Beautiful Stranger
by Hedonist Six Chance Encounters #2 Publication Date: November 7, 2016 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Erotic, Realistic Romance
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Synopsis: A sexy older man, younger woman romance…
Age and wealth are just numbers, right?
Twenty-four year old Claudia has always been the sensible one. From her boring call centre job right down to her practical wardrobe; flash and extravagant are not part of her normal vocabulary. She may live in Ascot, the home of British horse racing, but the presence of all the moneyed revellers blocking her route home from work are more of a nuisance than a thrill. Until one of them catches her eye…
Peter’s life couldn’t be more different. All his life he’s worked hard to make it in the banking industry, to give his wife all she’s ever wanted. After a day of sipping champagne and watching the races, an indiscretion of hers with Peter’s colleague changes this picture-perfect vision of middle class life forever. He decides to cut and run, only, he hasn’t a clue where he’s going.
A chance meeting by the side of the road brings them together, making them forget their opposing backgrounds. Is passion alone enough to overcome their differences?
Chance Encounters is a series of stand-alone novellas set in jolly old England, following a set of loosely connected people as they find love in unexpected places. Can love conquer all, from class differences to age gaps? Read on and find out.
Series Reading Order:
One Night Stand (Released 7th October 2016)
Beautiful Stranger (Released 7th November 2016)
Only a Taste (Releasing 7th December 2016)
EXCERPT
Chapter One
I’ve been dreading my drive home all day. In fact, that is an
understatement. After a long day at work, the last thing I need is to be
reminded that I’ve decided to live in that beautiful, mostly serene part of the
world called Ascot, Berkshire. Which of course during this week of the year
turns into a hellhole, overrun by obscenely rich people clogging up the roads
in their Bentleys, Rollers and whatnot. Actually the Bentleys and Rolls Royces
don’t bother me so much, it’s the hordes of not-so-rich people who think it’s
classy to hire a Hummer limo that I can really do without.
Such
is my aversion that I’ve even started to avoid newspapers this week, the one
week in June that the Royal Ascot races take place. If I wanted to see photos
of ridiculous hats and passed out drunk people on the lawn, I could’ve just
bought a ticket and gone myself. But I don’t really care about horse racing, or
showing off. I would much rather attend a music festival, if I had to brave the
Great British Weather in inappropriate clothing anyway.
My
neighbours tend to flee around this time of year, but unfortunately I can’t
afford a holiday. With the way things have been at work, I’d better put every
spare penny away for a rainy day. At least tonight will be the last time this
year I’ll have to deal with this mess, tomorrow is my day off and I don’t
intend to venture out onto the roads at all until next week when normality has
returned.
I’m
already looking forward to my quiet long weekend, focusing on nothing but my
paintings. All I have to do is get there.
Slowly
I make my way through the various traffic control measures set up seemingly to
hinder the flow of traffic rather than improve it. I suppose it all makes sense
to someone. It takes me an hour to get onto Blacknest Road, which in ordinary
circumstances would be about five minutes from home. But these are not ordinary
circumstances.
As
my car creeps along in its spot within the tedious metal conga line that has formed
around me, all I have for company are my radio and my grumpy thoughts. And the
occasional sympathetic smile from someone in much the same situation in the
opposite lane.
I
occupy myself by looking at the flash cars that slowly pass by. Nothing too unusual
in this part of the world, various Ferraris, Lambos and of course the already
mentioned Bentleys and Rolls Royces of all ages. I almost give up on seeing
much variety when something small and dark blue catches my eye parked up on the
verge ahead. Twin white racing stripes accentuating its curvaceous body, top
down to reveal its cream leather interior. Absolutely beautiful. I wonder if
it’s a real AC Cobra or just a good replica. And more importantly, what is it
doing sitting in the muck next to this busy road?
Traffic
creeps ahead and I get closer, there’s a man in the driver’s seat, arms folded
and head resting against them on the steering wheel. He is sporting the
accepted race-going uniform; grey waistcoat with a matching hat and coat on the
passenger seat beside him.
