Boob Gaze

Mitch held out a hand for Shep to sniff, then removed his jacket and offered it to Mindi.

“Oh no. No thanks,” she said, sliding her gaze to his full lips and chiseled chin.

He removed his Oakley’s and slid his gaze to her breasts. She should have been insulted, but she was too distracted by his delectable, dark cocoa-bean eyes.

“You sure?” His smile broadened, revealing straight white teeth that glistened like the Northern Star. Then he draped his jacket over her shoulders, slid on his Oakley’s, and sat beside her. Nikes on the bench in front, knees apart, forearms on thighs.

“Thank you,” Mindi said, half expecting an apology for the boob gaze. “I think.”

He laughed out loud, a deep, rich, infectious laugh.

Taken aback, Mindi turned toward the field, but as testosterone oozed from him and saturated her, she slid her gaze to his knees, up his muscular thighs, down his sturdy forearms, and to his big hands with long, thick fingers. Holy. Shit!

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Hot and Bothered, No Sex in a Decade

Mindi had completely forgotten about sex until a few months ago. Until she dreamt about Mr. Brown Eyes, her legs wrapped around him, hanging on tight. Until she woke up, hot and bothered, and realized she hadn’t had sex in a decade!

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Captain Morgan, In Your Face

And you were married–”

Once. For three years. We’ve been divorced for two.”

And no kids?”

No. Not really.”

Not really? Mindi bit her bottom lip. “Godchildren? Step children? A wonderful uncle?”

No. See, my ex-wife wanted a child, but I didn’t.”

Mindi’s eyes widened and jaw dropped. Blinking, she peered into his relatively handsome green eyes, waiting for him to continue. After several silent beats, she picked up the lime hanging from the side of her glass and bit into it without taking her eyes off him.

We had a daughter together,” he finally said, “but I don’t think I should have to pay child support or anything because . . .”

The water in Mindi’s mouth nearly flew across the table.

. . . I wasn’t the one who wanted her.”

Feeling like the air had been knocked from her lungs, Mindi dug into her tote and rescued her wallet. As she stood and tossed a five on the table, Mr. What’s-His-Name seized her hand.

Babe, it was what she wanted. She wanted a child and I gave her one. But I shouldn’t have to pay for it for the next fifteen years.”

It! Mindi picked up his cocktail and tossed it in his face. Heels clicking across the wooden floor, her head spun. She pushed on the door’s brass plate and looked at the clear blue sky and mountains in the distance.

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Perfect Hook: J. Evanovich, One for the Money

Here’s a great hook by Janet Evanovich:

There are some men who enter a woman’s life and screw it up forever. Joseph Morelli did this to me—not forever, but periodically.

 What makes it good?

  • It’s universal. What woman, by say her mid twenties, can’t relate?
  • It speaks to the books target market.
  • It states the name of the hero and alludes to him being a catch.
  • It begs the question, how did he screw up her life – periodically?
  • It uses a simple sentence structure.

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Flirting with Pizza

Mindi rolled her shoulders up and back, drew her shoulder blades down her spine, and concentrated on her breath. But the fiery sky and her hot, wet crotch kept drawing her attention, so she forced the sun to set and emptied the sky.

The only light, a crescent moon and its light dancing off the breaking waves.

But the glow of the moon kept sucking her in, pulling her under, reminding her of Mitch’s white teeth against his dark completion. With his laughter filling her head and visions of his dark-chocolate brown eyes touching her all over, she felt the heat of his hand against the small of her back, his hot breath against her ear, his firm body next to hers, and weight of his arm hooked over her shoulder.

A smile curved her lips; he’d asked for her phone number and said he liked dark hair, black lashes, fair skin, and emerald-green eyes. Cute. Working in sexual attraction while discussing pizza. Yet he lived so far away, her uplifted heart plummeted.

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Burning Ring of Fire — Meditative Imagery

 Mindi looked at the fluffy pillows and blankets surrounding her. So warm and cozy, yet she felt so cold and alone. Pressure increased across her forehead and her head began to ache. She closed her eyes, pressed her fingers into her temples, and tried to stop worrying. Then she turned off the light and folded her legs into Half Locus. With her hands resting on her knees, she took deep controlled breaths, sat very still, and forced every thought to pass.

Envisioning an ocean tide pounding a sandy beach, whatever thought entered, she forced out to sea. The sea was turbulent, but eventually it calmed.

