“Sara!” he barked, still shuffling through the shirts, getting angrier by the second. Where the fuck was it? “Sara!” He stood at the door, clad in tux trousers and nothing else. “God dammit,” he muttered and turned back to the bedroom, frowning at the messy unmade bed, the stack of books and water bottles by her side of it. His ears starting buzzing so he took a deep breath before heading back to the shirt hunt.
He heard the door slam and his fiancé drop her stuff by the door, humming likely to the headphones plugged into her ears. He ground his teeth and tried to keep the edge out of his voice. “Sara. Where is my good tux shirt?” He glanced around then spotted it, crumpled in a heap on top of the neat rows of shoes. “Never mind. I see it didn’t make it to the cleaners.” Running a hand down his face he tried to talk some sense to himself. They weren’t married, yet. They’d only been playing at “house” for a few weeks, at his insistence. He couldn’t expect her to just launch into “wife mode” when he was perfectly capable of…”Fuck!” He spotted it then. The expensive, tailor-made tux jacket, shoved half under the large leather chair in front of the window.
Shoving aside the scene he remembered now, the last time he wore the monkey suit. She had yanked it off in her haste to get at him, about a month ago, and they’d fucked in that chair, her bent over it, luscious ass in the air. He groaned and sat, willing his cock soft, the process of which did its own little song and dance on his anger riddled nerve endings. Sara wandered in, kicked off her shoes and flopped into the facing chair. He kept the wrinkled, dusty jacket clutched in one hand.
“What’s up lover? We going to this thing tonight or what?”
He rose. “Well, I would, except that somehow my tux jacket and shirt never made it to the cleaners.” He stuck his arms into a different white shirt. Not the one he wanted. “Would you mind terribly next time getting the damn things up off the floor at least?” She shrugged and stood, shedding clothes and dropping them wherever she stood. Jack tried very hard not to throw one of her infernal water bottles at her. She pulled on sweat pants and a tee shirt. “I thought we had a fund raiser to attend.” He buttoned the shirt up, pulled a black tie from the rack and wound it around his neck.
“I thought since the shirt and jacket aren’t perfect we’d skip it.” She tossed over her shoulder and headed downstairs.
Jack took a breath, waited fifteen seconds then went to the door. “No. We have to go. So get changed.”
He heard her rustling around in the kitchen, could picture her carefully ignoring him and his little shit fit over the dirty clothes. He let her stew a few more minutes, brushed his teeth and tried to repair some of the damage to the filthy jacket. He gave up, draped it over his arm and marched downstairs. Halfway down, already formulating the argument in his head, he heard her shout his name, a tinge of frustration in her voice. He slowed, then stopped.
“Jack!” She muttered a few curse words. “Jack this fucking thing is still broken!” He grinned and went into the large, custom-made kitchen. Her lovely ass was in the air again, as she drug all the crap out from under the sink. She stood, brushing her hair back and tried to work the garbage disposal once more. Dead silence. He leaned on the door jamb, appreciating her rear view and growing frustration a few more minutes.
“Jack!” She shouted, standing up straight and nearly plowing into his face as he looked over the sink. “Fucking hell. I thought you fixed this thing. Now I can’t run the…” she glared at his smiling face. He couldn’t help it. “Okay so I get a mulligan for the stupid shirt and coat. Can you fix it?” She sat on the floor, her eyes filling with years. “I had a shit day. Sorry. I want to stay home tonight so bad I can taste it.”
“You know I can fix it babe. I forgot about it though. It’s not like we use this room for much once coffee hour is over every morning.” He leaned back, watching her. “Watch, I’ll even teach you how.” She scoffed and stood, wiping her eyes.
“You know honey, I’ll pass. I don’t want a lesson. I just want the fucker to grind up the food, okay?” Jack rolled up a sleeve and stuck his hand down the maw of the food grinder, grimacing at the gooey nastiness at his fingertips.
“It’s a deal. But only if you stop doing this!” He tossed two brownish slices of old lime onto the counter. “Or tell your mother to, whatever.” He rinsed off his arm, adjusted the bottom of the disposal once, then again, ran some water down it and smiled as it whirred to life. Sighing, he rolled his sleeve back down and turned.
