Read If Ever I Fall (Rhode Island Romance #1) Online
Authors: Sophia Renny
Sophia Renny loves Romance, Chocolate, and Pinot Noir. When she's not
writing about strong yet vulnerable men and the women who love them, she can
most often be found ignoring housework for the pleasure of engaging in fierce Scrabble
competitions with her sweetheart. Yes, she did fall in love with him at first
sight.
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Also by Sophia Renny
Rhode Island Romance Series:
If
Ever I Fall
(Book 1)
Chasing
Julia
(Book 2)
**Continue
reading for excerpts from
Chasing Julia
and
Room 1208
**
Chasing Julia
Copyright © 2015 Sophia Renny
Ever since she was five years old
and smacked him on the head with her red plastic shovel, Julia Kelly believed
that she would marry the boy next door one day. Her mother had told her so; it
was destiny.
But the fates proved her mother
wrong when that boy—now a man—fell in love with another woman and broke Julia’s
heart.
As Julia begins to pick up the
pieces, she finds comfort and strength in her friendship with another man. The
more time she spends with him, the more she realizes that he has all the
qualities she admires most. He has integrity. He’s strong but not afraid to
show his vulnerable side. He’s smart and kind, charming and funny. He loves
dogs and children. It doesn’t hurt that he’s tall, dark and handsome and very,
very sexy.
There’s just one small hitch.
He’s her ex-fiancé’s younger
brother.
*** Recommended for a mature
audience. ***
Note: This is Book Two in the Rhode
Island Romance series. While it can be read and enjoyed as a stand-alone, the
author suggests reading Book One,
If Ever I Fall
, first to fully
appreciate this story.
Excerpt:
Something
was licking her foot.
Some
one
was
licking her foot?
It was alive,
whatever it was. But it didn’t feel like a human tongue. It was a very small
tongue. Very warm. Very sandpapery. Very into whatever was on the sole of her
foot. That tongue was lapping at her skin at a frenzied pace, like her foot was
a double scoop of Chunky Monkey that needed to be devoured before it melted
under a blazing summer sun.
Maybe this was a
dream.
Julia cracked one
eye open. The eye that wasn’t scrunched against her pillow. She winced as a ray
of sunlight streaming in from the bedroom window struck her eyeball like a
fiery hot dagger. She squeezed her eye shut. Tiny, sharp points of light
pricked through her eyelid. They pulsed with the beat of her heart.
“Oh, God.”
Her mouth was so
dry that the words came out as a raspy whisper.
Her head throbbed.
Her eyes throbbed. Even her hair seemed to be throbbing.
What in the world
had she done?
She was lying on
her stomach. The bed sheet beneath her scratched her skin. Something hard
pressed uncomfortably into her rib cage, just below her breasts. She snaked one
hand under her stomach and felt around. It wasn’t the bed sheet that was
causing discomfort.
What the hell was
she wearing?
Was that a bustier?
She slid her hand
lower.
She was still
wearing panties. Satin, by the feel of them and not very substantial. Okay,
that was definitely a thong. Her butt cheeks were bare.
Why was she wearing
a thong? She hadn’t worn those since she’d turned thirty; hipsters were more
her style.
And what the
hell
was licking her foot?
Her feet were
uncovered; one foot was hanging over the side of the bed. She jerked that foot
inward and kicked the other foot out, connecting with what felt like a ball of
fur.
“
Yip
!”
Four paws pounced
on her lower back, nails digging through the bedspread.
“What the—”
“Looks like Max
wants to play.”
The weight of
whatever creature that had tackled her was lifted away.
Julia’s eyes flew
open.
That was a male
voice. A very recognizable male voice. Warm and deep with a little bit of
gravel. Bourbon on the rocks. It poured over her skin and flowed through her
veins, igniting fires deep in her belly.
But she’d never
heard that voice right next to her in bed before.
This wasn’t her
bed.
Her eyes tracked
anxiously around the room.
This was a hotel
room.
The window curtains
were open. In the distance she glimpsed what appeared to be the Eiffel Tower.
