New Release!
Cherry
Pie and Mistletoe
A Mature Holiday Romance
by
Lisabet Sarai
Mature holiday erotic romance
6,500 words
Smashwords and Amazon KDP
ISBN
(Smashwords): 9780463728154
ASIN:
B082GY5X5P
Tag Line
Some Christmas traditions improve with age.
Long Blurb
At ten thirty on a stormy Christmas
Eve, I really didn’t expect any business, but the sign for our diner out on the
highway reads “open until midnight”, and I’m a woman of my word. Good thing I
didn’t close; the
half-frozen long haul trucker who wandered in really needed some hot coffee,
not to mention a slice of my luscious cherry pie.
Something about the grizzled, bear-like
man with the chocolate-brown eyes and ready laugh spun me back to my
scandalous, sensual younger days. I hadn’t wanted anyone in years, but I wanted
Dave Driver. Was I brave enough to act on my desire? And would he flee,
screaming, from the amorous attentions of a white-haired little old lady?
Buy Links
Enjoy an exclusive Online Excerpt over at Beyond Romance
PG Excerpt
Before he could mention it, I refilled his
empty mug. What was it about this guy? Ants crawled along my skin. Butterflies
danced in my stomach. My nipples felt heavy and hard as polished stones and a
hungry void pulsed between my thighs.
Our eyes met. Heat flickered through me. I
held my breath.
“You got any cherry pie?” he asked at last.
Had he wanted to request something else?
“Um—yes, yes, of course,” I gasped.
Disappointment and relief warred inside me. After all, I wasn’t a girl anymore.
I didn’t want to make a fool of myself. “Best cherry pie in three counties, in
fact.”
“And would you happen to have something to
do with that, Marnie?”
“I certainly would. It’s my mother’s
recipe—by the way, what’s your name?” I winced at my own boldness. “Since you
know mine.”
“Dave,” he replied. “Dave Driver.”
I giggled. “You’re joking, right?”
“Nope. Guess I was fated to be a long-haul
trucker.” Sadness tinged his smile. “Anyway, Marnie—how about that pie? It’s
great talking to you, but I’ve got to be in Nebraska by Thursday morning.”
“Coming right up.” I cut him a
more-than-generous slice and topped it with a scoop of homemade vanilla ice
cream. Ruby-red fruit oozed from the flaky crust. Fingers of creamy white
dripped over the top and pooled on the plate. I garnished the whole thing with
a sprig of fresh mint and presented it to him with a flourish.
“Very Christmas-y,” he said. “Looks
delicious, too.”
“It is.” I watched him devour a big, gooey
chunk.
“Wow! This is amazing!”
“Thanks.” It felt so good to be the cause
of his innocent delight. “Glad you like it.”
“Why don’t you join me? Have a piece of
your own?”
“I shouldn’t. It’s bad for my cholesterol.”
“It’s Christmas Eve, and you have to work.
You deserve some compensation!” He held
out a moist forkful of cherries and cream. “Here, take some of mine, then.”
Giving in to impulse, I leaned over the
counter, opened my mouth and let him feed me. Flavors exploded on my tongue:
the sweet-tart burst of the fruit, the richness of the ice cream, the buttery
lightness of the crust. Dave scrutinized my face as I chewed and swallowed,
savoring every moment. I couldn’t stop licking my lips. His eyes followed my
every move. A blush climbed into my cheeks, even as I chided myself for being
immature and overly sensitive.
“See?”
he said gravely. “You should listen to me. Go get yourself some of your
incredible cherry pie.”
I didn’t resist any more. I wanted the pie.
I wanted him, too. Not much I could do about that second desire, but I could
certainly fulfill the first. Hard as it sometimes was to believe, I was sixty
four. Did I think I’d live forever?
With my pie and ice cream (a somewhat
smaller piece than I’d given him), I perched on a stool inside the serving
area. Facing each other across the counter, less than a foot apart, we ate in
silence.
I tried without success to concentrate on
the exquisite taste of the dessert in front of me, as Dave seemed to be doing.
Instead, I was intensely aware of how close he was—and how paradoxically
attractive. I watched his sensual mouth opening and closing around forkfuls of
pie, the flick of his tongue over his lips as he gathered stray crumbs, the
shift in his throat as he swallowed a mouthful of coffee.
He drained his coffee cup. He’d nearly
finished. When he was done, he’d disappear into the winter night. He had a long
way to travel before morning. His job probably depended on providing a reliable
delivery schedule.
I was just a stop along the way.
About Lisabet
You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, Pinterest, and
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