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Monday, March 21, 2016

Featured Author: Lena Bourne

Welocme Today's Featured Author 
Lena Bourne!!




Books by Lena Bourne:

HIS FOREVER SERIAL

  1. Christmas Surprise (His Forever Serial Prequel): http://amzn.com/B0191WUPHU – FREE eBook
  2. His Whims (His Forever, Book One): http://amzn.to/1WhEPoi
  3. His Needs (His Forever, Book Two): http://amzn.to/1KKl340
  4. His Fears (His Forever, Book Three): http://amzn.to/1KKljjr
  5. His Rules (His Forever, Book Four): http://amzn.to/1Prd9vg
  6. His Trust (His Forever, Book Five): http://amzn.to/1R0opPJ
  7. His Past (His Forever, Book Six): http://amzn.to/1KvGDtc
  8. His Secret (His Forever, Book Seven): http://amzn.to/1QmwR9L
  9. HIs Fault (His Forever, Book Eight): http://amzn.to/1QS193I


NOT LOOKING FOR LOVE SERIAL (Completed)

NOT LOOKING FOR LOVE SERIAL


Boxed Set: Episodes 1-4 : http://amzn.com/B014O3JRHA


OF THE ARCHERS

Adam (of the Archers, Book 1) — Full-length, standalone BBW Military Romance: http://amzn.com/B017QI2W36


RICHES TO RAGS - A Stepbrother Romance

Riches to Rags, Book 1: http://amzn.com/B0106TD5I8
Riches to Rags, Book 2: http://amzn.com/B0128OOSSA
Riches to Rags, Book 3: http://amzn.com/B019THSMCW



Introducing HIS WHIMS - book one of a hot and steamy new billionaire alpha romance serial HIS FOREVER by Lena Bourne!  
 
More about HIS WHIMS (His Forever, Book One)…  
 
Blurb:
Twenty-six-year-old journalist Nicole has struggled to get her dream job at one of the world’s leading newspapers, and she’s determined to keep it. But when the attractive, newly made billionaire banker Mark Cross suddenly reappears in her life, all that is threatened. He wants to claim her, body and soul, and Nicole has never wanted to submit more, yet to do so endangers everything she’s achieved.
Mark isn’t someone who takes no for an answer. He’s worked hard to become one of the most successful and richest players in town. Now he wants Nicole. Because he has loved her from afar for many years. And he won’t rest until she is his. Forever.
*A steamy and suspenseful alpha billionaire romance, perfect for fans of books by J.S. Scott, Cassie Cross, and Hannah Ford.*
Suitable for readers 18 years of age and older. This story will be told in multiple installments of about 30 pages each.  
 
 
 
 
Special introductory price: 99 cents!
Buy Now @ 
 
Amazon US: 
Read on Kindle Unlimited subscription. 



