Like Slow Sweet Molasses by Mickie Sherwood (I/R Sensual)

Thanks to Clare for allowing me to share my newest release, Like Slow Sweet Molasses. Can a classically trained violist-turned-teacher find love with an NOPD Special Ops cop?

Like Slow Sweet Molasses

Genre: Mainstream/Contemporary/Interracial Romance


Heat: Sensual

Blurb:

Teacher Angela Munso has lost control—of her spiraling life. She can control the fallout of recent news from whose loins she sprang as easily as she can her heart’s pitter-patter. To have feelings for a man who is everything she now wants to hate? That’s the last straw! 
Lt. Brock "Chance" Alexander’s arrogance baits Angela. And—he knows it. It’s never so obvious to him as when she lobs that insulting phrase at the side of his head. She pushes all of his hot buttons. But, there’s one he dares her to touch—the one that pushes him out of her life.

What happens when Angela invades Chance's space?

Excerpt:

The warehouse’s smooth concrete floor curled Angela’s toes on the walk from the bathroom to the bed where he thoughtfully left a plastic bag and laid out a pair of his thick, white athletic socks. She disposed of the soggy bundle in her hands by shoving it into the sack, then stashed the sack in a corner out of the doorway in preparation to slip her feet into the oversized socks. Doing so was no easy task for her balance was still off-kilter when she leaned. She felt it prudent not to sit on the side of his bed, in the event he came to monitor her progress, choosing to take the socks into the living area for propriety’s sake.

Chance was out-of-sight but hardly out-of-mind as she heard him tinkering on the floor below. She’d already pried and poked into things that were none of her business, disturbing his privacy as she waited on him, to satisfy a haunting interest. From her observations, there were no feminine items nonchalantly lying around. Angela relaxed a bit speculating there’d be no surprise interruptions or unwarranted accusations of why she occupied not only his home but also his clothing.

Making herself comfortable was as simple as lounging on the primary seating in that part of the room, a supple leather couch in the most amazing color of what she would call inferno red. He watched the big screen television anchored on the brick wall from that focal point. The angle of the furniture let the occupants snoop in on what happened in the kitchen, around the bank of windows with their unobstructed view, as well as keep an eye on the circular stairway entry. Not far from the sofa was an ottoman that if pulled into position actually turned that section of the seat into a space comparable to a twin bed.

The jack-in-the -beanstalk-sized ottoman, alternatively, became her perch. Dry clothes improved her disposition though no matter how hard she scrubbed in the shower the melancholy feeling remained intact. Her head rested on knees drawn up to her chest, giving notice of her injury. Closer inspection revealed prominent brush burns that cracked the skin there, pulling apart the tears with every move. She blew and fanned the spot, bent on lessening the burning. There was nothing to do as the ache throbbed except tuck her legs under her chin to wait for the discomfort to dissolve.

Chance stood riveted in place at the top of the stairs enjoying the view before him. She huddled, ignorant of the wholesome beauty in her pose. He sopped up as much of her loveliness as humanly possible through osmosis, filling himself like a thirsty sponge, teetering on the realm of reality. What did he think he was doing? The intentional noise made by the scraping of his heels on the stairs garnered her attention. Luminous gold-brown eyes ran the length of his body causing an electrifying current to travel across the distance. They shared the moment in reverent silence with him passing her to enter the bathroom.

“Lee and Connie want you to call home.” Salve and bandages shared space in one of his large hands. He sat on the couch, spun the ottoman so that she faced him and gently probed the exposed affected area to gauge the soreness.

She flinched.

Angela’s insides quivered as she let him smear the ointment across the abrasions on her knee. The bandage applied covered the kneecap and adhered when he tested his work by holding her at the bend of her knee to flex the appendage. His fingertips went on to smooth her arms below the elbow and both palms. Her eyes welled, a condition she hoped to avoid by mind-traveling to another space and time. His warm, calloused fingers abbreviated her trip when he massaged her skin. Knowing him for all of two days imposed the fact that she trusted him wholly after such a short acquaintance.

But, no one's perfect...not even Angela!

My novels are available at: 

Allromanceebooks | Amazon | B&N
| Coffeetimeromance  | Bookstrand | Redrosepublishing

Bio:

I'm a cruise-loving, people-watching, picture-snapping baby boomer with time on her hands. So, I write sweet and spicy relationship-based mainstream contemporary romantic love stories.

Read bonus chapters 1, 2, & 3 here.

Find me:

www.mickiesherwood.com

www.mickiesherwood.com/blog

www.twitter.com/MickieSherwood

www.blurbsinbloom.com   Open for submissions

www.twitter.com/BlurbsinBloom

www.pinterest.com/MickieSherwood


Mickie Sherwood

~~Sweet, spicy romance – a heartbeat away!~~