One unexpected late night encounter and one titillating kiss detours Cara Riley from reaching Nashville for her last shot at a singing career and lands her in Memphis. Dark, mysterious truck driver Will Brennan oozes sexuality and Cara finds herself drawn to him. He brings her to a higher level of sensual pleasure than she even imagined could be possible. As their relationship explodes into something real, she learns he has more than a few quirks- he sleeps by day and prowls by night.
At his home-a castle-nestled in a wooded area just outside Memphis, she learns just what his sweet love tattoos really mean and must decide if she wants another. Whether or not they find their happy ending is all up to Cara.
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Excerpt:
When I turned around and saw him, leaning up against the concrete wall, one boot propped against the building, he looked dangerous. His black denim jeans fit his muscular, long legs as if they were poured over them and left to harden. His boots were black too, and studded with little silver spikes that caught the artificial lights of the rest stop to reflect back at me like twinkling stars. As I gaped at him, mouth open like a fish taking the bait, he smiled at me, a slow wicked smile that made my skin grow sensitive as if I had a high fever. That smile made little ripples run along my nerve endings and down my spine.
“Hello, there, darlin’.” His voice came out as dark and sweet as molasses.
I gave him a closer look because my Mama taught me never to talk to strangers. His black hair curled tight against his head, not cropped short but not quite long either and there was a lot of it. Above those tight jeans, he wore a black Western shirt with white pearl snap buttons and over it all, a black leather jacket. Between his hair and clothes, he looked all black and white – his face and hands glowed pale, almost translucent – except for his eyes.
Those eyes shimmered blue, not just a light blue like most people have but a rich, dark shade like sapphires or the clearest, azure autumn sky. He looked at me as if he knew me, as if he could read me like a favorite paperback book, and what he saw, he seemed to like.
I found my voice, or really it found its way up out of my throat and into my mouth before I could think about what to say.
“Good morning to you.”
He flicked ash from the cigarillo that he held in his right hand and raised it to his lips. The end of it glowed red like dawn, bright as fire and he exhaled smoke, his eyes never leaving my face. I didn’t even know his name and yet he attracted me, pulled me toward him as the moon draws the tides to shore. Until he spoke, his appeal was physical but his next words captured my heart without a single shot and conquered it. After that, he could own me if he wanted. He knew it, too.
“Speak again, bright angel, for thou art as glorious to this night as is a winged messenger of heaven unto the white, upturned wondering eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him when he sits bestride the lazy-pacing clouds and sails upon the bosom of the air.”
Shakespeare, quoted at a God-forsaken rest area along Interstate 40 somewhere in Arkansas before daybreak, had an immediate effect on my heart. Any man that could quote the Bard without cheating or peeking at a book impressed me and in this unexpected setting, he had me. Romeo’s words, his aside as he watched Juliet dither around up on her balcony, had a heady and intoxicating quality. But I was no Juliet, no thirteen year old virgin pining for love.
I had my big girl pants on so that I could get to Nashville and sing for my supper. I had been before and did nothing but turn around for home, beaten and defeated. This time should be different. I planned it, I saved up money from my nothing job, and I had studio demos. I had contacts in the business and even a room to rent in my best friend Sheena’s grandmother’s duplex. Everything was set for me to make one more run at stardom before I gave up, got married and fat, had three or four kids, and sang karaoke on my nights out on the town.
All my ambitions shifted in that moment and dissolved like a pair of discount store shoes in a flash flood.
I tried to think of something to say, some quote of Juliet’s that might fit, or just something, that would sound sophisticated or at least cool.
What came out of my mouth was, “Who are you?”
He pulled hard at the cigarillo one more time and tossed it. His laughter sounded like church bells ringing or a steel guitar played by someone who knew how to make the thing sing.
“I am either your worst nightmare or your salvation.” That voice purred like a happy cat on a comfortable lap. “My name is Will Brennan and it is a pleasure to meet you.”
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