      
Excerpt: HIS WHIMS (His Forever, Book One)  
Nicole
I've been back in the city for a week, and memories of Christmas break are beginning to fade, or more like merge with all the other holiday memories. Even Mark barging back into my life out of nowhere is starting to seem like something that happened a while ago. Or only in my dreams.
No, that's a lie.
He's still my first thought when I wake up and the last before I fall asleep. Because the sex we had was mind-blowing. I've never had better. And the feelings his kisses woke inside me won't go away no matter how much I try to ignore them. It's like he's always there, in the back of my mind. Watching me. Sometimes I even find myself talking to him. It's unnerving.
Especially, since he hasn't been returning my calls.
He lit out of town while I was getting changed at my parents place on Christmas Day.
Left me a note nailed to the wooden door of his father's cottage, with his phone number and a vague excuse of having urgent business to take care of.
A phone number that might not even be his, since I called a million times and must've left about half as many voicemails.
Desperate. That's how I was coming across, but it's stopping right now. This very morning.
My apartment is cold, and the sky outside looks dreary, grey and overcast, like it's evening instead of morning. It snowed during the night, and will likely again any minute.
I love the beginning of winter; I don't much care for the rest of it though.
My phone rings while I'm shivering in the kitchen, waiting for my coffee to brew. It's my editor, and since it's barely past six AM, I wonder if he even left the office last night.
"Nicole, are you ready?" he asks as I pick up.
I nod my assent and roll my eyes, before I realize he can't see me, and reply with, "Yes."
"I don't have to tell you how important this interview is. Don't be late. We might not get a second chance," he says, not even pausing for breath. "Are you prepared?"
"I am, Sam, don't worry." It's the truth too. I was up until three AM prepping for it. Because in a couple of hours, I'll be having brunch with Milton Harrison, the head of Harrison and Associates Bank. He hasn't granted an interview in over twenty years.
"Just don't be late. And wear something nice."
He hangs up before I can reply, which is probably for the best. Sam has been stressing over this interview for the last three weeks, questioning my readiness the whole time, and it's seriously starting to get on my nerves.
I spend the next hour or so picking out an outfit that's womanly yet professional at the same time. Milton Harrison is old school. He likes his women classy and feminine. No one quite gets why he even agreed to let me interview him. Least of all me. I'm a young professional woman, with a reputation as a real go-getter, and I don't think I can actually pull off feminine. I completely forgot how to be that in the last few years while I toiled and struggled to get this position at the Wall Street Journal as one of the staff writers. It's still very much a man's world down on Wall Street, and I've adapted well. And apart from my curvy shape, I was never very feminine to begin with.
It's times like these I wish I still had a roommate, so I could get some feedback on outfits. The rest of the time I prefer living alone.
In the end, I opt for a black pencil skirt, a silk blouse and a blazer. I'll have to wear stilettos to make the outfit work, and I'm dreading the snow. But this outfit is the most feminine slash professional thing I own. I really should do some shopping one of these days.
After a quick shower, I'm ready.
I arrive at the chic restaurant where the interview will take place almost a half an hour early. Punctuality’s never been my thing, I'm always early.
The waiter seats me, and I order a coffee while I wait. It arrives in a beautiful, ornate pot, with a matching gold-rimmed cup and saucer, and I'm afraid I'll break both if I touch anything.
The room is about half full of men in expensive business suits. I recognize some, but not well enough to say hello. I bring out my tablet and notes, then sit back and watch.
The restaurant is gorgeous, and the chair I'm sitting in is possibly the most comfortable one I've ever sat on. It's plush, done up in cream velvet with small flowers worked into the fabric. The table I'm sitting at has a marble top and golden legs that look like lion's paws. In fact, the whole space looks like some ballroom in a European castle.
Most of the bankers and businessmen are there for meetings, though a few are having brunch with girlfriends. These women all look like models, though if we’re being honest, they're most likely escorts. I look out of place in my business attire, and a mass of loose, dark brown hair and probably weigh more than any two of them combined.
I'm still idly taking in my surroundings, when the whole room seems to do a three-sixty. Mark is sitting with a group at one of the window tables. The other men are talking, but Mark's bright blue eyes are fixed on me, boring into me like he can see right into my soul. All the butterflies in my stomach are back in a flash and I forget I'm supposed to be mad at him. I just want him to come over here so we can finish what we started on Christmas Eve.
But no.
I’m mad at him. He abandoned me for the second time when he left this time, and it won't happen again.
A man clears his throat beside me. "Good Morning. Are you Nicole West?"
I break eye contact with Mark, acting like I didn’t even recognize him, and stare up at Milton Harrison, extending my hand.
"I am. Thank you for meeting me here today."
