As I think I mentioned the other day, I'm in the middle of a major deadline for my next Superromance-- the third book in the From Friend to Father series (the second book comes out in July of this year). Currently I'm calling the book Friends with Benefits, but I have a sneaking suspicion that title isn't going to last at Harlequin much longer than it takes me to write this blogpost. Which is fine, actually, as the story is shaping up to be a lot more emotional than that title implies.
Anyway, since I rarely give you a sneak peak of what I'm working on while I'm working on it, I thought that was exactly what I would do today. So here's a quick look at a book who's real title is still TBD.
Oh, and happy Wednesday everyone! It's cold and rainy here and my little one wants to go to the park (of course). I think he'll have to settle for mommy making an indoor fort and picnic for him, poor thing. It'll be fun, but it's no swing set, LOL.
He threw a couple of twenties down on the table, then stood. Held out a hand to her. “Come on, let’s go to my place. I’ll show you my gazebo.”
“Is that an updated version of the old etchings line?” she asked as they walked towards the front door.
The look he shot her was brimming with mischief. “You caught me.”
“Yes, well, I’m throwing you back. I’ve got another appointment in less than an hour, so I can’t run all the way out to the lake right now.”
“Another appointment? Are you cheating on my already?”
“Yes, with a tall, blonde, lawyer with a corporate expense account.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back. There was no use encouraging him and his flirtatious behavior. Not when it couldn’t go anywhere.
“Beaten out by a lawyer? I’m not sure how I’ll survive that indignity.”
“I’m sure you’ll muddle through somehow.”
“Can I see you again?”
Her heart skipped a beat, then crashed against her ribs. She ignored it—and the panic racing through her. “Of course you’ll see me again. We’re working on this party together, aren’t we?”
“That’s not what I meant.” He took a step closer, until his body was only a few inches from hers. She didn’t move away.
“I know.” What was she doing, she wondered breathlessly? What the hell was she doing?
“Come to my house on Friday. I’ll show you around, take you down to the lake.”
“I have appointments all day—and a party at night.”
“Saturday, then.” His eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them, a deep sapphire blue that seemed to see into the very heart of her. But that was impossible. No one had gotten inside of her for longer than she could remember. It was absurd to think that this man, this boy-- with his ready smile and silly banter--had done in an afternoon what no one else had been able to do in three long years.
“Saturday is our busy day. I’ve got a morning brunch and than an afternoon garden party.”
“Come later then.”
“I probably won’t get out of the last event until after seven.”
“How will I manage to stay awake that late?” he teased. “Come on, Rhiannon. The sooner you see the house, the sooner you can decide what kind of party to have. Come see me Saturday night.”
“It’ll be too dark to see the grounds.”
“There’s this great, new-fangled invention called electricity. Surely you’ve heard of it? My backyard is wired better than the landing strips at the airport.” His smile was bigger now, as if he was just waiting for her next objection so he could shoot it down too.
Charmed despite herself, Rhiannon smiled. “Okay, fine. You’ve convinced me. Saturday night at seven-thirty.”
“Excellent. Our second date—I can’t wait.”
“Second date? When was our first?”
“Right now, of course.” He took another step toward her and suddenly she couldn’t breathe.
“This was business.” She forced the words out through a throat so tight she was beginning to wonder if she was suffering from anaphylactic shock. “And so is our appointment on Saturday.”
“We had food, flirtatious banter, fun. It sure feels like a date to me.”
“I drove myself, worked on my computer and any flirtatious banter was completely one-sided. Feels more like a business meeting to me.”
He reached out, stroked his hand softly down her cheek. As he did, she could feel the calluses on his fingers from years of drawing. “And this?” he asked as his thumb smoothed over her lips. “What does this feel like?”
She was still struggling for an answer when his lips brushed, soft as a butterfly’s wings, against her own.