Beautiful Stranger E-Book

L. Moone

• Herausgeber: eXplicitTales Romance
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Claudia: The last thing I want is a sugar daddy.
I might only be twenty-four, but I've always been the sensible one. From my boring call centre job right down to my practical wardrobe; impulsive and extravagant are not part of my usual vocabulary. Ascot, the home of British horse racing might be my home as well, but the filthy rich visitors blocking my route home are more a nuisance than a thrill.

Until one of them catches my eye... And I can't help myself but invite him into my home.

Peter: It was the worst day of my life, until suddenly it wasn't.
All my life I've worked hard to make it to the top of my field, to give my wife all she’s ever wanted. After a day of sipping champagne and watching the races, an indiscretion of hers with a colleague changes my picture-perfect middle class life forever. I haven't a clue where I'm going, I just know I can't stand the sight of either of them and I run; right into the arms of a girl nearly half my age.

Is it still cheating, if she's done it to me first? I'd like to think not. It's just a chance at a new beginning.

It all begins with a chance meeting at the side of the road. Neither of them could foresee just where their one night of passion would lead. Can love conquer all, from class differences to age gaps?

Read on and find out.

This contemporary romance features an older man and a younger, curvy woman and the various challenges such a relationship may bring.

Chance Encounters is a series of stand-alone novellas set in jolly old England, following a set of loosely connected women as they find love in unexpected places. What do these couples have in common? When they meet, it is purely by chance, yet passion strikes immediately. They'll have to deal with the consequences of their actions once the sun comes up...

Available titles:
One Night Stand
Beautiful Stranger
Only a Taste

Leseprobe

Beautiful Stranger

A Sexy Older Man Younger Woman Romance by L. Moone

Chance Encounters Book 2

Twenty-four year old Claudia has always been the sensible one. From her boring call centre job right down to her practical wardrobe, flash and extravagant are not part of her normal vocabulary. She may live in Ascot, the home of British horse racing, but the presence of all the moneyed revellers blocking her route home from work are more of a nuisance than a thrill. Until one of them catches her eye...

Peter’s life couldn’t be more different. All his life he’s worked hard to make it in the banking industry, to give his wife all she’s ever wanted. After a day of sipping champagne and watching the races, an indiscretion of hers with Peter’s colleague changes this picture-perfect vision of middle class life forever. He decides to cut and run, only, he hasn’t a clue where he’s going.

A chance meeting by the side of the road brings them together, making them forget their opposing backgrounds. Is passion alone enough to overcome their differences?

Chance Encounters is a series of stand-alone novellas set in jolly old England, following a set of loosely connected people as they find love in unexpected places. Can love conquer all, from class differences to age gaps? Read on and find out.

Series Reading Order:One Night StandBeautiful StrangerOnly a Taste

© 2015 L. Moone

Published by eXplicitTales

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book has been previously released with a different cover and author name.

Table of Contents

Beautiful StrangerOne Night Stand (preview)

Author's Note

Chapter One

Before you start: Join my mailing list to get a FREE story, At First Sight,  and be the first to find out about new releases, sales and giveaways!

I’ve been dreading my drive home all day. In fact, that is an understatement. After a long day at work, the last thing I need is to be reminded that I’ve decided to live in that beautiful, mostly serene part of the world called Ascot, Berkshire. Which of course during this week of the year turns into a hellhole, overrun by obscenely rich people clogging up the roads in their Bentleys, Rollers and whatnot. Actually the Bentleys and Rolls Royces don’t bother me so much, it’s the hordes of not so rich people who think it’s classy to hire a Hummer Limo which I can really do without.

Such is my aversion that I’ve even started to avoid newspapers this week, the one week in June that the Royal Ascot races take place. If I wanted to see photos of ridiculous hats and passed out drunk people on the lawn, I could’ve just bought a ticket and gone myself. But I don’t really care about horse racing, or showing off. I would much rather attend a music festival, if I had to brave the Great British Weather in inappropriate clothing anyway.

My neighbours tend to flee around this time of year, but unfortunately I can’t afford a holiday. With the way things have been at work, I’d better put every spare penny away for a rainy day. At least tonight will be the last time this year I’ll have to deal with this mess, tomorrow is my day off and I don’t intend to venture out onto the roads at all until next week when normality has returned.

I’m already looking forward to my quiet long weekend, focusing on nothing but my paintings. All I have to do is get there.

