Hearts on Fire

By Susan K. Droney

When Brianna Jackson pays a long overdue visit to her Aunt Emily to heal from her broken engagement, the last thing she expects is to fall in love with her Aunt's new sexy gardener Chandler Russell. As the passion heats up between Brianna and Chandler, her aunt fears Brianna's reaction if she finds out about Chandler and her beloved "adopted" Aunt Jo's past steamy love affair.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Torrid Books
• Release date: Aug 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781593744496

Susan K. Droney

Writing is Susan's number one passion. When she isn't writing, she enjoys reading, spending time in her garden, and visiting family and friends. She has many novels, short stories, and magazine articles to her credit. Raised in western New York, she now resides in New Jersey. For information about Susan's current and upcoming titles, please visit http://www.susandroney.com or http://susandroney.blogspot.com

Book preview

Chapter 1

Chandler brought his truck to a stop in the spacious driveway of the Winslow Gardens. The Winslow Gardens was one of the finest estates he'd ever seen, and he'd seen plenty over the years, from his birth place in Georgia to where he now called home in Rowlings, Connecticut.

He stepped out of his air-conditioned truck and immediately felt the scorching sun searing into his flesh. He shielded his eyes and looked skyward. Not a cloud in the deep blue sky and the humidity was rising. A sudden downpour would feel good about now. He smiled longingly, imagining how the cool raindrops would sizzle against his blistering skin. He made his way over to the edge of the flower garden. Amazingly, everything looked healthy and thriving, even without the much-needed rain. He made a mental note to tell Bill James that the new fertilizer he'd recommended was working like a charm. He stooped down and tenderly touched a petal.

Hello, Chandler, a soft sultry voice greeted him.

He stood up, turning in the direction of the voice. Josephine Winslow sat temptingly in a chair under a huge umbrella topped table. She looked like a southern belle holding a fan with her long, slender fingers. She delicately moved the fan back and forth in front of her face. She'd once told him that she'd been born and raised near New Orleans, but her late husband had brought her to the East Coast and she’d fallen in love with the change in climate and especially the snow.

He smiled. I’m surprised to see you out here this time of day with the heat and all. It feels like a hundred.

She coyly batted her heavily made-up eyes at him as she seductively ran her fingertips down the side of the tall iced tea glass. I hear it’s even going to get hotter. She touched her moist fingertips to her lips as she continued to fan herself.

That’s what I hear.

She crossed her long slender legs, giving him an ample view of her thigh. Why don’t you have a nice cool drink?

Thanks. Maybe later.

Suit yourself. She stood up. You’re welcome to come inside and take a nice long shower to cool off when you're finished.

Chandler nodded, pushing his damp, curly, dark brown hair from his brow. I believe I just might take you up on your offer.

By the way, the flowers look beautiful. You have quite a magic touch.

Thank you, he said, ignoring her obvious innuendo.

See you inside later then. She flashed a radiant smile.

He intended to give her what she really wanted. She was one hot woman. She must have been something in her day, he thought. He licked his lips. She looked more than twenty years younger than her true age of fifty, with her firm, trim figure and a beautiful face that showed no signs of aging. Nothing was taboo with her when it involved sex, and aside from her physical beauty, that was another of her finest assets…at least in his eyes. She expected nothing more from him and had made it perfectly clear from the beginning that theirs was only a sexual relationship with no ties or commitments.

Two hours later, Chandler entered the house through the unlocked back door. He made his way through the sprawling kitchen and opened a door at the far end that led to a set of steep stairs. He slowly climbed the familiar steps. At the top, he briefly gazed down the long hallway, unhurriedly walking past the numerous rooms until he reached his destination. He opened the bathroom door and stepped inside. Being no stranger to this room, he still looked in awe each time he entered at the enormity of it, noting that it was bigger than some studio apartments he'd lived in.

He turned on the water, then peeled off his damp clothing and stepped into the shower. He threw his head back as the cool water sprayed against his face and overheated body. He could almost see the steam rising from his hot flesh, reminding him of the way the pavement looked when, after a day of blistering heat, it sizzled as the first cool heavy drops of rain hit it. He closed his eyes as he lathered the soap in his large hands and then smoothed it over his body.

The shower door suddenly opened. Familiar hands softly touched his back, then massaged his aching shoulders. Ah, that feels good, he quietly said.

Josephine pressed her body tightly against his back. This is nice, she purred into his ear.

Her hardened nipples tingled against his back. Ummm, he moaned as her hands slid down to his buttocks. He grew hard as she gently ran her fingertips into the crack of his ass and then in teasing circles to the front of his body, expertly moving her hands over his chest. She slowly brought her fingertips downward until she reached his pubic hair, and for a few seconds, teasingly ran her fingers through the tangled curls. Finally, she cupped his aching balls in her small hands and softly fondled them. He sucked in his breath, then quickly spun around. His hands found her ample breasts, her hardened nipples begging for release. He lowered his head, taking one breast into his mouth and suckling it for a few seconds, then giving the other one the same attention. She moaned. He removed her breast from his mouth, then sought out her moist full lips at the same time his fingers traveled to her wet pussy, quickly moving inside. She moaned louder. Her hot breath next to his ear excited him further as her mouth gently tugged on an earlobe.

