Chapters (51)
- Cover
- Praise for A Season for Second Chances
- Also by Jenny Bayliss
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- Discussion Guide
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
She made it to his car, moments before Isaac walked purposefully into the car park; the security light flicked on, flooding the scene. His jaw was set, his black hair glinting under the spotlight, and Nory had never wanted anyone more. She had only seconds before Isaac reached her and then kept going, pinning her body to the side of the car. He kissed her hungrily and she echoed his hunger. He unzipped her coat, and his hands found their way inside her jumper and then beneath her shirt. He let out a strangled moan as his hands met the rough lace of her bra and he ran them over the deep curves of her body.
“What are you doing to me,” he groaned, his voice rough, and he pushed harder against her. Nory was thrilled in every way. The security light flicked off, and Nory fumbled through layers to the bare skin of Isaac’s back beneath his jumper. Her hands were cold, and his breath hitched, his skin leaping to goose bumps beneath her touch. When she moved her hands up and down the muscular ridges of his torso and dug her nails into his back, he gasped.
“Take me to the cottage,” she whispered. “Now!”
“Yes,” he whispered hoarsely into her hair. “Yes.”
Twenty-nine
Nory was lying with her head on Isaac’s chest. He was stroking her hair with one hand, the other resting on his stomach, fingers entwined with hers.
Two hours earlier, they had fallen through the front door of the cottage. A mess of boots and coats lay discarded on the hall floor in their haste to get up to the bedroom. From her position on Isaac’s warm chest, Nory could see her clothes strewn across the floor. Her bra lay over a lamp, stiff and holding its shape like two lacy molehills.
“You could stay,” Isaac said.
Nory sighed. “I wish I could, but I need to be on bridal duty in the morning.”
“Would you like a cup of tea?” he asked.
Oh my god, could he be any more perfect?
“That would be lovely.”
He lifted his arm, and Nory reluctantly rolled out from underneath. She watched him as he hunted the room for his boxer shorts, the moon shining in through the window illuminating the lines of his muscles. His was a body that was used to hard work, lean and athletic. By contrast, Nory’s body was soft. She possessed no hard edges, only voluptuous curves, which Isaac had mapped with feverish precision.
“I used to fantasize about being seduced by you,” said Nory, leaning up on one elbow. “When I was a teenager.”
“Did I live up to expectation?” he asked, unhooking her knickers from the corner of a picture frame, where they had landed earlier, and throwing them at her.
She caught them and pulled them beneath the duvet to wriggle back into them.