by C. Margery Kempe
I thought as I am (or should be) at present running around London having fun before I head back to my sweetie up north in Scotland, that I would give you a little freebie teaser of my latest book, Man City: Lizzie. Like the original Man City, it’s a ménage story. At the center is the red-headed Lizzie, an art historian. But Lizzie’s being pressured into a choice:
Lizzie had been grateful for the impromptu docent duties that morning as it had mostly kept her from thinking about her own potential trap. Seated behind her desk once more with a lot of paperwork waiting, it became impossible not to ruminate on ‘the Nigel problem’ as she had begun to think of it.
Six little words.
“I want us to be exclusive,” he had said to her last night, taking her hand across the table. She hoped the dismay didn’t show too clearly on her face, but he had at least recognized surprise. Studying his earnest face, Lizzie had to admit not many women would say no to that offer.
Nigel was tall, dark and handsome for sure. He cooked like a dream and he had a laugh that warmed like a stove on a winter’s afternoon. Lizzie enjoyed the strength of his arms and the concentration in his face when they made love. Nigel made sure she was satisfied, whether he was preparing dinner or eating her out.
So why in the world wouldn’t she want to have that all to herself?
Her phone buzzed and Lizzie saw the number she had been half-expecting to flash there.
He was why.
“Hello, Jake,” Lizzie could almost hear herself purr.
“Can you meet for lunch?” His tone was casual, but that didn’t fool her.
“Where?”
“My place.”
She snorted. “Will I get any food out of this?”
“You could pick something up on the way!” He rang off without even saying good-bye.
That was Jake: impetuous, fun-filled, demanding and unpredictable.
And that was why she didn’t immediately agree to Nigel’s proposal. She had strong feelings for both of them; why did she have to choose? A gorgeous guy who cooks? A life-of-the-party guy who thrilled her? She had three favourite restaurants and at least a dozen favourite artists. Why only one boyfriend? It made her want to stomp her foot and cry in her best two-year-old voice, “It’s not fair!”
These thoughts were still churning in her head when she got to Jake’s. He lived on the top floor of a gorgeous nineteenth century building. The stair was narrow and dark but when you got to the top, it was all light and windows. He had an enviable view of the cathedral and town centre.
If he asked me to be exclusive, would I have leaned toward yes just because of this flat? Lizzie wondered, but then immediately laughed to herself. Jake could never be exclusive to anyone!
As she rang the buzzer Lizzie realised she had forgotten to pick up any food. Ah well, Cup-a-Soup back at the office. But when Jake opened the door, she smelled something delicious. She saw something pretty delicious, too. His loose tie and his work shirt half unbuttoned invited her hand to slip inside and caress his chest as they kissed. His cowlicked hair stuck up in fashionable disarray. No doubt about it, Jake was a dish—even paler than she was with jet black hair and eyes the colour of Caribbean waters.
He pulled her close as he shut the door behind her, running his hands down her back to her bum and giving the cheeks a squeeze. The warm kiss became something hotter as his tongue thrust deep into her open mouth. Lizzie felt the stress of the morning slip away as her skin thrilled to his touch…
Check out more on my author page at Tirgearr Publishing.
So am I being ridiculous?
