I was inspired at my daughter's music recital this past summer. The students performed first then a professional cellist, Iain Forrest, played last. When he got on the stage with an electric cello, my mind was BLOWN!
First of all, I'd never even seen an electric cello before and I grew up playing musical instruments. Second, he played popular music. I was in love!
Iain was the inspiration for my hero in Waiting for You. He's a classically trained cellist who plays to raise money for charities, and he's studying to be a doctor. Yum!
Check out this excerpt:
The next morning, I was in the kitchen before the sun rose. I was tired from staying up late with Alex, but it was the most fun I’d had in forever.
Since Savannah had Miles, our version of a night out was watching a movie after he went to sleep, or I babysat so she could go on a date. Otherwise, I was tied to the B & B. I didn’t mind. I preferred it to the competitive nature of my old graphic design job.
Rolling out the dough for the cinnamon rolls, I wondered if I’d see Alex this morning. I’d set a plate aside for him in case he slept in and missed breakfast.
When I was putting away the last of the dirty dishes, Alex asked, “Am I too late?”
His voice was deeper than when he was a teen. It rumbled through my chest, making my heart beat faster.
Turning to smile at him, my heart skipped a beat at the sight of his hair slicked back from a recent shower and the smell of soap. He wore a white button-down, rolled up at the forearm, a few buttons undone at his neck. He was sexy.
“It smells delicious.”
I wanted to say, you smell delicious, but that was completely inappropriate. Not only was he a guest, he was an old friend. Not even a friend, the brother of a friend. I shouldn’t be thinking about him washing his naked body with soap or what he’d done in the shower.
My face heated at the image that popped into my head—water beating down on golden skin. Alex touching himself.
“Is there anything left?”
I cleared my throat to cover my dirty thoughts. “I saved you some.”
I’d counted on being surrounded by people in the morning, but we were alone. It felt intimate.
I pulled a plate out of the oven where I’d kept it warm. Uncovering it, the smell of fresh cinnamon and vanilla wafted out.
“Ava Breslin. You’ve outdone yourself.” He snatched a roll, immediately taking a huge bite.
Pride filled me at his reaction, making it difficult to respond.
Finally, I said, “I made my specialty this morning.” For you.
He chewed then swallowed. “This is amazing. I can’t even describe it.” He took another bite. “So good,” he said over his chewing.
He wasn’t just saying that. There was pure enjoyment on his face.
“I’m glad you like it. Want some tea or orange juice?” I asked, remembering he said he didn’t like to drink coffee because it messed with his sleep schedule.
Swallowing, he said, “Orange juice, please.”
I poured him a large glass, placing it in front of him. He’d sat on the same stool as last night. What would it be like to see him every morning and night? We’d talk about our day over pastries. He’d tell me how good everything tasted. We could go to bed together at night.
Why was I thinking about him like this? He’s my best friend’s brother. His family is like my second family. I repeated the words like affirmations in my head, hoping it would sink in.
When it didn’t work, I tried to remember how gross he was as a teen. How we’d tease him for the messy bathroom he’d shared with Savannah. Then we teased him for not taking enough showers and being smelly, for wearing too much cologne when he had a date. Looking back, I felt a little ashamed that we were so relentless. Unfortunately, the fresh, clean smell of soap and pure man permeated the air.
Why does he have to be so sexy and so nice? A musician. A doctor. He was the complete package. One I could never have.
Gesturing at the cinnamon rolls, he said, “You’re living in your genius in the kitchen, Ava. This is what you should be doing.”
I was momentarily stunned by his statement. I was living in my genius? “No one’s ever said it like that before.”
“Well, it’s true.” He said it with so much conviction I believed him.
He took a large bite of the second cinnamon roll leaving a dollop of icing on his lips. Heat pooled in my belly. I swallowed hard, my fingers curling into fists as I tried to resist going to him. His tongue darted out to lick his lips.
Without thinking, I moved around the counter at the same time he shifted on the stool so that I was standing in between his legs.
His gaze searched my face. “Is there something on my face?”
I removed the icing with my thumb, sucking it into my mouth.
His legs tightened around my hips, his eyes darkening with desire.
I couldn’t believe I’d stepped into his space to touch him. My thumb still tingled from the brief contact, the look in his eyes heated me from the inside out.
I should step back. He was a guest. A friend. Not someone I was supposed to be licking icing off of.
Instead, I was mesmerized by the desire I saw in his eyes. I had this overwhelming urge to kiss him, to touch his thighs to see if the muscles were as hard as they seemed, the soft hair on his neck, the prickly stubble on his face. My core clenched with desire.
“Did you get it?” His voice was low and rumbly.
My throat was so dry. “Get what?”
“Did you get all of the icing?”
My gaze flicked from his eyes to his lips. It was an invitation I couldn’t refuse. Resting my hands on his thighs, I went up on tiptoe, kissing the corner of his mouth, then licking the remnants of sweet icing on his lips.
He banded an arm around my waist, hauling me closer until I could feel the hard ridge of his cock on my belly.
Warm everywhere, I felt like a simmering pot of water ready to boil over. My senses were on overdrive from the taste of the icing on his lips, the strength of his hold on me, and the heat I felt through his pants.
I wanted him.
He angled my head, going deeper, plunging his tongue into my mouth. He tasted like the sweetest thing I’d ever eaten.
I wanted to get lost in him, forget whatever it was we were just talking about. He kissed me until the ache in my core was an insistent throb.
I wanted him to slide his hand under my skirt into my panties to part my folds with his fingers, teasing my entrance, then thrust inside. I wanted to get closer, rubbing my nipples against his chest. I wanted nothing between us.
Groaning, he pulled slightly back. His thumb ghosted over my lips.
I wanted to suck his thumb into my mouth. I wanted him to lift me so I was straddling his hips.
I wanted more.
“What was that?”
It was like ice-cold water had been poured down my back. I covered my mouth with my hand, trying to take a step back, but his thighs pressed harder, keeping me imprisoned. It was the best kind of torture, standing this close to him with his taste lingering in my mouth.
I shook my head trying to dislodge the dirty thoughts in my head. “I don’t know.”
He lowered his head until his forehead rested against mine. “I want to do it again.”
I flattened a hand on his chest, feeling his heart galloping under my touch. “Alex. We can’t. You’re Savannah’s brother.”
I hoped her name would put an end to whatever madness came over us.
He lifted his head from mine. “So?”
“So? She’s my best friend. I love your family.” I gestured between us. “Nothing can happen between us.”
He hummed a noncommittal answer, but he relaxed his legs, allowing me to step back. On shaky legs, I quickly put the counter between us again. Grabbing a washcloth, I scrubbed the already pristine counters, searching for an errant crumb, anything to distract me from the hunk of deliciousness sitting at my counter.
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He was in the wrong place at the right time. Now I owe him my life, which he’s hellbent on protecting.
Soon I realize my sexy-as-hell savior Evan Prescott might be an enemy agent, and falling for him will either heal my heart or ruin my career. And if loving him is wrong, I might never be right again.
Billionaires. Bad boys. Bleeding hearts. These outsiders are known as the Bad Boys of Wall Street and every book in the series features glittering Manhattan skyscrapers, swoon-worthy heroes, and a guaranteed HEA.
Wyatt Calloway isn’t a good idea.
I didn’t pick up my life and move to this urban beach city to spend my days swooning over a rich bad boy who rides a motorcycle and seems to know every girl in town. I’m here to get to know the brother I’ve never met. To try and create a family when I’ve gone so long without one. Maybe find a place where I belong. So why can’t I seem to get him off my mind?