Not In My Wildest Dreams (Dream Series)
Read Not In My Wildest Dreams (Dream Series) Online
Authors: Isabelle Peterson
Tags: #Romance, #Erotica
by Isabelle Peterson
Copyright © 2013 Isabelle Peterson
Kindle Edition
WARNING:
EROTIC ROMANCE… This book contains subject material of an adult nature intended for readers of 18 and older, maybe even 21 and older. In these pages you will find graphic language and sexual encounters that some readers might disagree with: regular sex, BDSM, oral, sex toys, and more. You’ve been warned. Happy reading!
DISCLAIMER:
This is a work of fiction. It is not based on my life, nor any person living or dead. Names, characters, places, and events are the creation of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously, and any resemblance is entirely coincidental. Any reference to historical events, real places or real people are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 Isabelle Peterson
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved.
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 return to your retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover designed by Kari Ayasha, Cover To Cover Designs
Formatting by Paul Salvette, BB eBooks
I dedicate this book to my husband, Marcus. He’s the best part of all the men in my books. Supportive, generous, loving, exciting, and romantic.
I love you Marc.
Iz
Again I sit down to hammer out an acknowledgment section. And there are so many people I have no idea where to start! It’s been an impressive ‘army’ of friends who have helped make Not In My Wildest Dreams
bigger, better, faster and stronger.
My family, who has been patient and ridiculously supportive and overlooking my mania and listening to me ramble and freak out—Marc, Taylor and Ian—thank you isn’t enough.
My friends—Nancy, Marquette, Mary, Brit, and Chris, I believe I owe you a drink!
Alpha, Beta and proof readers – Wow! Your comments, connections, and insight – along with your eagle eyes for typos and such – you are all a blessing. Not one stands ahead of the other, so I am listing you alphabetically: Ana, Brit, Brittany, Courtney, Dottie, Jade, Jennifer, Jessica, Kelley, Kim, Lisa, Raquel, Rebecca, Shannon, Stephanie M., Stephanie S., Terri and Valerie!!!
Thank you to the authors who inspire, support me, advise me, and offer kind words (again, alphabetically): K. Bromberg, Emme Burton, L. Chapman, L.L. Collins, Melissa Collins, Jennifer Anne Davis, K.M. Golland, Sydney Landon, Jodi Ellen Malpas, Raine Miller, N.M. Silber, S.C. Stephens, Skye Turner, and A.L. Zaun.
Thank you to the bloggers who have supported me. So many to mention here, and daily there are more, but here’s a short list of those who have been superstars with promoting Ditching the Dream, and I have already been so helpful with Not In My Wildest Dreams: After Dark Divas, Elle’s Book Blog, Erotica Book Club, Eye Candy Bookstore, Fictional Boyfriends, For the Love of Books, Hooked on Books, Love Between the Sheets, and Maria’s Book Blog.
Thank you to the
thousands
of women (and a few men) who have bought, and read, Ditching the Dream. Your excitement for what was written and what is to come, connections to the characters, and enthusiasm for my writing is what pushed me further into this world of Indie Publishing, and had me once again staring at a cursor on a white screen to put Jack’s story into words. You trusted a new author, and I’m so happy you were not disappointed.
Thank you Kari, of Cover to Cover Designs, for your beautiful covers…
And Paul, from BB eBooks Thailand, for the beautiful touches you’ve put on the Dream Series with the formatting.
As is the nature of the beast—I’m fearful that I’ve missed someone, somewhere. It’ll hit me at 3am some morning and know that I won’t be able to sleep.
J
ack handed his jacket to the flight attendant of the ridiculously expensive private jet and settled into the leather seat. He could have flown commercial, but he wasn’t in the mood to be around other people.
“May I get you something to drink, Mr. Stevens?” the cheery attendant asked.
Accepting her interruption as politely as he could muster, Jack glanced at her name tag. “Yes, Katie. Thank you. I’ll have a Scotch, please.”
“Right away, Mr. Stevens. Macallan 18, correct?” One thing he loved about flying private was the pre-flight questionnaire. That way, you’d get on the plane and not have to explain a thing.
“Thank you.” He nodded, distracted in thought.
