Flinging All Spring: Book 3 of Sag Harbor Black Romances

Boston heart surgeon Adella English is headed toward a life of peace. Until she receives a staggering phone call that changes everything. Enter bad boy ex-football player Desmond McLain, an outsider to the Sag Harbor world of wealth. From two different worlds, the two can't see eye to eye. But in this marriage of convenience, curvy-girl romance, these two strangers must not only share a boardroom and a house, but a bed.

Paperback page count: 271

Tropes: Age 30+, singles, marriage of convenience, curvy girl, bad boy

*Strong language & sex

Heat level: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️/5

“I’ll take the ice cream then.”

On her way up the stairs, her husband hoped—maybe even prayed—she’d come back down in nothing but her birthday suit. Then, he could properly make dessert out of her. A man could dream.

He whipped up vanilla bean banana split with lots of hot fudge, and instead of making separate bowls, he prepared one. By the time he was done, she came down in cozy cotton pajamas. Again, it surprised him when he was more intrigued than disappointed. She could’ve been wearing a trash bag, and he still would have been excited as hell for what was underneath it.
Taking out one of the gifts that they’d received from the wedding, he set a candle bouquet on the center of the table and lit all sixteen candles. Then he took out some of the other candle gifts they received and set them around the dining room and living room.

“Where did all this come from?”

“You never went through the gifts. But I like getting surprises. So I did while you were at your granddad’s.”
She eyed him with a skeptical raised brow when he set the one bowl between them.

“Don’t worry, Doc, I didn’t lace the ice cream with rat poison.” He scooped up some hot fudge and banana and ice cream, and held it out to her with chocolate dripping over the edge.

Hesitant initially, she scoped him out. But Desmond remained steadfast, and would sit here all night with that damn ice cream if he needed to. After a few seconds, his bride leaned forward and parted her mouth.

Down, boy. He struggled to calm his rising erection.
“I enjoyed the rides today.” She sucked up the ice cream, her tongue sliding across her bottom lip to lick up the fudge. “Thanks for taking me.”

Watching her lips and tongue lap up chocolate sauce was thanks enough.

“Don’t worry about it. It was a good time just hearing you scream.”

He longed to hear more of it, on a different kind of roller-coaster ride.

This demureness in her—with eyes that questioned, and feared, and examined—he was not used to it. He was not used to seeing more behind a woman’s eyes than temporary lust. Or actually, he’d never paid attention. Desmond normally entertained bold, brazen women who came at him for the quick and dirty purpose of tossing him around in bed or jumping on him in the car.

And yet, Adella’s Penelope Pussycat fright turned him on. Her sensuality was a candlelight rather than a blowtorch, quietly lighting different parts of his body at the same time instead of just one part. And with his parts roasting over a low flame, he was Pepé Le Pew wanting to give chase.

But he would take his time, kind of the way one observed a flower garden in bloom. The flowers didn’t all bloom in a day, but rather, petal by petal, a little more blossom every day, with care, water, and sunlight.
As he fed her more bites, he cupped her elbow. The smooth, superior-quality Supima cotton fibers of her pajamas cooled his fingertips.

Subtly, he massaged the soft fabric over her skin, but did nothing more. He didn’t make any sudden moves to overwhelm her. Scaring her away from him was the last mistake he wanted to make. For now, he’d have to be satisfied to watch her open up petal by petal.

Instead, with only his thumb, and his eyes, and his ice cream, did Desmond communicate to Adella, and to himself, that he was falling for her.