Wow! Fair warning, my friends.. If you pick up this delicious book, be prepared to steam up the room! Rebecca J. Clark is another new-to-me author and ohhhhmygawdss.. This gal knows how to write steamy!
Ms. Clark introduces us to John, gym owner & a gorgeous, successful hunk of a man who is still trying to make amends for a horrifying accident he was involved in, many years ago.. He seeks out Samantha, who was involved in the accident all those years ago, and finds out she is positively gorgeous & successful herself, & he can't help but want to get a little closer to her, to make sure she holds no ill will or resentment from her part in the accident.. From the first moment, sparks fly between these two! Well, the sparks coming off of Sam's tongue, that is.. She isn't about to let a twice-divorced playboy come into her life & try to use her heart so she isn't all that willing to date John, but after some girl-talk & thinking on it, she decided to go through with it.. And wow.. Good choice, for sure! However, will she feel the same if she finds out that John was one of the people who was involved in that long ago accident that left her with a broken back? Or will she throw him out of her life for good? Besides the obviously hot sex scenes in this book, Ms. Clark adds in a great secondary story about John's own fears of commitment & having children & the life of the inner city-kids that he works with through a club sponsored by his gym..
A truly engrossing & oh-so-steamy novel that asks the age old question.. Can you forgive & forget or will the past haunt you forever??.... This is a definite must read for any lovers of contemporary romance.. Steamy, dramatic & intense, this is a novel you won't soon forget! Run out & pick it up today! Ms. Clark is a wonderfully eloquent & graceful author & she knows how to tell one amazing love story..
4.5 Platinum Rings!
Happily single, Samantha feels there are only two types of men in this world: those who are good for nothing and those who are good for one thing. Now she needs that one thing desperately, because she wants a baby. John, a man from her past, is the perfect donor. He doesn't want children. He doesn't want a wife. He just wants her body. She can deal with that.
John agrees to Samantha's no-strings-attached proposal, never expecting to fall for the fiery beauty he'd wronged so many years ago. It'll take more than a shameless proposal to overcome their tragic past, but with a little luck and forgiveness, anything is possible.
John deleted the last three paragraphs he’d just spent twenty minutes on. Writing a grant for the youth center wasn’t nearly as tough as keeping Samantha Rossi off his mind. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so physically attracted to a woman. Every facet of her looks was ingrained on his memory, from her luxurious hair to her luscious lips to her curvaceous figure.
That wasn’t good.
He didn’t need to be attracted to Sammy Jo. Okay, so he couldn’t help himself. He just needed to be damn sure he didn’t act on that attraction. Of course, with her negative reaction toward him at the Extravaganza, he doubted he’d get the opportunity. He was surprised she hadn’t jumped at the chance to get out of the date.
He’d met countless beautiful women in his time, but none had had this effect on him. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. That had never happened to him before, and he wasn’t sure he liked the sensation.
Chalking it up to relief over how well she had turned out after having spent years wondering about her, he glanced at his watch. He still had a few minutes before he had to leave to meet her at the corner Cavanaugh’s, as she’d refused to let him pick her up at home.
He was punching out some numbers on the keypad when he heard clicking heels in the hallway outside his office, then a knock on the door. Assuming it was Margo, his assistant, he called out, “Come in.”
The door opened and Sam Rossi stepped onto the plush beige carpet. He took one look at her and said, “Good God.”
He knew it was rude, but he had to stare, needed to let his eyes drink in every bit of her, starting with the black stilettos. His gaze traveled up her shapely legs. The skirt of her dress was just long enough to be considered legal, he was sure. And the dress itself — whew! Blood jetted into strategic parts of his anatomy. It was a shimmer of clinging silver following her every curve. The sleeves were long and fitted and the neckline scooped low enough to tempt him without revealing too much. Her glorious mane of hair swirled over her shoulders in a sexy jumble of dark waves.
“Good God,” he said again.
She laughed and stepped further into the room. “Is that all you can say?” A velvety black coat was draped over one arm and her hands clutched a sequined purse.
He shook his head and stood, circling the desk to stand of front of her. With those high heels, the top of her head just about reached his eyes.
He’d only have to bend his neck a little to kiss her. Don’t think that!
“What are you doing here?” Checking the time again, he said, “I thought we were meeting at Starbucks.”
“I got into downtown early and took the chance you’d be working late.” She glanced around. “Nice office.”
“Uh, thanks.” At a loss for words and coherent thoughts, he motioned to the burgundy leather couch against the wall opposite his desk. “Have a seat. I just need to, ah, finish something real quick, then we can go.”
Her hips swayed as she went, and his gaze followed the hypnotic movement. She deposited her coat and purse on the sofa’s wide arm, then sank onto the plump cushions. Leaning back, she crossed her legs, one shoe dangling off her toe, the skirt of her dress damned close to revealing heaven. God...
He didn’t know what had prompted this change of attitude in her, and with any woman other than her, he wouldn’t question his good fortune. But the small part of his brain not yet on hormonal overdrive
warned him to watch his step. This was Sammy Jo he was drooling over. Sammy Jo. If she knew who he was, she’d claw out his eyes with those long, red nails. He couldn’t forget that.
Sitting at the computer, he saved his work and closed out of the software program. The comfortable creaking of leather sent his gaze back in Sam’s direction. She had risen from the couch and smoothed
her skirt over her hips.
Smiling, she came around the desk. “Are these your kids?”
She reached over his shoulder for a framed photograph on the shelf. The side of her breast came tantalizingly
close to grazing his jaw.
Searching for his equilibrium, he glanced at the picture. “Uh, no. Those are my brother’s kids. Tori and Harlan.”
“Cute.” She replaced the frame on the shelf beside a miniature dumbbell he used as a bookend. “Do you have kids?” She headed back toward the couch.
“Uh, no. No, I don’t.”
“Mm. Married two times, yet no children.” She sent him a questioning glance over her shoulder.
How did she know about—? Ah, yes. The Extravaganza. His face heated. His marital history wasn’t something he was proud of. At all. “We didn’t want— I mean, I didn’t want— Not every marriage
produces children.” Christ almighty, his speaking abilities with this woman ranked right along with his four-year-old nephew’s. He needed to change the focus from himself. “What about you? Any kids?” Of course he already knew the answer to the question from the P.I.’s report.
She reached behind the couch to open the blinds. Her dress came dangerously close to revealing heaven again, but somehow it remained in place. “No. Do all these windows look out on the club?”
“Yes. It lets me keep an eye on things.”
She peered out the window overlooking the Olympic-quality weight room. “Do you like kids?”
“Other people’s kids.”
“You don’t want any of your own?”
“No.” Wait a minute. John narrowed his eyes. He’d been around women before who were on the prowl for a husband. He hadn’t pegged Sam Rossi as the marriage-minded type, but this conversation sure sounded suspect. Was that her agenda? God, he hoped not. “Okay, Samantha. Why all the questions? What gives?”
Her sudden laughter surprised him as she turned away from the window. “Relax, big guy,” she said, coming over to perch on the edge of his desk, giving him a nice view of her thigh. “I’m not looking to be the third Mrs. John Everest, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
He breathed an inward sigh of relief. “Marriage and kids aren’t in the cards for you?”
She stood and put her hands on her hips. “Do I look like the marrying kind?”
Most definitely not, he mused, raising his eyebrows.
No, Samantha Rossi wasn’t the wifely type. She was more the type he’d like to—
“So, don’t worry,” she said, interrupting his inappropriate thoughts. “I’m not looking for a husband.”
He flicked off the computer and circled the desk. “What are you looking for?”
One perfectly arched eyebrow lifted. “Sex......”
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