He pressed his full, warm lips against mine so hard that my words of protest were stifled. And then he was swiftly gone, slipping down the dark tunnel and disappearing into the shadows.
You cannot leave, I think, my soul weeping for him. They will catch him surely, and they will know what he has done. To think the king would show any sympathy would be laughable if it weren’t so frightening.
I must stop him. The thought rings through my head more clearly than anything I’ve ever known. Whatever the cost, I must stop him.
I don’t hesitate, but rather, I plunge into the darkness after him, feeling along the walls, heading straight to the dungeons of the castle.
To the tip of the earth and the blackness of the sea, I will fight for you. I will chase you, here and now, until my legs can go no further, and I will scour the lands of my next life, until my very breath is stolen from me. You warm the air in my lungs, and you’re the thought that opens my eyes each day – to see that shining hair catching the light of the morning sun when all other hope has gone away.
His arm is heavy, resting over my ribs as light streams through the billowing, sheer curtains. The room is a blur of milky white, and I squeeze my eyes shut, tucking my nose beneath a fold of the blanket.
The slight movement makes him stir behind me, and the weight of his arm shifts lower. The warmth of his breath sinks into my hair as he dips his face into me, and his voice is rough and low when he speaks.
“What?” I ask, unable to decipher his half-awake murmuring.
I feel his hand press into my lower stomach, resting firmly though the tips of his fingers taunt me with their closeness. I press my body back against him, grateful as he slowly becomes alive, moving against me, and he gradually turns me towards him.
Dark stubble, full lips, and an expanse of neck comes into view before he grips my chin and brings my mouth to his. He groans in satisfaction as I push myself against him, need in my movements.
“Let’s stay here,” he murmurs again, more clearly this time. Then, assured by my widening, hopeful eyes, he says, “Stay here. With me.”
It was hot the day we met. You had a thin line of sweat above your brow, and I remember thinking you tasted like the ocean when we kissed.
One too many margaritas under the sun is what happened.
You were riding your board along the shallow surface of the water close to shore, and I was lounging under an umbrella because I didn’t want to risk frying in the sun. I remember seeing you fall – that’s when you caught my eye. You went crashing into the sand, rolling, and then you hopped back up with a broad smile on your face as your friends laughed and jeered.
You shook it off, sticking your surfboard nose-first into the sand at a sharp angle, then floating over to the nearest drink shack.
That’s when I got hit with the volleyball.
I cursed loudly, sitting upright and rubbing the top of the head where it’d smacked me. I remember feeling dizzy, but my greatest concern was that I’d spilt my drink all over myself. The guy who came to get his ball didn’t even apologize, and I was glaring at him as I cleaned myself up. I didn’t even see you walk over.
“Here you go,” you said, extending your arm towards me with an oversized margarita in hand.
I’d been drinking mojitos, and I was pretty sure what you were offering me would give me a brain freeze that would amplify my already aching head.
I tried to wave you off, but you sat down in the sand, drinking from one margarita while you held the other, keeping it ready for me, though you didn’t pester or insist.
I asked your name and you said Josh. Of course, it would be Josh. You were like a walking cliché – chiseled abs, golden hair, bronzed skin, and shockingly straight, pearly teeth that went well with your dimples when you smiled.
I told you my name was Amanda, but it wasn’t. You decided to call me Holly instead, and I liked that you thought I looked like a Holly. I liked that you knew by the way I said Amanda that it wasn’t my name.
I liked you.
We stayed at the beach all day, and I remember being surprised that the sky was getting darker – and even more surprised that we were surrounded by empty cups that, at one point, held a variety of margaritas. We tried every flavor.
You had talked someone into sharing some steak kabobs with us earlier, but I remember feeling hungry then. Famished, actually. You asked me if I wanted to find some cheeseburgers somewhere – that your car wasn’t far.
You were so gloriously beautiful with the wonderful topic of food leaving your lips, and I suddenly found my face very close to yours. I’m sure I’m an expert at timing, but it was nice, nonetheless, that you didn’t flinch away when I smooshed my lips against yours.
You laughed a little, telling me I was tipsy even though you hadn’t moved your lips from mine. Your lips felt rough, like you were dehydrated, and I remember thinking I wanted to lay in the sand and kiss you, so everything felt rough like that.
But then you hoisted me to my feet, helped me gather my things, and lugged our stuff to your car. Your friends were leaving too, and you called to them to grab your board, eliciting more jeers when they saw you were with a girl.