Listening to waves lap the shore, she visualized the ocean meeting the sky. The sunset glowed with hot oranges and fiery reds as she walked along the shore with her toes in the sand, water washing over her feet, hand in hand with . . . someone strong and handsome with long, thick fingers. Mitch. Her ring of fire started to burn as thoughts of sex flooded her mind, like a tsunami pounding the shore. Damn!

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Common Sense, or Lack Thereof

 Mindi shifted nervously. He put an arm on the back of the couch and the other on his lap. His eyes looked sharp, in control, and completely yummy. Like chocolate, not only in color, but in delectability.

“Ten o’clock is fine.” His gaze was like an undertow, sucking her in and pulling her under. She needed to come up for air.

She tore her eyes off him and looked toward Ben’s room. Mitch took off his jacket. His T-shirt’s cut-off sleeves accentuated his buff biceps and toned triceps. One muscle flowed flawlessly into the next. Stroking them with her eyes, heat rose between her thighs.

Standing, she looked down at the thin cotton tied loosely around her hips, then lifted her head. His eyes took a few seconds longer to travel up her body. Her mind was in the gutter. His heavy hoods told her his was, too.

She gulped. “I should change.”

“You’re fine.” He stood and gently grasped her arms.

She shook her head. “Ben. If you’re staying, we should go outside.” He released her and looked toward the back door. “Do you want some wine?” She walked to the half-wall, separating the kitchen from the hall, and pulled a bottle from a four-bottle rack.

He took it from her and asked for an opener, standing so close she could feel his pheromones. She hesitated. He put a big hand on her hip. Sparks ripped from his hand to her core, and common sense told her he should leave.

“Over there.” She turned and pointed, his hand slid across her tummy, her tummy toppled like breaking waves.

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Transfixed by his Touch – Love at First Touch

 Mindi stood and thanked Mitch for the meal, and as she reached for her coat, their hands touched once more. Her heart skipped a beat, and her eyes darted back and forth between his dreamy dark-chocolate brown eyes, as his locked steadily onto hers. Her breath caught in her throat and a beat passed, or maybe two. She released the coat, and he held it while she slid her arms into its sleeves. Then, moving at a pace slightly slower than reality, like a movie running in slow motion, his hands brushed her cheeks as they moved to the back of her neck, lifted her hair from beneath her coat, and adjusted her collar.

Transfixed by his touch, Mindi stilled, then felt his big hand on the small of her back. He stepped toward the door, and with her insides ignited, her feet moved in time with his. As they walked into the crisp air during the magic of twilight, Ben took her hand, bringing her back to reality.

“They have great blueberry pancakes at the Pancake House,” Ben said to Mitch, referring to a restaurant in McCall.

Mitch winked at Ben. “I know.”

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What Do You Like On Your Pizza?

 Traffic thickened as they approached Boise. Most of it was heading towards them. It was too early for suburbanites to leave their quiet neighborhoods for a night out. As Mitch merged onto Interstate 84, Mindi’s mind raced. Mitch could actually be dateable material. She was drawn to his rugged build, dark hair and eyes, defined nose, kissable lips, chiseled chin, square jaw, testosterone-driven voice, and infectious laugh. Ben was more than a fixture to him, and being Jon’s friend, he probably had a solid career and good character.

“So what do you like?” Mitch asked.

OhmyGod! Am I that transparent? “Huh?”

He exited the Interstate, slowed for the light at Franklin, then turned to face her. “On your pizza. What do you like?” The corners of his mouth hinted at a smile.

She blushed. “Oh, uh. Basil and tomatoes. What do you like?”

His sexy lips spilled into an unabashed smile. “Dark hair. Black lashes. Fair skin. And emerald-green eyes.”

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Work, Women, and Worthwhile Sports

 “I’m wondering when the wooing will stop and what you’ll be like when it does.”

“Who says I’m going to stop?”

“Jon used to play board games with Jill, and now he doesn’t.” Mitch raised his eyebrows. “Now the only game he plays with her is Scrabble.” Mitch tipped his head to the side and squinted at her. She opened her eyes very wide, as if it would help him see her point. “When he was wooing her, he played games with her. Now he doesn’t.”

Mitch busted a gut, laughing. Her jaw dropped and mouth formed an O. “He supports her and the kids in the manner to which they’ve become accustomed, as I’m sure you’ve heard Jill say. His time and energy are limited. Why squander them on board games,” he stated rather than asked.

Mindi stared at him and considered the validity of his comment, then took a sip of tea. “Okay. Then nature. Eventually your focus will return to your typical activities.”