Sara stood, two glasses of deep red wine in hand. Dressed in his old Michigan State sweats, a ratty tee shirt, her hair scraped back in to a messy pony tail, she was as hot as any woman in his universe. He took the wine and clinked glasses with her. “Can I escort you to date night in front of the tv tonight, almost-wife?”
She grinned and sipped, stepping into space, immediately calming his still clanging nerves. Putting her arm around his waist she looked up at him, bringing a chill to his spine. Dear God, please don’t let me ever screw this up. He lowered his lips to hers, gripped her ass and set the wine glass down, keeping his mouth on hers, tasting her, reveling in the marvel that was this woman he loved.
She sighed and kissed him back. “It’s a date almost-husband. Last one to the couch is a rotten lime rind.” She flounced away and Jack relaxed, finally, as he tugged off the tie and texted an excuse to the friends they were supposed to sit with at the event.
“Something came up. We won’t make it. Have a good night.” He knew his friend Evan would understand. “Something came up” was like a code between them, had been for years. He slipped off the wool trousers and grabbed a pair of jeans he’d apparently left in the tv room, shaking his head at himself. Sara welcomed him on the couch, shutting out anything and everything but the joy he found in her arms.
Sara Thornton, just a rookie in the field, has fast-tracked herself to the top of the Ann Arbor real estate market. Her life evolves into a disciplined and focused routine, exactly what she wants. However, as her career takes off, the fulfillment she seeks remains inexplicably out of reach. The one thing she knows for sure, she will not join the Jack Gordon groupies in her company, no matter how tempting that might seem.
Sara struggles with her intense need for Jack and her desire for less volatility in her busy life, two goals which appear to be mutually exclusive. Although willing to put in the time and emotional effort to make their relationship work, she finds it futile and frustrating, littered with clashes thanks to near-identical personalities and temperaments. Given Sara’s history, easing back into the comfortable status quo becomes easier than fighting a war with the one person who should be her safe haven. But will the easier choice satisfy her the way only Jack can? Is her “war” one that comes from without or within?
Buffeted by circumstance, temptation and distraction, Jack and Sara’s tenuous relationship crumbles, sparking a continuous quest for the ever elusive: trust, love and acceptance. By the time they rebuild a foundation for renewal, fate has other plans. This leaves them both reeling, once again questioning their destiny.
Jack Gordon has come a long way since his earlier days of obsession with Sara. As the general manager of Stewart Realty, his own level of responsibility for the well-being of others has ramped up. He’s even honed his caretaking skills, now that he has someone who loves him unconditionally.
Continuing to invest effort and rebuild their relationship, he and Sara grow close as friends. Despite this, his ultimate question remains unanswered; the one he keeps asking, no matter how many times she says no. Sara isn’t prepared for the keen focus of his need–to have her back, once and for all. Her stubborn resistance nearly rips both lives apart
The epic conclusion to The Realtors series, Closing Costs brings Jack and Sara truly full circle. Proving that the heat of lust and obsession; the need for control and to be mastered in many areas of life can lead to love —surprising you when you least expect it – if you will only allow it.
But Liz also writes. Her first published works were with Breathless Press. The Rookie was released in September 2010, XXXMas Ale in December 2010 (on her birthday no less) and Jockey Box in March 2011. In Fall 2011, The Brewing Passion series will be complete with the release of The Tap Room, a “choose your romance” format wherein the reader gets to pick the heroine’s path.
The hot, romantic menage, Vegas Miracle from Rebel Ink came next quickly followed by a trilogy of “1NigthStand” books from Decadent Publishing. The “Turkish Delights” series will have a prequel AND follow up novel later this year. And Liz loves to indulge the soccer player fetish by writing about them. “Caught Offside” was released in December and a follow up: “Man. On.” is planned for 2012.
The Series addiction continued when a new publisher, Tri Destiny, picked up her REALTORS series. Floor Time, Sweat Equity and Closing Costs will all be released in early 2012.