RIGHT NAME, WRONG MAN, a comedy romance novel set in France, at 99 cents, perfect lighten your holiday stress with a few smiles.
Even at the slow speed, they reached home too soon. Once in the garage, Mary-Beth darted from the car to the guestroom and jumped into a long cotton nightgown, ready to claim an honest headache.
Her hands clenched on the reassuring plain material as she glared at the bottle of Cognac and the two glasses in his hands.
His unspoken demand swirled the gourmet dinner up into her throat. She clutched her middle, gagged and dashed to the bathroom.
“You’re not sick? Are you? Not tonight, for heaven’s sake.”
No, she wasn’t sick, just terrified of lying with him, making love, and screaming the wrong name again.
“Sweetheart, how are you feeling?” he asked from behind the bathroom door. His concern needled her with remorse.
“I’m better.” She brushed her teeth, splashed cold water on her face, dabbed it with a scented towel, and donned the tiny silk negligee over her shivering body. She took a deep breath. “I love you,” she said with a forceful voice when she opened the door.
“I love you too, my precious one. I become a younger man when I hold you in my arms.”
They toasted their future with a drink of Cognac and climbed into bed. In a swift movement, Steve peeled her nightgown over her head and covered her breasts with kisses.
Stiff as a board, she watched him wide-eyed.
Exasperated, he raised his head. “What’s wrong? I feel like I’m kissing an ice block.”
“I’m sorry. I’m tense. Maybe I worked too much this past week.” Alarmed at the possibility of blurting Yves’s name again, she bit her lips.
“Oh, I thought you’d like it. Such a romantic place, perfect for a honeymoon.”
“No, we’ll go to Italy, or Greece, or England.” Damn it, anywhere except at Yves’ chateau. If that was Steve’s way of relaxing her, it wasn’t working. “Forget the massage. Make love to me.” She turned around and pulled him on top of her.
“My pleasure. Glad I managed to put you back in the mood.” He captured her mouth with eager lips, and she concentrated on his caresses.
Steve excelled at everything he did, surgery, research, social life and lovemaking. Soon enough Mary-Beth forgot her inhibitions under his expert hands and kisses. Soon enough she sighed and moaned with pleasure.
After they collapsed in panting orgasms, she snuggled against his shoulder. Content, she raised her face for one more kiss. “Love you, Yv...Ste-eve, Steve.”
“Love you too, sweetheart.”
“Again. Oh God.” She jammed her fist against her mouth as she jumped to her knees and stared at him.
Yanked from his happily sated semi-slumber, Steve frowned. “I can’t do it again. I’m not twenty anymore.”
Off the hook one more time, she exhaled. She’d caught herself this time, but how long could she keep on saying another man’s name when her fiancé held her? And why on earth, did it happen now? Three years after Yves had left. Did she need a shrink?
I hope you enjoyed the excerpt. What do you think Mary-Beth should do? Stay and marry her fiance or go to Paris and confront her past?
Leave a comment, then read the book to see if you have the right answer.