You asked me if I had a phone – whether I wanted to call someone – and I sent a text to my roommate. You opened the passenger door for me, and I slinked towards the seat, but I was worried about the sand.
You came up behind me then, subtle and sweet, and you curled an arm around my waist. “It’s okay,” you murmured into my ear. “I’ll clean it later.” You tossed a towel across the seat anyways to make me feel better, and I turned and kissed you again.
This time you let me. Your breath was like warm strawberries as your lips parted, and you leaned me back against the car. I couldn’t get enough of you, and it was dark enough that no one noticed us. I bit your lip and pressed myself into you, letting your hands roam over me, squeezing gently. I knotted my hands into your hair, and when you cupped my ass and lifted, I gasped, my eyes popping open in surprise.
You grinned at me then, pulling back and shaking your head. “Food,” you reminded me. “And then I have to take you home, please.”
I knew you meant alone. That you wouldn’t be joining me in my bed, even though I could tell you weren’t quite ready to be done with me. But that’s what we did. You bought me a cheeseburger and drove me home, helped me carry my things to the door, and asked me to meet you at noon the next day.
And it was just my luck that something came up, and I never saw you again. I didn’t make it to the beach the following day, but I went every day for a month after that, hoping I’d see you. And I was disappointed every time.
So, you can imagine my surprise when I looked up from an appetizer at dinner three months later, and I see you making your way through the front door of a restaurant, especially since we’re two towns away from where we’d met. And you can understand the absolute panic I felt when I saw the girl next to you, recognized her as the best friend of my date, and realized we were about to be on a double date.
But based on your expression, you’re not panicked at all. No, you seem devilishly pleased that things turned out this way, and your attention seems to be pinned to me as you find your seat across the table.
She knew it before she’d even walked out onto the pier. She could feel it.
But he had promised. No matter how much he hated this little town, no matter how stuck he felt – she didn’t think he would actually leave her. Not again.
She let her feet carry her cross the planks of wood, but her vision glazed. She hardly let herself see the people scattered about – some fishing, a couple linked arm-in-arm as they grinned at each other, a mother giving her child cotton candy from the busy vendor. None of them seemed important. None of them wore his smiling face.
She let herself drift to the very end, and she sat down, letting her feet dangle high above the water. She had been so sure he would stay. Now, she just felt stupid.
Humbled again, it would seem. She would be stuck in this sorry little town forever. Without him. Again.
She waited until the sun started to go down, sitting at the edge of the pier for almost half an hour. Then, when there was little left to do, she pushed herself to her feet and made her way back towards the parking lot.
She was lost in the flow of people, nearly to the start of the pier, when she heard a familiar car lock beeping. Her head jerked up in alarm, her eyes widening in disbelief.
And there he was. Running towards her and shaking his head, his arms half-lifted in a shrug of apology.
She didn’t even hesitate to run to him, and a grin stretched across his face just before he wrapped his arms around her, picking her up and spinning around.
“I couldn’t go,” he says, the words muffled by her hair. “I couldn’t leave this stupid town after all.” He laughed, and when he looked down at her, his eyes were bright, without any sign of doubt.
“You’re staying?” she asked, still disbelieving. “You know all the reasons I can’t leave.”
His eyes softened, and he slipped a hand into her hair, lifting her face to his. “Then we’ll be stuck together,” he says, and he brought his lips to hers, tasting of sun and love and kept promises.
He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. We locked eyes in passing, and even the rising sun seemed like a dull warmth compared to the heat of his gaze. He’d been there all night, lost in the mass of others along the beach who’d stayed to enjoy the bonfire, and it wasn’t until it was time to leave that I’d stumbled across him. It didn’t seem fair.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I let my eyes drift to the car park over a hundred yards away. I catch sight of him just as he pulls himself into his light blue jeep, and he turns in my direction.
I look away quickly, but it’s too late. He’s caught me staring. I’m about to plop down in the sand instead of continuing the trek to my own car, but I hear the sound of his engine starting, and I’m relieved the lingering embarrassment will be gone soon. I wait for the sound of his car to fade away, but I’m alarmed when I realize he’s getting closer.
My head shoots up in surprise, and I see him driving across the sand. I shift nervously on my feet, but he pulls up next to me and slows to a stop.
He flashes a wide smile, cheeks dimpling. “You too tired for breakfast?” he asks, pinning me with an unwavering gaze.
“What?” I ask quietly. I’m hardly audible over the rumble of his engine.
