First encounter

Oooh, yes, the moment you've all been waiting for - The sizziling scene when the hero and heroine meet. Enjoy this scene with a nice glass of red wine. Grab your athsma inhaler, too, because you will be left breathless when you read their first, steamy encounter...

Just as she was about to lift the glass to her lips, a sudden chill caressed her flesh like icy kisses. She giggled as the sensation seeped through her denim and snaked up her thighs. Her giggle turned to a gasp, then a moan as one cool tendril slid across the prickly spikes of her week-old bikini waxing.

What had come over her? She hadn’t even taken a sip and already she was feeling buzzed.

Setting down the beer, she spun around, knowing her answer would somehow be behind her. Her jaw dropped in astonishment.

The most beautiful man she’d ever seen was not there, but when she turned sideways, a somewhat good looking, although pasty white gentleman, was seated in the saddle beside her. He wore retro black polyester pants with a matching button-down shirt, revealing a pasty white, hairless chest. Draped over his polyester was a heavy looking, black tweed coat with an oversized collar. The rather large buttons, and silver buckle dissecting the coat, were left unfastened.

Smella briefly questioned the wisdom of a fashion statement where a man wore many layers of clothing and then didn’t bother to button up.

“I wouldn’t drink that poison if I were you.”

He spoke with a slight accent, reminding Smella of a lonely soul from another place, another time. Or maybe just a British guy trying to sound like he was from nineteenth century Boston.

Smella’s eyes widened. Her gaze shot to the beer, then back to the stranger. “What poison?”

“You can’t pin anything on me!” The bartender hollered while stumbling backward, before falling against a shelf of beer mugs.

Locked in the stranger’s dark gaze, Smella ignored the sound of crashing glass. She was more interested in his perfectly kissable blood red lips and the cold, impenetrable aura that radiated off his stony features.

“Alcohol destroys your kidneys.” The stranger flashed a subdued smile, revealing pearly white, jagged teeth.

“You’re right.” Turning down her lips in disgust, Smella pushed away the offending glass. “Thank you for berating my choice of beverage. Throughout this novel, you may occasionally behave like a total control freak, but I know you are only concerned for my well-being, and because I am a woman, obviously I’m too stupid to act in my own best interest.”

Somewhere in the darkest recesses of her mind, she thought she heard the obese bartender scream, “Help me! I’m bleeding everywhere!” But she refused to let him ruin the romantic tension that she was trying to build with the tall pasty stranger.

Leaning toward him, she playfully batted long lashes while twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

But the stranger didn’t respond to her flirtation. He was too busy pinching his nose and making a gagging sound.

She scooted back. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” He spoke through a wheeze. “I have to go.”

In a flash, he was gone.

Smella was confused, bewildered, frightened, rejected, vulnerable, hurt, self-conscious and irritated.

But never mind her PMS.

She was more concerned about her awkward encounter with the kind stranger.

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