You left me,” I repeat, shaking my head. “So leave me again. There’s the door. Should I hold it open for you this time?”
He’s standing in the doorway, one hand on the sweatpants that hang just below his chiseled hips and the other leans on the frame. The tattoos that mark his flesh are vivid against his bare skin, making the blues of his eyes shine.
He flashes a lopsided smile my way. “Took you long enough.”
“I don’t drive like a bat out of hell,” I laugh, stepping past him. “Did you shower already?”
“Yeah. I smelled like gym floors.”
“As long as you don’t smell like gym whores,” I say, setting the bags on the table in the kitchen.
His laugh is contagious and I feel myself smiling. A set of arms cage me in from behind, grasping the table on both sides of me. My skin breaks out in a shiver as his lips find the sensitive spot behind my ear.
His face buries in the crook of my neck and he takes a long, leisurely breath. “You smell so good.”
“Keep doing that,” I say, relaxing my head onto his chest.
“Talking with your mouth against me.”
“You like this?” he asks all breathily so that each word whispers across my skin.
My eyes fall closed as I relish in this moment of nothing but him. “No, I love this.”
“Can I tell you a little secret?”
“As long as you keep talking, you can tell me whatever you want.”
He chuckles, dotting kisses up and down my neck. “I love this too, feeling your body give up the fight of the day and let me take over.” He turns me in his arms so I’m facing him. “I love that you trust me enough to let your shoulders sink out of that perfect posture you walk around with.”
As he reaches up and undoes the elastic in my hair, I watch his features soften. He moves carefully, unwrapping the tie from the twisted mess in my locks, careful not to pull.
“There,” he says, cupping the back of my head through my long tresses, “that’s better.”
“You don’t like my hair up?”
“Not like you had it. You look to lunching-y,” he says, wrinkling his nose.
“Yes,” he grins.
“You are too cute.”
“You are too fucking sexy.”
Reaching up, I swipe the pad of my thumb over the cut above his eye. He flinches, but just for a second. “What happened?”
“Bond’s right hand.”
“I hate him.”
“So do I,” he snickers.
“Let’s get some ice for it.”
He leans in, his brows tugging together. “Let’s not.” His eyes hood as he takes me in, his tongue darting out and wetting his lips. My knees weaken, my body humming with delight at his reaction.
“I want to take care of you,” I whisper, although that’s really on the backburner now. “Let me baby you.”
Instead, he lifts me up and places me on the table. My stomach clenches as he positions himself between my thighs, my sundress curling at my waist. I ring my legs around him, pulling him so close that the soft cotton of his sweatpants rubs against my opening.
He looks down. “You aren’t wearing panties.”
We both know we aren’t just talking about a moved stapler or a mishmash of files. As that really sets in, the air around us gets heavier. Hotter. Hazardous.
“Those things always lead to dangerous situations,” he says, his eyes trained on me.
I shift in my seat, the throb between my legs growing stronger by the second. “People do it every day and survive.”
“They may survive, but don’t things get messy?”
“Only if they do it right.”
His chair flies backwards and he’s to his feet and next to me before I know what’s happening. He doesn’t ask that I stand, but he doesn’t have to. It’s implied and my body reacts accordingly to his silent command.
We stand face-to-face, our breathing ragged. Our chests heave with the anticipation, the possibility, of what might come next.
“You are, quite possibly, the most dangerous of them all,” he says, his voice rough.
“Why is that?” I breathe.
“There’s no plan for you.”
“But you’ve already penciled me in, haven’t you, Graham?” I ask, finding the courage to play this little game with him. Being strictly professional is incredibly hard, and this is way too easy.
I can flirt with the best of them in a bar or on a college campus. But here, with him, it’s a game all its own. A level I had no idea I’d ever be a contender in. Maybe I’m not, but I’m going to play the hell out of it while I’m here … even though if I keep it up, I might not be here for long.
“What do you want, Mallory?”
“I want to do all the things you ask of me and do them better than you ever expected they could be done.”
A rumble emits from his throat as his eyes darken. My knees go weak and I grab the table with my left hand to ensure I don’t fall.
He licks his lips and flips his gaze to my mouth. I think I whimper as I lift my chin, waiting to see what he does next. My entire body is on fire for this man, my heart thumping so hard I’m sure he can hear it.
He moves so my back is pressed against the table, our food long forgotten. His hands are on either side of me, caging me in. Our eyes locked together, he leans in, a slow smirk spreading across his gorgeous face.
“Excuse me, Mr. Landry. Ford is here to see you,” Raza chirps through the line.
We exhale simultaneously, a giggle escaping with mine. There’s nothing funny about this, but the energy has to come out in some way.
“Mr. Landry?” she asks again.
“I’ll be right out. Thank you, Raza.”
“Oh, you’re so welcome, sir.” The line clicks off and Graham marches across the room and punches a button. The light on top indicates he’s not to be disturbed.
I busy myself with cleaning up our lunch, and before he’s at my side again, I have everything bundled up.
“Thanks for lunch,” I say like nothing just happened.
“Mallory …” He runs his hand through his hair, leaving one lock sticking up. Knowing what that will look like if we walk out together, I reach up, hesitating for a split second, before smoothing it out.
His hair is silky against my fingers. He jumps when I touch him at first, but doesn’t back away. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing went on in here. I refuse for it to look like something did. That’s the way rumors get spread, Mr. Landry.”
“Mallory, I …”
I get a final look at his face, reach up and straighten his tie as his eyes go wide, then turn towards the door. “I’ll send Ford in.”
“Yeah?” I turn to see him over my shoulder. He’s standing by the table, his hands in his pockets looking frazzled. When he doesn’t respond, I place my hand on the knob. “I’ll have that file back to you before I leave today. Thanks again for lunch.”
I walk out before I can change my mind.
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Crave, Machlan Gibson’s story. Coming late spring.
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