Mari Carr continues the Perfect Storm series this week with an all-new small town, single dad, age gap romance, and I have a sneak peek for you.
Excerpt
“How do you plan to corrupt my daughter?” he joked.
Mila paused, trying to come up with something, though nothing popped to mind. “I actually wish I could think of something, but unlike my sisters, I’m the boring one.”
Boone frowned. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Not really,” she lied, wishing she hadn’t said that aloud. “I’m just not adventurous like Lucy, or quirky like Nora, or wild like Remi. I’m just sort of the…” She sought a word that might make her seem even a little bit interesting, because she’d be damned if she said sweet.
“The good girl,” Boone said, filling in the blank with words that should have supported her assertion that she was boring. But he said the words in such a way that Mila didn’t just feel interesting, but sexy. Surely that couldn’t have been his intent.
She drew in a slow breath, liking it more than she should when he called her that. When Boone ran his finger along her cheek, she knew her damn blush had given her away. It was virtually impossible for her to hide the way Boone made her feel. She’d never felt an attraction like this, so she had no shields.
He dropped his hand, and they started walking again. When they reached the edge of her yard, Boone grasped her hand, pulling her to a halt.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mila,” he said.
“Thanks. You too.”
Something in her tone must have given away her true feelings about the holiday, because he tightened his grip on her hand. “Not a fan?”
“It’s just another day, isn’t it?” This time, she didn’t bother to temper her words.
“I thought women loved the romance of the holiday. What the hell was that dance just about otherwise?”
Mila grimaced. “It’s only romantic for those in love.”
“I see,” he said, and she could see he did.
“Want to know a secret?” Mila asked, the vodka she’d drunk loosening her lips more than was wise.
He nodded.
“I’ve never had a date or even gotten a kiss on Valentine’s Day.”
“Never?”
“Never.” She was touched by his look of disbelief. It soothed the parts of her that felt undesirable as one Valentine’s Day after another passed without her finding love.
“What’s wrong with the men in Gracemont?”
She laughed, secretly pleased by how aghast he seemed. “Thanks for pretending it’s them, not me.”
“You really don’t see it, do you? Guess it’s up to me to correct that wrong.”
Mila didn’t have time to respond or even analyze what he meant before Boone’s hands grasped her shoulders, and he pulled her toward him.
She gasped the moment his lips touched hers, Boone capitalizing on that by brushing his tongue against hers.
She tasted the cinnamon and apples from the pie Edith Millholland had baked.
That was the last sane thought she had as Boone deepened the kiss, claiming her lips like they were the spoils of war.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers digging into his hair, grabbing it tight enough that Boone groaned. She immediately opened her fists, sorry for hurting him, until he murmured, “Keep holding on, darlin’,” without lifting his lips from hers.
Mila had been kissed before, but never like this. Boone’s lips were hard and soft at the same time. His hands strong, yet gentle. She was struggling to breathe, to stand, to do anything other than drown in this kiss.
Time stopped moving as the two of them got lost in the silence of the night, the soft light of the moon, and the shelter of the trees.
Mila sucked in a harsh, much-needed intake of air when she felt the rough bark of a tree at her back. When did they leave the path?
None of her brain cells were functioning, every single one short-circuiting when his large thigh somehow found its way between her legs.
She moaned, rocking her hips, her body shifting into overdrive as Boone’s hands drifted beneath her coat, cupping her breasts and squeezing, the lace of her bra stimulating her nipples until she was panting for breath.
Her panties had been damp from the dance they shared, but now they were downright soaked. Her entire body tingled when he pressed his thigh against her core harder, higher, making sure her clit was now part of the action. Everywhere Boone moved her with those strong, powerful hands, she followed, desperate for more.
His hands lowered to her hips, gripping hard as he increased the pace of her movements.
“God, yes! Please, Boone,” she cried, her head falling back against the tree, hard enough it should hurt. However, all she could feel was the relentless pulsing between her legs.
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Perfect Storm - Recommended Reading Order
(standalone stories with interconnected characters)
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