How did she get to
Paris?
Her heart thundered
in her ears as fuzzy memories infiltrated her alcohol-soaked brain.
This wasn’t Paris.
This was Las Vegas.
Oh, oh, God.
What
had she done?
Slowly, painfully,
she flipped over to her side to face the man lying on his side inches away from
her.
Her wide eyes
landed on his naked torso, followed the dark hairs of his happy trail down to
where it disappeared beneath the bedcovers. He was lean, sleek and muscular;
his olive-toned skin had a healthy glow. He was using one arm to prop up his
head; the other held a wriggling, motley-furred, grinning little dog tucked
against his chest.
She slowly lifted her
eyes to his face.
His teeth flashed
white; his cheeks dimpled. His toffee-colored eyes sparkled.
“Good
afternoon, wife,” he said. “Sleep well?”
Now available
on
Amazon
.
Copyright © 2013 by Sophia Renny
Maggie’s life
hasn’t been an easy one. But in the last two years she’s made giant strides
towards overcoming the repercussions of a devastating childhood. Now thirty
years old, she’s ready to jump the final hurdle that stands between her past
and a new life free from low self-esteem and old hurts.
Taking that
leap requires the cooperation of a handsome gentleman she spies across a busy
airport hotel lounge. Neither one of them foresees the depth of passion shared
on that magical night, a passion that is astonishing and profound.
One night is
all that Maggie expects, all that she’s planned on. But you know what they say
about the best-laid plans…
[This book is
intended for mature audiences]
If it hadn’t been for his laughter she wouldn’t have chosen him.
He was the first
man she’d noticed when her eyes made an initial subtle sweep through the lounge
area. She’d intentionally chosen a small table next to the piano, pretending
fascination with the fedora-wearing hipster slouched over the keys. As she took
cautious sips of her skinny margarita, her upper body swayed in a slight,
graceful tempo with the slow, bluesy tune.
I’m just here enjoying the music,
relaxing after a busy day. Don’t bother me.
That was the body language she
hoped she was portraying.
She’d dismissed him
almost immediately because he was good looking in a way that only made her feel
more nervous and anxious than she already was. Seriously, he was devastatingly
handsome—the kind of handsome that had practically every other woman in the
lounge giving him increasingly more brazen come-hither smiles and glances; the
kind of handsome that had the cocktail waitresses commiserating with one
another in a corner as, one by one, they failed to capture his attention with
their rolling hips and cherry-red lipstick.
He was sitting with
three other men in a booth at the front of the lounge near the entrance to the
hotel lobby. They were all wearing business suits. He was the only one who
faced her directly. Two of the men had their backs to her, the third was in
profile. They seemed to be having a business meeting of some sort. As she
watched them it became clear that the three other men were giving a
presentation, one of them sliding his finger across a tablet screen while the
other two took turns speaking.
If she hadn’t been
a woman on a mission she might have enjoyed watching the scene before her and anticipating
how it played out. Would any of the women eventually entice him? Would he buy
what the other men were evidently selling? Only fifteen or twenty minutes had
gone by since she’d walked into the lounge, but she’d wasted too much time
already. She had to act quickly before her self-confidence, already dangling on
a very fine thread, completely slipped away.
There were a couple
of average Joes sitting at the bar watching the basketball game that was
playing on mute in the background. Neither one of them were wearing a wedding
band. Not that that meant anything, especially at this busy airport hotel that
catered to business travelers. This was the one flaw in her plan: making sure
that the man she chose was actually single and available. She would have to
trust a complete stranger. She loathed cheaters.
One of the Joes
must have felt her stare. He swiveled his bar stool towards her and gave her a
smile. It was a nice, genuine smile, nothing sleazy or cagey about it. Her gut
instinct told her that he didn’t have a wife and kids at home. Though she
didn’t have any experience in bar hookups to back up that instinct, she felt
almost certain that he was single.