We shake hands and he sits down. I can still feel Mark's gaze on me like heat coming off a fireplace, but I ignore him completely as I focus on the task at hand.
Only that's very hard now that Mark's watching me. A fog is rising in my mind, and all I'm really thinking of is Mark's chiseled abs, his bulging biceps, his tattooed chest and arms, as I knelt in front of him and…
Focus, Nicole.
I fire off the first of my questions. Once the conversation gets going, I manage to chase Mark from the forefront of my mind. But he's still there in the back. Watching. Listening.
I live for these interviews. They're my chance to make a difference in the world, and I soon have Milton struggling to find the right answers. With the way he's diplomatically avoiding my more pointed questions, I might not get much out of him.
"You are one tough girl, aren't you?" he finally snaps once I start seriously grilling him.
I smile flirtatiously, though inside I'm seething. Girl? I'll show him girl. But I shouldn’t make him mad, else I might never get another interview with anyone.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Harrison. Sometimes I get a little carried away. You know how it is. I just want to do my best."
He chuckles at my obvious discomfort, which is only slightly faked. I'm getting afraid he'll cut this interview short.
"Sure, sure, I understand. You wish to make a name for yourself," he says, something more fatherly crossing his face. "But I will not comment on the Martinez affair."
Hell, there goes the whole article. Harrison's involvement with one of the biggest Mexican drug cartels is the main reason I sought this interview.
"Consider it a chance to tell your side of the story," I suggest, surprised I have to. I thought this was exactly why he was meeting me at all. "The story will get out one way or another."
He pales at my thinly veiled threat, his whole face tightening. "There is no involvement. We cut all ties as soon as we learned where the money was coming from."
That's a lie. Martinez and his dirty money were behind many of the projects backed by Harrison until someone leaked the information. My sources say it still is, even though Harrison and his bank are now claiming they've cut all ties.
"So the Imperial project is not going ahead then?" I ask.
The look Harrison gives me now is pure venom. In a moment he'll tell me to go to hell with my questions and walk out.
"Good Morning, Milton," a very familiar voice says to my left. "Long time."
"Ah, Mark," Harrison says, clearing his throat. "Are you finally established in the city?"
They shake hands, though Mark's gaze lingers on me. Or, more accurately, on my cleavage.
They're speaking, but I'm ignoring him so completely the words don't even register. I can almost feel the air crackling from his annoyance at this. But he ignored all my calls, so I have nothing to say to him anymore.
"And how are you, Nicole?" he asks, and it takes my mind a few seconds to decipher the words.
"Have we met?" I shoot back, my own anger crackling now. He's seriously gonna pretend he's not been dodging my calls? Well, we'll see about that.
His cocky grin is replaced by a look of dumb confusion. Serves him right.
"If you'll excuse me," I say and stand up. "I have to go freshen up."
My legs are jelly over what just happened, so I don't know how I get to the bathroom without falling. For the whole way, I can feel Mark's gaze on me, piercing me like a thousand daggers.
But I'm done pining over him. Or wishing we could ever share something more than a troubled past.
~
The bathroom is huge, bigger than my whole apartment, and it's stifling hot inside. Though maybe I only feel like that because I just saw Mark, the man I've been lusting over for the last three weeks. And I ignored him. Pretended I didn’t know him. What was I thinking?
I'm about to splash some cold water over my face, but remember my elaborate makeup just in time.
When I straighten up from bending over the sink, Mark's standing right behind me, his eyes piercing me through the mirror.
"Didn't recognize me back there, huh?" he growls more than says, and it's enough to make my panties wet. Or maybe that's because he's leaning against me, his hard cock pressed into my back. Even though I’m wearing stilettos, he towers over me.
I'm blushing a hot pink, my mind trying to come up with a snappy comeback, but failing. Of course I recognize him. I never want to not recognize him again.
He hugs me from behind and slides his hand down behind my blouse. My nipples instantly harden. I yelp as he pinches my right one painfully. "Maybe this reminds you?"
His other hand slides over my ass, squeezing hard.
"No, Mark," I manage. "Someone will see."
But my voice is sultry, and my whole body is vibrating in anticipation. I want him so bad I might explode. But this is so improper. So dirty. Yet so exciting.
He slides my skirt up over my hips, as he kisses my neck, biting down just right, eliciting another sigh.
"I thought you were mine," he whispers, as he slides down my tights.
It's such a gentle movement, abruptly cut short as he rips off my panties, the elastic digging into my flesh painfully before it finally snaps. I yelp again, trying to turn and stop what he's doing. But he has me pinned against the sink, holding me tight.
"Not here," I manage, and it's something between a plea and an invitation.
"Why not?" he asks. I hear his zipper open.
"Someone will come in," I whisper, though I'm not sure I care any longer.
He spreads my legs further apart with his knee. "Let them. Then everyone will know you're mine."
***




