Bosom Buddies Episode One

Sabrina

Everything in life is a tradeoff.

At least, that’s the way I look at things. Take today, for instance. Here I was at the end of a twenty-four-hour shift at the hospital, and by all rights, I should have been heading back to my condo to collapse into bed for a solid eight hours of desperately needed sleep. But instead, I’d turned left out of the hospital parking lot and aimed my car toward the small town of Burton, located about forty-five minutes due west of Savannah.

I wasn’t driving all the way into town today, even though I was tempted to pop into my friend Celeste’s adorable lingerie shop and shoot the breeze with her. No, my destination was about ten miles outside of Burton: I was driving to a picturesque little piece of property that boasted a small lake, two acres of wooded land, and over a hundred years of fascinating history.

Oh, and it also included a rambling old mansion that hadn’t been occupied for several decades. Seeing the beauty it could become hadn’t been easy, but I had a discerning eye for spotting potential, and this house had it in spades. I’d fallen head over heels for the place and made a rare impulsive decision. I’d forsaken the search for a cookie-cutter suburban starter home and committed to another year or two in my soulless Savannah condo in order to fund the rehab of my dream home.

Last month, the work on the bones of the house—the structural support, electricity and plumbing—had all been finished. This week, the company I’d hired to handle the historical rehab was supposed to begin working its magic, and I couldn’t wait another moment to see what they’d done so far.

Hence, the tradeoff. I was giving up sleep in exchange for a quick walk-through of my dream home.

It was late afternoon, so I wasn’t completely surprised to see that there weren’t any trucks in the winding driveway that led to the house. Was I a tiny bit disappointed? Sure. I wanted to think that the people I’d hired were giving my precious project all of their time and energy and attention, but the truth was that they probably had other jobs going on at the same time.

Anyway, being alone would give me a chance to really soak it all in without anyone there to rush me along or ask pesky questions. There you go—yet another tradeoff.

I let myself in through the front door only because I wanted the full effect of stepping into the magnificent foyer. I wasn’t disappointed. The walls were freshly painted in an updated shade of their original color, and the woodwork we’d selected for this space was already up, and even though it hadn’t been finished yet, I could already see how gorgeous it was going to be.

“Oh, baby,” I murmured. “You are going to be so beautiful when they’re done. I’d say we’re restoring you to your former glory, but I think it’s going to be even better than that. Kind of like getting a facelift that makes you look like a sexier version of your twenty-year-old self.” I giggled to myself, thinking of all the women who would line up for that kind of surgery.

Kneeling down, I ran my fingers over the baseboards and craned my neck to examine the molding that ran along the top of the walls, seeing in my mind’s eye the old photos one of my contacts at the county historical society had dug up for me, the ones that we’d used to make style and color decisions. It really was like the original, only better.

I was about to stand up again and make my way toward the kitchen when I heard footsteps upstairs. That was disturbing; if the crew had left for the day, no one should have been here. But there they were again: yeah, someone was definitely upstairs, and whoever it might be wasn’t making any effort to disguise his or her presence.

My mind raced through a number of possibilities, landing on the worst one first. I’d heard that sometimes vagrants or addicts or criminals scoped out empty houses and camped out there when they were fairly sure no one else was around. My place was pretty far off the beaten track, but still . . . if someone happened upon it, they might not like the idea of being chased away, and if they felt cornered or had a weapon, I could be in trouble.

I moved slowly, reaching into my purse and groping blindly. Like most women, I’d learned young the defense method of threading keys through my fingers, and if I could find them now, I might be able to buy myself time to get to my car. I thanked my past self for feeling safe enough out here that I’d left it unlocked. The door was just a few feet away, and if I could get to it silently—

And then the footsteps sounded again—this time louder and coming closer. My heart pounded, and sweat broke out all over my body. I tried to swallow, but my throat was bone dry. I took a deep breath and was about to make a run for the door when I heard a deep voice.

“Sabrina?”

I looked up, lifting my eyes to the banister on the second floor where a man was staring down at me. I blinked, my mind darting this way and that as I tried to make sense of the stranger above me who knew my name.

It wasn’t Linc Turner, the co-owner of Kent and Turner, the historical restoration company I’d hired. I’d have guessed it was one of the men who worked for him, but I hadn’t met any of them. It might have been someone local to Burton—someone I’d met with Celeste or maybe through Young Survival Coalition, the breast cancer support network and organization where we both volunteered. But it wasn’t. Somehow, I knew I hadn’t seen this face in a long time.

But I didn’t know him. The familiarity was frustratingly fleeting and vague. I frowned, rising slowly as the guy who seemed to know me jogged down the steps. My keys were still in my hand, so if he turned out to be psychopath who somehow happened to know my name.

