“Beautiful, you’re so beautiful, Natalie, lovely Natalie I love you I love you.…”
She took his hand, kissed his fingers, then drew them between her legs, let him feel how slick and wet she was (despite the shower), and he groaned as she spread her thighs and wriggled helpfully against him.
“Can I? Please please, I have to be inside you, Natalie, please.…”
“Yes,” she managed, and he leaned over and groped in the end table drawer—she had brought condoms when she’d gone to fetch her shampoo—and his hands were shaking so badly she took the small foil-wrapped packet from him. Not that her hands were steady as stone, but he’d only just gotten his bandages off that morning.
“Okay. I’ve got it—there.”
“Thank Christ,” he groaned, “all praise to your miraculous hands.” She fumbled a bit and he had to help and, in the end, between the two of them
(“Good God, we’re both consenting experienced adults and this is taking too long,” which got her laughing so hard she almost fell off the bed.)
they rolled the condom on.
“Now?” he murmured. “Yes? Okay?”
“Yes! Jesus, yes, get in me already.”
“The most beautiful words in the history of language,” he moaned, then shifted against her, and suddenly he was filling her slowly and sweetly. “Oh thank God for that prophylactic or this would have just ended.”
She giggled, then gasped as he moved, wrapped her legs around him, and pulled him as close as was possible. She could feel the big muscles in his back shifting as they moved together, and was astonished to find she was close, so close, though they’d barely begun. Usually it took several minutes and specific stimulation for her to reach orgasm. Then she remembered what he’d said about how they were living a new book, realized she’d wanted him, wanted this, for a month, thought of this and hoped for it, touched herself in her lonely bed and thought about him, and despaired of ever having it, and then she was crying out and clutching him to her and then his eyes rolled back and he leaned forward and groaned into her neck.
They shivered against each other, then lay still and silent, getting their breath back. She inhaled greedily, loving their intermingled scent.
“Natalie Lane of Heartbreak, in Sweetheart. Of Sweetheart.”
She hummed and stroked his hair. They were still wet, and now sticky. She didn’t give a ripe shit. “Yours, now,” she replied.
He pulled back and smiled down at her. “Yes,” was the simple reply, and she thought there had never been a word so wonderful.
Epilogue
“Blake? C’mon, man, stop sending me to voice mail. Listen, I need your help, no screwing around this time. I decided your insane idea was insane and called the nuclear option because I refuse to live in fear. And get this! Nonna is in on whatever this is! She knows why I’m in Venice, and Mom knows, and they’re being no help, and if I eat any more gelato I’m gonna puke everywhere, so you really gotta call me back and help me figure out what to do. Blake? C’mon! Blake! Look, I know you’re getting these because you texted me back that you and this Natalie Lame are getting married and I don’t know why you thought that would work. Dude, if you don’t want to talk to me, just say that, okay? Just be all boring and Blake-ey and be all, “You are in a mess of your own making” and something about the Duke of Lancaster and “you are terrible” and yak-yak-yak. Don’t text lies, man, like you’d ever get married, and even if you did get married you’d never do it in a city that nearly ran me out of town with tar and feathers. Not cool. Blake? Blake? Blaaaaake!”
Romance Trope List
1. Flashbacks
2. Flashforwards
3. Hardscrabble childhood
4. Emotionally distant hero who just needs the right woman to unlock his heart (Blake)
5. The rake (Rake)
6. Tough but tender waitresses, most smarter than their customers
7. Small-town girl fleeing to Big City to make something of herself
8. Identical twins who are opposites
9. Identical twins who pretend they hate each other but love each other
10. Clueless city boy forced to work on farm
11. Farmers forced to work with clueless city boy
12. Grumpy horse who can only be tamed by (reluctant) hero
13. Hero keeping big secret
14. Heroine pretending to be someone else/keeping big secret
15. Heroine’s deception makes no sense and seems silly from the beginning
16. Lust at first sight
17. Meet cute
18. Big Mis
19. Lovable farm animal brought into homes with no unpleasantness on either side of the equation
20. Kindly, paternal older man the hero takes to right away
21. Hero bonds with and loves an animal solely meant for consumption
22. Balding men are evil
23. Only after hero nearly dies does heroine realize it’s love
24. Stern grandma hiding love for her family under all the stern
25. Over-the-top villain
26. Big cities are bad; small towns are wonderful
27. Hero rich but poor for convenience of plot
28. Inverted “heroine thinks hero is poor, but he’s rich” trope: heroine thinks he’s rich, finds out he’s (kind of) poor (see #29, poor for convenience of plot)
29. Overly serious and educated older brother
30. Wisecracking “street-smart, not book-smart” younger brother
31. Heroine frequently, and inappropriately, giggles.
32. So many misunderstandings can be resolved if characters take three minutes to just have a conversation.
33. Amnesiac sheriff
34. Hot librarians
35. Bad guys swear a lot
36. Sinister foreshadowing that turns out to not be sinister at all
37. Bodice ripping
38. Hero overestimates alcohol tolerance and has drunken rant/meltdown before horrified audience
39. The seemingly insurmountable problems of the plot are solved with relative ease at the end
40. “You just stood up to me, that was the test”
41. Big romantic epiphany
42. Geezers in love
43. No idea what they’re feeling is love until it’s identified at the eleventh hour
44. Family members presumed dead are alive
45. Happily ever after
Read on for a sneak peek at MaryJanice Davidson’s next novel
USA DEAD AHEAD
Copyright © 2016 by MaryJanice Davidson
I’d never hurt her, I’d never hurt any woman, I’ve hurt men who have tried to hurt women and never regretted it, not once; black eyes get better and broken noses can be reset.
