One Long Hot Summer Read online

  One Long Hot Summer

  3 sensual novellas

  One Long Hot Summer

  by Elizabeth Coldwell

  Just Another Lady

  by Penelope Friday

  Safe Haven

  by Shanna Germain

  One Long Hot Summer – Elizabeth Coldwell

  Lily’s looking after her friend, Amanda’s, home on the Dorset coast, hoping it will ease her writer’s block and help her get over her ex, Alex. What she doesn’t expect is that Amanda’s 21-year-old son Ryan will arrive at the house, planning to spend the summer surfing and partying – or that he’ll have grown up quite so nicely. Ryan’s as attracted to her as she is to him – but surely acting on her feelings for a man 14 years her junior is inappropriate? And when Alex makes a sudden reappearance in her life, wanting to get back together, should she follow her head or her heart? How can she resolve this case of summer madness?

  Just Another Lady – Penelope Friday

  Regency lady Elinor has fallen on hard times. The death of her father and the entail of their house put Elinor and her mother in difficulty; and her mother’s illness has brought doctor’s bills that they cannot pay. Lucius Crozier was Elinor’s childhood friend and adversary; and there has always been a spark of attraction between the pair. Now renowned as a womaniser, he offers a marriage of convenience (for him!) in return for the payment of Elinor’s mother’s medical bills. Reluctantly, she agrees. But Lucius has made enemies of other gentlemen of the upper echelon by playing fast and loose with their mistresses, and one man is determined to take his revenge through Lucius’s new wife ...

  Safe Haven – Shanna Germain

  Kallie Peters has finally made her dream come true – she’s turned the family farm into Safe Haven, an animal sanctuary. But financial woes are pressing in on her, and she’s worried that the only way to keep the farm is to allow her rich ex-boyfriend back into her life. When a sexy stranger shows up in her driveway with a wiggling puppy in his arms, she knows it’s her chance for a hot rendezvous before she gives up her freedom.

  The sex is hot, wild and passionate – the perfect interim before returning to the pressures of real life – but something else is happening between them. Can they find a way to save their dreams, their passions and their hearts, or will they have to say goodbye to all they’ve come to love?

  Published by Xcite Books Ltd – 2012

  ISBN 9781908262073

  One Long Hot Summer

  Copyright © Elizabeth Coldwell 2012

  Just Another Lady

  Copyright © Penelope Friday 2012

  Safe Haven

  Copyright © Shanna Germain 2012

  The rights of Elizabeth Coldwell, Penelope Friday and Shanna Germain to be identified as the authors of this work have been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  The stories contained within this book are works of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the authors’ imaginations and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY

  Cover design by Madamadari

  Contents

  One Long Hot Summer

  Just Another Lady

  Safe Haven

  www.xcitebooks.com

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  One Long Hot Summer

  by Elizabeth Coldwell

  Chapter One – Blocked

  HE KISSED ME FOR the first time in the shadow of the old pier, pushed up against one of the weathered wooden pilings. It seemed as though I’d been waiting forever to feel those soft, full lips of his pressing against my own, my body melting into the sweetness of his kiss. Above us, we could hear footsteps as people passed along the boardwalk, wrapped up against the early evening chill, oblivious to the way our passionate embrace was heating up the night.

  His cock pushed at my belly, making its presence felt even through the layers of clothing separating us. I’d glimpsed his bulge earlier, straining against the crotch of his faded jeans, and I knew he was going to be big. I could hardly wait till I had that thick, delicious length in my hand, but something held me back from reaching to unzip him. That seemed far too brazen an act, even though we could no longer pretend we didn’t want each other. Our desire had been on a slow burn since the day we met, and we both knew all it would take was another touch, another kiss to set it blazing out of control.

  What he did next took my breath away. He –

  ‘What?’ I almost pounded the keyboard in frustration. ‘What did he do?’

  Staring at that last paragraph till the words threatened to blur into one didn’t help. I’d been struggling with this chapter for weeks now, bereft of inspiration. This was the pivotal scene in the whole novel, the moment when my hero and heroine finally gave in to their overwhelming need and desire for one another. When I’d sketched out the initial storyline, I’d always had it in mind that they’d consummate their passion on the beach, beneath the old pier he’d first arrived in this sleepy seaside town to demolish. She’d fought against his grand scheme to redevelop the area, desperate to make him see he’d be destroying a vital part of the town’s history and heritage, and in winning him round to her way of thinking she’d also won his heart. My editor loved the idea, and waited impatiently for me to deliver the completed manuscript. But for the first time in my writing career, I found myself blocked. The words wouldn’t come, and when they did, they felt trite and predictable, a pale echo of everything I’d written before.

  A change of scenery had been intended to cure the problem, taking me away from what I believed had caused it in the first place, but here I was, still no closer to finishing the novel. Giving up for the afternoon, I went down to Amanda’s lavishly appointed kitchen to make myself yet another cup of coffee.

  Waiting for the kettle to boil, I let my mind drift back to the conversation that brought me here in the first place.