Moments later Jack was sipping the brown spirits and trying to calm his nerves.
I should be drinking water after soaking my liver like I did these past few days,
he thought. But his heart ached. A chunk had been ripped out leaving a gaping hole that continued to bleed, so he continued to drink.
He thought about the past week. Beth showing up at his home, so sad and quiet…then telling him that she was going back home to her husband… to try and work things out with him.
It’s not right,
he thought.
Beth is mine.
He downed the rest of the Scotch and, shifting in his seat, waited for the Captain to announce clearance and takeoff.
Jack’s phone buzzed in his pocket, distracting him from his thoughts. It was a text from his secretary and best friend, Becca.
6:39pm
Schedules rearranged. Peter
and Terri on next week’s shows.
Return flight from Napa to JFK
confirmed for Sunday. Details in
your email, along with Beth’s
address in Napa. Best of luck. Go
get your heart back. I look forward
to seeing BOTH of you next week.
Taking a deep breath, Jack shut his phone off and put it in his pocket. He closed his eyes to try and get some much needed sleep during the six hour flight to California.
This has to work. It just has to.
Thirty-four years ago… June, 1979.
“C
lean up in aisle seven,”
the speakers in the tiny, rural Colorado grocery store squawked. Angela sat behind the front counter, just ten feet from me, smirking. Was it really necessary for her to use the speakers? No. She was just being a bitch because she was friends with Jenny. Fucking small town. God, it was last summer that Jenny and I had broken up and still, no one would let it rest. Jenny and Suzie were so mad at me that they started calling me ‘Jackass Jack’. So what if I wanted to have a threesome with my girlfriend, and her best friend. I was in high school. I’d read about it in
Playboy
and
Penthouse
. It sounded like a good time. C’mon all that soft skin, double the tits, two mouths…
And it’s not like I was looking to get married or anything, especially to Jenny. I wanted Suzie, anyway. She had this rack and an ass that you could bounce a quarter off of. It was kinda why I went out with Jenny in the first place; to hang out with Suzie. But learning that Suzie played for the ‘other team,’ I had to break up with Jenny after she blabbed to all the girls in school. It was too embarrassing. Hell, I was probably never getting married. I didn’t want a ball and chain. Why get pinned down to just one flavor for the rest of time? Four of my seven brothers and sisters were already married, while the other three were in serious committed relationships. The life and fun was just sucked right out of them even before they got hitched.
“You hear that, son?” Mr. Thompson called down aisle nine at me. I was stocking the sugar shelves in the baking aisle. “And it’s Tuesday. You know what that means.”
Yeah, Tuesday meant delivery day. Around four o’clock, the truck would show up, and I’d be lifting and storing fucking heavy boxes for hours afterwards. I was strong enough, but I’d always leave here aching like an old lady, not that I’d admit it out loud.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Tho—” I called over my shoulder, but he was already gone.
God, I hate this job.
But I hated working on the ranch more. They didn’t need me there anyway. That was clear. My seven brothers and sisters, their husbands and wives and my parents, even though they were in their late 60s, took care of everything from the fields, to the cattle, to the milk. They loved putting me on muck duty. I didn’t want to be a fourth generation rancher, but I didn’t want to be a small grocery store stock boy either. Honestly, I didn’t know what the hell I wanted to do with my life.
I shoved the last of the five-pound bags of sugar back on the shelf and went to get the mop. Aisle seven meant one of two thing: ketchup or pickles.
After cleaning up the red tomatoey mess in aisle seven, I clocked out on my break and headed out back for a smoke. It was pretty warm for the late June afternoon. I leaned on the wall along the side of Thompson Market that faced Davis Street and lit up a Marlboro. I took in the thick smoke and felt myself mellow as I leaned against the peeling painted wall of the building.
I stood a bit straighter when a sweet ‘Vette pulled up. Not a new one. A 1966, cherry-red, convertible Corvette. Gorgeous condition for being 15 or so years old. And then there was the sweet thing behind the wheel. Blonde. And stacked. She was no high schooler.
“Do you work here?” she called out.
“Yeah. Who’s askin’?” I said back, trying to act cool.
“How old are you?”
Now we’re talkin’.
“Old enough. What do you have in mind?”
