Shattering under his falling weight, I scream his name and let go of everything but him.

 In The Morning Light

Faith

As soon as conscious thought is recognized through the haze of sleep, I know Kyle’s gone. I swallow the lump in my throat his absence brings. If not for the tempting ache in every muscle, at rest or in a stretch, I would think I’d dreamt the amazing night we shared.

He kept his promise. I giggle because his kind of wicked is really something. Something I want to experience again. And again.

I keep my eyes closed because I can see him behind my lids—his smirk, the sheer delight of his eyes—and the lump grows bigger. How is it he could infiltrate my heart so quickly and with a thoroughness that leaves little room for anything more than him?

I roll over, smothering myself in his scent. Will I ever wash these sheets? Not until he gets his ass back here, that’s for sure. I open my eyes, knowing that I’ll have to change them and that when it happens he’ll be a little further away than he is right now.

Blinking the sun out of my eyes, I stare at the pillow we shared. My breath stumbles and my heart goes with it when I see what he’s left for me. His St. Christopher medallion is peeking out of his shirt, the gray tee that was stretched so tight across his chest just last night. My phone lies in the folds.

Picking up all three items, I have his shirt and the medallion over my head in seconds, and then I’m checking my messages. One text is waiting.

Faith—it’s hard to leave you with words, when I didn’t want to leave you at all. So I’ve left you with a few pieces of me. My shirt because I stole your underwear—it seemed only fair. St. Christopher, because Gramps would want you to have it, and I do too. I need you to be safe. He’ll watch over you until I can do it for him. And then there’s my heart. Hold it in safe keeping until next time—Kyle.

P.S. You have my number, now use it

The End

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Thank you for taking the time to read Only Tonight!  If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends about it or leaving a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and is much appreciated.

-EM

Look for these titles by Elizabeth Miller:

The McKenna Chronicles

Book I, Midnight

Book II, Midnight Sky

AUTHOR ELIZABETH MILLER resides in Rochester, MI with her very sarcastic husband and two young boys. In 2013 she decided to flex her writing muscles and began her debut novel: Midnight. Published in 2014, she continues writing the McKenna Chronicles with the third installment due for release in early 2016. Elizabeth loves to chat with readers.

Contact Elizabeth - emillerauthor@gmail.com

**Follow Elizabeth on Facebook at:

https://www.facebook.com/midnightelizabethmiller?ref=hl

**Follow Elizabeth on Twitter at:

https://twitter.com/EMillerMidnight

Turn the page for a sneak peak at Midnight by Elizabeth Miller

Preface

My eyes flutter open to focus on the outline of a man sitting in a chair next to my bed, his ankle crossed over his knee. Strangely I’m not afraid. Reaching to the lamp on the bedside table I flick the switch, throwing a gentle glow over the unfamiliar room.

The man is striking; my heart skips a beat at his beauty and the intensity of his stare. I’ve never seen eyes quite like these, blue pooling to depths deeper than the ocean with a small sliver of brandy spiking out of the center of the left one. His forefinger and thumb rub and pull his full bottom lip absently and I wait for him to break the silence, watching him watch me.

Finally he says, “I have waited a long time to meet a woman who can stir any emotion in my dead heart. It’s been so long; I didn’t think it was possible to feel,” he pauses, searching for the right word, “anything.”

Planting both feet on the floor, he leans down to rest his arms on his knees. His look is contemplative, eyes deepening to the color of stormy seas, gray clouds intermingling with lightning. I can’t stop staring, my heart thumping dangerously as he moves toward the bed, leaning in to press his lips against mine. An instant, staggering jolt reverberates throughout my body from his touch. He hesitates at my reaction, as if testing his own.

I sink back into the pillow and he follows. The heat of his mouth on mine is an elixir, the remedy I have unconsciously been seeking. A low moan rumbles in his chest as the weight of his knee sinks down into the mattress. Dropping to his elbows, he rests them on either side of my shoulders, his body becoming a frame hovering in a protective yet possessive arch over mine.

An overwhelming peace, a sense of completion, hangs heavy in the air, fueling the need to consume, to drink in his offering. My mouth parts instinctively when his tongue glances over my bottom lip, our breath mixing together into an intoxicating combination. I can’t think; his heady scent shatters my thoughts with his enticing proximity. His mouth grows hungrier, restless in its assault, his tongue dueling, playing with mine. The force of energy pulsing between us is unexpected, an entity in and of itself. My breath is coming in short bursts when he pauses lifting his lips from mine, blue eyes imploring me to stop him. I’m drawn to him on a level I don’t understand. I want him, I need him. Unhindered, I wrap my arms around his neck in response to the silent question and his mouth molds sensually to the full line of my lips.

Waking with a start, my eyelids snap open. I pant into the darkened room, my pulse pounding. “Just a dream,” the soft words stir the air. Feeling the flush rise slow and hot on my cheeks, I stare into the darkness, concentrating on slowing my ragged breathing. After untold moments I pull the covers to my chin, trying to find sleep once more and a dream that will never be reality.

ONE

MY HEART BEATS double time as I slam on the brakes of my 1998 Chevy Blazer, swerving into the lane next to me on the I-114, barely missing the Volvo that cut me off without warning. One hundred and fifteen people die in traffic accidents every day in the United States, and I have no intention of becoming a member of that statistic. Glaring at the woman in the car who apparently isn’t concerned about her or anyone else’s safety, I slow my speed.

I’m going to be late. I hadn’t planned on the Detroit-through-Toledo-morning-rush-hour traffic as I traveled en route to Indiana and the University of Notre Dame. To be fair, I didn’t have much time to plan the trip in the first place.

A late call last evening from Sonja Bates, an editor I work with occasionally, convinced me to travel the three hundred plus miles to the university. Today I'll witness Senator Colin McKenna formally announce his bid on the Republican nomination for the upcoming presidential election. Senator McKenna is interested in hiring a journalist to begin a social media campaign to engage the younger voting population in the election and him. Sonja is connected in some way to Evan Daugherty, McKenna’s campaign manager, and she referred him to me. Why he’s interested in discussing this assignment with me is a mystery given my limited qualifications. However, she was very adamant, in fact downright insistent, so here I am.

Politics is not my strong suit; in fact, I hold a high level of disdain for it, and maybe more so for politicians. My simple philosophy categorizes the whole system just above the criminal clientele inhabiting the State penitentiary. Politicians are pompous asses in three-piece very-expensive suits. They may hold the appearance of kindness and concern, yet behind the façade they plunder the pockets of Americans, spending taxpayer money as if it grows on the trees surrounding their manicured, million-dollar mansions.