But this is hard. Literally, this is very very hard. Dear Abby: I’m sharing a room with my (kind of) boss who’s super-cute and I haven’t masturbated in ninety-six hours and she has lovely soft-strong hands and I might be getting Stockholm Syndrome because I’m looking forward to working with her tomorrow even though I’m terrified of Peeps. How skeevy is it if, while being very very quiet, I—
No point even finishing the question. He knew it was unacceptable levels of skeevy. He sighed and flopped over on his back. Just don’t think about it. Sure. It would be just that easy, right? Don’t think about it. Don’t think about Delaney just a few feet away, warm and fragrant in her bed. Don’t wonder what her mouth tastes like, and the spot behind her ear, and her lovely long throat. Definitely don’t wonder what it’d be like to gently rub your cheek over her stiffening nipples. What she’d sound like if you slipped a hand between her legs and softly stroked her open. Nope. Don’t think about any of it. Easy-peasy. And definitely don’t grab yourself. A lot.
Delaney sat up, like Frankenstein in the lab after the lighting hit. Rake almost shrieked. Oh God, she’s a telepath and knows I’m a perv! My lustful thoughts were so loud they woke her up! Let death come quickly! “What?” he shrilled
from the sofa bed. “What is it? Not the face, okay?”
She didn’t answer. Just abruptly swung her legs over the side of the bed, stood, and went straight to the biggest window in the room, occasionally squashing a Peep or grinding a chocolate egg into the carpet on her way but not stopping. Not even slowing. She got to the window and stood and looked and said nothing and did nothing.
He cleared his throat. “Are you okay?” Please don’t kick me out. You can’t help being hot, and I can’t help finding you hot, but I’d never act on it. Never unless you made it clear you wanted me in your bed. And maybe not even then because although you’re hot I’m a little scared of you.
Nothing.
She was still, so still. He’d never seen her like that, like a statue in the dark. “Delaney?”
She turned to look at him and he felt a chill; her gaze wasn’t on him, not really. It was like she couldn’t see him, was looking past him, or through him. “I don’t…” she began in a low, halting voice unlike any she’d used before.
He pushed his blankets off, relieved that when she clomped toward the window like a cute Frankenstein, his penis, Mr. Roboto, turned back into Flaccido Domingo, and went to stand beside her. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know where I am,” she whispered, sounding young and lost. And damned if she didn’t look young in the barely lit glow by the window.
She reached out as if she was going to touch the glass, then let her hand drift back down. The woman who’d laughed when he barfed and yelled when he bitched and called him on his entitled douchebaggery was afraid to touch a window, or raise her voice, or make eye contact.
“It’s always different, you know,” she murmured. “I don’t know where I am.”
“You’re in Venice,” he said, and now he was whispering. “It’s—it’s okay. I mean, you’re safe and everything. I’d never—no one’s going to hurt you.”
And God, the way her face lit up. That smile. Jesus. “Really?”
“Yeah. Really.”
“No one will come in? Unless I let them?”
“No one,” he promised through numb lips. Fuck. A nightmare that she’s sleepwalking in? Or sleepwalking during a nightmare? What is this? “It’s okay. You’re safe. You—you can go back to bed. If you want.”
“Bed?” And she flinched. Claire Fucking Delaney flinched.
“Well, you don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
The smile again. The relief. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Okay,” she said, and beamed at him. Then she turned around and walked back to her bed and climbed under the covers and flopped over on her side and twenty seconds later she was dead asleep again. He watched her for a while to make sure she was really out; he no longer wanted to masturbate. Now he had a whole new thing to wonder about. Did that make him a good man, or just easily distracted? Both? Neither? And was he wondering about that so he wouldn’t think about how scary she had been, and sad, and afraid?
What the hell was that?
Also by MaryJanice Davidson
Me, Myself and Why?
Yours, Mine and Ours
You and I, Me and You
Faeries Gone Wild
No Rest for the Witches
About the Author
MARYJANICE DAVIDSON is the international bestselling author of several books, including the Betsy the Vampire Queen series. Her books have been translated into several languages and are available in fifteen countries. She writes a biweekly column for USA Today and frequently speaks to book clubs and writer’s groups, teaches writing workshops, and attends conferences all over the world. She has published books, novellas, articles, short stories, recipes, movie reviews, and rants. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Author’s Note
Quotes
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Romance Trope List
Also by MaryJanice Davidson
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously.
DANGER, SWEETHEART. Copyright © 2016 by MaryJanice Davidson. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-05315-2 (trade paperback)
ISBN 978-1-4668-5543-4 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466855434
Our e-books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by e-mail at
[email protected].
First Edition: May 2016
* Eyeball jelly.
* Horse porn, as I discovered while researching this book, is a thing. I am so sorry to be the one to tell you that.
* Traditional soft Norwegian flatbread popular in North Dakota and Minnesota. Also delicious. Very, very delicious.
* John Gray, Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus, 1992.
* To find out what poor Rake’s been plunged into, check out USA Dead Ahead!
* Tom Clancy, The Hunt for Red October.
* Jim Butcher, Turn Coat.
† Lysander Spooner.
‡ Robert Fanney.
* Heh. See what I did there?
MaryJanice Davidson, Danger, Sweetheart
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