Nearly missed a book-a-versary! Coming Around Again is a year old! Bless. The hero made me cry. So did the heroine. And their kids. And their grandmother. In between the tears, there's fun and romance and the
other sex. If you haven't given it a go, and you'd like to skip the paranormal of the season, let me convince you...
Coming Around Again on Amazon
Excerpt of Strom v Strom
Will wouldn’t shut up about his brother. Almost as if he was convinced
that his mother had done away with him and there was a government conspiracy
involved in Danny’s disappearance. He ate dinner, talking through mouthfuls of
mashed potato, peas, and grilled fish to explain his theory.
Stella’s mind was on getting her suede shoes professionally cleaned and
the wrinkle of disgust on the bank manager’s nose as he barely agreed to the
loan for the second salon.
The phone rang and Will leapt to answer it in the dining room. “Strøm!”
he announced. “Dad!”
Stella rolled her eyes, then remembered her other child was being
watched by the Prick. The very least she could do was make sure her son still
breathed.
“Yeah,” Will continued. “Muma’s here. I’m fine. Yeah, he yacked and
everything. No school? That’s not fair. Okay, I suppose. Love you too, Dad.” He
handed out the phone to Stella, a wide grin on his face. With tar-like
discomfort rolling through her, Stella collected the phone.
“How did your meeting go?” he asked, sarcasm rolling through his deep
voice.
“Really well, thank you for asking. How’s my son?”
“Our son is chucking his little guts up. I have a feeling our
other son will be doing the same very soon.”
“Doubtful.”
“Most certainly. Before he passes the same terrible thing onto you, I
suggest you bring William over to me. I’ve moved my meetings to next week,
everything else I can deal with from home.”
What. The. Fuck? “I don’t think that’s necessary,” Stella said dismissively.
“They were coming over to me for the weekend anyway. No point in putting
it off if William’s going to be ill. I don’t want to miss out on my time with
them.”
And if she didn’t, she’d be in breach of their stupid contact order.
That fucking judge thought Stella had life too easy. If only he knew. Dick
stain didn’t have a sodding clue. “Let him be tonight and if he’s dodgy
tomorrow, I’ll drop him around. If he’s not, I’m not exposing him to flu just
so you get time with him. That’s what Skype is for.”
“It’s not the same, Stella.”
No, it wasn’t. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Let me speak to Danny.”
“All right then. Tomorrow.”
She heard the scrambling of the phone and a croaky-voiced Danny
answered. “Hi Muma.”
The weakness of his tone clogged her throat with tears. “Hello, darling.
How are you feeling?”
“Like bollocks, Muma.”
“Who taught you that horrible word?” she demanded, tears drying
instantly at his language.
“You said it when we had a flat tyre last week before school. I do feel
bad. Dad’s given me Lucozade and Ribena and Robinsons and coconut water. I
think I’ve stopped throwing up.”
“That’s something. But keep drinking lots of water and juice. Are you
hot? Has your dad put a cold flannel on your head?”
“Yes, I’ve got one. You should come, too. We’re watching TV in my bed.
Like we used to on Sundays.”
She breathed out slowly until the urge to curse her husband for ruining
every aspect of their lives together passed. “That sounds lovely, darling.
Listen, get some rest and I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay Muma. Nighty night.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
He passed the phone back to Niels. “I’ll call tomorrow, make sure Will’s
okay.”
“He’s with me.” She threw off his irritating suggestion. “He’ll be
fine.”
Ten hours later, on her hands and knees wiping up something unspeakably
disgusting, Stella took back every word of her suggestion that her son could
simply sidestep a virus, even though she’d spent the better part of the evening
spraying the house with an antibacterial aerosol. With pinpricks of pain
needling her head, foretelling an undeserved migraine on the way, Stella packed
her second sick child into her car and headed for Niels’ home. Her ex-husband
lounged in the doorway as she pulled up.
Will weakly lifted his arm to wave to his father as Stella heaved him
out of the car and rolled his overnight bag onto her shoulder. Niels took it
from her, by her side in two short leaps. “Come in.”
Stella hadn’t stepped foot inside his home and had only seen pictures of
the boys playing together within these much-lauded four walls. The interior
wasn’t much different from her own, walls a subtle shade of grey that didn’t
show scuff marks the same way white walls did. It was spacious, clean, and just
like the man, meticulous. Niels placed the bag down in the hall way and lifted
Will from Stella.
“Go and make yourself a coffee. I’ll just put him to bed.”
Stella jerked a thumb in the direction of her car. “I really do need to
go to the new premises…”
“Stay and have a coffee,” he repeated, taking Will upstairs and out of
her sight. She rubbed her forehead. A coffee would only make her migraine
worse.
Closing the front door behind her, she trudged to the kitchen and
flicked on the kettle. Now where the damn hell is everything, she asked
the empty room. Leaning forward, she rested her head on the cold marble of the
centre bar and closed her eyes.
She felt the heat of a palm on her lower back. “Stella?” Niels prompted
softly. “Are you feeling sick?” Her mouth flooded with saliva and her stomach
rolled with irritation. “All right, come on.”
“No, I’m all right. I’ve gone to work on worse…” Oh, talking did not improve that sensation. Gently
coaxing her hair from her face, he edged her to the sink and the scent of lemon
made her stomach protest violently. Her morning cup of tea went the same way as
Will’s Weetabix.
“You’re not going anywhere, either.”
“Can’t stay here,” she groaned.
“Yes, you can. Don’t argue with me, woman.” He swung her easily into his
arms and carried her up the stairs to a grand bedroom. A large king-sized bed
dominated the room, decorated in simple grey, black, and white.
“I can’t, Niels,” she tried to lift herself out of his hold only for him
to grip tighter.
He placed her on the bed and removed her shoes. “Just for once, be quiet
and rest. You’re not going to feel any better for at least forty-eight hours.
No work, no cleaning, no cooking, and definitely no driving in your state.”
His hands tunnelled under her pearl-studded jumper, lifting it over her
head. He discarded her pencil skirt in much the same way and took her tights
with the skirt. There was something unnaturally clinical about the way he undressed
her. As if she was another sick child. Had she the strength to smack his hands
away, she would have done. Smacked him right around his big head.
He tucked her into one of his T-shirts with the direction not to throw
up over it and unclipped her bra with the T-shirt on, maintaining her dignity.
Not that he hadn’t licked, sucked, or bitten her puppies, only difference
being, he wasn’t legally allowed to touch her personage.
As he tucked her beneath his duvet, he said gently, “I’ll bring you a
bowl and some painkillers for the headache.”
“Aren’t you going to get this?” she asked.
He smirked. “I don’t get sick. You know that.”
“Twat,” she muttered to his amusement. Before
she could say anything else, he’d left the room. Slick bastard. She was in his
bed undressed. It was their first date all over again…
.jpg)