ADAM (of the Archers, Book 1) by Lena Bourne is a full length, standalone contemporary military romance available now from Amazon.

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BOOK DESCRIPTION:
One week spent together in a secluded cabin. Two people running from their pasts. Can a chance encounter lead to love? Or is it just a moment in time, insignificant once it passes? 
Taylor has just returned from a romantic vacation with her boyfriend. But instead of an "I miss you!" text from him, she gets one that's clearly meant for another woman. Which is the only reason she lets a hot stranger kiss her on the sidewalk. It's the one and only time they'll ever see each other, so why not?
Adam is used to living life on his own terms, from leaving home at 16 to join the military, to returning now, eight years later, to take care of his mother. After that, he's packing up and leaving again. The last thing he planned on was falling in love with a girl at first sight. But there she was, and now Taylor's all he can think of.
They may be perfect for each other, but they both have pasts that will not stay buried, no matter how much they want them to. And when Adam's dark past comes crashing between them, one week seems like a very short time. Even if it is a week of love, pleasure, and belonging like neither of them has known before.
 Genre: BBW Romance, Military romance, New Adult Romance


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BUY NOW @ AMAZON US | AMAZON UK

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Not Looking For Love: Episode 1
by
Lena Bourne

Genre: New Adult Romance, Sexy romance
Length: 190 pages

Blurb:

A no-strings fling is what she wants…but is that what she needs?

At 22, Gail’s losing her mom to cancer…with only a week to live. Every second of every minute, Gail hopes the doctors are wrong. Then she loses the bracelet her mother gave her. On the edge, she jumps into the pool to find it. Something grabs her waist and flips her over in the water. It’s Scott, the neighbors’ gardener, trying to save her.

The sight of Scott’s wet t-shirt plastered against the rippling muscles of his shoulders and chest gets Gail fantasizing about this Adonis. It’s easier to get lost in a fantasy of raw passion than hope for anything at all.

With more regrets than he can ever hope to live with…Scott’s trying to get his life together. The last thing he needs is a crazy rich girl who keeps throwing herself at him. But he knows something’s wrong from the sad, lost look in her beautiful eyes.

Is this relationship finished before it ever truly begins? Or in their darkest moment… can Gail and Scott give each other hope?

Genre: New Adult Romance
This story unfolds over multiple episodes of around 150 pages each.
~Not Looking For Love Episodes 1-7 are available now.~

~

Buy Links:


Not Looking for Love serial:








Excerpt:

