Kate Aiello has spent her entire life trying to please others—her three brothers, her Italian mamma and her husband of twenty-five years. It isn’t insult enough she is turning fifty, and left at the side of life’s road by her philandering husband. Now she has to contend with her body’s betrayal…hot flashes!
The plain truth hits her with each thermostatic aberration—she has never been first in anyone’s life, including her own.
Brandon Sullivan has been on a downward spiral since the death of his beloved wife. Now he is a man desperate to save himself from impending financial ruin, loss of his farm and his life’s dream. He needs to get into the winner’s circle by spring or he’ll be just another poor, landless Irishmen downing his pints and bragging about the good ol’ days.
Sparks fly when Italian attitude meets Irish temper. Add two big crazy families, a barn full of horses and one woman’s menopausal hot flashes and the probability for combustion increases exponentially. What will Kate and Brandon risk for a second chance at love?
From her high refuge she heard the chains that raised the gates, opening the fortress of her protection, the stronghold that guarded her heart.
Spurs, scraping metal on stone as he took the stairs to reach her, rang out with his fierce intention. She knew he would not, could not, waste a minute more to hold her, bury his need in her until they both cried out in their joining. The scents of leather, sweat, and musky male melted her bones and she leaned into him to keep from falling. Sapphire flames searched her face. Long fingers traced the line of her jaw and traveled to her neck, where her pulse beat in counterpoint to her panting breaths. “It has been too long, Muirnín.” His whisper settled like a butterfly’s wing on her ear. “I want you now, Katie...”
“Katie...wake up, sleepin’ beauty. It’s supper time.”
Brandon sat on the bed and brushed her hair out of her face. “I’m sorry. I meant to wake you sooner.”
“Oh…oh, dear...I was having this dream.” My God, what a dream. “I thought I was in that castle.” She pointed out the window at the medieval fortress that was now a silhouette in the evening sky. “And you were there.” How much am I going to tell him? “Well, it was...amazing.”
“It’s called Carraigdún.” His fingers combed through her mass of curls. “Do you know, you have such beautiful hair? It reminds me of a lioness—like you—wild and unruly.”
She smacked his hand away, dropping the quilt and exposing the rise of her breasts. “Brandon, I’m not dressed.”
He traced the line of her collarbone with one finger. “You might have forgotten, but I’ve seen you in less than this.”