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January 26 - February 2, 2021
I exit my apartment and walk next door. My knuckles vibrate with how hard I knock. In fact, my fist is still moving as the door opens, and I’m greeted by the devilishly handsome smile of the man who lives next door. Jake Moreau. “Hey, Lacey. Want to come in for a drink?” His grin is panty-melting for sure. I’ve lived next door to him for a while, and his attractiveness hasn’t gone unnoticed. Lean yet muscular build, swoonworthy eyes the color of chocolate, and the perfect angle of his jaw, which is rugged and pretty, all at the same time.
He shrugs. “I believe in love at first sight and kisses that make your heart pound. And trust me when I say, I wouldn’t blush at a sex scene.” The way his eyes smolder as he says the word sex sends a shiver through my body. I need to bottle his baritone and re-create it in a love scene.
Standing at the kitchen counter, I watch as he strolls around. My apartment is a decent size—one bedroom, full bath, kitchen, and living room/dining room combo—but add in the six-foot-tall man dressed in jeans, a pale pink button-down, and smoldering good looks, it feels claustrophobic. His presence, as well as his honey-scented cologne, lingers in every square inch of the place.
Well, I guess one thing was accomplished tonight. I can, without a doubt, confirm the hero on my pages is a dud because I’m more inspired by the words from the man next door than the fictitious one I’m currently trying to create.
Authors are always posting about how if their computers were ever stolen, people would be sure they were serial killers. It’s true. In my career, I’ve looked up how to pull off the perfect murder, unique sex positions, and how to commit money laundering. Us authors need to make sure there are no holes in our plots, and the dark World Wide Web leads the way.
I worry about this as well. Although not a professional author, I do have a fascination with true crime.
“I’m on a deadline, and I’ve finally connected with my characters. I can’t desert them now,” I lie. “Ah, another fictional boyfriend. Who’s your hero? Let me guess. A charismatic thirty-year-old florist from Chicago?” he asks wistfully, like he’s talking about himself. “Nice try.” I laugh off his idea as I round the kitchen island. “Wait, you’re a florist?” “Moreau Flowers, fourth generation. You sound surprised.” “A little.”
Oooh, a sexy florist.
“Readers like their men to have dark hair and blue eyes.” “That’s bullshit.”
Ummm, me. I’m a sucker for black hair and blue eyes. And muscles. Hence my love for Gendry and Dick Grayson.
It’s a lie. Based on looks alone, Jake is every woman’s type. If I were to write him into a book, I’d say he was an Adonis of a man. With his chiseled jaw, full lips, fit physique, and a smile that gleams from his eyes, women become weak in the knees with just a glance. His charm and wit would make a woman fall in love instantly. All, except for me.
When I moved into this building, he was the first person I met. Sure, he was standing in the hallway, wearing a towel around his waist and saying good-bye to a woman who looked like she’d slept over after their first date, but he was welcoming and cordial, even inviting me in for a welcome-to-the-building drink. I refused, of course, because no sane woman follows a half-naked man into his apartment. He appeared a few nights later, asking for sugar. I told him that sounded like a bad introduction to a porno.
He left enough of an impression that she remembers the color of the towel... and other things...
Propping my feet up, I put the laptop back on my thighs and look at the screen. I’m about to start typing again when the cushion next to me dips with the weight of the man taking a seat beside me. When I glance up the bottle is sitting on the counter looking like a forgotten thought. “What are you working on anyway?” He slings his arm behind me, resting it on the top of the couch. I roll my head toward him. The scent of his cologne is so damn sexy. I wish he’d bathe in fish oil, so he’d have at least one repulsive trait.
His mouth rises on one side as he levels his gaze with mine. “For the record, I’m very daring in the bedroom and incredibly sensual.” His words are said in a deep hum. “Is that opinion or fact?” “Baby, it’s a proven fact.” His words are a low, rumbling thunder to my lady bits. I clear my throat and raise my chin as Jake places a finger to his lips and thinks for a moment.
