Chirp(99)

An hour later, sitting on her sofa polishing off her third éclair, she took stock of the place. As much as she hated to admit it, Brad had a point. It was depressing and in a bad location. Given his reputation as a tightwad, he should appreciate her thrift store furniture and lack of decor. He’d told her he admired her because she didn’t need fancy things. Guess she wasn’t fancy enough.

Holding the glass of champagne up to the light, she played back his expression. It was worth $400 and change. The tag hanging around the neck of the bottle caught her attention. She removed it and read: “The bouquet’s lilting and even radiance presents an orange-red gleam. On the palate, experience an aggressive occurrence that has rich completeness along with caressing depth.”

Too bad a drink had to furnish her with completeness and caressing, because Brad sure as hell never would. She reached for another pastry, and the phone rang. Maybe he’d come to his senses and realized a life without her wasn’t worth living. She grabbed her cell without looking at the caller ID and pressed it to her ear. “Brad?”

“It’s Megan. Did he pop the question? I couldn’t wait until morning to find out.”

Quinn sniffed, then stared at the cream-filled profiterole to concentrate on the sugar high she had going in place of her broken heart. “No. He didn’t. We’re done.”

“Oh God. We’re coming over.”

“We?”

“Yeah. I’ll stop and get Raynie on the way.”

“No! Don’t come . . .” It was too late. The line was dead.

She sank deeper into the couch. The good Lord knew she loved her two friends, and they were great to want to offer comfort. But she wanted to be alone, in her miserable apartment, with her thrift store furniture, binging on French desserts and taking pure pleasure knowing the money she’d forced Brad to spend had his butt hole clenched so tight, he wouldn’t be able to crap for a week.



http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00V5M007A





Contemporary Romance


Say You’ll Never Love Me


Thankful today the wind wasn’t strong enough to stir dust, Raynie headed south with no idea of where she was going. She needed to leave that house with all its secrets and lies and the pretend life Celeste and Evan shared.

The sound of a jackhammer shook her from her worries, and she noticed her surroundings. Construction workers were busy adding a section to the Episcopal Church. She gave attention to the parking area. A man loaded boxes into the backseat of his crew-cab pickup truck. When he closed the door, she saw the marker: Associate Minister J. Sloane. “Father?”

He spoke over his shoulder. “Sorry, but I’m not . . .” He turned. Paused. His gaze drifted over her. “How may I help you?”

He wasn’t what Raynie expected. Weren’t ministers supposed to be older, fatter, and balder? This guy appeared to be about her age, and gorgeous. Dark hair, brilliant blue eyes, and when he smiled, dimples deepened like sugar down a funnel. Not dressed like a preacher should, either. He wore jeans and cowboy boots. Silly her. What did she expect from a west Texas town with nothing but farmers and cowboys? “I was wondering what support groups your church offers.”

He fished keys from his pocket, but continued to keep his eyes on her. “What kind do you need?”

“New mother.”

Raising his brows, he eyed her from top to bottom. Not in a sexual way, but more as if judging her appearance. She’d not put on makeup, and her hair, well, he’d probably never seen straight, crimped, and braided combined.

“That’s okay. I see you’re about to leave. I’m sorry I interrupted.” She turned to go, but he stepped forward.

“No bother.” He scanned the area. “So you’re a new mother?”

Facing him again, she shook her head. “No. Yes. No.”

Now he pulled his brows together. “Is it multiple choice?” And there were his dimples again.

Why was she so nervous? Must be his profession. She swallowed hard. Who was she kidding? Preachers needed her type. Sinner deluxe.

“No children of my own, but I recently became guardian to a six-year-old. I thought my sister had the perfect life, and today learned it was anything but that. I’m a mess right now and don’t know what to do.” She flapped her hand in the air. “I should work this out on my own.”

He moved two steps closer. “Are you unable to discuss this with your husband?”

“No husband. No boyfriend. Nobody. I don’t even live here.”

He offered a handshake. “I’m Jared.”

“Just Jared? No Father Sloane or Father Jared?”

“No. I was about to go down the street to Caprock Café. Why don’t you join me and we can talk.”

There was kindness in his voice. Surely a tone he’d practiced to offer sympathy and understanding to parishioners. She slid her palm into his. Warm and soft. Clearly he didn’t do physical labor, but he must work out. What else could explain the broad shoulders and the way his butt filled out those jeans? Holy crap. She shouldn’t be looking at his body parts or the shape they were in. “Okay, I’m Raynie.”

He held the door for her, and she climbed in his truck. He walked around and slid behind the wheel, then started the engine. “So where are you from?”