My birthday snippet comes from a coming soon release–Turn It Up, out February 8. It’s the start of the story, and the morning after Tasha tied one on a little too hard for her birthday…
She wants it. He’s got it…and a whole lot more.
Coming February 8, 2011
Turner Twins, Book Two
Maxwell Turner considers his stubborn and resourceful attitude a plus. After all, it usually gets him what he wants—except for Natasha Bellingham. The long-time family friend may be ten years older than he, but so what? He’s plenty old enough to know they belong together. Now all he has to do is convince her.
Over the past few years Natasha’s love life has degenerated into a series of bad clichés. Her biological clock is ticking—loudly. As a proven architect with her own house-design company, she’s financially ready for a baby. Who says she needs a permanent man in her life for that? She just needs a “donation”.
When Max discovers Natasha’s future plans include artificial insemination, he’s outraged. She wants to get pregnant? No problem. He’s more than willing to volunteer—no turkey basters involved .
But there’s one non-negotiable clause: He wants forever. And he intends to do everything in his power—fair and unfair—to make it happen.
Warning: This title contains one younger man ready, aimed and hell bent on giving one woman everything she wants. Includes interludes against the wall, in a Jacuzzi, on a car hood and even—shockingly enough—on a bed or two. Oh, and about that porch swing? Yup…
“Good to know you’re a little more with it than you were last night.”
She stared at him in confusion. “Last night? You weren’t there.”
“Sure I was. I was the DD for the evening. Or don’t you remember Lila calling me? By the time you’d all done a round or four of tequila shooters, you’d talked her into drinking as well, and there was no one left sober enough to get behind the wheel.”
“You drove us home?”
“Every last one of you.”
Natasha drained her mug and stared at the bottom, wondering if she dared have another. She needed to be alert to keep up with Max. She had no recollection of him driving her anywhere. There had been lots of singing, that she remembered, but him?
The tease of another cup of the Sugar Shack’s high-test java tempted her. If she stuck to her schedule, this was her last day for coffee as well.
Max held out his hand. “A dying man’s final requests are always honored. You’re going to feel like hell for a few days anyway, you may as well enjoy the buzz while you can.”
She handed over her cup reluctantly. He seemed to know way too much about what she had planned.
He strolled back to the counter and got her a refill while she racked her brains for an inkling of what had happened last night. She remembered hitting the bar with her friend Maxilila and a few other girls. Her birthday was as good a time as any for one last hurrah before cleaning up her act and going dry for as long as it took.
Operation Baby—before that magic number of thirty-five hit and she turned into a pumpkin or something.
She’d always hated the cliché of the damn clock ticking, but over the past couple of years that was exactly what she’d heard. Every month as the dream of starting a family seemed to grow more distant, the timer counting down got louder and louder.
Sunlight flashed off the tabletop and she groaned in pain as her temples throbbed in response. Of course, right now the thought of being responsible for anyone other than herself scared her silly. She should crawl back into bed and sleep until Monday.
It was a brilliant plan, and one she was going to put into action as soon as possible. But first, she had to ditch Maxwell.
Max added extra cream and sugar to Tasha’s coffee cup. It was unlikely she would be eating anything soon, and at least this way she’d consume a few calories. He nodded at the barista and picked up their cups, balancing them easily as he returned to the table.
She’d leaned back in the oversized chair, head resting against the side wing. In contrast to her dark hair, her skin was pale, and she must have had a headache the size of California. But he wasn’t about to let this chance slip away. For the past four years he’d been biding his time. He recognized an opportunity when he saw one, and this was it—Natasha Bellingham was going to be his. Enough of her running, and if he had to take advantage of the moment, so be it.
Her nose twitched when he placed the cup in front of her and he laughed. “I don’t understand how you think you’re going to survive without coffee. You’re pretty near addicted to the stuff.”
She narrowed her eyes, the dark brown irises locking on him. “That’s the second time you mentioned that, about me giving up coffee. How do you know what I’ve got planned?”
“You told me.” He gave her a serious nod, keeping all traces of amusement hidden. “Last night, when I helped you up to your apartment.”
“You helped me…” Her eyes clouded over for a moment. She shook her head, then cringed. She sucked back more of her coffee and he let his smile escape.
“There were a number of interesting revelations last night. How you weren’t embarrassed about having a good time with your friends because it was your last time drinking for as long as it takes. And then there’s the coffee you’re giving up—as well as any kind of tea but herbal.”
Two red circles appeared on her cheeks and she stuttered. One deep breath later, Max watched in amazement as she turned calm and cool before him, the embarrassed, hungover woman vanishing beneath a perfectly in-control persona.
“Well, it appears you’ve found out about my new health régime. Part of getting older. Time to take care of the body a little better.”
Damn, she was good. If he didn’t know her so well, he would have fallen for the cool, collected and put-together routine she displayed.
She leaned forward and stared at him intently. “Was there something specific you wanted? The message on my answering machine mentioned a business proposal.”
He tipped back a hit of his coffee, trying to waste a few minutes. Fortunately, last night the calm woman before him had been far more hot-blooded and emotional. He wouldn’t hold it over her head, but he would capitalize on what she’d let slip.
As he waited for her breathing to fall back into a steady pattern, he pulled out the file folder he’d prepared after tucking her into bed last night—and he wasn’t about to tell her that part either. Not yet. Even though the memory of her soft skin made him instantly aching and hard, he had forced himself to not take advantage of the opportunity.
It had nearly killed him to slip her under her quilt and not crawl in with her. Especially after listening to her confess what she wanted, what he was more than willing to provide. If he hadn’t been raised to be a gentleman, it would have made life so much easier. Giving in and fucking her while she was drunk was no way to start a lasting relationship.
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Head out for a few other Birthday adventures:
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