Today on "Is it love or lust at first sight" we're looking at my new release, IN BETWEEN, which is actually Book One of Dancing Barefoot. It's a sizzler! I originally published portions of this story as a prequel a year ago before the release of Dancing Barefoot, but thanks to popular demand (yes, I listen to you all) I've added new scenes and created a full-length novel out of it. Enjoy!
Artist. Her smile widened at the word.
How long had she waited to claim that title for herself? Back home she was the
dutiful daughter, brilliant graduate student, hard working intern, and loyal
friend who hid her artwork behind closed doors. For too many years she'd been
told how silly it was to paint, that she needed to do something useful with all
of that talent...like architecture. Here she could indulge in her love of both
worlds.
Luca smiled when she just stared at
him in silence. "I mean it, Ms. Moriarty. You will be happy here."
"I already am." She pushed
away from the desk, anxious to unpack, roam the streets for a market, and
settle into her fantasy life a world away from where anyone knew her. Artist.
She tossed the word around in her mind, appreciating the way it made her feel.
"I will help with your
bags." He looked toward the suitcases she'd stacked in the corner of the
room.
"No, no, I have it. I can
manage." She looped them together, already accustomed to dragging them
through airports and down sidewalks to get here.
"As you wish." He shrugged
and settled back into his chair, good humor shining in his dark eyes.
Key in her pocket, she used both hands
to tow the bags from the room. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, blew a
long curl from her eyes, and looked at the narrow passage. Undaunted, she
turned sideways and slowly started her ascent. It wasn't until the second
landing that she regretted her decision not to ask for help. The stairway
trapped all the heat from the building like a sauna. Sweat slid between her
shoulder blades. More hair had come loose from her haphazard ponytail and now
either snaked over her face or plastered against her neck.
At the sounds of male voices below
her, one of them being the landlord's, she sighed. Onward and upward!
Sweaty palms caused her to lose her
grip on the bags behind her. They thudded and rattled before crashing into the
wall and continuing their wild descent. Slam! Curses!
She abandoned the other two on the
step in front of her and ran after the wayward luggage only to stop short at
the sight of the blond man spread out against the stairs covered in camera
cases and her baggage.
"Oh my God, are you okay?"
She rushed to his side, squeezing between the narrow walls to bend over him.
"American. Why am I not
surprised?" He pushed her bag off of his face and twisted onto his side,
her other suitcase somehow trapped between his legs.
When he looked up, all thoughts
evaporated from her mind. Her limited knowledge of Italian...gone. Poof! Hell,
all memory of forming a word disappeared.
Green eyes glared up from beneath dark
blond hair. His face looked like someone she needed to draw or paint
or...touch. Sculpted cheekbones showcased not only the angry glare, but also a
full mouth set in a frown. He looked away and grabbed the straps of the various
camera cases now strewn about her feet.
She looked down and noticed she stood
on one of the straps. His accent wasn't Italian, but she couldn't place it.
When he moved, his t-shirt pulled across his back and showed off the lean
hardness of his shoulders.
Self-conscious of her travel worn and
sweaty self, she looked away, bent to retrieve one of the stray suitcases, tripped
over his forearm, and crashed face-first against his thigh. Pain burned through
her nose. Certain she'd broken her entire face, she whimpered against his leg.
Grabbing his knee to push herself up, she accidentally slammed her foot against
his head. Blood stained his jeans where her face had been.
Damn.
A bloody nose. She
rubbed a hand over her face and winced at the blood staining her fingers.
"You are a disaster," he
said, more amusement than annoyance in his voice. "Do not move. Hold
on."
Again she wondered about the accent
beneath his English. Not British. Not Italian. She flattened her palm against
the wall above his hip and tried not to look at her blood dripping onto his
crotch.
He had propped himself on his elbows
and watched her with a twisted grin. His hair skimmed across his eyes, giving
him a dangerous look when paired with that smile that didn't need any
translation given their positions. "You're bleeding, I hope you did not
break your nose."
"You and me both," she
muttered beneath the hand that pressed against her face while she struggled to
maintain her balance with the other. If she didn't adjust herself, she'd slide
right down his legs into a heap over her bag. Deciding that she needed both of
her hands to get out of this situation, she grabbed his knee with the bloody
hand, and slid her legs along the wall until she was in a less precarious
position.
"Narrow stairway," she said,
feeling like an idiot.
He used his elbows to pull himself up
one more stair, sliding his body out from beneath hers. She couldn't help but
stare at him as he finally stood. The man defined the word 'sexy', long , lean,
and with a presence about him that screamed 'fuck me.' The fact that he smiled
at her like she was the most amusing thing that had happened in his life in
years dampened the appeal.
She tore her gaze away and grabbed her
stray bags, wishing her first meeting with a hot neighbor had gone a lot
better.
"Let me help you." He
grabbed one of the bags from her hands and met her gaze. "Do not argue.
You nearly killed me."
"Killed is a slight exaggeration,
don't you think? Maimed maybe, but not killed."
"I could have broken my
neck." He laughed, not breaking eye contact. "You must be the new
neighbor. I live across the hall from you with my sister, Ava."