I
don’t know what possesses me, but I leave my coveted place in the traffic queue
and pull up behind him. Just to see if he’s OK—I tell myself—or at least to get
a better look at his magnificent car.
Stepping
out has me cursing under my breath immediately. Of course I managed to position
my exit right in the middle of a patch of sticky mud left behind by this
morning’s early summer showers.
“Excuse
me, are you having car trouble?” I ask. He lifts his head off his forearm which
is still resting on the steering wheel. “I was wondering if you need help...”
His
pale blue eyes stand out against his face and particularly against his dark
hair which is starting to grey around the temples. If I had to guess I’d say he
was in his late thirties or early forties, and the salt and pepper look is
really working for him. Something seems off, though. I remind myself he’s
probably just had a few too many glasses of champagne or whatever it is they
drink at the races.
“I
wanted to leave, but thought I probably shouldn’t be driving. So I pulled
over.” His voice sounds friendly, if a tad uncertain. Everything about him
suggests money, from his accent to his clothes. Perhaps the car isn’t a replica
after all.
“You’re
probably right, I suppose you shouldn’t be driving. Where were you headed?” I
ask.
He
averts his eyes downwards before answering. “I don’t know.”
“Right.
Where do you live?” I try.
“I
can’t go there.” There’s an awkward silence after his response, and he grips
the steering wheel with both hands and rests his forehead against his knuckles.
I
think for a little while and look around. The traffic jam heading away is still
going strong, but traffic moving in my direction has started to thin. If
pulling over wasn’t already weird enough, what I say next actually stuns the
rational part of my brain completely. The impulsive surge inside of me is
simply impossible to fight, causing my lips to utter certain words before
better sense prevails.
“What
do you say, you come with me and we’ll figure out where you should be going
after reaching my place?”
When
he looks back up at me, there is not a hint of suspicion in his eyes. It
doesn’t seem to register with him that only a reckless lunatic would invite a
drunk stranger home. What the hell am I thinking?
“That
would be nice. Thanks.” He tries to smile but instead his face twists. “Oh God,
I feel ill.” I hurry around the car and open the car door to pull him out by
his arm.
“Believe
me, tomorrow you’ll really regret it if you throw up in that nice car of
yours!” I warn him.
He
walks a few steps away from the road and leans against a tree. I can’t help but
stare. He looks fit, about six feet tall, broad shoulders. Any other
observations would be pure speculation though, plus it would be difficult for
anyone not to look good in formal wear.
I
still can’t believe I’m doing this. There’s something special about him,
tempting even. Something that makes him appear trustworthy and harmless. Still,
I’m sort of aware of the possibility that it may all be a clever act on his part
and I’m about to let an axe murderer into my house.
Walking
towards him now, I can see he has his eyes closed and is just breathing in the
fresh air away from all the traffic.
“Never
mind, I guess it was a false alarm,” he mutters.
“Well
then, let’s go,” I say, “I don’t think your car would be safe here, though.”
“Mine,
on the other hand, nobody would touch if I abandoned it here for weeks. And
since you’re not fit to drive just now...” I continue.
He
doesn’t say a word, simply places the car keys into my outstretched hand and
opens the passenger door for himself. Looking at the gorgeous car, I decide
then that even if I end up hacked into bits and buried in my own garden
tonight, it will have all been worth it.
After
grabbing my handbag and locking my own vehicle, I sit down next to him. His
expression has hardly changed, he shows no sign of concern that he’s letting a
complete stranger drive his car. I have to conclude he’s not all there. I turn
the key and the engine purrs to life with a deep, thundering rumble which can
only mean one thing: under the shiny, curved bonnet, there lives a huge beast
of an engine.
“Why
so distracted, did you lose big at the races today?” I ask while checking over
my shoulder for a gap in the traffic. It occurs to me that my attempt at small
talk is making me sound like a cabbie.
“I
don’t gamble. But yes, in a way.” He sighs.
