All that is writing is not gold
Friday, April 11, 2008
Christy Wallace may be a respectable Seattle Spanish teacher, but she’s got a sultry side. She lets it come out to play during the summer, when she moonlights as a Salsa dancing instructor.
Sexy, cowboy Adam wants more time with her than just a fleeting cup of coffee, but she makes it clear that if he wants her, he’ll have to sign up for dance class. Amazingly enough, he does. And Christy finds herself falling for a charming country hick with hands as fast as his feet.
Adam’s no hick, though. He’s the owner of Adam’s Apples, the fastest-growing cider business in eastern Washington. To his own surprise, one night with her has him thinking in terms of forever. That is, until he walks into a restaurant for a family lunch—and finds Christy on the arm of his brother.
Is there a logical explanation? Or is something rotten in Seattle?
Warning, this title contains the following: explicit sex, graphic language, dirty mechanical bull riding, and the violation of blueberries.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Adam asked, reaching out to touch her hand. He heard the sharp breath she drew in, and his own pulse jacked up a notch.
Her gaze met his. Her pupils were dilated, her breathing was uneven. She still wanted him. The signs were all there. She broke the contact, averting her gaze and sliding out of the booth.
Adam gritted his teeth, staring at the sexy curve of her a**. That temptation threshold was crumbling, slowly, but surely. He stood up and followed her out of the bar.
They stepped outside and the noise dropped to a muted roar. Thank God. Not even for Christy would he go back to that place. If she ever came over the mountains, he’d show her what a real bar was like.
His earlier idea once again flickered through his head. It was gaining momentum.
“Are you cold?” Adam asked as he unlocked the passenger door to his truck. Christy had her arms folded in front of her chest, and he saw a shiver pass through her.
“A bit. Nothing a little car heat won’t cure,” she answered and climbed into the truck.
Adam went around to his door, already shrugging out of his flannel shirt. He had a T-shirt underneath and was still hot from being squashed into that hellhole.
“Here, put this on.”
Christy caught the flannel with a look of surprise. “You didn’t need to take off your shirt.”
“My mama raised me right, darlin’.” He deliberately inflected an accent as he shut the door to the truck.
She laughed as she slipped her arms into the shirt, leaving it unbuttoned. It was so big that it almost went to her knees. She looked ridiculous. And sexy as hell.
“See, you could easily be a local,” she told him. “You’ve got the flannel shirt and everything.”
“I thought the grunge movement died out.”
“It did, but I’m not sure all of Seattle got the memo.”
Adam’s grin widened. “I like your humor, Christy.”
“What else do you like?” she quipped with an impish grin. Her cheeks reddened and she dropped her gaze. “Oh God. Sorry, sometimes it just pops out before I think about it.”
Lord it was hard to resist her. Especially when she was flirting so adorably. Which should’ve been a problem in itself, Adam reminded himself. She didn’t have the right to flirt.
“I don’t mind.” Why didn’t he mind? And why wasn’t he starting the truck and driving away from this intimate moment?
“You don’t?” She looked so damn surprised and hopeful.
“Darlin’, sometimes I want you the way I had you on Tuesday.” Sometimes? Hell, all the time. But he was better than that. He was, damn it. He wouldn’t seduce his brother’s girlfriend. Again. “But it just can’t happen.”
“Says who?” Christy’s tongue did that sexy swipe over her lips, her eyes bright and intense.
“Rules.” Adam clenched his fists, the only way he could stop himself from touching her. Get a hold of yourself, buddy.
“You know what they say about rules. They’re made to be broken.” She slid across the seat towards him. Her warm body pressed close to his. “I need you to do something for me, Adam.”
“What’s that?” Tresses of her hair tickled his chin and he could smell the flowery scent of her shampoo.
She raised her head and locked her gaze with his. “I need you to trust me when I say that nothing is as it seems.”
That wasn’t exactly what he’d expected her to say.
“What isn’t what it seems, Christy?”
She hesitated and then sighed, shaking her head. “That’s all I can say.”
Lord she was making this hard on him.
“Do you trust me, Adam?”
He wanted to. Her intensity seemed so sincere, her desperation for him to say yes, puzzling. And God, he wanted her so bad.
“Your silence speaks for itself.” She started to slide away. “I don’t have the right to ask you to trust me anyway.”
The loss of her warmth pressed against him spurred Adam into action. He turned, wrapping his hands around her waist. She seemed surprised, but didn’t protest, as he settled her on his lap. She shifted, leaning back against the door.
“I trust you, Christy.” He rubbed his thumb over her mouth, which parted on a sigh. “I think I’m probably crazy to do so, but for some reason I trust you.”
Shelli Stevens, Greater Seattle RWA President
A little bit of laughter and a whole lot of spice
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