As promised here is an excerpt from Second Chance.
(there is mild heat:) )
When I started writing Second Chance five years ago, a trilogy was the farthest thing from my mind. But as Lindsay and Brian's adventure evolved, I realized there wasn't room in the book to do everyone else justice, not to mention the unrivaled beauty of the Lake Tahoe winter. And since Delaney and Mike's Chance Encounter in San Francisco was dancing relentlessly in my head, I put Moira and Paul's story on hold until Last Chance. I love them all, but Second Chance will always be the book of my heart.
In Second Chance (Chances trilogy book #1), star-crossed lovers Lindsay Foster and Brian Rembrandt keep the rugged, fawn-colored shores of Lake Tahoe blazing hot long after the summer sun has set. In Chance Encounter (Chances trilogy book #2), Delaney Richards and Mike Savoy heat up San Francisco’s chilly days and fog-cloaked nights with white-hot passion and pulse-pounding suspense. In Last Chance (Chances trilogy conclusion) the long-bridled desire of Moira Brody and Paul Webster melt the snowcapped Sierras into torrid puddles despite the single-digit temperatures of the Lake Tahoe winter.
Eight hours later Lindsay rolled onto her back and opened one eye and then cautiously, the other. Her head, the apparent bounty in a volleyball tournament, was splitting in two. She sat up slowly, promising herself she would never, ever drink again and cursed the summer sun. Surveying the room, she noticed a blanket and pillow strewn upon the narrow couch in the corner. She sprung up, hand on heart, and realized she was still in her dress.
And that Brian had stayed here. The panic rising inside her would have been enough to keep her cowering in bed, but for the rich, earthy aroma floating through the crisp morning air. She rose gingerly, stomach pulling in apprehension and anticipation, and headed downstairs.
“You really need to do something about those creaky floors.” Brian was standing on the bottom landing, legs crossed at the ankles, with a wide grin on his face. It accentuated the crow’s feet that framed his eyes and reminded Lindsay of wondering what color eyes a baby of theirs would have. The most perfect shade of blue, no doubt. He handed her the steaming mug in his right hand, adding, “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” Lindsay imbibed the coffee, sighing dreamily as it slid down her throat. “Thanks.”
“I sweetened it with honey. Does wonders for a hangover.”
“I’ll take the hive, then”
“You look great if that’s any consolation. Love the pjs.”
Lindsay ignored his attempt at humor. “You stayed here, didn’t you?”
His expression instantly collapsed. “I couldn’t leave you like that. Plus,” he hesitated, then finished quietly, “I still need an answer.”
“An answer?” she stalled, averting her eyes to the open deck door. A wave runner roared by, leaving a zigzag of foamy footprints in its wake.
“Yeah.” He was so close now she could smell the morning on him. “Why did you run away?”
The pull in her stomach became incorrigible twinges of angst. “I didn’t run away,” she countered briskly. “My grandmother needed me.”
Brian tipped her face to his. “I needed you.”
Her heart soared in her chest, but she bridled it. Not enough, she silently disdained. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have ended things that way. I know that now.”
“You can’t end what’s not over. And it’s not over between us.” Linking his arms around her waist, he made quick work of the small space between them.
“It has to be.”
“It’s not,” he muttered, kissing that spot under her earlobe. The one he knew sent a quiver coursing through her body that wicked between her legs.
Like it was right now.
But it would be the last time. The last time her head would slant, allowing his lips to tantalize and devour her throat en route to her mouth. The last time their tongues would meet and part rhythmically, lasciviously. The last time his hands would scoop her up at the buttocks, and she would instinctively coil her legs to circle his hips and her arms to wreathe his neck. The last time her delta would press against his urgency. Because somehow she would learn to live without his scent, his touch, his weight on her.
Insides blazing, she went boneless as he carried her to the couch. His hands crept up her back, fumbling with the knot at her neck. She felt the ties of the halter fall into the valley between her breasts. Pangs of molten desire flooded her stomach as Brian suckled one breast, then the other. Straddled between his brawny legs, she arched beneath him on the cool leather. Sighing endearments, Brian fondled, nipped, and licked. His tortuously slow tongue worked her bare throat and chest while his lightning fast hands claimed her torso and hips. Then a primal reverberation began to quicken in the essence of her. And just as it was about to break free, he clutched her face and heaved, “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than I want to make love to you right now.”
Lindsay recognized the feral need in his eyes and knew it mirrored her own. “I don’t think I have either. But we can’t.” She shook her head, trying to clear her mind despite the vapor steaming between their bodies. “I’m getting married.”
The Chances trilogy is available at:Red Sage
Barnes and Noble
Martha O'Sullivan has loved reading romance novels for as long as she can remember. So much so that she would continue the story in her head long after the last chapter was read. Writing her own novels is the realization of a lifelong dream for this stay-at-home mom. She is the author of the Chances trilogy available now from Red Sage Publishing. Martha writes contemporary and erotic romances with traditional couples and happy endings. Her current work-in-progress is a Christmas novel set in Florida. A native Chicagoan, she lives her own happy ending in Tampa with her husband and two daughters.
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