Her Sinful Secret
Authors: Sylvie Kaye
A Total-E-Bound Publication
www.total-e-bound.com
Her Sinful Secret
ISBN # 978-0-85715-562-7
©Copyright Sylvie Kaye 2011
Cover Art by Lyn Taylor ©Copyright May 2011
Edited by Sue Swift
Total-E-Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork
Published in 2011 by
Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank,
Ruston
Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated
Total-e-burning
.
HER SINFUL SECRET
Sylvie Kaye
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following
wordmarks
mentioned in this work of fiction:
Jello
: Kraft Foods
Jag, Jaguar: Jaguar Cars Limited
Velcro: VELCRO USA Inc.
Members Only:
Aris
Industries
TV Guide: TV Guide Magazine Group Inc.
Chapter One
Being a widow sucked.
Head in hand, Wendy Reed doodled a sketch of a huge, aroused dick on one of the lunchroom paper napkins. Admiring her handiwork, she licked her lips and sighed.
Not that she’d seen much of Fred’s dick the past years before he’d keeled over on the seventeenth hole with a heart attack.
She crumpled the napkin, tossed the pencil and sipped her coffee, glancing around the empty lunchroom at Reed’s, the upscale car dealership in northeast
Scraping back her chair, she went to rinse her coffee mug at the lunchroom sink. Face it—after two long years, she was lonely and horny. She yearned for human contact.
A hug, a cuddle, someone to scratch her back.
And because she was wishing, she yearned for long-forgotten passion. After having companionship with very little sex for years, if she had to choose right now, she’d jump at the sex.
Hard, torrid, slam-your-butt-against-the-wall sex.
As she turned to leave, Marsha from the parts department and Grace, one of the car salespersons, strode through the doorway.
“I’m telling you, online
dating’s
the easiest way to meet and screen men.” Grace was pert and in her twenties, as was Marsha.
“Maybe you should try it out, too, Wendy.” Marsha tended to say whatever popped into her head, even to the boss. Although a little too nosy at times, for the most part she was harmless and a hard worker.
Wendy looked to Grace for help with her
coworker
.
Grace raised her hand, palm outward. “I swear by
SafeFixUp
dot com.
Seriously
.”
As Grace explained the ins and outs of computer dating to Marsha, Wendy eventually skipped out on them and headed home.
In no time, she‘d changed and reclined on the couch in her rumpled cotton pyjamas, eating a chocolate bar, feeling her thighs spread with each bite. Doodled note papers littered the coffee table with sketches of dishes of ice cream and pans of pizza from the TV commercials.
And penises, drawn from fading memory or recent dreams that seemed to get wetter and hornier each night.
Fighting off a case of hypochondria while the spokesman for some medication reiterated a list of symptoms, she tuned in the news.
Another awful carjacking of an expensive, luxury car.
She shivered at the thought and clicked the remote again.
Another commercial.
SafeFixUp.com.
The online dating site Grace swore by. Wendy sat up.
“Find the perfect companion at any age. Forty is the new thirty,” the announcer claimed. “All our clients are thoroughly screened.”
A guarantee of no axe murderers was a plus. Licking the chocolate from her fingers, she glanced over at her laptop.
Should she? Dare she?
It couldn’t hurt to browse. See what the hoopla was about. Grace at the dealership couldn’t say enough about it. Not that Wendy would tell her or anyone.
Certainly not her son.
This would be her sinful secret. And far less fattening than the dark chocolate she craved.
After logging on and signing up at a nominal fee, she entered her information. Location:
Pykes
City, northeast Pennsylvania.
Height, five-foot-seven.
Weight, she lied.
Hair colour, blonde, when her roots were done and her stray greys covered.
Eyes, blue. Age…
She paused. Oh, what the hell, why lie?
Forty-two.
She typed in the kind of man she was seeking. Strong, tall, assured.
A gentleman.
Passionate.
Great smile and a tight booty.
She shrugged. Why not? It was her wish list. She admired men who sported what she referred to as a bubble butt.
Round, firm, squeezable.
Just thinking about it made her flesh prickle. She hit
Send
and stripped off her
PJs
on the way upstairs, hoping she’d recharged her vibrator.
It took two days before she received an email back. She soothed her ego with the assurance that
SafeFixUp
had been security checking prospective date-mates for ‘priors’ during the time lapse. Her tummy fluttered with anticipation as she opened the email.
Max
Kanton
.
Outgoing, responsible and self-employed in finance.
Picture attached.
She opened the attachment. He looked hot.
Thick dark hair, smoky dark eyes, square jaw, ruggedly handsome.
Her throat went dry and her heart thumped. He looked young. As her pulse
baselined
, she read further. He was thirty-two, and too young for her.
But who knew how recent his photo was? In the lunchroom Grace had cautioned Marsha. “Don’t think guys don’t lie about their ages. The ones that do will send younger, slimmer, more muscled photos than the actual man who shows up to meet you.”
Wendy stared at the picture, crossing her fingers and toes that it was outdated by about ten years.
What to do? Before she could chicken out, she scanned a flattering picture of herself from her cousin’s wedding. The snapshot wasn’t too close up and was perfectly angled to show off her best feature, her legs. She attached it to the email and hit
Send
.
Within the hour, she had her reply. He wanted to meet.
Chapter Two
Curiosity brought Wendy to the cosy Italian restaurant and a table reserved for Max
Kanton
. She was twenty minutes early and he hadn’t arrived yet.
Even though they’d emailed back and forth the past week, and he’d seemed witty and intelligent, her stomach jittered. Suppose he really was only thirty-two. To calm herself, she
doodled
a sketch on the wine list of the flickering candle in its angled holder. Her palms dampened, so she wiped them on her linen napkin, tossed the pen back into her purse and sipped ice water to keep her vocal chords from drying up with sudden panic as the hour ticked closer.
“Wendy.” A male voice, deep and low, vibrated through her.
She looked up. Wow. He was hotter and more gorgeous than his picture. Doubt flooded her with little hope that he was older than he claimed. She didn’t know if she could handle a ten-year age difference, although her pulse, fluttering with immediate interest, thought it was no problem.
She inhaled him as his masculine presence surrounded her. He smelt faintly of
a woodsy
, musky cologne.
Sexy, desirable, thrilling.
He was dressed in dark slacks and a dark shirt, well-tailored. His belt and shoes were expensive leather.
When he touched her shoulder, a shiver skittered across her flesh. His fingers were long and warm and lingering. Hunger seeped through to her core. It had been a long time since she’d desired a man who was real and within touching distance. Carnal memories flooded her veins with throbbing heat.
“You’re beautiful.” His delicious voice thrummed through her again.
She hadn’t heard those words in ages. When pressed, Fred might’ve said she looked nice.
‘So are you’ didn’t seem an appropriate response so she murmured, “Thank you.” He removed his hand and she ached to have him touch her again.
In many places.
Dark, wet ones which hadn’t been touched by a man in so long memory failed her.
He sat across from her and signalled the waiter. “Should we order wine to settle our nerves?”