“What are you staring at?” I ask. “You,” he says seriously. “You can learn a lot about a woman by watching her when she’s talking about sex.” “And what is that?” His hand rises to my face, and he places the softest of touches to my skin. “Your cheeks are flush, and your shoulders fall back. There’s even this gleam in your eyes, like you’re about to eat your favorite candy. It excites you, but you’re hungry for it. Like you haven’t had it in a while.” I swallow. “You can tell that just from looking at me?”
He leans closer, so close that I can feel the heat pouring off his chest and smell the mint on his tongue. His breath tickles my ear as he whispers, “A real man has patience when it comes to women. Not just the ones he wants to bed. He listens. That is what makes a sensual lover.” My heart pounds against my ribs as he settles back, and that grin of his graces his face once again as I rub my thighs.
I open it to see Jake standing on the other side, wearing jeans, a navy henley, and that damn smirk. He’s dressed casually, yet the way his sleeves are rolled to precise three-quarters makes me think he puts way more effort into his appearance than tossing on a clean shirt.
Ooooh, I bet he has nice forearms.
Peering into the box, I see flower-shaped cookies with powdered sugar on top. “Don’t be shy.” He pushes the box toward me after grabbing one for himself and taking a bite. I lean against the counter and grab one. The buttery, sweet flavor melts in my mouth. I let out a moan, making him pause mid-chew, before gobbling up the cookie and licking my fingers of the powdered-sugar residue. My thumb is in my mouth as I gently suck on it , and he looks at me with his mouth agape. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
He’s turned on.
I’m standing here with my chest heaving and the laptop clenched to my stomach when I realize I’m in front of Jake, in my pink lace bra. His eyes travel from my face to my décolletage and skim over the swell of my breasts, making his chocolate eyes turn black before they pop back up with a smile. “You do know, clothing isn’t optional at Shooter’s, right? I believe you’re required to wear a shirt.”
He’s making a face like a boy who was caught with a cookie, but I can’t prove he put his hand in the jar. I squint at him as I march my shirtless self—and my laptop—back into my room, slamming my door behind me. As I fall against it, my heart races, and my breasts feel tender beneath my bra. My skin is sensitive, the way it is when I’m turned on. It’s weird because nothing happened. All Jake did was run his eyes over my body, but damn, I shiver in a way that’s foreign yet familiar.
“For me, a romantic date is a meal of her favorite type of food and then a movie or a museum. It’s not about showing off. It’s showing that you listen to what they want.” I tilt my head and take him in—handsome, hardworking, considerate. “You’re a good man, Jake Moreau.” He grins in agreement. “I told you I was hero-worthy.”
He laughs, and for some reason, the sound makes butterflies flutter in my stomach. “What I do is not a sin. Sex between two consenting adults is nothing more than using what God gave us. That would be like saying eating is a sin.” I let out a hard laugh. “That is called gluttony.” “Eating too much is a sin. Satisfying the palate is survival.” “Then, you’re claiming you need sex to survive?” I give him a deadpan stare. “Pleasure,” he breathes in that low, husky voice. “The human soul needs pleasure or else it will surely die.”
He winks again as he brings the glass to his lips and drinks. Leaning back in my seat, I bite my lip as I stare at this beguiling man who has an answer for everything and has bested me at my own game of questions. Not only is he handsome, but he’s also witty as all hell.
Hot AND witty? A lethal combo...
“Are you implying I need makeup and nice clothes to be pretty?” He doesn’t smile, nor does he flinch. “I’m saying, you should show off your beauty more often. It’s striking.” I inhale a deep breath and take in the magnitude of his compliment. I’m often complimented on my wit and prowess but never my looks. I’ve always found pride in the fact that my mind is my best feature. But if I’m being honest, hearing these words from this man makes my stomach flutter.
When I turn around to ask Jake about a certain flower, I catch him staring at me. He doesn’t try to hide it either. The way his eyes are intensely on mine makes me redden, and I quickly turn away, not sure how to handle the feeling it causes inside me.