Not Looking For Love: Episode 1

CHAPTER ONE

Mom's coughs, raspy and urgent, wake me. Her room is at the far end of the hall, five doors down, yet the sound rips through my chest like she's lying right next to me. Leaving me, saying goodbye. The too many cocktails I drank at Kate's party no longer make my thoughts fuzzy, instead they buzz around in my stomach, churning, making me sick. The coughing doesn't stop, changes pitch until it sounds like she's screaming. I bolt out of bed and run to the door, the sudden movement making the room spin around me. Dad's footsteps pound down the hallway as he rushes to my mom's room, so I sit on the chair by my makeup desk and turn on the sidelights, willing the room to stop spinning.
I'd only be in the way now, if I go to my mom. Then my dad will think he has to take care of us both: comfort my mom and keep me safe. Only he can't, because my mom is dying, and there is no one who can change that. Twenty-two years old is too young to lose a mom. Cancer. Such a whimsical word for such a terrible disease. My birth sign. Bile rises in my throat as I struggle to chase the thought away, thinking of anything but that. That my birth sign is killing my mom, that I'm killing my mom. It's childish, and it's stupid to think it, but the idea still feels like I've swallowed broken glass.
I grab my wrist, hoping to clutch the charm bracelet she gave me on my 21st birthday just over a year ago. She gave me all of her jewelry for my birthday this year. Tiny charms dangle from the bracelet: a little princess, a colorful egg, and a golden coin. But all I feel is my racing pulse, a tiny ball bouncing in my vein that might break free at any moment, making me bleed out. The bracelet is gone.
I had worn it to Kate's party, since I never take it off. I'd only gone to the party for a little distraction, and because Kate's house is just next door, I could be back with my mom in a few minutes if she needed me. It was a total disaster. Brandon wouldn't stop pestering me, and he ended up throwing me in the pool for a laugh. After that, I ran home, very nearly crying.
Digging through my makeup table, I send creams and blushes, hairpins and lipsticks toppling to the ground, searching frantically for the bracelet, even though I don't remember taking it off. I run back to the bed, throwing the sheets, the pillows on the ground, checking the nightstand. The bracelet isn't anywhere.
I'm outside on the patio before I can think.
Mornings are chilly this late in August, and dawn has hardly broken. All I'm wearing is a white tank top and the silk boxers I sleep in. I run across the lawn barefoot, not thinking of what I may be stepping on. I have to find the bracelet; I have no time to put on shoes.
I crawl through the hole in the fence that separates my garden from Kate's. It's a tight fit, now that I'm no longer five years old. Chairs and towels, empty glasses and discarded clothes are still strewn across the lawn, but, thankfully, no one is around. Likely, the cold dawn chased the last of the party away. I glance up at the house to make sure no one is watching. All the windows are dark. A light reflects in the first floor windows, and I drop into a crouch reflexively, but it's just a passing car.
I find my dress near the pool where I took it off to take a dip. Right before Brandon tossed me in. I just left it lying there when I ran home. Everyone must think I'm completely mental now. I hope Brandon does too. Why won't he just take a hint? Brandon is Kate's brother, and since she's like a sister to me, he's like a brother to me. I can't be dating my brother. Besides he's the love 'em and leave 'em type, and all he can give me is a broken heart. Like he did with his last five girlfriends. As if my heart could take any more breaking.
I look around, tossing things aside, not caring where they land, hoping to find the bracelet. It's not anywhere. The sun's not up yet, but birds are chirping something awful all around me, and the sky is more white than grey now. Dawn is my favorite time of day. I love watching the colors of the sky change from inky black to grey to lilac blue and finally yellow, the new day being born, bringing new hope. Today, I just wish the sun would come up.
If the bracelet is not in the grass, it might be in the pool. The thought of going back in the water makes me shiver, but my desperation to get the bracelet back right away is stronger.
