Chapter One
Savannah pulled her iPad from her oversized bag and checked to make sure no one was paying attention before opening her email and choosing the address of her best friend, Stacy Briggs.
Hey girl,
I sure wish you were here right now, or at least in the country so I could pick up the phone and call. I don’t even know how to start to tell you what I’m feeling right now so let’s start with the mundane – the “what’s going on” things.
First, the house I’m renting from Charli Judd is so perfect I made her an offer on it. I mean, it’s a little smaller than what I’d consider ideal, but I found this really great contractor, so I could easily add on. But the point is, I love the place and I hope when you get back to the States you can find some time to come visit.
Cotton Creek is, and isn’t, exactly what I expected. When Analise invited me to come here, I was thrilled. She and I have been talking about doing an anthology for a year or so, but never got around to it. Now that I’ve finished the Hunted trilogy, I have time and I really want to do this project with her.
This place is the quintessential small Texas town. The people are friendly, decent and honest and of course, everyone knows everyone. If you’re a newcomer you definitely stand out, but for the most part people are quite accepting and make you feel right at home.
But then I’ve told you all this, haven’t I? A dozen times or so in the three months I’ve been here? Yeah, I’m avoiding diving into what prompted this email. Okay, bear with me. I’ll get there.
So, you remember me telling you all about this huge oil field thing that went bust? Well, it didn’t go bust. It was a fracking site and when there was one issue and fear of water contamination, the owners, Legacy, ordered the whole thing to come to a stop.
I have to give them credit. They could have made billions, and yet they let environmental concerns take precedent. Picture me giving them high fives and cheering. They redid everything and now are pumping millions of gallons of natural gas and have retasked some of the land for windmill farms. They’re employing a lot of people and this and other surrounding counties are flourishing because of it.
Someone even opened a dance studio in town. You know, learn to ballroom dance, and Cha Cha and Salsa and all that jazz? A friend I’ve made here talked me into signing up. I went once and… well, I went once and we’ll get back to that.
Right now, I’m sitting in the local high school auditorium, watching rehearsal for a musical the local theatre group is doing. Get this. There will be dancing and they will try to make it dirty. Yep, you guessed it. Every woman over the age of 40s “big sigh” film. I know, I know. No one can ever do justice to Johnny, right?
W R O N G. And I mean O M G wrong.
Which brings me back to what prompted this email and why I only went to one dance class.
Mason James.
Stacy, I swear to god I’ve never seen a man like him before. Well, maybe I have. And maybe it’s not his looks, although he is F I N E (in huge font). But what makes him so lethal is that he is playing the part of Johnny and my god.
HE CAN MOVE.
I mean mesmerize you, turn you into a vibrating pile of female need, make you daydream about all kind of “dirty”. Honestly, I can’t even blink when I’m watching him. How can a man move that… sexy?
My friend has been bugging me to go back to the dance lessons but I can’t. I don’t just have two left feet around him, I have two left feet in combat boots. With glue on the bottom. Or mud. Thick, suck your feet to the bottom of the muck, mud.
Okay, I can see you. I know that expression and I know what you’re thinking. Why am I getting so worked up over some dude who works in a dance studio? In Bumfuck, Texas, no less. I’m a bestselling writer now with hundreds of thousands of fans. Movies have been made from my books. I’ve met big stars who played the characters I created.
What’s the big deal?
The big deal is… Mason James makes me want to rip his clothes off and lick him all over.
There, I’ve said it. Ms. I-Don’t-Need-a-Man-and-Never-Get- Horny vanished the day she saw him dance and now sex is all I can think about. And damn it all, for a man who doesn’t even know I exist.
How pathetic is that? Help!!!
Your pitiful friend in Cotton Creek,
Savannah
Savannah’s finger was poised over the button, ready to hit send, but she paused, stared at the screen for a few moments and then deleted the email. Writing the confession would have to be catharsis enough, there was no way she was actually going to let anyone read it.
So rather than hit send, her finger moved the cursor to the trash symbol to delete the email. Just then the music changed. She looked up and damn if she wasn’t frozen, unable to do anything but watch as Mason the stage.
When he finished his routine, every woman there clapped and cheered, and all the younger ones ran up to him, touching him as much as they could.
Savannah watched and felt her self-esteem plummet. What was she doing there? She wasn’t a twenty-something nymphet who could do a backbend and gyrate like a top. She wasn’t a dancer or performer, she couldn’t sing and couldn’t even paint backgrounds.
So why was she there? Was it really for research for a book? For a moment she considered it, then shook her head, crammed her iPad in her bag and stood. Her readers were interested in adventure, action, danger and chemistry between characters that lit a fire and led to the kind of passion every woman dreams of.
Not the sad tale of a woman who lusted for a man way out of her league.