Southern Hearts Club
The Divorce Attorney
A Steamy Romantic Comedy
*Now in Kindle Unlimited!*
When she said she wanted a mature man...
He wasn't exactly what she had in mind.
What are you supposed to do when your insanely hot divorce attorney leans over after you’ve signed your divorce papers and seductively whispers in your ear, “Give me a call if you want to know how it feels to be handled by a real man since you were clearly too much woman for him,” before sliding his business card over and walking out the door?
I mean, what do you do with that?
Sure, I’m tempted. I just lost a hundred and eighty pounds of stupid, cheating man. I deserve to treat myself.
The thing is, I think he might be too much man for me.
After all, he’s fifteen years my senior, though he doesn’t look it.
But the urge to learn what this seasoned pro could teach me proves irresistible.
And as it turns out, he’s a pro at a lot of things…like destroying people’s lives.
The Proposal Debacle
How is it that I can see better out of one eye than both right now? Answer: I may have imbibed a smidge too much at dinner tonight. And for some reason, the alcohol is working some weird voodoo on my vision.
I graduated with my master’s degree today. With honors.
I once feared this day would never come. Back when I married the Dick-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and dropped out of school to help cover his ass by paying off all his gambling debts. I worried that I’d dug myself a hole, one I’d never be able to scrape and claw my way out of.
I never thought I’d be relieved to have been cheated on.
Catching my ex-husband with another woman had been a blessing in disguise. It gave me an excuse to finally act on all my doubts. I finally had evidence of what I’d suspected for a long time: I wasn’t living the life I was supposed to live. I don’t even want to think about where I’d be right now if I hadn’t walked into my former home and saw him screwing another woman in our bed.
Because now, I am without a doubt living the life I’m meant to live.
With my sinfully sexy, bowtie and suspender-wearing counselor.
Carter leads me toward the gardens on Rice Hope Plantation with his arm around my waist. I could say that he’s just steadying me as I trudge through the grass in my heels, which I’d probably need assistance with completely sober. But I’m pretty sure he thinks I might accidentally kill myself if he lets go.
“I’m so proud of you, darlin’,” he murmurs against my hair as we make our way down the gravel path that snakes through the maze of flowers and foliage in the gardens. My absolute favorite part of his property.
I smile, leaning my head against his shoulder. “Thank you. This feels really good.”
“What, your buzz?”
I giggle. “That, too. No, I meant…accomplishing something. Achieving what you set out to do in life is kind of awesome.”
He squeezes me tighter. “You worked your ass off for this, and you never gave up. You deserve a break to celebrate.”
Which was what I’d planned on doing tonight, but Carter had insisted that we celebrate privately. Just the two of us. Tomorrow is the night we’re apparently going to “fuck shit up,” as Gretchen so charmingly put it, with our friends and their guys. I’m also going to show Hattie what I’ve been working on for the last year, something I’m equal parts eager and nervous as hell to share with her.
When we reach a familiar clearing in the path, I feel an instant surge of heat zing through my bloodstream.
My favorite fountain—just barely beating out the Pineapple Fountain in downtown Charleston where we first kissed—sits in the center of a circular courtyard in the middle of the lush gardens. There’s a pond in the background, a stone bridge running the length of it. Oak trees dot the landscape, Spanish moss dangling romantically from their branches.
And my longtime friend sits off to the side of the fountain. A single, wrought-iron bench.
The one where I gave Carter a blowjob he said he’ll never forget.
“You read my mind, Counselor,” I purr as I trail my fingers over his bowtie. “I thought of a new way to make use of this, by the way.”
He pulls me around to face him as we stand next to the huge round fountain. “What’s that?”
I tip my head toward the bench. “You could tie my wrists together, hold me prisoner against the bench with your suspenders, and have your filthy way with me.”
A groan rumbles from the back of his throat, but he…holds himself back?
Since when does he feel the need to show restraint around me? That’s never been a thing with us.
“That idea definitely has merit,” he grates out. “And we’ll certainly be trying that out later. But I have a suggestion of my own first.”