I’m
intrigued but don’t want to probe too much. The car behind me flashes its
lights, allowing me to merge. After a moment’s silence, he takes a few deep
breaths.
“My
wife...” His voice trembles ever so slightly while he speaks, “and someone I’d
considered a friend...”
My
question unintentionally cut right to the core of the matter, it sounds as if
he lost hope rather than money.
“Wow,
I’m sorry. That’s terrible.” I’m not sure I want further detail but I can’t
take the question back now.
He
shakes his head. “I should’ve seen it. But I guess I wasn’t around enough,
working long hours, sometimes Saturdays too..” He turns towards me and when the
traffic stops again, I get the chance to study his face. Perfectly symmetrical,
high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. He is gorgeous, perhaps even more so
because he looks so lost.
“But
it was all for her! I wanted to give her the life she deserved. Why didn’t she
see that?” Tears are starting to blur those magnificent eyes of his. “Instead,
she fucking replaces me.”
Well,
that’s one mystery solved. I guess posh people do swear.
“You’re
right, she should’ve understood,” I say.
The
traffic starts moving again and we get just a little bit closer to our
destination.
“It
was all for nothing.” He looks out at the trees and houses passing by, lost in
thought again.
Nothing
more is said for the rest of the drive; fifteen minutes or so. I pull up into
the cul-de-sac on the hill where I live, the three surrounding houses are
unoccupied while the neighbours are on holiday. The setting is secluded,
idyllic but the actual house is modest by most standards. It makes me wonder
what his home would look like, the exact opposite I bet. The gravel makes a
crunchy sound underneath the tyres as I park the car under the rustic wooden
carport which is always smothered in pink clematis blooms at this time of year.
Right
at this moment the clouds break apart, letting through the pleasantly warm evening
sun. I hand him the keys and we both get out of the car. Rather than head for
the door, he distractedly takes a few steps towards the fence that surrounds
the driveway.
“Beautiful.”
He’s right, but it’s been a while since I really appreciated the view myself.
Perhaps
I should try my hand at painting a landscape this weekend.
Tall
trees line the fields that cover most of the hill below. The lush green leaves
on the trees as well as the long grass glisten in the golden light, giving
everything a warm glow.
Meanwhile
I open the low gate and enter into the garden that runs along the side of the
house. There’s a large wooden table and bench set up against the wall,
overlooking the same downhill aspect. He follows a few steps behind me.
“Make
yourself at home, I’ll just go inside and get some cushions.” I turn the key
and enter the cosy living room through the patio door.
While
I’m inside already, I might as well cobble together a meal of sorts. Rushing to
pop some pre-baked bread in the oven, I raid the fridge for cold meat and
cheese.
I
vaguely wonder why I’m bothering to hide the Aldi packaging, or arrange
everything on a nice plate. After all, my bluff is pretty much called already,
the classiest bottle of wine I have probably wouldn’t have cost more than five
pounds. Must’ve been a gift that’s been languishing in my kitchen for much too
long.
It
annoys me that I even care, I never pretend to be something I’m not, why start
now?
DON'T MISS THE FIRST BOOK IN THE CHANCE ENCOUNTERS SERIES, ONE NIGHT STAND!
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Synopsis: From casual encounter to something more?
Lucy is used to having a handle on things herself: her business, which she’s fighting to turn around after a rough patch, and her love life, which consists of carefully conducted casual encounters during which only she calls the shots.
A one night stand with George – the tall, husky biker whose rough exterior hides a gentler side – changes everything. Lucy’s usual approach doesn’t work anymore: come morning, she doesn’t want to say goodbye. Perhaps it’s time to let someone into her life for more than just one night?
Meanwhile, the crucial project she’s just landed is about to fall to pieces, threatening her reputation as well as her finances. Suddenly Lucy has to learn what it’s like to not be in control of anything at all.
Chance Encounters is a series of stand-alone contemporary romance novellas set in jolly old England, following a set of loosely connected people as they find love in unexpected places. Can love conquer all, from class differences to age gaps? One-click and find out.
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