Welcome to
another LoveCats
DownUnder Sunday Smooch!
the winner of last week's Sunday Smooch Giveaway
is Therese Ferguson!
Therese, can
you please email: Michelle (at) michelle - douglas (dot) com to receive your copy
of Sarah And
The Secret Sheikh!
And now for
something just a little different- not our usual kind of kiss scene but lots of
love nonetheless! Today's Sunday Smooch is from Louisa George's new women’s
fiction book, The Other Life Of
Charlotte Evans
Back
cover blurb:
Would you sacrifice
your future to understand your past?
Life is rosy for dance
studio owner Charlotte Evans, who is about to marry beloved fiancé, Ben. But
when Ben finds a lump in Charlotte's breast, it sends her on a journey of
self-discovery which she knows she must do alone. Because Charlotte is adopted,
and she suddenly, desperately, needs to know who she is and where she comes
from.
Finding and
reconnecting with her birth family, the life Charlotte could have had unfolds before
her. As her wedding day draws closer, and her past merges ever more into her
present, Charlotte must decide on the future she really wants…
Kiss Scene:- Set up: Charlotte is at work while fiancé Ben is decorating their house
pre-wedding. She receives a booty call so dashes home…
London was putting on a very sunny show,
considering it was early June and really only just dipping into summer. There
was a smattering of colour in people’s gardens and a promising heat in the air.
The sunshine always put a smile on everyone’s faces, and knowing what
was waiting for her back at their half-renovated two-up two-down Victorian
terrace put a spring in Charlotte’s step too.
‘Hey, gorgeous!’ She bounded into the house.
There was a flutter in her stomach, which made her feel as if she was doing
something illicit, very naughty. Sex in the afternoon! On a school day. Instead
of painting more coats of Farrow and Ball’s best Cornforth White on
not-quite-straight walls.
He met her at the door, but she was slightly
disappointed to see that, even though his top half was
stripped bare and his honed muscles were rippling, his DIY jeans were still in
situ. There was a definite glint in his lovely dark-brown eyes,
though, a heat and a warmth – sex and love. He pressed a kiss on her mouth. ‘Hi,
honey, you’re home.’
‘I certainly am. But you appear to be very
overdressed…’ Her hand reached for his waist and she pulled him closer, playing
with the top of his jeans zip.
What she’d first been attracted by – apart from
the police-fit body and sense of humour – had been that Ben always attacked
everything with determination and enthusiasm. He was also a physical guy, good
with his hands.
She smiled to herself; he still was whenever he
got the chance. The lust-filled ache in her gut and the desire to touch him
hadn’t dimmed either. His skin was soft and smooth and flecked with white
paint. She didn’t need to make her voice sound sexy, it just was.
‘Bedroom or lounge?’
‘Right here.’ Clearly ready for action,
he started to lower her onto the stairs. But she pushed him away. Wriggled to
standing.
‘I think I’m too old for sex on the stairs.’
Lissa would tut and sigh, but she wasn’t the one about to get carpet burns and
a sore back that would interfere with her teaching. Taking Ben’s hand,
Charlotte tugged him up the first step, her free palm scraping over his
cop-short buzz cut, feeling the rough softness under her fingertips. He was a
man of opposites; fun and serious. Sport-fit and focused and yet happy to laze
away whole afternoons on the sofa watching action movies. Loved to eat, but
hopeless at cooking. She met his gaze and her stomach purred, low and hot. ‘Bed
or shower?’
‘Bed. No… shower. Hot. Wet.
Nice.’ His hands went to cup her face but she drew back.
‘Wait! You’ve got paint on you. Look – still
wet.’
‘In that case…’ His eyes brightened and he
pressed a paint-covered hand over her black lycra top, over her left breast,
and squeezed. ‘Gotcha!
‘Ben!’ But she couldn’t help laughing as she looked
down at the white fingermarks. ‘This is – this was – my good teaching
top.’
‘Well, let’s take it off then.’
‘Oh… if you insist.’ She tugged it over
her head and laughed as he kissed her neck, his breathing getting harder, and
faster. ‘Bed? Or shower, Benny boy?’
‘Hmmm… too tough to call. Wow. Such life and
death questions. Too hard… You know… if someone held a
gun to my head and asked me to choose… I’d have to say…’ He backed her
against the stairs again, pushed his hand under her bra and pressed a kiss to
her cleavage. ‘These two beauties
are my absolute favourite part of you. Perfect… Juicy… Not sure which I love
the most; left or right—’
‘Be serious. One minute… these stairs hurt.