I place my purse down on the far side of the folding table and take in all the tools and colors I have to paint with. Couples around us are talking to one another, some laughing and others in intimate whispers. Between the space and the scene laid out before me, my mind is rushing with words and ideas for a chapter, and I haven’t even touched anything yet. That is, of course, before I turn around. And see Jake. Shirtless. It’s no lie. I’ve always found him attractive, and his face is just the tip of the hot-man iceberg. A well-defined, chiseled chest with a smattering of hair leads down to
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Rex begins the class by instructing us to coat our partners with a base color. When deciding on which color to choose, I take my time to really look at Jake. I see the way his eyes are brown, but they have a dark circle that lines them entirely. His jaw is straight, and his right eyebrow has a scar that runs through the length of it. He’s definitely not Tom Hardy, yet he’d be a damn good hero to explain in every detail.
“So, a strong-willed woman isn’t your type?” I lift the paintbrush and make a small stroke right over his pectoral. His chest rises with the touch. I’m leaning forward, making the petals, using the folding table to keep my balance. It’s a little awkward. “I don’t want a shrinking violet,” he says, taking my hand that’s wrapped around the edge of the table and placing it on his thigh. It’s hard beneath my palm. I blink as my hand flexes over the chiseled muscle and look up at him. “But I don’t mind a woman who is willing to learn from me. With me.”
The warmth he radiates sends chills to places I should not be feeling right now. I have to close my eyes for a brief second, so I can gather my wits. I scoot closer while trying to steady my breathing. “That doesn’t sound so bad. What other attributes would you want in a woman?” My hand brushes against his skin again, and the smoothness that encases his toned abs makes me want to lick my lips. I take a deep inhale and glance up at him. When I notice he’s staring at me, my heart pounds even more. I had no idea this would be so intense.
Here I am, in a room full of people I don’t know, yet if I close my eyes, I feel like I’m only with him. Seeing him. Feeling him. The way his breath tickles my neck. The way I can smell his cologne even though the scent has faded some, making it obvious he put it on hours ago. His manly scent comes through the added one, and it only reminds me of the times I lay with a man, woke up with him by my side, and felt comfortable, wrapped in his arms. It’s been too long …
I want so badly to drop the brush and paint with my hands. I’m dying to feel his skin under my fingertips, not just by the side of my hand resting against him. I swallow as I sit back, getting green paint on my brush. I swirl the tip of the brush down the ridges of his stomach. His body jolts when I get too close to the side. “Sorry, I tried to tell you I was ticklish,” he says.
He takes a brush and studies me with a furrowed brow. “Where would you like me to paint?” “Anywhere you’d like.” A slow, sexy smile crosses his lips as he dips the brush in a ruby red. “Now, it’s my turn to ask the questions,” he says as he paints. Starting at my clavicle, he makes thin strokes, cascading down toward the swell of my breasts and stopping short of the lacy fabric. “Why don’t I ever see you leaving the building on a date?” Tingling sensations run from my chest down to my core as the brush lines the skin. “I’m happier with the men I conjure up in my head than the ones in the real
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“I don’t know who he is, but the man who caused you to escape into your world of fake heroes and hide from the touch of a man was a coward.” With him so near, I have a hard time breathing. He gets closer to give more detail to one of the rose petals he’s painting, and as I feel his breath against my skin, goose bumps instantly cover my body. “How so?” I pant lightly. His head is close to mine, and he only turns to meet my eyes. “He was too afraid that he wouldn’t be able to handle a gorgeous, fiery woman.”
The peony I drew on his chest pales in comparison to the bold, large petals of the flower he’s making on me. Mine is puny while his is majestic. “You’re an artist,” I say, catching him off guard. “The florals you create at the shop is an underappreciated art form. I’m in awe of you.” “Says the woman who weaves words to make romantic heroes that women only dream about.” “So, you agree they don’t really exist,” I challenge. “Maybe you just need to dream while you’re awake.”