He raised one
eyebrow and nodded at the empty seat at her table. She was on the verge of
giving him a smile of agreement when she heard the laughter. It drifted across
the lounge towards her, its deep, husky timbre brushing over her skin like a
sultry summer breeze, instantly luring her gaze back to the booth near the
entrance.
His head was flung
back as he continued to laugh, the arch of his throat an inviting stretch of
warm tan skin above his crisp white shirt collar. All of the men were laughing
now, rocking their heads back and forth, shoulders shaking.
She was entranced.
His face, now radiant with laughter, was too gorgeous for words. She wanted to
bask in his light. She wanted to slide her fingers in his black, close-cropped
hair. She wanted to touch the crinkles on either side of his blue—oh, she hoped
they were the blue they appeared to be from this distance—eyes. She wanted to
press her mouth to the groove next to his mouth, discover the taste of his
healthy, glowing skin, take his firm, lower lip between her teeth before
sliding her tongue…
He was staring at
her.
He was still
smiling as the other men’s laughter gradually diminished and they began making
motions to leave. But his smile had transmuted from that given in the spirit of
male camaraderie to one that came with the awareness that she was blatantly
watching him. His gaze sharpened, one eyebrow arched in question, as if he were
trying to figure out whether or not he knew her.
She felt a hot
clench of desire between her legs. She wiggled slightly in her chair, unable to
quell her immediate reaction to his scrutiny. Her breath caught in her throat
as his eyes slowly swept over her, down and up, an assessment that led to
approval and then, to her utter shock, a reciprocal desire.
Only in her wildest
imaginings had this kind of man fulfilled her oldest and deepest longing. She’d
convinced herself that this kind of man could never be attracted to a woman
like her—or, rather, the woman she used to be and still was sometimes inside
her head. This kind of man belonged solely to that exclusive sphere where only
the beautiful people mingled.
Joe at the bar
would have been easy, not entirely comfortable, true, since she couldn’t
possibly feel completely comfortable with any man in this situation, but…safer.
Dr. Moira’s voice
filtered through her agitated thoughts:
You are beautiful. You are a woman
worthy of happiness and love. It’s time to let go of the things that are
holding you down, holding you back from becoming the person you were meant to
be. Let go…break free…
The men were
leaving. He stood with them to shake hands and clasp arms. The others motioned
towards the street exit, but he glanced at his watch, shook his head, and said
something in a low voice as he pointed to his drink. He sat back down in the
booth as they left.
He wasn’t looking
at her now. He seemed pensive, almost sullen, as he studied the cocktail glass
in his hand, slowly twirling it on the glossy black tabletop. One of the
waitresses sashayed over with an eager smile to ask him if he’d like another
drink. He shook his head without glancing up.
If she didn’t do
this now, she knew she would never find the courage to try again. She dug into
her purse for the blank notecard and envelope she’d put there earlier. It was
her backup plan. She just knew that, if she were to walk over right now and sit
down across from him, any words that managed to escape from her mouth would
only be so much gobbledygook. All her efforts to appear sexy, sophisticated and
worldly-wise would be exposed as a total sham.
She wrote quickly,
having practiced the lines over a hundred times in her head:
Please understand
that I’ve never done this kind of thing before and never will again. I’m not a
prostitute. I’m safe. I don’t do drugs. I’m not drunk. I find you very
attractive and I want to spend the night with you. If you are married or
otherwise attached, rip this up and throw away the key. If you aren’t married
or otherwise, and you’re interested, please come to room 1208. If you don’t
show up within a half hour, I will leave. Thank you for considering this offer.
It’s not given lightly, but with the full appreciation that life is too short
and every moment is meant to be savored.
She slipped the
notecard and a plastic room key in the envelope and sealed it. Taking a
fortifying breath, she stood, making sure her legs were steady before slowly
walking towards the hotel lobby entrance. She felt him watching her as she
approached his booth. She didn’t have to pretend to stumble slightly just as
she came adjacent to his table. The envelope tumbled from her nerveless
fingers. Bending over quickly, praying that not every single eye in the lounge
was on her, she picked up the envelope and set it on the table next to his
glass. “I believe this is yours?” Then, without waiting for a response, she
continued through the lobby towards the elevators.
