Sexual heat can't be denied in this trio of tales about older women and the younger men who fall for them. In "Moving On" by Bonnie Dee a widow is seduced by a hot young moving guy and opens herself to the possibilities of life once more. When a repressed divorcee places an online sex ad in Veronica Wilde's "No Strings Attached," the young man who answers it unlocks her heart as well as her fantasies. In Vivien Dean's "A Spark of Snow," a burned out cop rediscovers more than her love for life when a gorgeous young teacher shows her passion doesn't care about age.
Three women with experience to spare, three hot men with passionate hearts, three unforgettable stories of rebirth and second chance love.
EXCERPT
The hardest part about seeing a line of closed front doors on a silent residential street was wondering what kind of dramas lurked within. That two-story farmhouse had a knot of trees in the back; did kids run and hide in them when Mom and Dad started fighting? That ranch with the broken fence? Could hide a meth lab. All the pretty snowflakes in the world couldn’t turn White Bluff, Illinois into a Norman Rockwell painting, no matter how much anybody might want it to.
Behind the wheel of her beat-up Taurus, Rachel Foley grimaced. She was being morbid. Lorrie would be tired of her hanging around by the end of the day if Rachel actually voiced any of her dark thoughts.
Soft flurries had plagued her ever since crossing the Illinois/Missouri border. The pre-dawn darkness complicated her navigation even further. Snow drifted across the street signs, blocking out the names. Was she on Elm or Oak? She had a description of her sister’s house, but that did little good when every other house looked the same.
At the corner, she coasted to a stop. It was too early to call and get better directions. She wasn’t due to arrive until that afternoon, and she didn’t want to wake up Lorrie’s family just because she’d decided to drive instead of sleep. Drumming her gloved fingers against the steering wheel, she contemplated her options. There weren’t many. She’d passed a diner a couple miles back that looked like it was open twenty-four hours. An early breakfast, maybe. Not that she was hungry, but it would kill enough time until she could phone at a more respectable hour.
Her back tires skidded along the concrete as she turned around. Swearing under her breath, Rachel held the wheel in a death grip while the car straightened out again. In the twenty years she’d been away from the Midwest, she’d lost whatever winter driving skills she’d ever had. Of course, she didn’t consider March to be winter, but Lorrie would probably disagree with her.
Her speed never crept above twenty-five. Houses gave way to a line of privately owned shops. No neon in these windows. These storefronts specialized in hand-written signs and printed placards sporting country kitsch décor. Part of her felt like a hypocrite even entertaining the notion she’d last here longer than a week. This was so not her. She was urban realism, cynical and scarred. A small voice inside her kept chortling, convinced this was all one big sham to hide the depravity of the small town underbelly.
She gritted her teeth. Lorrie wouldn’t have lived in White Bluff for the past decade if it was an awful place to raise a family. And wasn’t a break from Los Angeles exactly what Rachel had wanted? She hadn’t packed up her car and driven across the country just to turn around at the first hint of middle class America. A few poorly drawn cows and pigs weren’t going to scare her away now.
Light from the front windows of the diner spilled out onto the sparkly snow carpeting the parking lot. A couple semis blockaded one whole side of the small, squat building, but only two other cars sat in the front. Rachel pulled up alongside a black pick-up. Without lines for guidance, she could only hope she was in an actual parking spot and not some special loading zone.
The blast of warm air as she opened the front door made her cheeks tingle and her nostrils flare. Sugar and salt competed for attention in the various scents that greeted her. Her stomach’s responsive growl was a welcome surprise.
The truckers sat at the counter, one shoveling in scrambled eggs like he hadn’t eaten in a month, the other cradling a steaming cup of coffee. Both had their eyes glued to a TV mounted in the corner. It took a few seconds of watching the black-and-white images flickering on the screen for her to recognize The Twilight Zone.
Rachel smiled. She hadn’t seen an episode of that in ages. She took a seat at a small booth against the opposite wall that gave her the best view of the television set.
The waitress who came around had thick, chestnut-colored hair pulled into a low ponytail and wide-set brown eyes that smiled along with her generous mouth. Her pink uniform strained across a full chest and broader hips, but it was clean and wrinkle-free. Her nametag labeled her “Darcy.”
“You want some coffee to warm yourself up with?”
Rachel nodded. “Black. You don’t have to bother with creamer or anything. As long as it’s hot and caffeinated.”
Darcy’s smile widened. “One of those nights, huh?” She nodded toward a solid oak coat tree by the door Rachel hadn’t even noticed. “You can hang up your jacket if you want. Shake out some of that snow in your hair, too. Those kind of big, fat flakes will run right down the back of your shirt if you let ‘em melt on you.”
“Thanks.” Her stomach growled again. “You got a menu I can look at?”
“Depends on whether you want breakfast or something else.”
“Breakfast.”
“Then no. We don’t get that formal for breakfast. Our cook, Nelson can do just about any kind of eggs you might want, and we got sausage or bacon to go with those. Or we’ve got pancakes, Cheerios, oatmeal, or yogurt. Your pick.”