Mouth suddenly too dry, she ripped her
gaze from his. "I have two other bags ahead of you. Don't trip."
Oh,
God, did I just say not to trip? She sighed and pretended to adjust her sweaty grip on the bag in
her hand.
"I will try to be careful. Stairs
can be dangerous places. You never know what is coming down on you." That
accent...it would drive her crazy not knowing where he was from.
She couldn't stop staring at his ass
as he walked in front of her. How could she help it? It was right there at
eye-level. That butt in those jeans combined with the long legs...definitely a
view worth soaking up. She glanced at
the blood on her hand and winced. What a mess. He'd called her a disaster and
she wasn't doing much to prove him wrong.
Thud, thud, they progressed up the
steps. He took the other two suitcases in stride, without looking back at her
for permission.
Luca had left the door to her apartment
ajar. The blond man walked ahead of her and dropped her luggage near the bed. He
glanced around before disappearing into the bathroom.
She dropped her bags and went toward
the kitchen sink hoping for something to help with her nose. Nothing. Glasses, plates,
and utensils filled the cupboards but not one washcloth or towel.
"Here. Let me." He gripped
her shoulders and turned her. His shirt was off displaying rippling muscles and
a suede necklace. He'd soaked the t-shirt with cold water, which he now shoved
against her face. All she could do was stare at his chest.
It seemed all he could do was laugh at
her.
"You didn't need to sacrifice
your shirt," she muttered from beneath the material.
"Small sacrifice." He winked
and stepped away, letting her hold the t-shirt.
"Thank you. I'm sorry about losing
control..." her gaze focused on the center of his chest, "of my
luggage, I mean. Of course I mean the bags, I mean...I'm sorry for knocking you
down."
He shrugged in response, as if being
taken out by a pair of flying suitcases was an every day occurrence. Grinning,
he turned his back on her and looked around the apartment. "Nice light in
here. Bigger windows than we have, but we have a balcony. We are two doors
down, across the hall."
He stepped down the two steps into the
sunken living room, hands shoved into the back pockets of his jeans. He moved
like a man who had all the time in the world to do whatever he damn well
pleased.
He looked at her over his shoulder and
smiled a take-me-to-bed-and-let-me-worship-your-body smile complete with
dimples she hadn't noticed until now.
"I am Jacques Sinclair," he
said.
"I'm Jessica Moriarty."
"Where are you from, Jessica
Moriarty?"
"Boston." The word tore from
her throat like sandpaper grating against dry wood. She looked at the balled up t-shirt held
against her face and sighed.
He paused a few inches in front of her
and let his gaze slide over her face before roaming down her body. "It is
good to meet you, Jessica Moriarty. Do you need anything else?"
"No, I'm fine."
"Of course you are. You are Ms.
Independent-Do-Not-Help-Me, yes?"
She winced at the amusement in his
eyes and the memory of falling face first into his lap. Warmth flooded her
face.
She gulped when he stepped around her
and walked into the hall. She didn't move until she heard the door close behind
him.
Muttering about her lack of grace, she
walked to the bathroom to check out the damage and stopped at one look at her
reflection. Black curls stuck to her sweaty face and neck, mascara had melted
to create shadows beneath her eyes, and blood stained the front of her blue
blouse. She tossed his white t-shirt into the sink, again noticing the lack of
towels, and added more cold water to it before pressing it again to her face.
The shirt still smelled like him
despite the water and blood. Smiling beneath the material, she sank onto the
toilet and thought about his naked chest.
Bella
Italia. Definitely.
Currently available exclusively on Kindle
Paperback available here: https://www.createspace.com/5043538
Amazon US: http://goo.gl/dpq1aH
UniversalAmazon:
http://smarturl.it/IBDB
Blurb:
In between responsibilities and dreams…
Jessica Moriarty has always played by the rules: dutiful daughter, outstanding student, productive employee, and loyal friend. But in between graduate school and her 'real life,' she's indulging in her dream of being an artist and abandoning inhibitions while living in Florence, Italy. When she meets sexy photographer, Jacques Sinclair, every fantasy she's had is surpassed by reality. He sweeps her into a romance that pushes her to question what she really wants out of life and tests her resolve to risk it all on love.
But Jacques is wanderer who prides himself on being a citizen of the world while Jessica has responsibilities pulling her back to the States. Will the crush of real life undermine the love they've discovered in between…?
Jessica Moriarty has always played by the rules: dutiful daughter, outstanding student, productive employee, and loyal friend. But in between graduate school and her 'real life,' she's indulging in her dream of being an artist and abandoning inhibitions while living in Florence, Italy. When she meets sexy photographer, Jacques Sinclair, every fantasy she's had is surpassed by reality. He sweeps her into a romance that pushes her to question what she really wants out of life and tests her resolve to risk it all on love.
But Jacques is wanderer who prides himself on being a citizen of the world while Jessica has responsibilities pulling her back to the States. Will the crush of real life undermine the love they've discovered in between…?
Want it on Nook? Message me on my FB page for details on when you'll be able to get it.
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