An image pops into my head, causing my eyes to drift shut. My head falls back as the fantasy comes to life behind my eyelids. “Or maybe we’ll just re-enact that first night and I’ll tie you up with your suspenders instead. I think I’ll like having you at my mercy. Tied up, begging for my mouth.” Recalling the position of his arms that night, stretched out behind him on either side of the bench, I mimic his same pose and fling my arms out to the side—
My hand connects hard with Carter’s arm. My eyes to shoot back open.
Why is he kneeling on the ground?
Suddenly, he dives headfirst into the fountain.
“What are you doing?” I ask, bewildered.
Am I imagining this? Did I pass out after I closed my eyes? Am I that drunk?
“That was your ring!” he answers frantically with wide eyes as he splashes through the water. “You knocked it out of my hand!”
Everything is moving in slow motion inside my mushy brain. “My…what?”
“Your ring!” His arms are frenziedly slicing through the water, searching the bottom of the fountain.
Then everything clicks into place.
Him kneeling on the ground. Postponing sex. Wanting tonight to just be the two of us.
“Oh, my God!”
I drunkenly launch myself into the fountain after him, getting instantly soaked from head to toe. Of course, I lose my footing and dunk my own head under the water. But even as my face surfaces, I’m running my hands over the bottom, feeling for anything that feels even sort of like a diamond ring.
“We have to find it,” I rush out. “My engagement ring will not get eaten by some asshole alligator. That will not be our story.”
It’s dark enough that I can’t tell what I’m touching. I just pray it’s all just stray leaves and flower blooms. If I start thinking about what dead creatures might possibly be floating around in here, the alcohol might make a sudden reappearance.
“I don’t know,” he muses, “we could embellish that and tell everyone I fought the alligator for it. I could wrangle it to the ground with my bare hands and pry it out of his mouth.”
“Then Gretchen will call you Counselor Croc for the rest of your life, and it would catch on with everyone else. It’s not worth it—”
My body jerks to attention, whipping around to face him.
He remains kneeling.
Holding something sparkly in his hands.
He grins. “Found it.”
Even though I knew it was coming, I still gasp, covering my mouth with my hands.
“Wanna try this again?”
I nod eagerly.
He pushes out a heavy breath. “Never in a million years did I see myself doing this here, with a woman like you. Especially a woman who has every reason to hate me for the rest of my life.”
He knows I could never hate him, no matter what happened in the past.
“I thought I'd ruined my life a long time ago,” he continues. “Thought I’d have to live forever with the mistakes I made when I didn’t know any better. Then you strutted into my office, flashing your tits at me with those beguiling blue eyes.”
He smiles. “That’s when everything changed. Life had given me a second chance, in more ways than one. I knew I’d do anything to make you mine, Sloane Williams. You are by far the best, most beautiful, stunningly intelligent, kind-hearted impulse I have ever acted on.”
Taking my hand in his, he slips the exquisite pear-shaped diamond onto my finger. “I started out as your divorce attorney. Then I became your rebound. And for the last year, you’ve allowed me to be your boyfriend. Now, I’m asking you to let me be your husband. Let me make you happy, make you smile, make you laugh, make you a mother someday… Let me make you my wife, darlin’. Give me forever with you, and I’ll give you the entire world.”
“I don’t need the entire world,” I whisper, tears filling my eyes. “I just need you.”
He kisses my ring finger. “Is that a yes?”
“That’s a hell yes.”
He surges to his feet on a laugh and takes me into his arms. He slants his mouth over mine in a kiss meant to burn straight through me, which it does. By the time he tears his lips away, my nipples are protruding beneath my dress, and he’s diamond-cutter hard. How appropriate.
“I think it’s about time we christen this fountain,” he breathes, hands lowering to my breasts. “Don’t you?”
With a rough tug, he rips the buttons of my dress open, sending them flying through the air. “It all started with these gorgeous tits. Didn’t it, darlin’?” He shoves my sodden bra out of the way and latches his mouth onto my distended peak.
I grin. “I knew you were only in it for them.”
“What have we said about the courtroom jargon?”
He groans. “Better get used to it. Because I have so much more to teach you.”
