“Hell no. I just like to fuck with my dad.”

Enjoy Chrissie and Alan’s story from the beginning with  The Girl on the Half Shell, The Half Shell Series Book One:

The room is so quiet it is deafening.

I find Alan on his bed, casually reclined against a stack of pillows, dressed only in flannel pajama bottoms, and reading—of all things—the Wall Street Journal. There is a fire lit, the silver candlesticks flicker with flame, the bedcovers invitingly turned down as if in preparation for some sort of romantic scene. But he is focused on the Journal.

He doesn’t look at me and I feel stupid hovering by his door, so I start to wander around the bedroom, trying to still my frantic pulse. It’s a good thing that it’s an interesting room, otherwise my deliberate study would seem silly.

Even Alan’s bedroom is something I find weird and demands a certain amount of mental analysis. It looks like something from a nineteenth century English manor, elegant to the point of being almost a touch prissy. There’s an antique mahogany king-sized bed facing the fireplace; floral wingback chairs with pillows positioned before the hearth; and high-tech conveniences camouflaged in antique furniture. There’s a Monet on the wall; tall, polished sterling silver candlesticks; crystal; and fine, leather-bound, first edition books of classic literature. I sink down before a small, mahogany table where I find a stack of newspaper: Barons; the New York Times; the Washington Post; and the Daily Telegraph.

The warmth of the fire surrounds me like a caress, but I am quaking like a leaf. I wasn’t sure what Alan expected after he walked out of the kitchen. It would have been logical to assume that I would leave. But he knew I’d follow him. I don’t know why he’s ignoring me now. I look at the lit candlesticks—he wanted me to follow him.

I bite my lower lip and stare at my knotted fingers. I stayed alone in the kitchen for what seemed like ages, and now that I’ve done exactly what he expected me to do, nothing.

I struggle for something to say to break the silence. “You do have seven bedrooms. I counted them twice. But there are seven only if I include yours.”

He folds the Journal, tosses it on the table and fixes those penetrating, mesmerizing eyes on me. “Is this the room you want?” he asks, his voice gentle. “I meant it when I said you could have any room. It doesn’t have to be my room for you to stay.”

Does he not want me in his room? A ragged breath forces its way from deep in my lungs. “Do you want me to go?” I murmur.

“Of course not. I want you here.” His voice is husky and his eyes are wandering in a leisurely hold that is tender and oddly comforting.

Or Enjoy  Rewind A Perfect Forever Novella.

He doesn’t laugh. Instead, his gaze sharpens on my face. “I am being nice, Kaley. I came to you. I got tired of waiting.”

What? Did I just hear what I think I heard?

Before I can respond, he says, “How’s your afternoon looking? Do you have time to take off and come see something with me?”

My afternoon? There is something. I’m sure of that, but I suddenly can’t remember a single thing.

“What do you have in mind?”

“I want to show you where I’ve been living. What I’ve been doing. I think you’ll find it interesting.”

Interesting? Why would I find it interesting?

“So do you think you can cut out for a few hours?” he asks, watching me expectantly.

I focus my gaze on the table, wondering if I should go, wondering why I debate this, and what the heck I have on the calendar that I can’t remember. God this is weird, familiar and distant at once, and I haven’t a clue what I should do here.

I stare at his hand, so close to mine, on the table. Whoever thought it would be so uncomfortable not to touch a guy? It doesn’t feel natural, this space we hold between us, spiced with the kind of talk people have who know each other intimately. What would he do if I touched him?

His fingers cover mine and he gives me a friendly squeeze. The feel of him runs through my body with remembered sweetness.

Suddenly, nothing in my life is as important as spending the afternoon with Bobby, and for the first time in a very long time, I don’t feel like a disjointed collection of uncomfortably fitting parts. I feel at ease inside myself being with Bobby.

I stop trying to access my mental calendar and smile up at Bobby. “I’ve got as much time as you need.”

Bobby chuckles and his hand slips back from me. He rises and tosses some bills on the table. “Just a few hours, Kaley. I’ll have you back before the end of the day.”

I rise from my chair and think not if I figure out fast how not to blow this.

Or enjoy the first novel in the Perfect Forever Novels: The Signature. Available Now. Please enjoy the following excerpt from The Signature:

She became aware all at once how utterly delightful it felt to be here with him, alone on the quay, with the erotic nearness of his body.

She closed her eyes. “Listen to the quiet. There are times when I lie here and it feels like there is no one else in the world.”

“No one else in the world? Would that be a good thing?” he asked thoughtfully.

“No. But the illusion is grand, don’t you think?” she whispered.

Krystal turned her head to the side, lifting her lids to find Devon’s gaze sparkling as he studied her. He shook his head lazily. “No. The illusion wouldn’t be grand at all. It would mean I wasn’t here with you.”

It all changed at once, yet again, and so quickly that Krystal couldn’t stop it. The ticklish feeling stirred in her limbs. Devon’s words, as well as the closeness of their bodies, should have sent her into active retreat, and instead she felt herself wanting to curl into him. What would it feel like if he kissed me? Would I still feel this delicious inside? Or would that old panic and fear return?

Laughing softly, Devon said, “I’m not used to relaxing. Can you tell?”

“I wasn’t used to it before Coos Bay either. There is a different pace of life here. At first I thought there was no sound. That’s how quiet it seemed to me. Then I realized that there is music, beautiful music in this quiet.”

After a long pause, he murmured, “You’ll have to bring me here every Saturday until I learn to hear music in the quiet.”

Krystal smiled. “Once you hear the music it’s perfect.”

“It’s perfect now to me.” His voice was a husky, sensual whisper.

He was on his side facing her. When had that happened? An inadvertent thrill ran through her flesh, and she could see it in his eyes—the supplication, the want, and an unexplainable reluctance to indulge either.

Devon was no longer smiling, his eyes had become brighter and more diffuse. His fingertips started to trace her face with such exquisite lightness that her insides shook. For the first time in a very long time, she felt completely a woman, and wanting.

Was it possible? Had she finally healed internally as her flesh had done so long ago? Was she finally past the legacy of Nick? Was what she was now feeling real? Should she seek the answer with Devon? Or was it better to leave it unexplored?

“You are a very beautiful woman,” he whispered.

She watched with sleepy movements as his mouth lowered to her. It came first as a touch on her cheek, feather soft between the play of his fingers. Her breath caught, followed by a pleasant quickening of her pulse. She was unprepared for the sweetness of his lips and the rushing sensations that ran through her body. His thumb traced the lines of her mouth as his kiss moved sweetly, gently there.

His breath became rapid in a way that matched her own, and his mouth grew fuller and more searching. The fingertips curving her chin were like a gentle embrace, but their mouths were eager and demanding. Flashes of desire rocketed through her powerfully. Urgency sang through her flesh, a forgotten melody, now in vibrant notes. She found herself wanting to twist into him. Reality begged her to twist back.