She kissed his eyes, neck and throat as her hands traveled to his cock. She stroked him gently at first, then with more force until he thought he would erupt right there. She arched her back and quickly spread her legs apart and guided him into her.

* * * *

Two hours later, Chandler was back at work, wishing he were still in the cool, soothing shower with Josephine. He wiped the sweat from his brow as the blazing sun beat down on his damp shirt-clad back. He tore off his sweat-soaked tee shirt, then sauntered over to his pickup truck, tossing the dank shirt on the passenger seat. He leaned against the truck and glanced around, but didn't see anyone. He grabbed a bottle of sunscreen lotion and pouring out a generous amount into the palm of his large calloused hand, he slowly massaged it into his shoulders and then bent his arms to reach as much of his back as he possibly could. Pouring a little more out, he rubbed it onto his legs.

When he finished, he threw the bottle on top of the tee shirt and wiped his hands on the back of his shorts. He seized the lawn trimmer and for the next forty-five minutes, concentrated on his gardening. Afterwards, he leisurely walked around the spacious grounds admiring his work, then gathered all his tools together and put them back into the shed behind the house. When it came to working with the land, he considered himself a jack-of-all-trades. As an added bonus, he could think his private thoughts without being disturbed. He glanced towards the house or, more aptly, the mansion. At least that’s what it looked like to him. He thought he saw a curtain briefly move, but he couldn’t be certain.

He’d agreed two months ago to do some minor landscaping for Emily Dirkson, then became a twice a week gardener for her. He’d been immediately filled with deep respect for the mistress of this estate, since the majority of his clients over the years were wealthy, sex-hungry widows who let him know in sometimes extremely unsubtle ways that their needs went far beyond gardening. Emily Dirkson, though, wanted nothing more from him than a beautiful lawn and garden. He gave her his best.

He had never intended to get involved with any of his clients, but he was an unattached red-blooded male, and when an attractive available woman threw herself at him, he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity for a little recreational bonus. Besides, no one was getting hurt. They expected a well-kept lawn and once in a while a romp in the hay. He gave them both.

Whenever an attack of conscience occasionally plagued him, he reminded himself that since there wasn’t any special woman in his life, no one was being deceived. And he did have his standards. He didn’t sleep with every woman who let him know of her availability. If he felt no mutual attraction, he steered clear and concentrated his efforts on only his gardening. It wasn’t out of the question that one of these older women just might be the right woman either. In his travels, he’d met a couple women who had come pretty damn close. But not close enough. He’d never led a woman on just for sex. He didn’t believe in that. If there was going to be nothing more than sex, he bluntly told her. If she still wanted to sleep with him, then she knew up front what to expect and what not to expect from him. His clients here in Connecticut were mostly the wealthy, and there were those widows who only wanted their immediate sexual fantasies met, but not the encumbrances of explaining him to their snobbish society friends. Josephine Winslow was definitely one of those. She was charming and witty and he enjoyed her company, and yes, the sex was fantastic, but he never felt the passion he longed for with her, the passion he'd once known, but had been so cruelly ripped from him.

His true passion now was the cabin he someday hoped to build and share with a family, and he put every dime he could spare into his savings account. When the right woman came along, he’d end his sexual escapades in a minute; with the right woman by his side, he’d never stray. He had strong moral beliefs in the sanctity of marriage and cheating by anyone male or female repulsed him, and the concept of being unfaithful was something he’d never understand. If a person wanted someone else, then they should first end it with the one they were with. Why put someone through the emotional heartache of deception? That was his motto. Of course, he was aware that the majority of his buddies didn’t share his views, some even telling him that a brief affair strengthened their marriages, making it better than ever. Chandler didn’t buy it. The discrepancy would always be there, ready to rear its ugly head at any given moment. And, of course, there were those men who thought he must be crazy for not jumping in the sack with every woman who wanted him, but he wouldn’t budge from his convictions.

He wanted to settle down in the next few years, but so far, the right woman seemed to be non-existent. He’d found her once, but that was a long time ago and she was gone forever. Maybe he set his standards too high, or maybe the truth was that he doubted anyone could take the place of his lost love, but he had to keep searching, and when he found his soul mate, his heart would let him know. He was aware that his high moral standards seemed to belie his sexual adventures, but he would settle for nothing less than one hundred percent fidelity when he took those vows, and his bride would be the only woman to ever share his bed or his heart and soul.

* * * *

Emily Dirkson completed some edits on her latest novel, then turned off her computer. She peered out the window in time to see her new gardener, Chandler Russell, hopping into his pickup truck. With his rugged good looks and powerfully built suntanned body, she was curious why he hadn’t been snatched up by one of the local beauties around here. There certainly was a bevy who would give their eyeteeth to be with a man like him.

At her monthly country club luncheons, she heard the insinuations from a couple lonely widows who employed him that it seemed strange a strapping man such as he was had no one by his side. Emily doubted that his bed was empty or cold every night. She knew that one of her closest friends, Josephine Winslow, enjoyed more than his gardening skills.

Jo had implied on numerous occasions that Chandler Russell was quite a master in the bedroom. Jo had a wild streak in her, but didn’t have an unkind bone in her body. She always gave to those in need, but kept her generous contributions anonymous. She enjoyed sex and