Thursday, July 18, 2013

Showers of Love - Cutie and the Cowboy Trucker + BayouBabe99er

Cutie and the Cowboy Trucker

Cutie and the Cowboy Trucker (MF)
Mainstream African-American Romance

Widow Veronica Torres needs something desperately—invisibility. Escaping the clutches of her conniving brother-in-law and traveling incognito in the RV she traded for online sets her on a collision course with her new destiny, and a barreling fiery-red 18-wheeler.

Trucker Mike Masterson steams at the close call. First, he nearly sideswipes her. Now, she ends up at the same rest stop with mechanical trouble. Maybe, she deserves to sweat it out in the June heat since she has the attention span the size of a pea. But, the child in her company deserves better. What else can Mike do besides cart them to his garage for repairs?

Will their burgeoning relationship ignite more fireworks than the upcoming Fourth of July celebration? Or will the sparks of six nights and seven days of summertime sizzle—fizzle to an end?
Mike has tremendous difficulty keeping Veronica off his mind.

After a long, satisfying shower, now he sat on a stool—shirtless, in his pajama bottoms—at the kitchen island in near darkness, sipping from his coffee mug, puffing on the nicotine fixer, and whiling away the time. Mike left his perch to stand at the sliding doors. He cracked it a touch to hear the roar of the waves. The rushing water lured him out onto the patio. He lounged under the silvery moon with a shoulder against the brick wall.
“Can’t sleep either?”
Veronica’s question caught him by surprise. Her voice was husky with sleep. Mike’s eyes found her stretched out on the padded recliner on her private terrace. He slowly put down his coffee and fake cigarette. The fight within raged. In the end, he took the walk to Veronica under the hypnotic spell of the ocean’s drumming waves and a huge lovers’ moon.
Mike never uttered a word.
He had one sure way to let her know what had brought on his insomnia. Mike squeezed into the one-person recliner, forcing Veronica onto her side. He slid his arm under her neck, which lay her head on his shoulder. He crushed her to him with one hand while controlling the angle of her head with the other. He stared into her dreamy eyes, trying to decipher any rejection to his actions.
The rapid increase of every breath she took stoked his fire.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He touched his lips to hers in a demonstrative smack. “Did fate arrange for us to turn up out here at the same time?” He teased her mouth with his tongue and gained entrance. “Just say stop,” he mumbled against her lips, “and I will.”
Veronica panted and moaned her consent.
Mike sought to alleviate a bruising ache with his deep-throated kiss. He enjoyed the way Veronica reciprocated, especially the leg she currently draped across his. He explored her trembling body to his delight. All at once, she halted his travels.
Mike groaned and disengaged.
“Not here,” Veronica gasped. Her grip on his hand was tight. “Sam might wake up.”
His mind struggled with coherency. Mike shoved to his feet, pulling her up with him. He started her back inside, linked to her with a handhold.
           “Meet me in the family room.”

BayouBabe99er (MF)
Mainstream Interracial Romance
How many things can go wrong at one time?
That question plagues feisty divorcée Sharlene Mouton. The banking department she heads takes a trip overseas. She pounds the pavement—and the keyboard—with resumes for ninety-nine weeks. Going home to regroup lands her in the middle of an ecological disaster that threatens her rural Louisiana community. What else can happen? How about repeated run-ins with suave Drake Cormier, the oil company’s liaison officer.
Jobless, yet, not hopeless. Oil spill fiasco. Mouton-Cormier feud. Suitor not much older than her daughters.
Sharlene now wonders—how many wrongs make a right?
Sharlene accepts a ride from Drake after her old truck breaks down in a torrential Louisiana thunderstorm. A misstep throws them down to the muddy, saturated ground.
His head peeped out at Sharlene, who now wore a cinched robe that did little to disguise her curvaceous, mature figure. Their eyes locked. Drake dropped his bundle at her feet. His rapid retreat put him in reach of the shower faucets.
When she heard the water running, Sharlene thought it best to put distance between them. The storm’s tempest was evident from her vantage in front of the window. Tree limbs bowed under the gale force winds. The howling sound invaded her space. Yet it wasn’t enough to eclipse the beating water from Drake’s shower.
Sharlene’s mind wandered where it didn’t belong. She absently walked over to retrieve his soiled clothes. The washer cranked up, the gush of cold water adding to the already noisy background. Maybe doing something with her hands would occupy her mind. So she moved on to the kitchen sink, turned on the cold water, washed her hands, and let it run while she emptied the coffee basket. She was in the process of rinsing the pot when the yowl went up in the bathroom.
She slapped the faucet off.
"What happened?" she screamed in alarm while rushing to Drake’s aid. Sharlene burst into the bathroom without knocking precisely the moment he slung the shower curtain aside.
Drake charged out in all his glory, visibly shaken and as red as a lobster on his right shoulder. "You tell me." He winced while grabbing at his injured arm.
"I don’t know." Sharlene had a difficult time keeping her eyes on his face and not his bare, bronzed body. Coming to her senses, she grabbed the robe at the same time his wits returned.
Drake snatched the bath towel to shield his naked body. "If I didn’t know better"—he wrapped it as he spoke—"I’d say your uncle tried to boil me alive."
Sharlene liked his teasing tone of voice. It helped lighten the mood.
"That looks pretty painful." She stepped nearer to finger the area. "We’d better put a cool towel on that right away."
There was no way around it. Sharlene’s soft touch ignited Drake’s fire. He made the rash decision to pull her into his arms. His hand traveled up her back to control the tilt of her head. His fingers slid through the softness of her curls.
Sharlene participated fully in the all-consuming kiss. Then realization struck. She pushed off, surprised at his crushing hold before he let go. She was engulfed by his smoky stare. "I need a bath first." The very idea she uttered "first" spoke volumes.

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