  The phone distracted me from reading and re-reading the draft of Seafront Attraction, wondering how to recapture the spark that invigorated the early chapters. If the words had been flowing, my fingers skittering over the keyboard and my concentration solely on the behaviour of my characters, I’d have let it ring. But answering it gave me the perfect excuse to step out of the box room I used as my study for a while, have a coffee, put on a load of washing, set the freezer defrosting – anything rather than return to my writing. In my current mood, I’d have been happy to chat to someone cold-calling in the hope of selling me a conservatory.

  Rather than a salesman’s dull spiel, Amanda’s gushing tones greeted me. ‘Lily. I do hope I haven’t dragged you away from your writing?’

  ‘No, not at all. I’d – er – come to a natural break in the story,’ I replied, delighted to hear my best friend’s voice. Amanda loved to gossip, and I prepared to settle in for a long conversation, pushing all thoughts of my overdue novel to the back of my mind. Her next words dashed those hopes.

  ‘I haven’t really got time to chat, darling. I found out this morning Roberto Almandi wants to show my work.’ Without even giving me pause to ask who Almandi was, she continued, ‘He only owns the hippest gallery on Manhattan�
��s Lower East Side. You should see his client list. Woody Allen, Mickey Rourke. Madonna …’ No wonder she sounded so excited. As long as I’d known Amanda, she’d had ambitions of making it as an artist; instead, she’d found herself working in the press department of my publishers, Miller and Moore, which was how we’d first met. With the money she’d received in her divorce settlement from her husband, Duncan, she’d been able to devote herself to her painting at long last. Two years on, her work was being regularly exhibited; first at a gallery close to her Dorset home, then in London and now, it appeared, in downtown New York.

  ‘Amanda, that’s fantastic news.’ Genuinely thrilled for her good fortune, I asked, ‘When’s the opening?’

  ‘Eight days’ time. Darling, I’m in such a hideous rush you wouldn’t believe it. I’ve got to arrange transportation of the canvases, find a nice little pied-à-terre in which to stay while I’m over there …’

  ‘Oh, so you’re going to be in the States for a while?’ I’d assumed Amanda would attend the show’s opening, give a couple of interviews, max out her credit cards in a Fifth Avenue shopping spree and return home. I should have known better.

  ‘Lily, when will I get a better chance to spend some time in New York? Just think, opera at the Met, cocktails at the Algonquin, all those eligible men …’ Before she could get swept away in the full Sex and the City fantasy, she seemed to remember this was only supposed to be a quick phone call. ‘Anyway, I’m looking at spending eight weeks there, maybe longer if I decide to take a trip to see New England in the fall. And I need someone to look after the house while I’m away.’

  Amanda owned a beautiful beachside home a few miles outside Weymouth, on a stretch of what had become known as the Jurassic Coast. I’d been a frequent weekend visitor in the years we’d known each other, and I loved the place, with its secluded location and undisturbed view out over the English Channel.

  ‘Won’t Ryan be coming home for the summer?’ Amanda’s son, Ryan, was at university in the Midlands. She never failed to complain how he treated the house as his personal crash pad in the long vacation, arriving home with his washing and disrupting her peace by playing rock music in his bedroom at top volume.

  ‘Not this year, darling. Ryan’s informed me he has plans. He and a couple of friends are off backpacking round Thailand, apparently, while they wait for the results of their finals. Anything to put off getting a job just that little bit longer.’

  I couldn’t say anything, given that I’d become a world-class procrastinator over the last few weeks. ‘So what will you do? Rent the house out?’

  ‘Actually, Lily, I was wondering whether you’d come down and look after it for me. I’d much rather have you here than a load of strangers running around, drinking all my gin and prying in my knicker drawer. And, just as importantly, it saves me having to put Dexter in kennels.’

  Amanda’s eight-year-old German Shepherd crossbreed, Dexter, was another of the house’s unique attractions. The dog had such a sweet, trusting temperament he was a pleasure to be around, and Amanda and I had taken him for many a long walk along the beach, throwing sticks for him to retrieve. I could see why she didn’t like the idea of uprooting him from his home for such a long period of time.

  I hadn’t expected to be asked to house-sit, but the more I thought about it, the more the idea made sense. Everything in this flat still reminded me of Alex, even though we’d split up over six months ago now. The lease was up at the end of next month, and I’d been wondering whether or not to renew it, prone to nagging doubts that staying here, with all the memories of the times we’d shared together – good and bad – was contributing to my writer’s block. How could my work move on if I couldn’t? Amanda was offering me the perfect excuse to cut the ties that appeared to be holding me back, maybe even get out of London for good.

  ‘I’d love to,’ I told her.

  ‘Wonderful, so it’s sorted, then. Thanks, Lily. You’ve really got me out of a fix.’

  Lying in bed that night, I couldn’t help wondering whether I’d agreed to Amanda’s surprising proposal too hastily. Cautious by nature, I liked to weigh up any potential situation, making a list of all the points for and against before I came to a decision. I’d done that when I hadn’t been sure whether I was doing the right thing by giving up my job to write full time, and though Alex had never known, I’d done the same thing before moving in with him. How very different would my life be if, in both those cases, the column of cons had stretched further down the list than the pros?

