Here's the opening scene from my latest book on sale from The Wild Rose Press Wilder Catalog: "He's feeding her!" the maid whispered as she popped back into the kitchen with the salad plates and paused next to where Keeley was finishing dessert. "And she's already giving him the look."
“Too bad I didn’t prepare peas, so he could retrieve them from her cleavage.” Keeley scowled and turned back to spread a glaze of sweet, dark chocolate over the gateau. It hadn’t turned out quite as she’d hoped, but it would have to do. She didn’t have time to prepare another dessert. Besides, by the time lover boy got to the last course, he’d be more interested in screwing his dinner partner than tasting Keeley’s cake. With the glaze done, she peeked through a crack in the hall door to see her employer leaning attentively toward a busty blonde. The bimbo giggled as he fed her a piece of meat. It was more than obvious from the heated looks she gave him it was an entirely different piece of meat sparking her interest.
Keeley frowned. That was no way to appreciate the veal she’d prepared. She huffed. Another excellent meal would go to waste while half the staff watched him work his magic on his latest date. Women seemed to fall over him like he held them in
some sort of thrall. For his part, he usually looked like he could care less. The least he could do was eat the meal off his date’s naked stomach, maybe lick
the gateau off her…
Jeez! Keeley ignored the tingle in her breasts and between her legs watching Ciaran Clifton usually caused. Why the hell did he have to be so good-looking? Why the hell did she work for him? Granddad. That was why. The job gave her enough money and freedom she could care for him at home. That was what mattered. He’d lived within
sight of Long Island Sound his entire life. She couldn’t ask him to change that. He was having a tough time with the chemotherapy this go round.
Keeley stalked back to the kitchen. All she wanted to do was get home. Granddad needed her. For once she wished Clifton would hurry with his dinner and his seduction so she could leave. She was tired of the long dinner table conversations that seemed to her at least like he was busy getting information instead of sex. It disturbed her enough thinking about him that way; she certainly didn’t need the evening to drag on for hours.
She cleaned the kitchen, her movements automatic and efficient. While the dishwasher was quietly humming, she started a pot of coffee. On a tray she put sugar, cream, spoons, napkins and cups.
“They’re ready for dessert.” The maid updated her. It was like play by play at a soccer game. He’s already got one hand all the way up her thigh and the other’s slipping the strap of her dress off her shoulder. He scores!