Swiping my finger in black paint, I slowly lower my hand to his golden skin and run it over his chest, feeling the heated skin and then flexing my hand over it. His heart beats wildly beneath my palm as I smear it down his body, running over every bump of his abs. His gaze lifts to mine as his lips part. Placing his brush on the table, he follows suit, swirling his fingers in lavender and then laying them on my ribs. He lets his hand dance from left to right across my body, making me suck in air at the heady sensations that settle low, just at the top of my panties. With blue, I explore his
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This is, without a doubt, the sexiest thing I’ve ever done, and we’re hardly touching each other in a titillating manner. Having Jake’s hands on me is such a damn turn-on that I feel like we’ve had an hour of foreplay. Our breaths are heavy, and our laughter is deep, depending on what we’re doing to the other. It all feels so good, and I don’t want it to end. Rex walks over to check on us. “You two are pros at this. You both look great. What did you think?” Besides the fact that I’m totally and utterly turned on right now? “Very cool spot, Rex. I’ll be sure to check it out again,” Jake says
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I bet he is.
While I’m nowhere near ready to submit a story to my agent, I am feeling better. Last night, I came home and wrote the most intense love scene, where my hero laid the heroine down on a white sheet, painted her naked body from head to toe like she was a living canvas, and then ravaged her with passion. It was hot, sweet, angsty, and damn … it left me turned the hell on.
Where can I read this?
Jake is here, looking handsome in slacks and a button-down, his hands behind his back. His blond hair is styled back to perfection, making his masculine features even more pronounced. While he appears just as gorgeous as always, it’s the slight tilt of his mouth and the lustful gaze in his eyes that catch me off guard.
When it opens, I’m greeted by him in gray sweats and no shirt. That beautiful, glistening, tanned skin is on full display. I have to blink as I move my eyes up to his face and smile as if I wasn’t just checking out his body—and the happy trail that leads below his pants.
Mmmmmm, my favorite look for hot guys. 🤤🤤
I turn to Jake and take in a deep breath. Lifting my lashes, I look up into his chocolate eyes and melt at the sight of him sitting here, staring at me, waiting to see what I’ll do. His lips quirk up just a touch as he tries to figure out what I’m up to. My tongue darts out and grazes my lower lip. His eyes follow my movement. That chocolate turns to midnight.
Leaning forward, I arch my back, pucker my lips, and kiss him. His lips are warm as I press mine against his, barely and briefly. As quick as I started this, I end it even faster, pulling back, my heart racing in my chest. I take a quick inhale, and before I’m able to release it, Jake’s hands wrap around my head and yank me back in. He is kissing me. Where my kiss was quick and vapid, his is intense and heated. His hands move from behind my head to my face, holding me in place and deepening our moment. His tongue flicks and dances against mine, passionate and powerful, as he tucks me flush
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My body quivers as I stroke my tongue against his, gripping him back and feeling the sensual arousal down in my core. I’ve written kisses. Ones where the man’s hands are an embrace of her cheeks, where her skin warms when his thumb graces the curve of her jaw. I’ve described the way her spine tingles with the swipe of a tongue and how her body clenches with need as his lips wrap around hers. But I’ve never felt it. This is a kiss that raises the bar for all other kisses in the history of kisses. With my hands on his chest, I feel his body—hard and strong—vibrate with a groan that has me
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The break in contact is enough to have me leaning back. Our breathing is ragged as we pull away. I’m looking down, wondering how a simple kiss turned into … well, that. We’re nothing but labored breaths and swollen lips as I lift my head, ...