“May I take you to breakfast?” he asks, but this time his brows pinch forward as if he’s concerned he misread the obvious signals.
Unable to find my voice, I nod, blinking in surprise.
His wide grin returns, and he reaches down, nodding towards my hefty bag. I pass it over hesitantly, knowing it’s heavy, but he takes it easily and places it in the back. He watches me as I circle around the front of his jeep in a dazed state, still unable to process that this is happening, and he reaches across to open the passenger door.
“I like pancakes,” I say as I plop into the seat.
“Perfect,” he says, laughing, and he steers us towards the road and city that awaits us.
Vicki Sweets has created a chemistry-and-lust fueled, romantic debut novel that hits your bookshelf with a splash. Following the story of Olivia, a woman in her twenties who is plagued by snobbish relatives and an ex who feels entitled to their previously ended relationship, the reader plunges hands-first into a physically-driven romance with an irresistible stranger – a man who happens to have a very curious lifestyle. As Olivia realizes there may be even more to Jackson Pell than meets the eye, she becomes curious of his big secret that everyone else seems to know. While she’s not sure what it is that may stand between them, she still allows herself to enjoy the other large aspects of Mr. Pell. With endless humor, an intensely growing lust, and loaded love scenes, Who The Hell Is Jackson Pell is impossible to put down.
INSPIRATION
Though inspired to write by many passionate love stories – real and fictional – Vicki Sweets imagined the idea of Who The Hell Is Jackson Pell while working on a project in the fantasy genre. As she worked to build the electric tension between her characters, she kept leaning toward scenes of romantic gestures and passion, so, in an attempt to clear her mind, she wrote a romance scene – and had so much fun! After finding support from several other authors in the romance community, she began a venture that she never expected: writing a romance-based, adult novel. While certain chapters had her blushing to share, she received so much positive feedback that she decided she had to publish her story.
AUDIENCE
Adult readers (18+) are already falling in love with Olivia and Mr. Pell, and the continuation of the story has been highly demanded. Finding a connection to Olivia’s wit, humor, and appreciation for junk-food, romance readers have called it “hilarious” and a book they “couldn’t put down.” If you’re looking for something relatable, steamy, and satisfying that embraces the fast-paced dating that occurs so often in today’s world – this is it!
WHAT TO EXPECT NEXT
Once you’ve fallen head over heels for this sensual duo, readers can expect at least two more novels in The Pell Playhouse series. To read the first book, Who The Hell Is Jackson Pell, you can find it on Amazon. The paperback edition sits at the low price of $8.99, and the eBook is FREE for Kindle Unlimited subscribers (or $2.99).
To view purchasing options for Who The Hell Is Jackson Pellclick here.
Other upcoming projects by Vicki Sweets include a romantic fiction novel and a holiday-themed adult romance. Later projects will include supernatural romance, apocalyptic romance, and horror. As a diverse reader, Vicki Sweets aspires to be a diverse writer as well – and this fun, little romance is only the beginning!
STAY IN THE LOOP
To stay up to date with Vicki Sweets’ latest projects, subscribe to www.vickisweetsbooks.com. Updates on book releases, upcoming projects, and general thoughts from Vicki will be updated periodically, and short stories will be shared (for FREE!) as well!
Vicki Sweets resides in central Texas with her son. Splitting her time between motherhood and writing, she also enjoys supporting the visual and performance arts and small businesses – as well as other new and upcoming authors!
Have you ever published with Amazon? Then you might know what an accomplishment it is to get that paperback just right.
I’ve always preferred paperbacks to eBooks (though I love supporting eBook authors – there’s some fabulous works out there!), so I wanted to make sure my readers could access the book in multiple forms.
Whether you’re an eBook fan or want a tangible copy so you can enjoy flipping the pages, you can find what you’re looking for on Amazon today!
Who The Hell Is Jackson Pell follows Olivia as she dips into a very physical relationship with the irresistible Mr. Pell. What is his big secret? Enjoy this “late night” read to find out!
…a “one handed read.”
There are a few unexpected developments and I found them a welcome departure from typical erotica.
Maura, Amazon Review
I couldn’t put the book down! I love books that can make me laugh!
His love was all-consuming, a deep abyss that pulled her towards a pinprick of passion that she had held subdued for all these years. And as he tasted her skin, the scent of her own desire driving him senselessly onward, pounding and unrelenting, she felt a possession of herself, an understanding of her most untrodden fears and unspoken wishes. She had found herself in him, and only he alone could understand what he’d given her.