Paige Holmes hides herself in a masculine world in a desperate attempt to remain safe.
Just as she is ready to face her fears and her past, she finds herself torn between Matt Jackson and Vance Ellery: handsome, rich, and safe – or handsome, rich, and dangerous?
Which will she choose?
The one who appears to be the most perfect, or the one who makes her use all Seven Dirty Words?
I died for a short while the first time we met. There was no fluttering in my chest, no somersault of my stomach, no burning in my loins; my heart literally stopped. He was tall, at least six foot four, and dressed in a pair of worn indigo jeans that perfectly matched his intense stare. A silk black shirt covered what I imagined to be a ripple of hard muscle, and opened at the top, showing a dusting of tight dark curls. His thick neck led towards a razor-sharp, square jaw line, a straight nose that had clearly never seen the ill-effects of rough play, and deep hooded eyes. Hair that could have been straight had been styled with a slight wave. I was sure it was dark brown, but it could have easily been black, and had shots of silver-grey streaking through it.
My face was lined with his toes, or more precisely, his pristinely polished black patent Chukka boots. Palms down in the thick mud beneath me, I pushed up and let my eyes glance at the man in front of me. He looked none-to-pleased to see his clothes spattered with flecks of dirt from where I had landed and splashed him.
I struggled to get to my feet as my own boots dug into the ground, slipping against the wet grass. Eventually I found my knees and leant back, looking up at him. I forced a grin on my mud-covered face, but he didn’t return it. Finally able to stand without landing on my backside, I wiped my hands down the sides of my bare thighs.
His glare speared through the apology that I tried to splutter, words failing to come from my vocal chords. In the distance I heard someone call my name. Looking over my shoulder I could see my teammates beckoning me to re-join the group. “Sorry,” the word leapt forward.
A dark eyebrow flicked upwards. “Are you going to pay for that?” he asked, snapping each word as though he was talking to some insolent child.
“It’s a muddy field, you’re watching a rugby match,” I countered, my eyes narrowing. “Try stepping away from the lines.”
“You’ve got a mouth on you.” A smile twitched at the corners of his lips. I’ve got a mouth on me? What the hell was that supposed to mean? I was about to make some loud comment about him being arrogant and conceited, but the captain of the team had already reached my heel.
“You coming?” Lou tugged on my elbow, throwing a smile towards the man who loomed over me.
“Yeah,” I said racing back into the game.
“Who’s your friend?” Lou asked, nodding towards Tall, Dark, and Smouldering.
“I haven’t got a clue, but he wasn’t impressed by my skidding halt!” I laughed, tossing her the ball.
British author, Charlotte Howard, was born in Oman and spent much of the first part of her life flitting between Oman, Scotland, and England. Now settled in Somerset, Charlotte lives with her husband, two children, and growing menagerie of pets.
Her career as a writer began at an early age, with a poem being featured in an anthology for the East Midlands. Since then Charlotte has written many short stories and poems, and finally wrote her first full-length piece of fiction in 2010.
During what little spare time she has, Charlotte enjoys reading and writing (of course), spending time with her family, and watching action movies whilst eating curry and drinking tea.
Charlotte is an active member of Yeovil Creative Writers Group.