The room was as she’d left it, the covers turned down on the king size
bed, a single lamp glowing softly in the corner. She’d been relieved to
discover that the lamp had a dimmer switch. She wanted the lights turned down
low, but not so low that she wouldn’t be able to see his body. There were
condoms in the nightstand drawer and one tucked under the pillows.
She removed her
earrings and necklace and placed them in the safe along with her purse. She
closed the closet door, concealing her suitcase and coat, then paused a moment
to study her reflection in the full length mirror. The dress was her most
recent find, ordered from an online boutique that specialized in vintage
clothing from the Fifties and early Sixties. It was a periwinkle blue and white
floral chiffon with a ruched waist and full skirt. It had a bateau neckline in
front, and a deep curved back neckline that came across the middle of her
shoulder bones. Matching suede periwinkle pumps completed the look.
It was a dress that
spoke romance. It was a dress, she hoped, that begged an easy touch and slow
hands, not one to be torn aside in a rush of passion. Oh, she wanted that mad
rush eventually, but not for her first time.
Her hands shook
slightly as she skimmed them down her waist and over the skirt. She loved
wearing dresses. For too many years, she hadn’t been able to wear them, not
without feeling like she was on a poster advertising a carnival sideshow. She’d
had to content herself with cutting out pictures of dresses she liked, taping
them to her bedroom mirror or tucking them in a scrapbook.
Someday
,
she’d promised herself.
Someday
.
Her hair, a medium
auburn, was now long enough to put up in a chignon. Her first grade teacher had
complimented her once on her “pretty brown eyes,” telling her that—in a certain
light—they were the exact color of her “lovely red hair.” She’d never forgotten
those words, a rare gift of praise that she’d held deep in her heart like a
buried treasure to be opened on those too many occasions when her world had
become almost too dark to bear.
Now those years
almost felt like they’d belonged to someone else. She and Dr. Moira had worked
through them, one by one, as they uncovered old wounds and gave them fresh air
and the healing balm of forgiveness. So much had changed in the last two years.
She could now truthfully say that she liked herself, that she liked her own
body, a body that had been kept hidden for too long in a prison of low
self-esteem and hurt. There had just been this one final stepping stone, this
last barrier to cross. She’d chosen to deal with it in this way; Dr. Moira knew
nothing about what would happen in this room tonight.
Or would it? How
much time had gone by? Would he take her up on her offer?
She looked at the
bedside clock. It’d been twenty minutes since she’d walked out of the lounge.
Twenty minutes.
He wasn’t coming.
Her eyes itched
with the threat of tears. No. She wasn’t going to cry. She rushed into the
bathroom and hit the cold water handle, running her wrists under the icy
stream. She pressed one wrist against the back of her neck as she took deep,
calming breaths. “I
am
beautiful,” she whispered.
She would
not
allow herself to think that he hadn’t come because of her appearance. He had a
girlfriend, he was married…
A knock sounded on
the door.
She froze.
A second knock came,
no louder than the first.
She shut off the
water, dried her hands, and then turned off the bathroom light before stepping
into the small hallway. She looked through the peephole.
It was him.
He had his profile
presented to her as he looked down the corridor towards the elevator bank. She
heard the ping of an arriving car. He gave a slight shake of his head before
taking a step towards it.
She opened the
door.
He turned to face
her directly, his eyes—a clear, vivid blue—made a burning sweep from head to
toe and up again. “Hello,” he said, his voice low, soft as kidskin leather.
“Hello,” she
breathed.
Up close, he was
taller than he’d appeared in the lounge. She was five feet seven inches in
heels. The top of her head was even with the bridge of his nose. This close,
she caught the fragrance of his cologne, a hint of citrus with cedar
undertones.
God, he was so
handsome.
She swayed slightly
and grabbed the doorjamb to keep upright. His eyes followed the motion before
returning their piercing directness to her face. He frowned in question,
dipping his head towards her. “Is your offer still on the table?”