Thursday, 5 August 2010

Excerpt Day - Three Over Par © Cathryn Brunet

Excerpt

Chapter 1...

I crave him, need him the way a heroin addict needs opiates. This isn't an addiction though. This is something more primal. Visceral. A need born of nature. Of the evolutionary imperative. Of survival.

I finger my tee, drawing out his anticipation, exciting my own. I know he'll be watching, anticipating the moment when I slowly bend and dig the tee into the ground. Those ragged heartbeats when my skirt tightens across my arse and provides a tantalising suggestion of the bare flesh beneath.

The tee slides in easily. The grass is damp against my fingers, the soil soft. A cool breeze swirls around my calves and sneaks under my skirt to skim the backs of my knees. My dark brunette plait flops across my shoulder, exposing the winter-pale skin of my neck and the rolled leather strap of my precious necklace.

The Pro—his name is Robbie but I can never think of him as anything other than the Pro—stays behind me. He'll observe, watch me take my stance, perhaps comment on my grip or alignment, monitor my swing. I'll hit the ball as I always do on the first hole, straight down the middle of the lush green fairway. Only on the eighth will I hook into the trees. When my craving for Daniel becomes too much.

Faces impassive, we'll hop into the golf cart and roll down the fairway. Golf professional and lady student, focussed only on the game, on what can be taught and learned.

And then the lesson would really begin. Except it would be a lesson like no other.

And I'd see Daniel again.

Perhaps.

The lessons didn't start out this way. At first they were conducted professionally, but then I noticed the Pro looking at me in a manner that had nothing to do with the way I swung my five iron or the way I studied my putts.

We were playing the fifth. A short par three with an elevated tee surrounded by swaying, rustling gums, and a drive across an algae-infested dam. It was summer. Humidity rose from the grass in waves, turning the air thick, our bodies sweaty. We were alone on the course. Even the diehard locals had enough sense to stay home and wait for the approaching southerly change.

I was wearing an old-fashioned tennis skirt, the sort designed to be paired with sports knickers, and a slightly cropped white-and-pastel-yellow-striped polo shirt that exposed my stomach when I swung. Strictly speaking, such attire was inappropriate, and had I been caught by the Lady Captain—a humourless, pucker-mouthed old bat blessed with the wonderfully apt name Prudence Longbottom—I'd have been subjected to a monologue on decorum and dress rules.

Skirts were allowed, of course. Encouraged even, but these days female golfers wore skorts, not flimsy, semi-transparent tennis skirts. But in the past seven days I'd endured three deaths at the nursing home where I worked Tuesday to Saturday, and washing my proper golf clothes hadn't been a priority.

The skirt was white, pleated and of a sheer, almost gauzy fabric. In my hazy-mindedness I'd paired it with a flimsy lace G-string instead of sports briefs. It proved a wise choice in the end. That G-string and skirt was what started it all, and granted me the release for which I hadn't realised I'd hankered.

© Cathryn Brunet

Three Over Par

Author: Cathryn Brunet

Publisher: Carina Press

Genre: Ménage Contemporary, Erotica

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Wild, hot, addictive sex...

After seeing one too many patients die regretting the things they haven't done, nurse Lucy Seymour realizes she's been making the same mistake. So when Robbie, the sexy golf instructor, makes his move, she responds with uninhibited passion, telling him there's nothing she won't try. Long sessions of foreplay lead to thrills and fantasy fulfillment...until Lucy sees Daniel, the greenkeeper, watching them. Watching her. And then Daniel does more than just watch...he joins them.

Can it lead to love?

Lucy might be exploring all of her secret fantasies, but her reality is that she's a one-man woman...and for her, that man is Daniel. But what does Daniel really want? Lucy or the fantasy?

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