I ease myself off the side of the pool in roughly the spot where I went in before, feet first, trying not to make any sound that could wake Kate's family. It's like slow torture to do it that way, and my whole body cramps up, but the last thing I need is to cause a panic. I could just go back home and come back once the sun is up, but I can't. I need that bracelet, or else I won't sleep.
The cold water grips my body like a vice and I take shallow breaths until the worst of the pain passes. The lights in the pool are off already, they're connected to the porch lights, and someone thoughtfully turned them all off after the party ended. Too thoughtfully. I could really use those lights right now.
After a final deep breath, I submerge my head, fighting the overwhelming urge to gasp as the cold water goes straight to my brain, which is what it feels like. I can almost see the steam coming off, but at least my heart is no longer pounding. I let myself float on the surface, scanning the floor of the pool. Lucky really, that Kate's pool is saltwater. I can float, eliminating the need to tread water to keep myself on the surface.
Shadows play upon the mosaic floor of the pool, all blues, whites, yellows, and pinks. I turn slightly to adjust my angle of view. No silver gleams against the tiles anywhere. I only come up for air once my lungs start burning and dip my face back in immediately. Grey is giving way to white in the sky now, so the visibility should soon improve. I'm enjoying the silence, the serenity of floating in the water, with my long hair plastered down my ears, blocking out the chirping birds.
The eerie silence is almost like diving, only without the crushing weight of the water pressing against me. But I can't see my bracelet anywhere, and no doubt the servants will be out cleaning up soon. I adjust my angle again and am just about to come up for more air when something grabs my waist and flips me over in the water.
I scream and flail, gulp water instead of air, with visions of a shark attacking vivid in my mind. Beating and kicking, I paddle hard to get out of the water, my hair obscuring my vision.
Whatever grabbed me is no longer touching me, but I kick back to the side of the pool frantically anyway, still coughing, still seeing nothing. My knuckles collide with the wall of the pool, but I ignore the pain, scraping my knees as I struggle out of the water. My arms are shaking so badly I can't lift myself up to get out of the pool
"Calm the fuck down!" a man yells behind me. "You'll hurt yourself. It's alright."
He places his hands on my hips and lifts me from the water.
I'm panting now, but at least I'm not swallowing water anymore. I brush my hair from my eyes and stand up, though my legs are shaking so hard I'll probably just topple back down even if I succeed.
The guy is still in the water, eyeing me like I'm insane. "Are you alright?"
I nod as I finally manage to stand.
He hoists himself from the water in one fluid motion. His white t-shirt is plastered against his chest, and his grey pants hug his legs tightly. He's all muscle, from his biceps, to his shoulders, chest, and stomach that ripples in a neat six-pack. And not those chiseled for-show muscles that otherwise thin guys have. He's bulky, twice as wide as any guy I know. Even his legs. No wonder he had no problem tossing me out of the pool.
"Are you alright?" he asks again, standing right in front of me now.
I quickly look up into his face, hoping he didn't notice me checking him out before. He can't be much older than me, I see now. His short blond hair looks black near his scalp, but stands up in light colored spikes all over his head. His eyes are either blue or grey—the kind of eyes that change color according to the light. And deep. I could stare at his eyes all day long just to see what I could see.
"Are you high?" he asks. I shake my head a little too sharply and feel my boobs bounce around under my tank. My wet white tank, which isn't covering me up at all right now if the state of his shirt is anything to go by. A thought to cover myself up flitters through my mind, but it's distant and sounds ridiculous.
His eyes leave my face and travel down, taking me in. He likes what he sees, and I can feel it. It's like his gaze is fire, and whatever he's thinking is bringing my blood to a boil, warming me.
His eyes return to my face, my parted lips. His are slightly parted too, like he's breathing hard, but I don't hear it.
"What were you doing in the pool? You scared me to death," he says, his eyes soft now, and his lips curl into a sheepish grin. "I thought you were dead."