  Without meaning to, I found myself thinking back to the day Alex and I had moved into this flat, six years ago. One of the reasons I’d had on the list in favour of taking the plunge was that I’d been almost 30 at the time, that significant birthday looming like a milestone on the road ahead, impossible to ignore. Time to grow up, I’d told myself. Time to take some responsibility for my life. Another, far more important reason was that I couldn’t bear to spend any more time apart from Alex than I had to.

  His handsome, familiar face swam into my mind, crowned by unruly dark hair that fell into his soft hazel eyes, and with a slight dusting of stubble on his pointed chin. Impulsive and spontaneous, he’d been the one who’d suggested we take our relationship to the next level by finding a place together. When I’d agreed, he’d literally swept me off my feet in a huge hug, covering my face with kisses.

  Almost without meaning to, I pushed back the bedcovers as the memory grew stronger, slipping a hand down to raise the hem of my nightdress up around my waist. Now I saw us on the day we’d moved in. We’d searched long and hard before finding what we considered the perfect home, a sunny garden flat close to Hampstead Heath. Newly refurbished, it boasted a brand-new, king-sized bed, and we hadn’t been able to resist christening it before we’d even unpacked our possessions.

  Alex carried me into the bedroom, placing me down on the bed. Only a couple of inches taller than me, he was deceptively strong, holding me in his arms as though I weighed nothing. ‘Can’t wait to make love to you,’ he’d murmured. ‘No distractions, no annoying flatmates. Just you and me, able to do whatever we want …’

  He tugged my top off over my head, following up by flicking open the front catch of my bra, too excited to make any attempt at a long, slow seduction. Catching his mood, I fumbled for his belt, eager to take down his jeans and get my hands on the erection already pushing hard at the taut denim. Rolling over and over on the bed, each taking it in turn to have the upper hand, we quickly stripped each other down to nothing. Alex’s cock, long and straight, almost begged to be clasped in my hand. Mouths locked together, Alex’s fingers rolling my nipples into jutting peaks, we lost ourselves in our blind need to fuck and be fucked. Teasing Alex with steady pumps of my fist along his straining length, I brought him to the point where he begged to be inside me. Biting his lip, he almost whimpered as my thumb circled his cockhead, smearing the juice forming there over and around the hot, rubbery flesh.

  ‘Oh God, Lily. I want you so much,’ he groaned into my shoulder. ‘Condom … in my wallet …’

  Between the two of us, we fumbled his wallet out of his jeans pocket, the simple task of opening it and retrieving the condom made difficult by our both being so keyed up. My pussy was soaking, swollen and more than ready to take Alex’s cock. If he’d pushed a finger into my entrance, I knew it would have slipped up there with almost shameful ease.

  With Alex safely sheathed at last, we moved into our favourite position, me on top of him, straddling his firm thighs. He loved me to ride him like this, my pussy shifting up and down his length while he gripped my breasts or strummed my clit. We could gaze into each other’s eyes, feeling the erotic charge of being so intimately connected, his flesh buried in mine. This chilly November afternoon, that charge was overwhelming. It made me move with an urgency I hadn’t known I possessed, driving both of us to a swift, surging climax. Inner muscles clamping hard around Alex’s shaft, I dragged his orgasm from him, hearing him cry out in passi
on, the words incoherent but the meaning clear. The play of emotions across his face as he pulled me into an embrace let me know just how good the sex had been. And, I was sure, it would only get better.

  Reliving those bittersweet memories, my finger traced figures of eight over my clit, slicking my juices across the tight bud and bringing me to the point of orgasm in moments. Unable to stop myself, I rubbed harder, slipping the middle finger of my other hand up inside myself in the moment just before my climax hit.

  When the last of the spasms died away, I realised there were tears in my eyes. Blinking them away, I vowed not to spend any more time thinking about what I’d shared with Alex. He’d put an end to all that the day he’d come home from work and told me he was moving out. Stunned, I’d begged for an explanation, but he couldn’t produce one that satisfied me. There was no one else, he assured me repeatedly. In a way, I’d have found his decision easier to cope with if he’d admitted to having an affair. At least then I’d have a focus for all my negative emotions. Instead, he said that, as far as he was concerned, what there’d been between us had simply run its course, and by leaving now, rather than letting things drag on, he’d spare me the pain of reaching the same realisation myself. That evening, he gathered together all his possessions, called a cab and went to stay at a friend’s house. He hadn’t been back to the flat since.

  Alex had made the break; now it was my turn. By moving into Amanda’s home for the summer, I could finally put our relationship in the past. In new surroundings, with a positive new outlook, I’d be able to finish Seafront Attraction and deliver it to my editor.

  At least, that had been the plan. Standing in Amanda’s kitchen, wondering if there were any biscuits left in the tin or whether I’d have to top up my supplies at the village shop tomorrow, I couldn’t help wondering where things had gone wrong. I still couldn’t finish the damn novel. Maybe I never would, though the consequences of that didn’t bear thinking about. Something had to change for the better; I simply didn’t know how to make it happen.