| Another Man's Wife |
Available today at Ellora's Cave! http://www.jasminejade.com/m-683-cindy-jacks.aspx
After the real estate market crash, Rebecca’s money has run out—and so has her husband, leaving her alone with their son and a mountain of debt. She moves in with her sister while trying to dig herself out. When a handsome neighbor rescues her from a torrential downpour, she finds herself the object of an attraction too powerful to resist.
Jack is an aspiring writer who has a way with words and a way of making Rebecca moan his name. Each love letter he leaves Rebecca enchants her, each afternoon they spend making love draws her deeper into a relationship she can’t define. But with all her son has been through and a husband who’s missing in action, Rebecca may never be able to give in fully to her passion and desire for Jack, to think of herself as anything other than another man’s wife.
An Excerpt From: ANOTHER MAN’S WIFE
Copyright © CINDY JACKS, 2012
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Jack paced around his apartment, unable to quiet his mind. What had he been thinking, kissing her?
“She’s married, you idiot,” he said to his reflection in the hall mirror.
Technically she was. No, not technically— Legally. Actually. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The word reverberated around his brain, a mantra of self-recrimination. He stalked into his bedroom and pulled a leather-bound journal from his desk and did what he always did when faced with a problem.
March 29
The kiss was stupid. Not the kiss itself—the kiss was spectacular—but that I did it at all was dumb. Rebecca’s married (sort of), a mother, she’s struggling to keep her head above water. She asked for my help and what do I do? I complicate her life even more. It’s no excuse, but I couldn’t stop myself. From her long hair to her round, fleshy ass and that little belly she tries to hide, but that I find sexy as hell. A woman is supposed to be soft. I want to kiss every inch of her. I want to push myself inside her and make her moan my name. And now I know what she tastes like, what her skin smells like. All I can think about is that soft, perfumed skin pressed against mine. Sinking into her wet pussy. Burying my face in her plump breasts, kissing and suckling. Would she whimper or moan? Would she let me go down on her? Would she go down on me?
A shiver racked him and he had to adjust himself lest his zipper bite into the head of his cock. “Stop it,” he admonished himself, again repositioning his throbbing erection. “Yeah, stupid, I’m talking to you,”
I don’t know what to do now. Do I apologize? She told me not to, but sometimes women say one thing and mean another. Does she hate me? She looked upset when I left. I hope she doesn’t hate me. Maybe I should just ask her.
* * * * *
March 30
Rebecca,
Don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me. I know the situation you’re in and I know that the last thing you need is another complication. But I also know that when you smile, my mind races, trying to figure out a way to keep that smile on your face. When you speak, I have to concentrate really hard to hear what you’re saying, not because I don’t think what you’re saying is important, but because all I can do is watch your beautiful mouth. I couldn’t help myself today. I had to kiss you. I don’t know if you’ll understand that, but it’s true. I had no choice. And I think you feel the same way. I felt you kiss me back. I think you like me…at least I hope you do. I hate to admit it, but it would kill me if you tell me to leave you alone. So don’t say that, okay? I’ll keep my lips to myself from now on. Just don’t hate me.
XOXO,
Jack
After reading Jack’s words, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She drew a sheet of paper from a drawer. Though she could call him or wait until he got home to talk to him, something about replying to him this way seemed more intimate, more appropriate than if she addressed him face-to-face. On the paper she wrote a couple of sentences, then folded it and skipped downstairs, slipping it under his doormat. A spring in her step, she ran upstairs.
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