He shrugged. “Work, women, and worthwhile sports.” He winked. “I’m keeping in shape, staying on top of work, and want on top of you,” he quipped, then took a drink of beer without taking his eyes off of her.

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Remarkable Rack, Tight Booty, and Sexy Swagger

It was a singles bar and first-date joint, and although it was a brewery, Mitch ordered two Beck’s in a bottle. He wanted his beers and to get-the-hell out.

A woman in a red fuck-me dress, holding a martini, approached and oozed herself against the bar, brushing herself against him. She asked the bartender for a glass of water, put an elbow on the bar, then quarter-turned toward Mitch.

Her straight, shoulder-length hair wisped around her high cheekbones tinted pink; her tits practically fell out of her dress. Mitch pulled out his wallet and looked toward the bartender, then heard a click and turned. The toe of her stiletto-heeled shoe was on the brass footrest and her ass was bent over the bar.

WTF? Her slender fingers with bright red polish reached for a napkin, then set it under her drink.

Mitch turned to get the other bartender’s attention, and a women with silicone breast in a thin-strapped turquoise top finagled her way up to the bar and wedged herself on the other side of him . . . And the two women began to chat!

Fanfuckingtastic!

Mitch stepped back, moved to the side, and signaled the bartender with his hand. The bartender pulled two bottles from the rack and set them in front of Mitch. Mitch put his money on the bar, grabbed the bottles, and left.

The breeze from the river hit his face as he walked across the piazza, envisioning the red-ribbed fuck-me dress hugging Mindi’s remarkable rack, flat abs, and tight booty as her wild, loose ringlets swayed to the rhythm of her sexy swagger.

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Two Beck’s in a Bottle

In the kitchen, after teasing her full lips and kissing her breathless, Mitch had felt her lose herself and become a part of him. Her muscles had went limp, like a marionette whose strings had been cut. With a reaction like that from a kiss, he was confident that if he brought her to orgasm, he’d be able to get her to agree to come to Seattle. He needed to get her to taste his world, want his world, and want him.

Shit! Damn-it to hell! He didn’t seduce women. But this was sounding a-hell-of-a-lot like seduction, even to him. He sighed, turned off the water, and reached for a towel.

Mindi had sex appeal. She made a tank top and tattered jeans look sexy. No silk, no lace, nothing edible, nothing see-through, no thigh showing. Yet dick-hardening sexy.

But other women were sexy, so what was it about her?

Disgusted with himself, he pulled a T-shirt over his head and buttoned his faded blues as he headed for the door, leaving his jacket on the chair, hoping the chilly night air would hit him and snap him out of it as he walked to the pub next door.

Lights from the water fountain lit the piazza as his feet moved over the stone walkway. To his right was the Boise River; to his left, the parking lot.

The pub was packed and the acoustics were terrible. He walked across the hardwood floor to the bar trimmed in brass. Overhead lights reflected off the mirrors, glasses, and bottles. Couples dined by the large stone fireplace. Women huddled in groups at raised tables that divided the bar from the dining area. Men stood at the bar gawking at the women. Women wore one-size-too-small, look-at-me outfits. It was a singles bar and first-date joint.

Although it was a brewery, Mitch ordered two Beck’s in a bottle. He wanted his beers and to get-the-hell out.

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Dates Are Easy, The Right Woman Isn’t

Dates and sex were easy to come by; the right woman to spend your life with wasn’t. He laughed without humor. Other women wanted him for his money, yet Mindi refused to accept his gifts. Perhaps because if she really needed more money, she could earn it. But at a price. She’d lose time with Ben. And to her, time with Ben was more valuable. And for that, he was thankful.

He stood, walked to the sink, and picked up his toothbrush. She needed to let him take charge. He hoped he’d made that clear tonight. And he needed to get her to drop her guard and be open to his overtures.

He finished brushing his teeth and set his toothbrush on the marble countertop, then briskly rubbed his jaws in frustration.

His feet sank into the plush carpet as he strode to the bed, dropped his pants, and climbed in, then pulled the covers to his waist, laced his fingers behind his neck, and let his elbows fall to the mattress as a hint of a smile played on his lips. Good thing he enjoyed a good challenge.

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Substance: Wife, Home, Family

Mitch pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it on the burgundy leather chair, then drained the rest of his beer and kicked off his shoes. Laying on the bed, he folded his hands behind his head, crossed his legs at the ankles, and stared at the ceiling, knowing Mindi was sound asleep.