Okay. I’ve decided. Bed it is.’ She pushed him away and ran up to the bedroom,
then jumped onto the bed.
He was two steps behind her, wiping his hands
down his jeans until he was convinced they were dry. Then he climbed onto the
bed next to her.
‘Hell, Charlie, I am serious. About you. About
the wedding and making a home, for us. I’ve never been so damned serious about
anything in my life.’ He slid his mouth over hers. For a few moments she was
lost in him, in them, as he murmured, ‘I can’t wait. I love you… I
want you. Every bloody day.’ Like a pro he unclipped her bra, cupped her right
breast as he kissed her harder, then pulled away, breathing fast and looking at
her with seriousness and mischief in his eyes. ‘I hate night duty. I hate
missing you, thinking of you sleeping here without me. Thinking of all the
things we could be doing instead of pounding the bloody streets and arresting
some stupid prick for DUI.’
Charlotte wrapped him closer. ‘I miss you too. I
hate hearing the sirens and thinking it could be you out there,
chasing, hurting… I hate hearing the news…’
He silenced her with another kiss. This was one
conversation they’d had countless times and there was no answer to it. It was
his job and he loved it; she could no more ask him to give it
up than contemplate giving up her dancing. So they were stuck – or just had to
make the most of it.
She ran her thumb down his cheek. ‘Let’s never
go to work again. Let’s just stay here for ever and do this.
We’ll feast on marshmallows and salt and vinegar crisps and drink buckets of
ice-cold
chardonnay. For breakfast, lunch and dinner.’
‘Always. Just you and me, in here.’ His fingers
played over her left breast and she curled against him, wanting him. Loving
him.
‘No one else.’ It was a game they’d played since
they first met – since that very first party. He’d asked her if she wanted to
go somewhere… quieter… and she’d agreed,
liking the way he looked and the damned cheek of him for asking her outright
and knowing exactly what he wanted: her. In bed.
They’d nipped out from the party and bought a
bag of crisps and marshmallows from the all-night store and
staggered back to his place. Had a competition to see who could fit the most
fluffy sweets into their mouths. Then downed it all with white wine – out of
the bottle. He’d let her win and made her laugh and made her feel sexy and funny
and likeable.
Just after their first – unforgettable – kiss
he’d said something like let’s stop the world and get off. And she’d
thought I could do that. No intrusions. No other commitments. I could
make a world with him.
And they had.
His words were whispers against her ear. ‘Until
we have to pay the mortgage, obviously… then I’ll send you
out to teach and just lie here waiting for you to come home
and service me as required.’
‘Watch it, mate. Serviced? You’ll
be lucky.’ She slapped his backside gently and then squeezed – because, God,
she loved that bum. ‘Slave driver.’
‘You bet.’ He shifted a little against her and
his mouth nuzzled her neck, this time his hand cupping her right breast. Soft.
Caressing. A playful tweak of her nipple, another caress as she arched against
him,
relishing the way he managed to find all her sensitive parts and make them sing
for his attention.
His hand went to her left breast again and he
squeezed. She moved against him. He squeezed again, fingers stepping across her
skin, skimming over to her right breast. He was certainly giving them lots of
attention today.
Yummy.
Then he went completely still.
It was a strange kind of still. As if someone
had flicked an off switch.
‘Hey?’ She wriggled against him, feeling his
heat through his jeans. Stroking his back. Stroking the soft skin and rubbing
against it, because she suddenly felt a strange and unwelcome need for comfort.
‘Hey? Benjamin Niall Murphy, don’t tell me you’ve fallen asleep on me?’
There was a moment where she felt him inhale
deeply. Then she felt the soft breeze on her shoulder as he blew the breath out
and he pulled away. Definitely not like him. Ben was a man who liked to finish
what he started.
‘Ben?’ She peered at him, holding his face in
her palms. ‘You okay?’
He had a small, uncertain smile on that gorgeous
face. The kind of smile he’d had when she’d told him about her father dying.
And about the confusion and pain she’d felt when her parents had told her she
was adopted – and how them telling her she’d been chosen was supposed to
somehow help her get over discovering she’d been rejected by her birth mother.
It hadn’t.
And like the time he’d told her he’d tried to
save a jumper’s
life on the Tube… and failed. It was a brave smile. He
was being brave.
What the hell?
Louisa
is giving away a digital copy of her book to one lucky commenter! So her
question to you is:
This book is not your traditional
romance, although it has romantic elements. Do you read women’s fiction? What’s
been your favourite recent women’s fiction read?
Come back
next Sunday, when the winner of today's giveaway will be announced -- and a
smooch from lovely guest Helen Lacey will be posted!