I shake my head again, this time catching my boobs under my arm. "I thought I lost something in the pool. My bracelet... but I can't find it."
He turns back to the pool. The ripples from my flight have still not died down completely, and the surface is an opaque white now, reflecting the sky.
"I doubt you'll find it in there, not now at least. Wait 'til the sun comes up, maybe," he says and shrugs like he doesn't think I'll ever find it.
"I have to find the bracelet," I say too loudly, too shrilly.
He holds his hands up like he's wading me off. "Alright, alright, I'm just saying, wait 'til the sun comes up."
I look up at the sky, checking to see if the sun is anywhere near up. "Everyone will be up by then."
He smiles at me again. "I can help you look, I guess."
I let my arms fall to my sides and turn to the pool. My boobs bounce and that hungry look is back in his eyes. They look brown now, almost black. It's like he's touching me with his look, and my nipples, erect and clearly visible through my tank prickle like he'd just run his fingers over them. A ball of heat erupts between my legs, heavy and urgent. Somehow, all I can think of are his arms around my hips, and his cock, so plainly outlined by his wet pants, pressing into me. I really want to go for another dip in the pool with him. I can't remember any other guy ever turning me on so fast, so hard.
"Gail!" Brandon's whiny voice rips through my fantasy of me and this pool boy entwined in the water. "What's happening? Is he harassing you?"
Brandon's footsteps thump through the grass toward us, and the pool boy takes a step away from me, crossing his arms over his chest. I mimic his motion, and face away from Brandon. Likely, his yells have awoken the whole house. A dark shadow passes over the pool boy's eyes, and he's staring at Brandon, but he stays quiet.
"I'm fine," I say and turn to Brandon. He picks up a towel and wraps it around my shoulders, keeping his arm there too like he owns me.
"Your girlfriend lost something," the pool boy says. "You should keep a better eye on her."
I shake off Brandon's arm. "I'm not his girlfriend."
Somehow, it's very important that the pool boy knows this. Softness flashes across his eyes but is gone again in an instant.
He turns and walks toward the gardening tools he tossed on the ground by the pool when he thought he had to save me.
I take a step after him, my arm stretched out like I want to pull him back. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I was warm before, when he was looking at me, and now I'm cold.
I cover the gesture by wrapping the towel tighter around myself. "Do you need some dry clothes? I can bring you something."
He bends over and picks up a hoe off the ground. "Don't worry about me. I have a change of clothes in my truck."
Brandon's next to me, trying to place his arm around me again. I step to the side, and his arm flails through the air. I could swear pool boy chuckles a little seeing it, but I'm not sure. Maybe it's just what I want to see. I want him to want me.
The sun finally peeks over the fence, and something glimmers a few steps away from me in the grass.
I lunge for it, making both Brandon and the pool boy start.
"My bracelet!" I 'm clutching it so tightly the charms dig painfully into my palm. I know my face is a mask of deranged glee, but I can't help it.
The pool boy picks up the rest of his tools and shakes his head, muttering something that could be 'crazy rich chick,' but I may be wrong.
"Do you want to go inside? Get warmed up?" Brandon asks. He's hovering next to me again, standing between the pool boy and me. Going in with him is the last thing I want to do. Pool boy is already at the far side of the garden.
I shake my head and run toward the hole in the fence, wishing Brandon never showed up and I was dipping in the pool with, well, pool boy. I need to find out his name. Pool boy is a dumb nickname. Especially since he's obviously the gardener.
Dad is standing on the patio and sipping his coffee, his eyes glazed. I'm not even sure he sees me approach.
"How's Mom?" I ask, forestalling any questions from him and making sure he knows I'm sober and ready for bed.
"She's asleep now. Try not to wake her."
I slip past him, not wanting to share his grief. It multiplies when we're together, breeds, grows, and expands until it's all there is, and I can't breathe. A week or so is all Mommy has left. All the doctors agree. I hope they're wrong. Every second of every minute, I hope they're wrong. And right now, I'd rather loose myself in the fantasy of pool boy and me in the pool than hope for anything at all.