He was sure this relationship meant more to him than it did to her. She was beautiful, and she had Ben and a home. Hell, they even had a dog.

He had his business and a house. He’d worked hard for his financial success and used to enjoy his freedom, travel, and women. But now he wanted more. Now he wanted substance. A wife, a home, a family.

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One Baffling Babe

She needed to join him in his world. Period.

He drained his beer, then walked into the hotel room and grabbed the other beer. Uncapping it, he strode back onto the balcony. As he took a long pull, he heard a honk, lowered the beer, and wiped his moist lips with the back of his hand. A grove of deciduous trees lined the river, nearly concealing the site and sound of the traffic. With foliage, it would be blocked.

Eating ice cream off her last weekend had been too much for her, and it had bothered her enough to tell him. He dropped his chin to his chest, knowing he’d pushed her beyond her limit, then pressed the bottle to his lips and let the cold liquid run down his throat, before turning to go inside.

Scanning the space as if seeing it for the first time, he noticed it was a nice room. He tossed his keys, wallet, and phone on the cherry-wood nightstand, thinking about the other women he knew who would jump at the opportunity to be with him.

But he didn’t want other women. He wanted his marionette.

He took another drink of beer, thinking he should have ordered a shot. But he wasn’t accustomed to drinking away his problems, and Mindi wasn’t a exactly problem. She was sexy, beautiful, charming, intelligent, wholesome, and . . . baffling.

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His Business Immobile; Mindi Mobile

 But slow wasn’t his style. Not in work. Not in sports. Not in women.

He drew a deep breath of cool, crisp air. He was good at reading people. He new when to press and when to pull back. Mindi needed him to pull back, and until he proved himself to her, making plans for the three of them was off limits. And yet, he had a business to run.

Two interests, 500 miles apart.

His business, immobile.

Mindi, mobile.

She needed to join him in his world. Period.

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Work, Sports, and Women

Mitch drew a deep breath of the brisk night air and looked at the river through the openings in the trees, the peaceful sounds of the river, a stark juxtaposition to his restlessness.

Mindi was used to being on her own and was over-the-top independent. And she was closed. She didn’t offer information about Ben’s father, yet they had stood side-by-side looking at frames with him obviously absent. Mitch took a long pull of beer, wondering what happened between them and how it affected her today. Then suddenly, remembering the rash on her neck and chest last weekend, his gut turned and twisted.

He had assumed he’d done something to cause the rash. But what if the cause was her past?

Anger burned through him as he put the bottle to his mouth and took a long pull, then shook his head and looked down at his Nike’s. Her father wasn’t in any of the pictures either.

Two prominent men. Both void. Gone. Nonexistent in her world.

Feeling a pang in his gut, he envisioned her eyes in moments of trepidation, dropped his head, and sighed. There was so much he didn’t know about her. So much he wanted to know. So much he needed to know.

Jon had warned him to go slow. But slow wasn’t his style. Not in work. Not in sports. Not in women.

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Swallow Your Pride

They’d love what he yearned to give them, and he’d love what they could give him.

If he was going to advance their relationship, Mindi needed to swallow some of her pride and allow him to do for the two of them. He wasn’t positive how far he wanted the relationship to go, but he had a damn good idea.

He drew a deep breath of the brisk night air and looked at the river through the openings in the trees, the peaceful sounds of the river, a stark juxtaposition to his restlessness.

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She Wants It, She Wants Him

As the cold night air bit through his thin t-shirt, he lifted his head and took a long pull of beer, wishing she needed him, then turned toward the room and considered going inside. His eyes fell onto the bed and his mind flashed to spooning Mindi, her bare ass smacked against his naked groin, his hand cupping her bare breast. Damn!

He chugged his beer and tried to forget the image. He’d already taken a cold shower and didn’t want to take another. Besides, Mindi may not need him, but he could give her and Ben a better life. He needed to get her to taste that life and to crave that life.

A bush rustled near the river. He looked toward it and took another pull of beer.

Ben was a good kid. She was doing a great job raising him, but she lived on the brink of exhaustion. He could make her life easier, and he give her the two things she wanted most: more time with Ben and sex.

She wanted sex. She wanted him. He could feel it.

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Bare Branches and Vacant Paths

“Fanfuckingtastic!” Mitch mumbled to himself, then stepped back, moved to the side, and signaled the bartender with his hand. The bartender pulled two bottles of Beck’s from the rack and set them in front of Mitch. Mitch put his money on the bar, grabbed the bottles, and left.

