Happy Valentine's Day! Have you ever experienced a time when you wanted to to tell someone how much you liked them but dared not? Kat finds herself in this quandry in this scene from my latest contemporary romance... Enjoy!
Preachin' to the Choir
A love story of "heavenly" proportions! Jonathan is preachin' to the choir, but will pretty choir director Kat let him?
Available in all e-formats at Mojocastle Press:
In this excerpt, Kat goes jogging to get away from her thoughts about Jonathan, but somehow she can’t escape them...
“Get over it,” Kat muttered as she jogged across the field toward the entrance of the walking trail. Nestled in a small valley along scenic limestone ledges in a grove of live oak and ash juniper, the track
had quickly become the favorite pathway for pedestrians. She fell into an easy loping stride and allowed her mind to wander.
Tuesday’s piano lesson had had a mesmerizing effect on Kat. The feel of Jonathan’s arms around her waist, his hands touching hers, his breath warm and sensuous against her neck... She shuddered. Here it
was ninety-plus degrees, and she was actually shivering. Shivering with desire at the recollection of how Jonathan had made her feel Tuesday evening.
No man had ever made her feel so keenly aware of her body’s responses Kat realized, not Dirk, not B.B.not anyone. What was it about Jonathan that made her feel so alive? She had never seen Jonathan Rawlins in such a light before. Now he was practically all she could think of.
Kat halted and grabbed her knees, gasping for breath, at the first park bench located a dozen yards along the trail. God should strike me dead for such wicked thoughts, she moaned inwardly. She was lusting after
a man who was still mourning his late wife, his late wife who was a saint by anyone’s standards, and was still sorely missed by one and all. She should feel ashamed of herself. Really she should.
Yet, somehow, she didn’t.
Kat started jogging again. The exercise would purge her of these impure thoughts or at least make her too tired to act on them.
“You know, it wouldn’t be too forward of me to ask him over for dinner some night,” she reasoned aloud. “I could just tell him I wanted to make sure he was eating right.”
You could tell him that he’d never have to eat another meal alone. Ever.
Kat gulped and blinked hard, hastening her pace. Good Lord, her estrogen levels must be completely whacked. She was acting like a silly teenager who harbored a secret crush on her teacher. She was
fantasizing about becoming Jonathan Rawlins’s main squeeze.
“I’ve got to get over this.”
Kat tilted her head back and let the rays of dying sunlight streaming through the trees bathe her face with their warmth. She focused her concentration back into the tempo of her footsteps falling on the
path... Right, left, right, left, right, left... Up, down, up, down over the rolling hillsides...
Her breathing slowed. Presently, she felt a calming blanket of sanity wrap itself around her raging hormones. Her mind began to solve her present dilemma. It was all so simple. She was an adult—he was an adult. Two adults having the occasional dinner together was a perfectly natural, perfectly wholesome activity. Hadn’t he invited her out to eat
once before? She could say she was returning the favor. It wasn’t anything to be ashamed of.
“Look out!” a familiar male voice shouted, rousing her from her daydreaming, but it was too late.
Kat tumbled top over bottom over the large, man-shaped obstruction in her path. Sliding and tumbling in an unladylike jumble of limbs and legs among the carpet of woodchips, only to land spread-eagle on her
“Kat? Are you all right?”
Jonathan’s voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere near her right temple, but Kat couldn’t be too sure. Was she hallucinating? After all, hadn’t she been thinking about Jonathan a moment before she
A large hand tenderly caressed her cheek. “Kat? Speak to me, please.”
Kat slowly opened her eyes and looked to her right. Jonathan Rawlins’ face hovered mere inches from her own.
Preachin' to the Choir is now available at Mojocastle Press
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