Slowly I make my way through the various traffic control measures set up seemingly to hinder the flow of traffic rather than improve it. I suppose it all makes sense to someone. It takes me an hour to get onto Blacknest Road, which in ordinary circumstances would be about 5 minutes from home. But these are not ordinary circumstances.

As my car creeps along in its spot within the tedious metal conga line that has formed around me, all I have for company are my radio and my grumpy thoughts. And the occasional sympathetic smile from someone in much the same situation in the opposite lane.

I occupy myself by looking at the flash cars that slowly pass by. Nothing too unusual in this part of the world, various Ferraris, Lambos and of course the already mentioned Bentleys and Rolls Royces of all ages. I almost give up on seeing much variety when something small and dark blue catches my eye parked up on the verge ahead. Twin white racing stripes accentuating its curvaceous body, top down to reveal it’s cream leather interior. Absolutely beautiful. I wonder if it’s a real AC Cobra or just a good replica. And more importantly, what is it doing sitting in the muck next to this busy road?

Traffic creeps ahead and I get closer, there’s a man in the driver’s seat, arms folded and head resting against them on the steering wheel. He is sporting the accepted race-going uniform; grey waistcoat with a matching hat and coat on the passenger seat beside him.

I don’t know what possesses me, but I leave my coveted place in the traffic queue and pull up behind him. Just to see if he’s OK - I tell myself - or at least to get a better look at his magnificent car.

Stepping out has me cursing under my breath immediately. Of course I managed to position my exit right in the middle of a patch of sticky mud left behind by this morning’s early summer showers.

“Excuse me, are you having car trouble?” I ask. He lifts his head off his forearm which is still resting on the steering wheel. “I was wondering if you need help...”

His pale blue eyes stand out against his face and particularly against his dark hair which is starting to grey around the temples. If I had to guess I’d say he was in his late thirties or early forties, and the salt & pepper look is really working for him. Something seems off though. I remind myself he’s probably just had a few too many glasses of champagne or whatever it is they drink at the races.

“I wanted to leave, but thought I probably shouldn’t be driving. So I pulled over.” His voice sounds friendly, if a tad uncertain. Everything about him suggests money, from his accent to his clothes. Perhaps the car isn’t a replica after all.

“You’re probably right, I suppose you shouldn’t be driving. Where were you headed?” I ask.

He averts his eyes downwards before answering. “I don’t know.”

“Right. Where do you live?” I try.

“I can’t go there.” There’s an awkward silence after his response, and he grips the steering with both hands and rests his forehead against his knuckles.

I think for a little while and look around. The traffic jam heading away is still going strong, but traffic moving in my direction has started to thin. If pulling over wasn’t already weird enough, what I say next actually stuns the rational part of my brain completely. The impulsive surge inside of me is simply impossible to fight, causing my lips to utter certain words before better sense prevails.

“What do you say, you come with me and we’ll figure out where you should be going after reaching my place. “

When he looks back up at me, there is not a hint of suspicion in his eyes. It doesn’t seem to register with him that only a reckless lunatic would invite a drunk stranger home. What the hell am I thinking?

“That would be nice. Thanks.” He tries to smile but instead his face twists. “Oh God, I feel ill.” I hurry around the car and open the car door to pull him out by his arm.

“Believe me, tomorrow you’ll really regret it if you throw up in that nice car of yours!” I warn him.

He walks a few steps away from the road and leans against a tree. I can’t help but stare. He looks fit, about 6 feet tall, broad shoulders. Any other observations would be pure speculation though, plus it would be difficult for anyone not to look good in formals.

I still can’t believe I’m doing this. There’s something special about him, tempting even. Something that makes him appear trustworthy and harmless. Still I’m sort of aware of the possibility that it may all be a clever act on his part and I’m about to let an axe murderer into my house.

Walking towards him now, I can see he has his eyes closed and is just breathing in the fresh air away from all the traffic.

“Nevermind, I guess it was a false alarm,” he mutters.

“Well, then let’s go,” I say, “ I don’t think your car would be safe here, though.”

“Mine on the other hand nobody would touch if I abandoned it here for weeks. And since you’re not fit to drive just now...” I continue.

He doesn’t say a word, simply places the car keys into my outstretched hand and opens the passenger door for himself. Looking at the gorgeous car, I decide then that even if I end up hacked into bits and buried in my own garden tonight, it will have all been worth it.

