Beautiful
Stranger by Hedonist Six Chance Encounters #2
Publication Date: November
7, 2016
Genres: Adult,
Contemporary, Erotic, Realistic Romance
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)
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EXCERPT - BEAUTIFUL STRANGER BY HEDONIST SIX
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?
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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.
ABOUT HEDONIST SIX
Call me “H.” or Hedonist
if you prefer. I’m a Romance writer based in London and I’ve always been a
dreamer, though it didn’t occur to me to write down the stories I kept dreaming
up until 2012. You’ll not find flowery language and poetry in my work. What you
will find though is believable characters, none of whom perfect, going through
life and trying to find happiness. Just like the rest of us. I first
started writing because I craved to see more of “my kind of books” on the
shelves. In any scenario, you’ll find me rooting for the underdog. The
(emotionally) scarred hero who hasn’t really had much (or any) luck in love.
The shy office worker who wants to pursue the man of her dreams, but hasn’t
quite mustered the courage yet. All my characters are beautifully flawed and
messed up, in a way that makes them perfect for one another.
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