A hot breakfast sounded like it would hit the spot. Rachel ordered a pair of sunny-side up eggs with a short stack of pancakes, and slid out of the booth as soon as Darcy scurried off to tell Nelson what to fix. Most of the snow had already melted from the thin veneer of her black leather trench coat. Shaking off the excess, she checked the pockets for anything of value before hanging it on one of the wooden hooks. A deserted diner in a tiny Illinois town hardly seemed like the kind of place to worry about pickpockets, but Rachel couldn’t help it. Old habits died hard.
The door opened behind her, and she stepped to the side to give whoever was entering room to pass. She glanced in the newcomer’s direction, but all she saw was a massive set of shoulders covered by a red and black parka. While the man headed for the end of the counter, she returned to her booth and the waiting cup of coffee Darcy was just setting down.
“About five minutes on your food,” she told Rachel with a bright smile. Her gaze lit upon the newcomer sliding onto a stool. “Tod! Don’t get my seats all wet!”
Tod’s reaction was a slow turn of his head toward them. Dark eyes flickered over Darcy, only to dip down and settle on Rachel. They remained steady for long seconds, almost daring her to look away. She didn’t. Even if she hadn’t spent her whole career staring down the best of them, something in the warm depths compelled her to look at him.
He couldn’t have been much more than twenty. Thick brows highlighted his deep-set eyes, and his square jaw was chiseled from stone. He was saved from resembling a boxer on the ropes by a finely sloped nose, a wide slash of a mouth, and nut-brown curls at the edges of his otherwise neat haircut. Good-looking with a side of dangerous. Rachel had fallen for more than one of those in her lifetime.
Then he smiled. Her stomach flip-flopped at the way it transformed his face from memorable to downright gorgeous. Purely a physical reaction, one she wouldn’t ever seriously entertain considering she had to be at least fifteen years older than him, but one she was grateful for, nonetheless. It was nice to be reminded she wasn’t completely dead. Yet.
Darcy blocked her view when she walked away. It gave Rachel time to compose herself and refocus on the hot coffee in front of her, but out of the corner of her eye, she watched the two interact.
“You want breakfast?” Darcy brushed snow off Tod’s shoulder with an intimacy that spoke of years of acquaintance. “Nelson’s got some jacks to finish, but he’s got plenty of batter if you want a stack.”
“Sure.” He stepped back and unzipped his coat. The chest he revealed was powerful, his black pullover stretching over biceps created by hours upon hours on weight machines. His faded jeans molded over strong thighs, and when he turned around to hang up his jacket, Rachel nearly salivated over the tight ass showcased in the worn denim.
Jesus, they breed ‘em big in Illinois.
Her gaze was carefully averted by the time he returned to the counter, but this time, he didn’t sit down.
“I scraped off your car,” he said to Darcy. “You’ll have to brush the snow off when you go home, but the frost is gone.”
She smiled. “Thanks.”
“I got the driveway, too.”
“Oh, good.”
The driveway. Not your driveway. The two lived together. That made it easier to stop lusting after the guy.
He leaned against the counter, his sleeves riding up to expose dark hair curling over his wrist. “I’m not sure if I’ll be home for supper.”
“Another meeting at work?”
“Yep.”
“When are those going to stop?”
“When everything gets worked out, I guess.”
One of the truckers pushed his cup away from him. “Can I get a refill here, Darce?”
Darcy grabbed the coffee pot at the same time a rotund, middle-aged man appeared in the window to the kitchen with two plates. He hit a bell and promptly turned away.
Tod glanced at the food, and then to Rachel’s table. Their eyes met for a moment before he slipped behind the counter. “I’ve got this, Darcy.”
“Thanks, Tod.”
Rachel sat up a little straighter as he emerged with her breakfast order. Thanks, Tod? How about, No thanks, Darcy? She was too off her game to deal with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Delicious. Maybe a couple months ago, yeah, she could have met his flirtatious smile and either shot him down or shared a few hours with him, but that was before. Things were different now.
And he got younger looking with every step he took.
He stopped at the side of her table, his smile back in place. “Two eggs sunny-side up, and a short stack of pancakes.” He set them down with practiced ease. “The pancakes are a good choice. Nelson makes them from scratch.”
“I don’t think my taste buds will be able to tell the difference, but thanks, from the bottom of my arteries.” Her brows lifted when he eased his large frame onto the seat opposite her. “I’m pretty sure I heard Darcy order you your own pancakes.”
“She did.” He stuck his hand out. “I’m Tod.”
Her gaze jumped from his friendly smile, to the strong fingers waiting to swallow hers. “I heard.”
When she didn’t take his greeting, he dropped his hand back to the table as if he’d never offered it in the first place. His smile never wavered. “This is the part where you tell me your name.”
“Really? I didn’t realize this was the social Mecca of White Bluff.”
“Oh, sure, didn’t you see the sign outside? The best eggs, burgers, and handshakes this side of the Mississippi.”
