Liam wasn’t supposed to be my happily ever after.
He wasn’t even on my radar.
He was my husband’s best friend—forbidden.
But my husband is dead and I’m alone. I ache for him and I reach for Liam.
One night with Liam changed everything. Now I have to decide if I truly love him or if he’s just the consolation prize.
Excerpt from Consolation
I lift my head and press my lips against his. His hand cradles my cheek and he holds me as we kiss. I grab his neck and feel the weightlessness from letting a little part of myself go. He kisses me adoringly and cautiously, allowing me to lead but still commanding me. I lose myself a little more as I moan when his hand presses against the small of my back.
“Let go,” he says against my mouth. “Let me take it for you.”
Before I can say anything, his mouth is on mine again. Our tongues thrash against each other as the kiss becomes hungry. He pulls me close so there’s no space between us. The low sound resonates through his chest, sending shivers down my spine. It’s sexy, and before I know it, my hands are traveling to his chest. I pull his shirt out and my fingers trail up his chest. I want to feel his skin.
Liam breaks the kiss. “Natalie,” my name is both a plea and a request.
“Shhh,” I instruct him as I unbutton his shirt. “I want to feel your heart.”
My hands glide up and he trembles beneath my touch. We stand here with my fingers resting on his chest, feeling his heart beat beneath me. He’s alive and here with me. His hands stay at his sides as he once again lets me decide where I’m going with this.
“I want to touch you so bad,” he admits and his hand lifts then drops. “I’m fighting every muscle in my body right now.”
“Stop fighting,” I say without thinking.
Copyright © 2015 Corinne Michaels
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or publisher.
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