After grabbing my handbag and locking my own vehicle, I sit down next to him. His expression has hardly changed, he shows no sign of concern that he’s letting a complete stranger drive his car. I have to conclude he’s not all there. I turn the key and the engine purrs to life with a deep, thundering rumble which can only mean one thing: under the shiny, curved bonnet, there lives a huge beast of an engine.

“Why so distracted, did you lose big at the races today?” I ask while checking over my shoulder for a gap in the traffic. It occurs to me that my attempt at small talk is making me sound like a cabbie.

“I don’t gamble. But yes, in a way.” He sighs.

I’m intrigued but don’t want to probe too much. The car behind me flashes its lights, allowing me to merge. After a moment’s silence, he takes a few deep breaths.

“My wife...” His voice trembles ever so slightly while he speaks. “and someone I’d considered a friend...”

My question unintentionally cut right to the core of the matter, it sounds as if he lost hope rather than money.

“Wow, I’m sorry. That’s terrible.” I’m not sure I want further detail but I can’t take the question back now.

He shakes his head. “I should’ve seen it. But I guess I wasn’t around enough, working long hours, sometimes Saturdays too..” He turns towards me and when the traffic stops again, I get the chance to study his face. Perfectly symmetrical, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. He is gorgeous, perhaps even more so because he looks so lost.

“But it was all for her! I wanted to give her the life she deserved. Why didn’t she see that?” Tears are starting to blur those magnificent eyes of his. “Instead, she fucking replaces me.”

Well that’s one mystery solved. I guess posh people do swear.

“You’re right, she should’ve understood,” I say.

The traffic starts moving again and we get just a little bit closer to our destination.

“It was all for nothing.” He looks out at the trees and houses passing by, lost in thought again.

Nothing more is said for the rest of the drive; fifteen minutes or so. I pull up into the cul-de-sac on the hill where I live, the three surrounding houses are unoccupied while the neighbours are on holiday. The setting is secluded, idyllic but the actual house is modest by most standards. It makes me wonder what his home would look like, the exact opposite I bet. The gravel makes a crunchy sound underneath the tyres as I park the car under the rustic wooden carport which is always smothered in pink clematis blooms at this time of year.

Right at this moment the clouds break apart, letting through the pleasantly warm evening sun. I hand him the keys and we both get out of the car. Rather than head for the door, he distractedly takes a few steps towards the fence that surrounds the driveway.

“Beautiful.” He’s right, but it’s been a while since I really appreciated the view myself.

Perhaps I should try my hand at painting a landscape this weekend.

Tall trees line the fields that cover most of the hill below. The lush green leaves on the trees as well as the long grass glisten in the golden light, giving everything a warm glow.

Meanwhile I open the low gate and enter into the garden that runs along the side of the house. There’s a large wooden table and bench set up against the wall, overlooking the same downhill aspect. He follows a few steps behind me.

“Make yourself at home, I’ll just go inside and get some cushions.” I turn the key and enter the cosy living room through the patio door.

While I’m inside already, I might as well cobble together a meal of sorts. Rushing to pop some pre-baked bread in the oven, I raid the fridge for cold meat and cheese.

I vaguely wonder why I’m bothering to hide the Aldi packaging, or arrange everything on a nice plate. After all my bluff is pretty much called already, the classiest bottle of wine I have probably wouldn’t have cost more than £5. Must’ve been a gift that’s been languishing in my kitchen for much too long.

It annoys me that I even care, I never pretend to be something I’m not, why start now?

Chapter Two

“Excuse me, where’s your bathroom?” I hear him call from the back door.

“Oh please come in, it’s just over there...” When he enters, I point out the right door in the hallway.

The contrast between us is even more obvious to me now, he looks like everything I am not in his formals which probably cost more than my car is worth. At the same time I - at 24 - still dress like I did as a teenager, faded jeans and inappropriately tight t-shirts. The only “fancy” clothes I own are worn exclusively to job interviews and then too they’re Primark or at a stretch Next. You could mistake me for a simple idealist, not moved by worldly possessions, when in fact I am just a bit stingy and lazy.

Plus, I’ve never really understood fashion.

Strangely, he looks quite at home, walking over the terracotta tiles and towards the door I’ve just shown him. He shoots a few glances at the eclectic mix of paintings and photographs on my walls on his way. Like he’s meant to be here, in my house. I try and shake off that thought. He’s just some stranger and I’m an idiot for doing this.

The ping of the oven timer brings me back to reality and I pile all the food, plates and cutlery high onto a tray, and head back out. After I’ve arranged everything on the garden table and make another trip for the cushions, a water jug and the aforementioned cheap wine, he comes back out as well.

