It’s that time again, ya’ll! This week, I’ve got an excerpt from Waiting for Tuesday, by Taylor Sullivan. I first met Taylor on a site for writers, and she’s never failed to entrance me! Here’s another great one!
The night I met John Eaton I felt that stability crumble. His smile, a mixture of little boy and pure devil. I knew his type, knew the sort of games that came with men like him, so I pushed. But he pulled harder. I tried to fight it, to shove away the connection that clawed at my heart, but it was too late. Roots dug in, grew deep, and twisted. I was his. But a secret is a dangerous thing. Held too long, it can rip a life apart.
When we got to the double doors, I held them open, stepping aside to let her enter the kitchen first. The room was empty, clean for the night except for the tools I’d left on the ground earlier. She slipped past me, her wild hair brushing my arm as she clutched the bag that was almost as big as she was.
“Right this way,” I said, leading her to a doorway on the left.
She paused when she saw the staircase and glanced over her shoulder. For a second I thought she might change her mind, come to her senses, and realize she was a tiny girl, and I was the man who’d had librarian fantasies about her all night. But she didn’t. She lifted her chin, adjusted her bag, and started climbing.
I frowned. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t like this one bit. All of a sudden, I wanted to lecture her about strangers. She looked like a strong woman, but I had no doubt I could snap her like a twig. My brows furrowed, and I remembered the guys who’d cornered her in the hall earlier. I followed behind her, my eyes locked on the slight sway of her hips noticeable even from under her baggy overalls, and I shook my head. When we made it to the top of the loft, my jaw ached from clenching so hard. Of course I have jumper cables.
What self-respecting man doesn’t have jumper cables?
I walked past her, set my drawer on the desk, and gestured to the phone. “Do you always follow strange men you just met?” I couldn’t quite explain my anger. This was exactly what I wanted, but now I was pissed she wasn’t making wiser choices. Why I felt so protective over a woman I just met was beyond me, but there was something primal about how I felt about her. Maybe my response stemmed from finding her cornered by those assholes, or the fact I grew up with three sisters, or maybe it was because she reminded me of Bambi—a deer caught in headlights, who couldn’t get out of her own way.
I turned around and met her heated stare. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t as much of a Bambi after all. Her stance was wide, her cheeks red, and her eyes were as bright as a brush fire.
“Do you always try to bed two women in one night?”
What the hell?
My brows drew together and I grinned. “Bed two women?” It shouldn’t have been so amusing, but this wasn’t the reaction I’d expected. “What are you talking about?”
She hoisted her bag high on her shoulder and half laughed, half scoffed. “It doesn’t matter.” She picked up the phone and began dialing.
I cringed and gripped the back of my neck. I wanted to laugh at how ridiculous this was, but at the same time, I knew without a doubt that would be the wrong thing to do. I opened the lock box and tried to focus on my job, but her words bothered me and I couldn’t keep quiet. “Is that what you thought? That I was bringing you up here to sleep with you?”
She shrugged then turned to face me. She was beautiful. Maybe even a little hotter when angry.
“Does that mean you wan―” But my question was interrupted by her doubling over with laughter.
Fair enough.
***
Taylor is a contemporary romance author who loves writing stories about real people. Ones with hopes, dreams, fears, insecurities, and flaws. She loves to read as much as she loves to write, and is trilled to share her stories with you. When Taylor isn’t writing, she can often be found with her nose in a book, her face behind a camera, or spending time with her husband and three young children.
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TaylorSullivanAuthor.com
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Twitter: https://twitter.com/@AuthorTSullivan
