One year of marriage. No sex. No complications. No messy emotions.
Stacey Parker has laid out the rules for her temporary marriage to Harrison Duval, and Harrison plans to break every one. Ten years ago, Stacey disappeared from his life, and he’s not about to let it happen again.
Stacey has wanted Harrison for years, but giving in to the heat between them could mean exposing her secrets, secrets about family scars and choices young women shouldn't have to make alone. Secrets that could tear his world apart.
Warning: This 16,000-word short novella contains explicit sex scenes, regret, forgiveness, and second chances.
Harrison’s gaze dropped to her mouth. His fingers stroked the side of her neck as the limo began to move. “Did you have a nice night?”
She licked her lips. “It was a dream.” She wanted him to kiss her—not despite their lack of audience but because of it. The last month had been one filled with soft kisses and hand holding. The public displays of affection had been an act for the benefit of their friends and family, but each touch had made her little crush on him morph into an all-out lust fest. Now she wanted one of those kisses for her own benefit. “No one’s watching.” Brave with wine, she leaned into him even as she spoke the words. “You don’t have to touch me. You don’t have to pretend.”
“I like touching you.”
Heat swept through her at his words—heat and an ache as delicious as the wine she still tasted on her tongue. She was taken back to their one time together—that hot, impulsive teenage mistake.
Tilting her head up, she brushed her lips against his, blaming the wine, the day, anything but her foolish heart.
Harrison groaned softly and held her fast before she could pull away, his hand slipping from her neck into her hair, dislodging bobby pins and sending strategically-placed curls tumbling.
His tongue brushed across her lips, his teeth nipped. She opened to him, full of his heady, masculine smell, wanting his taste.
For a heartbeat, he stilled and she thought he might pull away. Then he slanted his mouth over hers and she found herself crawling in his lap. He found her breast through her dress, but there was too much fabric, too many barriers and she needed him closer.
“Unzip me,” she whispered.
Between their bodies, her hands sought out his waist band. She had him half unzipped before he stopped her.
He squeezed her fingers in his hot hands. “You’re drunk.”
“Thank God.” She was taking what she wanted—something she never did sober, not since she was sixteen.