And that’s the story of how my counselor boyfriend proposed to me. Standing knee-deep in a fountain, with sopping wet hair, and a mouthful of me.
Copyright © 2020, Melanie Munton. All rights reserved.
The Six Month Lease
A Steamy Romantic Comedy
They don't have to love each other.
They just have to live with each other.
Never have I ever…decided to move in with a guy after dating him for only three weeks.
Just kidding. That’s exactly what I did.
And like most of you are probably thinking, it inevitably blew up in my face when we broke up two days after signing our lease.
Now, I’m stuck living with my ex. The same man who turned my life completely upside down in record time.
For. Six. Whole. Months.
It doesn’t matter how many times he flashes those abs at me after a shower, or how close his bedroom is to mine. I will resist him because he’s simply not the right guy for me.
But if I thought he’d done a number on me before, that’s nothing compared to what happens after I finally learn the secret he’s been keeping from me this entire time.
“I’d so love to continue this battle of wits, but some of us have things to do today that require a shower first.”
His eyes lower to my cleavage, mouth parting. I steadfastly refuse to allow that action to affect me in any way. Then he brashly lets his gaze travel over the rest of me like we’re still dating and he has the right to do such a thing.
I hate how many tingles I still get when he does that.
For God’s sake, have some self-respect.
“Need any help with that?” he rasps, his eyes locked on the swell of my breasts.
Images of our naked bodies crushed together in the shower assault me. Him kneeling before me. My head bobbing between his legs. Water sluicing over his ripped abdominals. His roars of pleasure echoing off the tiled walls as he comes. Unfortunately, those images aren’t fantasies. They’re memories. Which are so much harder to dismiss.
Maddeningly, my mouth goes dry, but I still manage to push words out. “I think the days of you helping me with anything in the shower are ancient history.”
His eyes shoot up to mine. “Careful, princess. You just broke your own rule.”
My pulse spikes.
We have another heady standoff where the residual lust that still simmers between us but is never addressed crackles in the air like fire embers. I know I need to say something—anything—to get him out of my room before we foolishly reacquaint our tangled bodies with a bed, but I’m coming up with a big, fat zero.
This, right here, is why I’m being so damn strict about the rules.
Because I honestly don’t think I’m strong enough to resist the temptation that is West.
Despite how we broke up—how furious he made me when we fought that night, when he said things that still linger at the forefront of my memory—I still want this man. Like, bad want him. Which has nothing to do with feelings or emotions. It’s all due to our forced proximity and the flames of our former physical connection that have yet to be completely doused.
After all, it’s not like his looks have changed in the three weeks since we broke up, as much as I prayed for a miracle that they would. I can’t make my body flip a switch and not find him objectively attractive just like that. The arousal that attraction inflicts is a pain in the ass, but it’s manageable as long as I don’t dwell on it.
Or stare at him too long.
And maybe I have a bit of a devious streak in me because I’ve kind of been shoving my body in his face at every opportunity. Not that I should give a crap what he thinks about my appearance since we’re no longer together, but there’s still my pride to consider. Which is what I was protecting when I quickly checked myself over in the full-length mirror just before he marched down the hallway and blew into my room.
It was pride that had me checking that my hair was still falling in its neat waves, that my makeup hadn’t faded, and that my boobs were supported nicely in my sports bra and peeking out the top of my workout tank. I may have also glanced back over my shoulder to see how my ass looked in these spandex pants. But again, that was pride.
It had nothing to do with reminding him of what he’s missing out on.
Okay, maybe a teensy bit.
“You going to camp out in here all day?” I ask, hands on my hips. “If so, you could have at least brought marshmallows with you.”
Tension broken, he snorts in laughter and walks backwards through the open doorway. “Holler if you need help with any of those hard to reach places.”
Then he’s gone.
And I’m left reeling.
You stupid, stupid fool! You know rule number six is the most important one of all.
Rule number six: there will absolutely, unequivocally be no mention of our past relationship.
I made that one easy to remember.
Six is one letter away from sex.
Which is the one thing I will definitely not be getting any of for the next five and a half months.
At least, not with West Devereaux.
Copyright © 2020, Melanie Munton. All rights reserved.