“I didn’t put it together . . . I mean, Hudson is a common name, right? But then I heard your car in the driveway, and when I looked out the window to see who was here, I knew it was you.” He took a step toward me.

I moved backward. “I’m sorry. I don’t . . .” My voice trailed off. “How do you know me?”

He was quiet for a moment, and then a half-smile curled his lips. My heart sped up again, but this time it wasn’t fear making my pulse race. It seemed that my body had realized who he was, but my head was slow to catch up.

And then he spoke, his voice low and husky.

“Brina girl.”

Just like that, it all came flooding back to me, and I knew without a shadow of doubt who was standing in front of me.

“Wesley?”

***************************

Who is Wesley?

And how does he know Sabrina?

Read next week and find out!

Meanwhile, catch up on all of the steamy romance happening in Burton right here!

The First One is only 99 cents today!

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THE LOVE SONG GIRL is LIVE!

Welcome to Burton, Georgia, a small town just west of Savannah. In this farm community, the women are sassy, the men are sexy and happily-ever-afters are a specialty of the house. 

Who doesn’t love a love song? Especially a love song that’s crooned by Hunter Jaymes, the hottest new star in country music?

Tori Westin doesn’t have time for love songs. Now that she’s finally moved off her parents’ farm and ditched her cheating, lying boyfriend, she’s ready to start life on her own terms. Those terms definitely do not include falling in love with the sexy and irresistible Hunter. Yes, he’s the kind of guy who makes her laugh, takes her breath away with a single touch and tempts her to imagine what could be . . . but he’s also not planning to stick around Burton.

When Hunter looks at Tori, he sees the possibility of forever. The road is his life, and she feels like the home he craves. Convincing Tori to give love a chance will take more than a romantic ballad, but Hunter knows they belong together.

Now he just has to convince her.

Buy It Now!

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Enjoy a little sneak peek from THE LOVE SONG GIRL:

I trailed him up the wide staircase, our footsteps muffled by soft carpet. At the top, Hunter paused, his fingers fidgeting with the strap of the bag he carried.
“So . . . I have a housekeeper.” He said it as though it were confession of sin, and I couldn’t help giggling.

“That’s okay, Hunter. It’s perfectly acceptable for you to have someone helping you here. Hell, if I could afford one, I’d have one, too. I promise, I don’t think any less of you. No judgement here.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I mean, smartass. What I was going to say, if you’d let me finish, is that I asked my housekeeper—her name is Betsy, and she’s great—I asked Betsy to get one of the guest rooms ready for you. You know, change the sheets, vacuum, whatever might be involved with that.”

I nodded. “All right.”

“But the thing is, if I’m being honest like I promised, I don’t want you to stay in that guest room. I want you to stay in my room. Sleep in my bed, even if all we do there is sleep. I don’t want to be that far away from you when you’re only here for three days. If that makes you uncomfortable, I understand. We didn’t discuss expectations for your visit here, not the way we did when we were in Burton.”

I smirked. “You mean when I was crystal clear about no sex over those two weeks?”

“Yeah, exactly that.” He regarded me steadily. “I didn’t ask the question, because I was afraid to hear an answer I didn’t want to hear. But I should be more like you, I guess. I should have asked.”

I dropped my purse onto the floor, where it fell with a thud onto the polished hardwood of the hallway, and I took a step toward Hunter. “Ask me now.”

The tip of his tongue darted out to swipe across his lips. “Tori, will you sleep with me in my bedroom? No.” He shook his head, correcting himself. “What I mean is, will you do more than just sleep with me there—will you let me make love to you in my bed, the way I’ve been fantasizing about doing from the minute I came back home from Georgia?”

I held his gaze. We were both serious now, both intent and focused on the words between us. “Back in Burton, my rule made sense, because we didn’t know each other. We knew more by the time you left. And now, we know even more.” I eased forward. “I still like everything about you, Hunter Jaymes. I flew on that plane all the way here to be with you, not for any other reason. All I’ve been thinking about is being with you. So if you don’t plan to take me into your bedroom, right now, and drive me out of my ever-lovin’ mind the way you did over the phone the other night, I might just burn up from the inside out. And it’d be a shame to leave a scorch mark here on your lovely wood floor.”

Read ALL the Love in a Small Town books here! 

 

Tawdra Kandle writes romance, in just about all its forms. She loves unlikely pairings, strong women, sexy guys, hot love scenes and just enough conflict to make it interesting. Her books include young adult and new adult paranormal romance, new adult and adult contemporary romance and adult paramystery romance. She lives in central Florida with a husband, kids, sweet pup and too many cats.

And yeah, she rocks purple hair.

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