Cutie and the Cowboy Trucker
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| Mainstream African-American Romance $3.50 |
Blurb:
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?
Scene:
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.”http://www.bookstrand.com/cutie-and-the-cowboy-trucker
BayouBabe99er
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| Mainstream Interracial Romance $2.99 |
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?
Scene:
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.
