Title: She
Author: Anabel Fanning
Genre: Erotic Romance
Blurb: Logan has loved Gemima for years.
Gemima doesn’t know.
After her deadpan relationship implodes, Logan seizes his chance to rock her world.
Set in picturesque Paris, SHE is an erotic tale about falling madly in love. Combining sex, passion, and romance, these two high-flying professionals will leave you saying, “Oh, la la!”
Warning – Meant for mature audiences 18 and up.
Excerpt: What a prick, I think heatedly, replaying our last conversation over in my mind. It was less of a conversation and more of a confession: Jerry cheated on me. A@$%*e! And not just with anyone, oh no, of course not, but with the evil cow, who can only be described as my nemesis: Mimi Pims. B@$%h!
I, Gemima, had to leave the office party early due to some sort of food poisoning, while Jerry, who doesn’t even work there, said he’ll join me at home later. This seems odd to me, but too consumed in not throwing up in front of everyone I work with, including the nemesis, Mimi, I leave. And while I’m hurling my guts out into the toilet bowl, Jerry is f@$%ing Mimi in the toilets at the party, coming harder than he’s ever come before.
“I couldn’t believe it, Gem,” he soon confesses to me. “I’ve never come so much in one go!”
I stare at him, my eyes wide. Which part of his pea-sized brain (which, incidentally, makes his brain bigger than his penis) thinks it’s necessary for me to know such details? What a prick, I think again.
In hindsight, I like to think that my purge that evening was actually of him. I was getting rid of every last, nasty, cheating part of him that I’d ever consumed. And then…it was time to start anew. A new house, a new job, both more satisfactory than the last. A new lover? No, not yet. I can’t fathom how I’ll ever manage to trust a guy again after Jerry.
I haven’t thought about him for many weeks, and I’m only doing so now because of where I am and what I’m doing here. I shuffle hastily down the narrow Parisian streets towards the cafe. It’s Wednesday; it’s lunchtime and it’s busy; it’s February and I’m freezing my a@$ off. Despite living here for the best part of eight years, my blood still thinks it’s in Florida, where I used to live. It never gets cold there, not like this. I curse inwardly for not wearing my warmer coat, and I curse again willing the street full of people to get out of my way. It’s OK, though, I’m on time, and when I finally break free of the crowded, claustrophobic streets I enter one of the large expansive spaces that the city is full of, and I spot the cafe: Genévrier.
It looks full with the lunchtime crowd. I expect I’ll have to wait to be seated, and I expect the man I’m meeting will be late, but as I close the gap between myself and the cafe, I’m taken aback to see him already seated, alfresco, under a glowing red heater. I know this is the man I’m here to meet because I recognise him; I’ve met him before, and yet, somehow, he is totally new to me. For example, I cannot recall previously acknowledging how beautiful he is. But, he is beautiful; beautiful not in a too-perfect european-model kind of way, but in a strong, sexy, manly way. Shit, he’s hot, I think…and now I’ve forgotten his name! I’m shocked by my own reaction. Ogling is not usually my style, and neither is forgetting names. I pride myself on always greeting people by their names. I slow my walk slightly, giving me half a second longer to remember his. Logan! I smile, thanking myself. Logan…Logan…Logan…Leary! Logan Leary, that’s it!
In Paris there is an American Association of Builders and Designers, AABD, who get together biannually for what I can only describe as a piss-up. It was at one such event, a couple of years ago now, that I first met Logan Leary, who despite his youth owns one of the largest construction companies in the city. He’s worked with Jerry, who is a builder, several times, and Jerry, a real brown-noser, spoke frequently about Logan’s many and varied projects. I’m part of AABD too, as an interior designer, though before joining the company where I work now, my work was of little value to people higher up the ladder like Jerry, and the man who is sat before me.
Logan looks up, registers my face and smiles immediately. I hold onto the back of a chair to steady my legs. Jeez, he’s got a nice smile; dimples appear in his chiseled cheeks and there is familiarity and warmth in his eyes. Real warmth, the likes of which I’ve not often seen. It suddenly strikes me that this man, whoever he might turn out to be, is genuine.
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