Sudden Desires (Sweet Promise #1)

Shanora Williams

Contents

Copyright © 2015 Shanora Williams

Other Books By Shanora Williams

1. FOLLOW SHANORA

2. ONE

3. TWO

4. THREE

5. FOUR

6. FIVE

7. SIX

8. SEVEN

9. EIGHT

10. NINE

11. TEN

12. ELEVEN

13. TWELVE

14. THIRTEEN

15. FOURTEEN

16. FIFTEEN

17. SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

18. EIGHTEEN

19. NINETEEN

20. TWENTY

21. TWENTY ONE

22. TWENTY TWO

END OF PART ONE

FOLLOW SHANORA

Copyright © 2015 Shanora Williams 

All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any form without prior written permission of the publisher, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

Published October 2015

Editing by Librum Artis Editorial Services

Cover Art and Design by SK Hartley

Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders. The author acknowledges the trademarked status in this work of fiction. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Other Books By Shanora Williams

Standalones:

Tainted Black

BEWARE Series:

BEWARE

BEWARE 2: The Comeback

FireNine Series:

Who He Is

Who We Are

Who I Am

Who I’m Becoming

Hard to Resist Series

Hard to Resist

Hard to Hold On

Hard to Forget (1.5)

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ONE

Griffin

My wife is unappreciative.

She’s neglectful and selfish.

Whatever I do for her is never good enough.

If I bring her flowers after I’ve had a long day at work, she scrunches her nose, reminding me over and over again that she hates them. I know she hates them, but I always figured it’s the thought that counts.

“They only get in the way, and then they die and we’re left with a withered mess,” she’d say.

Regardless¸ I’ll have Arianna toss them in a vase and leave them on the counter in the kitchen.

There are times when I’ve busted my ass on a deal at work, staying up late at night, making calls for hours, and then flying from Miami to New York to finish the job.

I’d get a hotel, shower, jump into some relaxing clothes, and the only thing I’d want is to hear is my Colette’s beautiful voice.

I can admit that it is usually late when I make the calls (around midnight) but I know she’s awake. She paints a lot for the gallery. She’s a late worker, hardly even sleeps because she’s always creating something.

I’d call and she’d answer, claiming she’s too busy to talk. All I want is an “I love you, I miss you, hurry home”, but I don’t get that. Frankly, with Colette, I get nothing whatsoever anymore. I can’t even remember the last time we had sex.

That trip to Cancun, I think?

It was a vacation I’d planned four months ago, in April, but she didn’t enjoy it. She complained about there being too many tourists and not enough “breathing room.”

We spent most of our time in the hotel suite, and so it was pretty much obligatory for us to have sex. We were alone in the room and drank a few glasses of expensive wine. We both needed it.

I guess the fun was good while it lasted.

We could blame it all on our sexless marriage, or the fact that we’ve been together for ten years, married for seven of them, and bored for the past five, but either way, I try. I really do.

Like today. I’m in the kitchen. It’s my day off. A pot of coffee has been brewed, French toast, bacon, and eggs all set up on the table.

I sit at the table with my tablet, reading the latest on stock numbers. NASDAQ is dropping again. Trouble for me. Lots of calls to return tomorrow.

I’m sure my associates are flipping their wigs right now.

I sigh, and then I hear footsteps coming towards the kitchen. When I look up, it’s Colette.

She looks good, hair up in a tight gold bun, her makeup simple—just around the eyes. Mascara and eyeliner, a bit of concealer, and lip-gloss. She’s wearing workout gear, earphones plugged in her ears. She’s humming some tune by Lana Del Rey.

She sees me at the table and blinks, confused. Pulling out an earphone and frowning, she asks, “What is all this?”

I stand from the table and meet at her side. “It’s called breakfast, Colette. Join me.”

“Oh no.” She shakes her head and waves a hand with disapproval. “No, honey. I can’t eat that fatty food. I’m dropping ten pounds for the salsa competition next month, remember?” Her voice is winded as if she’s worked out and is tired already. She rubs my arm, and disappointment sweeps through me but I step away, nodding as if I understand. Honestly, I don’t. A little bacon won’t hurt anybody, right?

“Okay,” I murmur. But really I’m thinking, whatever. “Have fun. Keep it tight for me.”

She laughs. “These days, as a woman, I have to learn to stay in shape for myself. My dance instructor, Rico, tells me that my body is my temple. I should take care of it. Worship it. And then there’s you to consider too.” She laughs.