Jae Jensen is the name under which I am taking my first foray into the world of M/F erotic romance, and my short story, The Last Train Home is available now from ALL ROMANCE EBOOKS, AMAZON.COM and AMAZON.CO.UK.
Casual hook-ups are not Katherine's usual modus operandi.
She's level headed, confident and definitely not into throwing caution, or her knickers, to the wind.
However, when the last train home becomes the stranded in a pitch black tunnel train, she finds herself alone in the dark with a gorgeous stranger, who makes her an offer she ought to, but can't refuse.
EXCERPT:
For
what must have been the hundredth time, Katherine wished she hadn't agreed to
work late, not this late, anyway. The entire office was in
chaos, trying to get everything ready for the new boss's arrival. Katherine
worked for the head of Sales and Marketing at Thacker, Wright & Grant one
of the largest advertising firms in the city, and he'd had her staying late
every night this week to make sure all his files were complete. Every 'i' had
to be double dotted and every 't' double crossed. Which is exactly what Jack
Brody was, a double-crossing, ass-pinching, sleazy son of a bitch.
Payroll had done the rounds earlier, and on opening
her pay check she was furious to note he hadn't authorized the overtime she'd
completed last month—and she knew why. The bastard had been given a written
warning last week for his overtly tactile behaviour after she'd made a
complaint to Human Resources about his wandering hands. She should have let the
asshole present his files to the new VP in their original state—fucking slime-bag.
The screen that had been indicating her train would be
arriving in three minutes for the last ten mocked her, daring her to challenge
its shitty information. She checked her watch, again. If she'd missed the last
train home because of that dickhead she was going to be taking the taxi fare
out of his ass with a well-placed Jimmy Choo. Speaking of Jimmy Choos, she was
starting to get a little antsy in hers. The silence was deafening and, coupled
with the flickering fluorescent lighting, she felt as though she'd stepped into
a scene from An American Werewolf in
London.
Her gaze flitted around the platform, settling on the
homeless person—she couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman from the
generic ensemble of filthy overcoat and tattered beanie—curled up on a bench a
few feet from her. She wanted to move away, but she also didn't want to make it
obvious that's what she wanted to do. Shaking her head at her own reluctance to
hurt the feelings of a sleeping tramp, she mentally cursed her mother and the
good manners she'd insisted on instilling in her children.
A loud rumbling from the yawning mouth of the tunnel
began to build, and the draft created by the approaching locomotive snatched at
her coat with icy fingers. Butterflies took flight in Katherine's belly as the
roaring grew louder. She loved the sights and sounds of the train pulling into
the station. The way the air seemed to be sucked out of the confined space and
then pushed back in with a punch when the train burst forth from the darkness like
a huge party favour blown between a giant's lips.
Jesus—waxing
a bit lyrical aren't we? You must
be tired.
Katherine ignored her inner voice as several carriages
passed her before the train came to a stop. The doors opened and she stepped
inside, looking around and finding she was alone. Thank God, the last thing she
needed was some well-meaning fellow traveller pressing her for
conversation. Settling on one of the
seats, Katherine sighed heavily and leaned back against the headrest, closing
her eyes and willing away the pressure of the day. The train's engine rumbled
as it prepared to continue its journey and the warning buzzer for the doors let
off its high pitched beep, signalling the last chance to get on.
"Fuck!"
Katherine's eyes flew open at the expletive and she
stared, open-mouthed, at the man who had just managed to squeeze through the
doors and onto the car before they'd completely closed. His gaze immediately
found hers and he sent her an apologetic smile, which she acknowledged with a
brief twitch of her lips.
Katherine couldn't believe he'd managed to get all his
appendages inside before the train moved off. He probably used the same expertise it took to shoe horn himself into
those jeans. The thought bounced around her skull before she could squash
it, and she was mortified to note the playful smile on his face, as if she'd
said the words out loud. The train jolted as it moved off and Katherine dropped
her gaze to her clasped hands where they lay in her lap.
Jesus, get
a grip, Kathy. Anyone would think you'd never seen a hottie before.
That in itself was true; but there was hot and then
there was the man sitting across the carriage. Tall, very tall, she'd noticed
that when he'd all but fallen onto the train. From the furtive glances she
found herself unable to stop taking, she discovered he had dark, brooding eyes,
aquiline nose and stubble shadowing his square jaw. His chiselled features
could have made him appear hard, if it weren't for his lips. She risked another
peak from beneath her lashes. They were full, pouty and looked so soft, for a
split-second she wondered how they would feel on her skin. Along with how his
black hair would look in contrast with her pale flesh as he slid his tongue
down her belly and— Katherine Russell
what on earth are you doing? Do you need me to remind you you're a nice girl?
No—she didn't need reminding, but the frisson of
excitement sliding down her spine when he turned his dark gaze away from the
window and onto her, suggested a bit of a nudge might be a good idea. Of
course, if he'd stop sending her toe-curling glances, that would probably help.
How long
has it been since we saw any action that didn't involve alcohol wipes or, God
forbid, the replacement of triple A's at pivotal moments?
Katherine's cheeks flushed with warmth at the
memory. That was definitely one of her lower points, but she hadn't quite hit
rock bottom yet. She still had some
dignity—didn't she? 