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“We definitely cannot post that video!” I state as I adamantly shake my head. Melody and Charisse both stare at each other in question. “That bad?” Charisse asks. I hold up my hands in front of me. “I need a minute. I’m trying to figure out why the best kiss of my entire life just happened with the hot guy next door while I was fulfilling a freaking internet challenge.” A knock comes from behind me. I freeze and listen as Jake’s deep voice echoes from the other side. “You forgot your phone.” I close my eyes as I pull myself together. Outwardly, of course, because, inside, I’m a heart-pounding
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"Best kiss of her life" eh? 😏😏
“And, Lace,” he says, and I hold my breath. “It’s called the Kissing Best Friend Challenge.” “Yeah, I know.” He grins. “We’re not best friends, so I suggest, when you post it, you change the caption.” “To what?” “I just had the best kiss of my life with the guy who lives next door.” He winks and then turns. He heads into his apartment and closes the door gingerly.
The characters came alive off the page. The hero is a sensitive yet charismatic artist who finds joy in the simple pleasures of life. The heroine is a schoolteacher who is afraid of being hurt again. Their connection is intense, and their romance is pure magic. I give all the credit to that kiss. Last night, Jake ignited this thing in me. I can still taste the mint of his tongue and smell the fresh scent of his cologne. My hands burn with the touch of his heated, soft skin, and damn, my body is still reeling from the sensations that were shooting through me.
As I walk to the door, I pray it’s not awkward. When I open it, I see Jake standing in the hallway. My heart instantly starts to pitter-patter just from the sight of him, but I push it aside. Friends don’t make friends’ hearts go pitter-patter. “Hi,” I say. Tiny lines crinkle the sides of his eyes as he smirks. “Hey.” The first thing I look at is that cocky mouth. Hot damn. Then, I gaze at his hands. Man hands. And of course, there’s that chest. I really need to get out of the house more often.
I bet he has nice, strong hands. And he's much more than just a friend at this point.
He’s adorably nerdy about the subject. I shouldn’t say it’s surprising because he’s always come off as an intelligent man. Yet a man who can read the stars is more well-traveled in my mind than those who have read a thousand books.
“To be honest?” He pauses as a grin covers his face. “Of course I do. I love it. One, working in a business with a legacy like ours is an honor. And the work, well, I get to make everyone’s day. Even in the darkest of times, flowers put a smile on your face. It’s the only gift you can give when a life is brought into the world and also when one is taken away. If you want to say you’re sorry, do it with a purple hyacinth, and to show your love—” “Say it with a red rose.” “Or if you come to me, I’ll tell you to give daisies.” He grins, and I tilt my head in interest. “They’re actually made of
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Hauntingly beautiful mood music plays over the loudspeaker as we travel around the sun and leap from one planet to the next. The room rumbles as we move through light-years, and there’s a whoosh of air I can feel on my cheek. His hand moves closer to mine as the red rocks of Mars come into view. His knee grazes my leg when we pass the red spot of Jupiter. The heat of his body presses against mine as we weather the storms of Uranus. He tells me Venus is named after the Roman goddess of love and beauty. And when we get to Saturn, he shows me the rings of water and ice that stole his heart when
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My breath hitches because the light in his eyes is still there. Except, instead of talking about flowers or his beloved stars, he’s looking at me. I feel like he’s the sun and I’m orbiting around him. There’s no doubt that I could soak in his stare for the rest of my life. He leans forward, and my heart picks up. “If I kiss you right now, without a camera rolling, would you mind?” I instinctively lick my lips as I take a sharp breath in, and my words fail me. His head dips lower until his lips are mere inches from mine. “Would you?” “No,” I whisper back. He places a hand on my cheek, leans
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I slide my hand into his thick, dirty blond hair and pull him in closer. His left arm tightens around my back as he brings me into him, his tongue stroking between my lips, sending tingles straight between my legs. He pulls away from my lips but places his forehead to mine. “You win,” I whisper. “Your secret first-date place is pretty amazing.”
“Milène too. Penelope read three of your books in as many days. That girl is already cyberstalking you on social media, so beware when your inbox blows up with love notes.” “I’ll consider myself warned.” I chuckle under my breath.
I wonder what they’d think of her making out with their brother on TikTok.
