“You’re sleeping in the guest room from now on.”
“So … no chance even for a quickie right now?” Sawyer teased.
Alana’s eyes darkened. “If you keep that up, I’m going to—”
“Tell on me?” Sawyer took another step toward her. Something about her made him edgy and excited. He should just move the rest of his stuff into the guest room and act like a saint.
But he’d never get to touch her again.
Alana glanced to one side, glanced back. Her lips parted.
Where was the outrage now? Swamped by hormones? Was he affecting her the same way she was affecting him?
Worse, her proximity brought back details of the night before. The way she’d arched and moaned, the way her hips had undulated—
“What are you doing?” Her voice came out a cracking whisper. She didn’t move away; her eyes held his.
“Trying to keep my promise.” And failing badly. “Alana, there’s nothing to stop you from inviting me to do whatever you want—whenever you want it ….”
About the Author
ISABEL SHARPE was not born pen in hand like so many of her fellow writers. After she quit work to stay home with her first-born son and nearly went out of her mind, she started writing. After more than twenty novels—along with another son—Isabel is more than happy with her choice these days. She loves hearing from readers. Write to her at www.IsabelSharpe.com.
Dear Reader,
I had so much fun writing this WRONG BED story! It’s always a challenge to figure out how to get two strangers into the same bed. But Sawyer and Alana, two irresistible forces, enjoyed themselves so much whether they were arguing or setting the sheets on fire that I felt as if I got to sit back and let them write the book for me. And it’s always a pleasure to have my characters inhabiting my home city in Wisconsin.
Don’t worry if you get to The End and think I forgot Alana’s sister Melanie’s happy ending. In May look for Surprise Me …, another WRONG BED book featuring a love triangle between Melanie and two very different brothers—the wild and wildly exciting Stoner and the sweet and dependable Edgar.
Which would you choose? Come visit with me at www.IsabelSharpe.com for all my news!
Cheers,
Isabel Sharpe
WHILE SHE WAS
SLEEPING …
ISABEL SHARPE
To Stacy, Lisa, Annemarie, Caroline,
Sally, Kris and Joan. Because it doesn’t always have to be about litera-choor.
1
ALANA HAWTHORNE taped shut her last carton of CDs, mostly jazz and soft rock. The job of packing up her condo hadn’t taken long. Everything went into boxes, bang, done. Not like when she’d moved here from her childhood home in suburban Milwaukee and had to decide what to take and what to leave, what belonged to her and what to Melanie, all the while trying not to have unsisterly thoughts, such as could she chain Melanie to a downtown parking meter while she packed?
Moving was easier this time emotionally, too, though she’d lived here outside Chicago for six years. Hard to get sentimental about a condo, even in a building she took pride in managing, a career she’d fallen into after helping her grandfather manage a downtown bank building for so many years. This place had none of the charm of the house in Wauwatosa, none of the leaded glass and gorgeous woodwork. Granted, none of the leaks and drafts and questionable plumbing, either. Or the memories, good and bad, contained in each room of the house she and Melanie were raised in.
This time day after tomorrow, Alana would be in Orlando, Florida, in another condo, in a development she’d be managing. She wasn’t wild about the move, considered herself thoroughly Midwestern, but Gran and Grandad had sacrificed a decade of what should have been their much-deserved emptynest years raising two grandchildren. After Gran’s fall last month, it was clear what Alana could do to pay them back at least in some small way.
Her cell rang. She paused to write CDs—Bedroom in black marker on the box before scrambling to her feet and grabbing her cell from the oddly bare kitchen counter. The new owners had been impressed by how well she’d kept the place up. Alana didn’t mention she’d spent most of her time at Sam’s place until they broke up last fall.
She glanced at the display. Her sister. “Hey, Melanie.”
“You’ll never, ever guess what I have to tell you.”
Alana wrinkled her nose. Hello, Alana, how’s the packing going? How’s your stress level? Need any help ? “Good news or bad?”
“Good, fabulous, the best, but like I said, you’ll never guess.”
“You met a guy.”
“Oh.” Her sister sounded tremendously disappointed. “Well, yes. But not just a guy, this is the guy.”
Alana closed her eyes, dread and fear lifting their little heads inside her, trying to decide if they’d be needed or not. The guy, huh? What was this one in recovery from? Or wanted by the police for? Or down on his luck because of? “That’s great, Melanie.”
“I am so excited. He’s amazing. What’s more, you’ll really like this one.”
“Where did you meet him?” A meat-market bar at closing time? A bus stop? In court?
“Habitat for Humanity.”
Alana turned from her kitchen counter to face the curtainless window. “No kidding. I didn’t know you volunteered for them.”
“All part of Melanie’s New Improved Life. He’s straight, sober, responsible, an amazing man. Went to college, everything.”
“Everything?”
“Everything you think is important.”
“Melanie, wow.” She actually started feeling hopeful, a huge change from how she usually felt about Melanie’s boyfriends, which generally ranked somewhere around despair. “How long have you known him?”
“Long time. A month. Maybe more.”
“Really.” Hey, Melanie even waited to tell Alana about this one, instead of jumping into I-met-someone-and-love-him after the first date. “This is terrific. I’m happy for you. What’s his name?”
“Sawyer Kern.”
Even that was normal. Not Spike or Screech, or that one guy who simply went by Dude. “Good name.”
“You’ll love him.” Melanie blew out a breath, which sounded like a storm blast through the phone. “Um, so, I just … Uh, how are things there?”
Alana’s eyes narrowed. Um, so, she just…what? “Fine. Nearly packed. Was there something else you were going to say?”
“Oh. Well. It’s just a little thing.” She laughed nervously. No, it was going to be a big thing. “Ye-e-es?”
“I wanted to tell you. We’re…moving in together.”
Uh-oh. Yellow alert. “In Gran and Grandad’s house?”
“It’s