“I thought the pancakes were supposed to be the good choice.”
He tapped the side of his nose and tilted his finger toward her. “See, you’re catching on already.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. He had a gruff charm about him, and if he was easy on the eyes, that was just a bonus. He waited in patient expectation, long enough for her to decide what the hell.
“Rachel.” She glanced pointedly at Darcy. “You’re not going to get in trouble?”
His gaze remained steady on Rachel. “Oh, Darcy might want to think she has some say about what I do, but that’s just what big sisters do, isn’t it?”
Ah. Family. Now that he’d mentioned it, Rachel saw the resemblance--the same solid builds, the same laughing eyes. With that recognition, however, came the realization that not only was Tod far too young for Rachel, but that he still lived at home. She felt her interest wane a bit, though the sizzling attraction was still there. Which was just further proof she was so far off her game, she wasn’t even in the same ballpark anymore.
“I think that probably applies to siblings in general. The good ones, at least.”
She waited for the inevitable queries for personal information, but they didn’t come. Instead, Tod folded his hands together and leaned forward, his smile softening.
“I know I sat down without being invited, but if you want me to go, just say the word.”
The suggestion surprised her. “I don’t think I’d be very good company.” Not quite a no, but not a yes, either.
“Would you let me be the judge of that?”
“I guess.”
He relaxed, though he seemed to fill the other bench even more than when he was in her face. “It’ll give Darcy a break, too. She has a tendency to hover when I come in.”
“So is this for Darcy’s benefit or yours?”
“Both. But I got the better deal.”
His steady gaze made her a little uncomfortable. She became all too aware of the fact she probably looked like she’d spent the last four days in her car--which she had. No make-up, and she was tired which meant there would be all too lovely shadows beneath her eyes. As she reached for the syrup, she decided he must be really desperate to escape his sister’s attention if he was willing to hang out with Rachel when she looked like death warmed over.
“So are you just passing through, or did you get lost?”
Sticky sweetness oozed over the edges of her pancakes, making her mouth water. “I couldn’t be here for another reason?”
“This is White Bluff. I’m playing the odds.”
“You’d lose then.” A sudden idea struck her. Dropping her fork, she twisted to dig around in her purse. She pulled out the email she’d printed with Lorrie’s directions, though now it was stained with coffee that had jostled somewhere around St. Louis and a ketchup splat from a hamburger in Vegas. “I bet you could help me. I couldn’t see for shit out in the snow, and I couldn’t find an address. How do I get to Washington Avenue from here?”
His features smoothed over so quickly, she knew something about what she’d said had surprised him. “Ah, door number three. You’re visiting somebody.”
“So you’re familiar with the neighborhood?”
“I’ve lived here most of my life. I’m familiar with the whole town.” He tilted his head, trying to see the address. “Who are you visiting?”
“My sister. Lorrie Gilliam.”
The name meant something, too. His head snapped up, his gaze assessing as it drank her in again. “I can tell you how to get there, no problem.”
She wanted to ask how he knew Lorrie, but stifled the urge. She didn’t need to encourage any more intimacy than she already had. Digging around in her purse, she pulled out a pen as Darcy showed up with Tod’s breakfast. If his sister had a problem with him chatting Rachel up, she didn’t show it. Darcy even smiled at the pair of them before scurrying back to the truckers at the counter.
Tod ignored his pancakes to take the pen and begin writing directions onto the email. “It’s not that hard to find from here. You probably got turned around in the snow. Must be a big change from California.”
Rachel snorted. “No kidding. Smog doesn’t make you skid off the road when you hit a patch.” She stopped, long familiar suspicion creeping into her spine. “How’d you know I was from California?”
He didn’t glance up. “You’re Lorrie’s sister. Everybody knows her sister lives in California.”
What else did they know? Rachel wasn’t so sure coming here was the best idea anymore. She should’ve stuck it out in LA, regardless of how burned out she was. Anything had to be better than showing up in a small town, where everybody knew not only everybody else’s business, but their relatives’, too.
Her distress must have shown. Tod reached across the table, though paused shy of touching the back of her hand.
“That’s all they know,” he said. “We’ve got our gossipers, but really, you don’t have anything to worry about.” His mouth crooked. “Besides, they’re going to be too busy talking about how beautiful you are instead of why you’re taking a vacation.”
The compliment fell easily from his full lips, so easily she might have taken it for a line if she hadn’t seen the sincerity in his eyes. In spite of her better judgment, a slow warmth spread through her body. It chased away the chill of her anxiety and encouraged wayward thoughts to return, thoughts of whether or not he was as hard as he looked, if he would be generous a lover as he was a breakfast companion. All fantasy, of course. She wasn’t so desperate for some positive attention--or even distraction--to risk becoming fodder for the White Bluff rumor mill. Any more than she already was.
“Thanks for the directions.” She folded the email back up to put it in her purse, and caught a phone number at the bottom of the page. With his name written next to it. Bold move.
She hid her smile. So had been sitting down without an invitation.