I fell asleep before I could get any kind of fantasy going, and by the time I wake up it's almost one in the afternoon. Since, I ended up sleeping in my sweats, I just pull my damp hair into a messy bun and go in search of some coffee.
I stop by my mom's room, cracking the door open just a little bit to see if she's awake. All I hear is her raspy, shallow breathing. One of her hands is hanging off the side of the bed, and her cover and sheets are all crumbled up like she just woke from a nightmare. Only she's still sleeping, each breath like stone grating against sandpaper.
I slip into the room and tiptoe to her bed. My heart is in my throat, beating against the hot, jagged ball of burning tears that's always there when I see her. I can't let her see me cry because I'm not a little girl anymore, even though that's exactly how I feel most of the time now. Like I'm ten and my mommy is dying. She can't know any of that; it would just make it all harder on her. But she's asleep now, and a hot tear trickles down my cheek. Only I don't whimper, don't let any sound escape my clenched throat. She might wake up. I take her hand, tears rushing from my eyes now, and place it on the bed next to her. She doesn't stir. The nurse is giving her the maximum amount of morphine she can now. It's not always enough to dull the pain. And she's sleeping now. I mustn't wake her. Yet all I want to do is climb in bed with her. Like I did when I was little. Wake her, talk to her. Laugh. Instead, I'm crying, inching back out of the room silently because I can't wake her.
I wipe my tears away as I walk down to the kitchen, concentrating hard on the cup of coffee I'm about to have, until it's all I know and all I think about. I lean against the counter, waiting for the coffee to brew. The window has a partial view of Kate's service driveway and the red pick-up parked there. A magnolia tree by the fence near it is shaking like someone's cutting it. Pool boy or gardener. The memory of him, in his wet clothes this morning sends, tingles through my stomach. He'd be a better distraction than a cup of coffee and much better than one of Kate's wild parties.
I run back up the stairs, untangling my hair as I go. I slip on a sundress with a deep v-cut that I'd normally only wear if it was really hot out. Back in the kitchen, I pour two cups of coffee and walk across the lawn to the fence, hoping pool boy is indeed trimming the magnolia tree.
I climb through the hole in the fence, sloshing hot coffee over my bare leg, but at least I don't spill it all over my dress. Kate's high-pitched laugh echoes from the pool, but the hedge from here to the magnolia tree is so thick she shouldn't be able to see me.
The shrubbery hides me from the pool boy too. He's wearing a pair of faded jeans now and no shirt. The sunlight makes his skin glisten, and all I really want to do is run my hand down his back, feeling those hard muscles. That desire surprises me. I'm not usually very forward with guys and definitely prefer them to take the lead. He's got one of those electric cutters going, so he doesn't hear me approach.
I clear my throat once I reach him. "Excuse me."
The saw sputters, and the noise dies out. He turns toward me, surprise evident in the way his face hovers between a smile and a frown. I wouldn't mind touching his lips either.
"I thought you might like some coffee," I say, holding one of the cups toward him, sloshing more of it across my arm in the process.
He just stares at me like he can't figure out what I'm doing there.
"Thank you for saving me," I explain, belatedly adding, "or, you know, trying to."
He puts the saw down, wipes sweat off his face with the back of his hand, and finally takes the coffee.
"I put milk and sugar in. I don't know how you like it," I say rather stupidly.
His eyes, the color of a cloudless blue sky now with just a hint of sunlight dip down to the v of my dress. With the push-up I'm wearing, the dress reveals more than it hides.
"Thanks. I like milk and sugar just fine."
His gaze warms me again, heat shooting through my stomach. Somehow, I don't think he's really talking about the milk and sugar.
What I'm feeling must be showing on my face because he chuckles a little and gulps down the coffee.
"Thank you, Miss...?" he says, holding the empty cup toward me.
"Gail," I manage.
"Miss Gail," he says and chuckles again.
"No, just Gail," I explain too seriously. His eyes are still taking me in, sizing me up, and sending tingles across all the places I wish he'd touch. "And what's your name?"
"Scott," he says and shakes the empty cup at me. "And you're welcome. Anytime. I'm just glad you're not dead."
Dead, I hate that word. That word used to be scary, now it's terrifying. Dead is what my mom will be. Her two-month sentence will be done in one week. An image of her laughing face flashes through my mind, as she bought me the bracelet in Rome, and as she listened to me telling her of that boy I was so helplessly in love with back in sixth grade. She doesn't laugh like that anymore. Soon she never will. Because she will be dead.
Scott's eyes narrow and pull together. He bends down and places the cup on the ground. "I should get back to work. Thanks for the coffee. Have a nice day."
"I'd like to thank you properly," I hear myself saying, with no idea where the words are coming from or where they're going. "Do you have time for a proper drink later, after work?"
I've never asked a guy out so pointedly before. Never had the nerve. Not in sixth grade, not at any time since. So, I don't know why I'm doing it now. I must be crazy.
He lifts his eyes up to mine again, stopping just a little too long at my boobs.
My mouth is hanging open, and my eyes must be too wide. I know all this, but can't stop it. I wish I had Kate's easygoing manner with guys, but I don't. And now he'll say no, thinking I'm just a crazy rich chick, and this is the second time I'm making a total fool of myself in front of him.
He gives me a lopsided grin, and locks his eyes on mine. "I'd love to; I really would, but..."
I hate that 'but'. At least he's being nice about it.
I want to wipe the expectant look off my face, but it's stuck there.
"... that guy, Brandon... he likes you. He's my boss, sort of, and I need this job, kind of, but I'd love to."
I know I'm wearing a confused, unattractive grimace on my face right now.
"So is it a yes or a no?" I ask.
A cloud of annoyance covers his eyes, and I look away, down to his chest at his dark red nipples. I wonder what they'd feel like between my teeth. Oh my God, I've never ever wanted to suck a guy's nipples before. What's wrong with me?
"It's a no," he says. It feels more like a slap.
I'm going insane; it's the only explanation. I'm asking a gardener out on a date. And he said no.
"Fine, fine, whatever," I mutter, pick up his empty cup, and twirl around, sloshing my own, untouched coffee all over my dress this time.
It's too much. My mom is dying, I've barely slept, I'm not acting like myself at all, and now this guy is rejecting me. Tears blind me.
"I'm sorry." I think I hear him yell after me, but I'm already climbing back through the fence, sloshing more coffee all over myself. What was I thinking? I'm a mess. I should be with my mom, not chasing guys and wondering what their nipples taste like. Not asking gardeners out on dates.




About Lena Bourne:

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Lena Bourne writes stories about independent and smart women who mean everything to the strong men they love. If you're looking for deep emotions, hot bedroom scenes, and some suspense thrown in, look no further than her books.
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