“You didn’t need to...” he says with a smile.

Looking at him now, much more at ease than before, I feel like I’m getting a hint of his usual demeanour. Charismatic is probably the best word for it, but still he seems genuine.

“I sort of did, I’m starving,” I respond, “and Domino’s doesn’t deliver here.”

He lets out a laugh while sitting down on the bench beside me.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” I point at the food, wine and water, “unless you want coffee or tea, I can do that too.”

“Yeah, I don’t tend to drink much, is it that obvious?” He smiles again. My heart is pounding all the way up in my throat. I can’t get over how handsome he is, the change in body language has made that even more obvious.

“Well, whatever you need, just ask.” My eyes are drawn to his, they seem more turquoise than blue now but that might just be the light. He holds my gaze just a little longer than strictly necessary before picking up the wine and corkscrew.

“I suppose one glass won’t hurt. I promise I don’t feel ill anymore.” He doesn’t look it either, must be the fresh air.

“Don’t be so sure, you haven’t tried it yet. It’s probably nowhere near the quality you’re used to.” I say, still mesmerised by his eyes.

He grins at me. “Everything is only as good as the company it’s enjoyed in.”

I feel the corners of my mouth respond immediately, this is a game I can play. “Well, and what do you know about current company other than that I was overly keen to get my hands on your car keys?”

“Firstly, you took a huge risk trying to help out a complete stranger” Winking at me, he adds, “Car keys or no car keys.”

I accept the glass of wine he has poured for me.

“Furthermore, I don’t recall the last time anyone has made an effort putting together a meal for me...” His gaze wanders out over the field again.

“Fine, if you say so,” I say, “but for all you know I could be a psychopath, only pretending to be friendly.”

He looks back at me again, the amused glint in his eyes reappearing. “So could I.”

“Cheers,” I say, raising my glass towards him. “To us, pretending to be friendly.”

We both take a sip, stealing little looks at each other in turn.

He’s putting on a brilliant performance, like what he said in the car never happened. Perhaps it’s his way of dealing with things. Who am I to argue with such a tempting facade.

I offer him the bread basket and platter of cold cuts. He eats eagerly, like he’s famished.

“You know, had I known, I would’ve prepared something a little nicer than this,” I joke.

“I’ll keep that in mind. To warn you in advance before randomly meeting at the side of the road,” he responds.

I eat a few bites myself

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Peter. Peter Layton.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Peter. I’m Claudia de Wit.”

“The pleasure is all mine. Dutch, eh? I wouldn’t have been able to guess,” Peter says.

“Well, only by name. I’ve always lived here.” I take a big bite of bread and cheese, realising that I’m clearly kidding myself.

We eat in silence until the food is nearly finished. Taking small breaks in between bites for a sip of wine and a few covert glances back and forth.

Peter straightens himself and leans back against the bench, arms folded behind his head. It’s still so bright, it would be quite impossible to correctly guess the time.

He clears his throat and looks at me. “That was lovely, thank you.”

I blush, how undeserved. “Oh, stop it.”

I look at him from the corner of my eye, wondering if my growing attraction towards him his at least in part to do with the slight wine buzz I’ve developed. But whatever the cause, the feeling seems mutual, because he’s now blatantly staring back at me.

“Claudia.” The way he says my name makes me weak inside.

“Yes?” I respond.

“After all this...” He motions over at the empty bottle. “I think it would be even less appropriate for me to drive anywhere.”

“You know, you’re quite right.”

I lean over towards him slightly, seeing him do the same wreaks havoc with my heartbeat. It’s only the wine, I tell myself. But I’m drawn to him, lips parted slightly, as he is to me.

His face just inches away, I hold my breath and slip my hand over his shoulder, around his neck and keep drowning in the blue depth of his eyes as our lips meet. His eyes close when I press my lips against his. I’m overcome by how soft they are. I want to taste him, feel him closer.

His arms wrap around me, pulling me in. The tip of my tongue finds his lips open just enough. He returns my kiss with a need so infectious it causes my own to surge dramatically. With our tongues entwined, his hands explore the contours of my back. Through my t-shirt at first, but quickly progressing underneath. They’re warm and determined, rubbing my tense muscles as if I still need further persuasion. I don’t. My own hands are fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, aiming to rid him of it entirely. As soon as I’ve got it wide open, he pulls back and gives me a devilish look before stripping my own t-shirt off me in one swift upward tug.