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Love Me Not by Villette Snowe

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Love Me Not
by Villette Snowe

Heath is an Ivy League graduate, a published writer, and a widower. He’s also a gigolo. After his wife’s infidelity and suicide, he lost himself in sex with other women.

When he meets Kimber, he struggles against his feelings for her but, eventually, accepts that he’s fallen in love. But Heath’s sister tells her how he makes money, and Kimber leaves. Heath turns his back on his sister and his clients and struggles with the urge to follow in his wife’s footsteps. He settles on a compromise, a one-year deadline. If he doesn’t feel he can move on with life after one year, he’ll allow himself to end it. Will Kimber realize the honesty of his feelings and forgive him in time?

Liquid Silver Books (Publisher—all formats) | AmazonBarnes & Noble |  Google Play

About the Author

Villette Snowe is the girl you sat behind in advanced English class, the one whom you thought was an angel. She makes the best dirty jokes that so few people hear, the girl who rarely looks you in the eye but makes you nervous when she does. She’s the one writing the intense romances you won’t admit you read.
Visit her on Twitter

Excerpt:

A few hours later, I was still helping women buy scented bath oils and lotions—and doing a damn fine job. I knew I was doing exceptionally well when Penny rolled her eyes. I grinned at her tauntingly while I helped the woman I was assisting carry her purchases to the counter. After ringing the woman up, I returned to the sales floor.
“Is this made with natural ingredients?” a woman asked as I passed.
I glanced around to make sure she didn’t have a man with her—good idea before flirting commences. Learned that the hard way.
No men in the shop, except me.
“Honestly,” I said, “I don’t know all the technical stuff.” I moved a little closer. “But I know this scent is amazing on a woman.”
“Is that so?”
I grinned. “Yes.”
“Well, I’ll just have to try it then.” She reached for the matching lotion and body wash.
I didn’t know why so many different products were necessary to… The door opened, and a woman walked in.
All I could do was stare.
Her hair was like the reflection of autumn leaves on a pond. It flowed over her shoulders, and she tucked it behind her ear as she walked. Her neck was creamy white. I wanted to kiss it, to see if it tasted like cream. The freckles across her cheeks and nose made her look like she was smiling, though she wasn’t. I wanted to see where else she was freckled, taste each one, like sprinkles on ice cream. It’d been awhile since I had ice cream.
I saw so many women, beautiful women. They undressed in front of me, slept with me, sighed my name…but none of them made me feel like this, off balance, warm, out of my mind.
She walked right past me—and didn’t look at me. Her scent was something flowery, not rose, maybe gardenia mixed with body chemistry that smelled like home, a home I didn’t know but wanted to.
I glanced back. Her ass was tight, nicely curved but firm. Maybe she jogged or did yoga. She had to do something to look like that. Bodies like that didn’t occur naturally, at least none that I’d seen, and I’d seen a lot. But she wasn’t like some of the women around here, not over tanned and body so hard it was like kissing a boulder. She’d be soft to the touch, yielding to my lips.
Fuck, Heath, what’s wrong with you?
I forced my attention back to the woman in front of me and smiled at whatever she was saying.
Then her words came back into focus. “So, how would you know what smells nice on a woman?”
I winked. What was I supposed to say? I’ve screwed several dozen women who wore that scent, and it turned me on? I didn’t think that would help my cause.
“Well,” she said, “it seems to do something to you.” She glanced down at my crotch.
I realized I was hard, like a fucking petrified tree trunk. My smile crawled over my lips like a panther on the hunt.
“So, do you come with the purchase?” she said.
“Depends.” …on how much cash she gave me.
While I led her up to the cash register, I fought not to look at the auburn-haired girl now talking with Penny at the other end of the counter.
I rang up the woman’s purchases, and she handed me a card.
Then she laid two one hundred dollar bills on the counter.
I slipped them into my pocket. “So, how did you hear about us?”
“Jane Murphy.”
“Lovely woman.”
“I’d been thinking about it, and then I heard you were working the shop today. I figured I could get a nice look at the merchandise.”
I smiled. “We only carry quality.”
“That’s quite apparent.”
“Thank you.” From the locked bottom drawer, I took Penny’s tracking book. I flipped to the “M., Jane” page. The name on the woman’s credit card matched number three on Jane’s list of referrals. One and two had already made appointments.
Penny insisted on the list. It helped protect us. I only slept with women who’d been referred by one of my more trusted clients.
I flipped to the front of the book, which was where my schedule was, and turned it around so she could see it better. “Would you like to be on our mailing list?”
She wrote her name in on Tuesday afternoon.
I put the book away and closed the drawer. While I bent down to lock it, I glanced over at the auburn-haired girl. What in the hell was she talking to Penny about for so long? It obviously wasn’t about an appointment. Penny would’ve come to get the book. Damn.
I stood straight and smiled at the woman in front of me. “We hope to see you again soon.”
“I’m sure you will.” She took the bag filled with her purchases and walked away.
Now to think of a way to talk to the girl, without letting Penny see how attracted I was.
Shit, Heath, what are you doing? How many times had I told Penny I wasn’t interested in dating? Penny used to ask me all the time. It drove me nuts. She used to worry I’d eventually want something different, that I might eventually want to get married again. A year ago, the idea was preposterous. Several years ago, it literally made me ill. Now it was less of a choice and more that this was just the way things were. I slept with women—I didn’t date them. I had no right to get any more involved than that. I was good at fucking, and I was incapable of getting anyone pregnant. This life was ideal for me.
At least that’s what I told myself.

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