The breeze from the river hit his face as he walked across the piazza, envisioning the red-ribbed fuck-me dress hugging Mindi’s remarkable rack, flat abs, and tight booty as her wild, loose ringlets swayed to the rhythm of her sexy swagger.

He strode into the hotel room, put a beer in the refrigerator, and headed for the sliding glass doors. Standing on the private balcony, he took a long pull of beer, then stared at the bare branches and vacant path along the Boise River. It was quiet, peaceful . . . lonely.

He thought of Mindi asleep in her bed, ceiling fan turning overhead, quilt snug around her shoulders, feather pillows beneath her brow. And of Ben in his bed with Shep by his side. She had made a comfortable home for the two of them. She didn’t need him, and she sure as hell had her guard up so as not to allow herself to need him. He dropped his head and stared at his Nikes. Her red toenails seared his mind. He lifted his head and took a long pull of beer, wishing she needed him.

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Two Beck’s in a Bottle

Although it was a brewery, Mitch ordered two Beck’s in a bottle. He wanted his beers and to get-the-hell out.

A woman in a red fuck-me dress, holding a martini, approached and oozed herself against the bar to stand next to him. She asked the bartender for a glass of water, put an elbow on the bar, and quarter-turned toward Mitch. Her straight, shoulder-length hair wisped around her high cheek bones tinted with pink, and her tits practically fell out of her dress. Mitch pulled out his wallet and looked toward the bartender, then heard a click and turned.

The toe of her stiletto-heeled shoe was on the brass footrest and her ass was bent over the bar.

WTF?

Her slender fingers with polished red nails reached for a napkin, then set it under her drink. Mitch turned to get the other bartender’s attention, and a women with silicone breast in a thin-strapped turquoise top finagled her way up to the bar and wedged herself on the other side of him. And the two women began to chat.

Fanfuckingtastic!

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Premonition

His heart pounded in his chest as he reached for a journal and pulled it off the shelf. His Adam’s apple rose and fell as he rubbed a hand over its cover. He didn’t want to break her trust, but hell, he’d already done that.

Standing with the journal in his hands, he closed his eyes and listened to their silent voices filling the space. He could see Ben at his drawing board and Mindi at the easel. But just as clearly, he could see them painting and drawing while he worked at his desk, firelight dancing off wooden rafters, snowflakes falling from the sky.

Opening his eyes, he heaved a heavy breath and returned the unopened journal to the shelf, then strode to the archway and turned to take one last look at the room — at the space that showed so much of Mindi’s character, yet lead to so many questions.

He turned off the lights and walked out of the room, wanting to know more about her than when he walked in.

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Vexed

Vexed, he hit the dimmer switch. Accent lights flushed over the nearly nude image. Standing in the doorway, he yearned to enter the room. If he did, he’d learn more about her. But if he did, he’d be invading her privacy.

His eyes trained the room. A treadmill, stationary bike, weight machine, and television anchored the corners. A drawing board sat in the space that cantilevered past the exterior wall. Ben’s artwork hung on its sidewalls and drawing supplies lined the edge of the tabletop.

He wondered what he’d done to cause her to get a rash, why she’d removed Ben’s hand from the keyless entry pad, and why she’d wanted every outside light on in this safe neighborhood. Jon had warned him to take it slow. Now he yearned to know why.

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Looking for Mr. Right

Single mother Mindi Linn awakes from a dream about her legs wrapped around Mr. Brown Eyes, realizing she hasn’t had sex in a decade! Determined to make up for lost time, she’s hitting coffee bars and the gym, looking for Mr. Right. But her abusive past has taught her that men can be deviously deceiving. It takes time to get to know someone, and even then, she can misjudge.

Mitch Machado is a successful architect in Seattle with dark-chocolate brown eyes. He’s worked hard for his financial success and used to enjoy his freedom, but now he wants more. Now he wants substance – a wife, a home, a family.

Too busy, beat, and busted from raising her nine-year-old son, Ben, and teaching at a poverty-prevalent, limited-language middle school near Boise, Mindi isn’t interested in meaningless meeting, dreary dates, or frivolous flings. She wants fun, freedom, and feminine frills . . . a good husband and father for Ben . . . and great sex. One problem: She isn’t sure if she still believes in love, marriage, and happily ever after.

Mitch is out to woo and win Mindi’s love, but she wants to take things slow. Slow isn’t his pace. Not in work, not in sports, not in women.

The last thing Mindi needs is more pressure, not even from an architect with scrumptiously sculpted abs who can work sex into a discussion on pizza toppings.

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