by Cindy Jacks
Maggie’s just decided she’s been stood up when she bumps into hard-bodied guitarist Calvin—literally. Once the shock of their abrupt meeting wears off, Calvin asks Maggie out for a drink and she figures, why not? She’s all dressed up for a date…just not this one.
She enjoys his company, even if he’s only twenty-seven and she’s forty…something. And while witty conversation’s all good, they’re just as compatible in bed. One drink turns into multiple romps between the sheets. He’s old enough to know how to make love to a woman and young enough to look damn fine doing it…and doing it. He even manages to convince Maggie she’s still pretty hot herself.
Now if he would just stop serenading her with that infernal Rod Stewart song.
An Excerpt From:
The sound of a gently strummed guitar roused Maggie from sleep. Eyelids flickering open, she saw Calvin sitting in the tufted chair next to the bed, his acoustic guitar on his lap. A lazy smile tugged at her lips.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Good morning, babe.” He shifted his grip on the fretboard to strike a chord and then slid his fingers back to another. “I’m serenading you…obviously.”
“Is it after ten?” Maggie sat up, stretched.
“Of course. And there’s coffee on your nightstand.”
With delight, she picked up the steaming mug and inhaled—Viennese roast, her favorite. The first sip slid down her throat, smooth as velvet.
He turned his attention to the guitar again and started singing under his breath.
She rolled her eyes. “You know I hate that song.”
Calvin chuckled, a boyish gleam in his hazel eyes. “But I’m sure Rod Stewart wrote it for you.”
“Contrary to popular belief, I am not that old.”
Continuing to strum the melody, he shook his head. “That’s not what I meant.”
As Maggie’s gaze roamed over the young man’s taut, muscular body, she noticed he was sitting there stark naked, the guitar covering some of his most admirable attributes.
Her eye grew wide. “What have I done to deserve a morning serenade with you au naturel?”
“You don’t remember?” he asked, plucking individual notes.
A gust of wind outside the bedroom window drew her attention. The great oak out back danced, shaking loose a few vermillion leaves.
“Of course I remember,” she murmured, setting down her cup and rising from the bed. Smoothing her silk nightie over her ample curves, she padded across the shag carpet and kissed his soft cheek. “Happy anniversary, baby.”
He stopped playing and set aside the guitar, revealing a red ribbon around his cock. “Are you ready for your present?”
Clapping a hand over her mouth, Maggie let out a yelp of amusement. “You’re certifiable, you know that?”
She caught a glimpse of herself in the dresser mirror. Messy blonde curls cascaded down to her shoulders and her eyes looked a little puffy from sleep. Skin not quite as fresh and tight as his—maybe the morning sun really did show her age, as the song stated. Still, not bad for a women of forty-something.
Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her onto his lap. She twined her fingers through his longish bronze hair. A hungry smirk on his face, he brushed his lips over hers. She felt his cock twitch against her thigh.
“We should unwrap you before you cut off your circulation,” she said, pulling one end of the ribbon.
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