Purely Unconditional: A Romantic Tale of Snow Days and Second Chances (6 page)

“You’re right. I don’t need you to tell me I’m good
enough. I don’t need anyone to tell me I’m good enough. I
am
good enough…to want…to ask…to be better. And I am not missing out
on anymore. I’m not wasting another moment.”

I unclasp my bra. I slide off my underwear. My heart
pounds as I stand, physically, emotionally and mentally naked in
front of him. His eyes take me in, and he looks both staggeringly
aroused, as if he’s staring at Venus herself, and profoundly
relieved, as if he’s finally home.

His kiss is fire on my lips. His touch is lightning.
I can feel his erection at my hip and I grasp it. He gasps,
surprised, as if still not believing that this is real. I’ll show
him it’s for real.

We fall on the couch together; we continue the kiss
the whole time. I sink into the couch with him on top of me. I run
my hands through his hair and moan. A deep pull of satisfaction
courses all through me—I’ve wanted to do that for years. But I’ve
also wanted to touch him, to run my hands all over his body. So I
do that, too. Finally.

His body is lean but strong, full of sinewy strength
and tight coils of muscle. His narrow hips rest between my legs and
the hard heat of him at my center is the best feeling in the world.
The way his chiseled chest brushes against my tight nipples is
probably the second best feeling.

But suddenly he stills. His breathing is rough,
ragged. His voice is a deep rumble. “We can take this slow. You
don’t owe me anything. We don’t need to do anything you don’t want
to do.”

With a smile, I clasp the back of his head and bring
his mouth to mine. He tastes so good and feels so good that for a
moment, I forget we’re on a narrow couch instead of my bed. I roll
over and we both go tumbling to the floor.

Jack breathes out sharply as I land atop him. Before
I can even ask if he’s alright, he’s already kissing me deeply. I
sit up just enough so I can brace my hands on his chest, the
position causing my spine to arch and my breasts so push together.
His eyes are heavily-lidded and wonderfully dazed. A part of me
thinks I should be embarrassed by my brazen pose, but that part is
small and stupid.

“I’ve wanted you,” I whisper, my breath a hungry
pant. “I’ve wanted you for so long. I hate that I didn’t say yes
five years ago, that I was too scared to say yes to something so
right.” I lower myself until I can kiss his mouth, then his
beautiful jaw line. I leave a trail of kisses down to his broad
chest and then I tilt my head up to look him in the eyes. “I’m
saying yes now.”

I sink down on him. He slides in easy. The look on
his face heats my body and makes everything tighten. It feels good
to be in control, to kiss him as strong as I want, to stroke him as
much as I want, to pull him into me as deeply as I can take him.
The way he stretches me is delicious, decadent.

“Jack…yes…yes…”

He responds with is own pleasure-drenched words and
moans. His eyes slam shut as I angle my hips, as his thick erection
rubs against my tight bud of muscles. His back arches and his blond
hair falls across his forehead.

“Glory…” He opens his eyes as his hands find mine.
Our fingers twine tightly together.

I nod. “Yes.”

I hold nothing back. Every plunge and drag, every
slide and thrust, is a heat wave, reigniting something that never
should have gone out in the first place.

****

Later, much later, we watch the snow fall. We’re
still on the floor, but Jack pulled an afghan on top of us.

“It’s Christmas day,” he says, placing a kiss on my
shoulder. “Merry Christmas.”

I smile. Just beyond his shoulder, I can see my list
where it somehow fell to the floor. My neon green heart attack.
Jack follows my gaze.

“Congratulations,” he says, “you did your twelve
challenges of Christmas. Even the revised ones.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” I add with a grin, “Except of
course, staying out at a club until midnight, and the one with the
five guys in the museum. I still have to talk—”

Jack pulls me on top of him. When he’s done kissing
me senseless, he says with his own grin, “Don’t even think about
it. And you can stay up until midnight with me, Club Jack.”

Laughing, I say, “Well, besides that, there is still
one I have to do.”

His eyebrow quirks up. That’s when I stand. As I do a
complete walk around my living room, naked and proud and so happy I
can’t believe it, Jack hoots and hollers, whistles and claps. I
look over my shoulder.

“Now I’ve done my list.”

I beckon him into the bedroom. I don’t have to ask
twice.

Acknowledgments

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! Thank you so much
for reading Purely Unconditional. I hope you loved it! You guys
keep it real and make it possible. Thank you for your incredible
support!

Thank you once again to my critique partner and
personal Jiminy Cricket, who always steers me away from the bad
juju. Heather Stewart, your editorial notes make life worth
living.

Karoleen Aboud, somehow, someway, this story became
about us. Without you even realizing, you’ve helped me break free,
grow up and reach higher.

And finally, my family. I fall, you pick me up. I
lose my way, you help me find it. I cry, you make me laugh.
Unconditionally and without question, you’re the lights of my
life.

Merry Christmas!

A Note from the
Author

Thank you for reading Purely Unconditional. I hope
you enjoyed it! I’d love to hear from you, so please always feel
free to contact me. You can email me directly or follow me on
Facebook
,
Twitter
and
Instagram
. I just
started a
newsletter
, so if you’d
like to know more about Silver Lake and the Taking Chances series,
you definitely want to sign up for it. As a subscriber to my list,
you’ll have access to free books, reader extras, and a monthly
contest.

Also, if you can, please leave a review of this book
on any retailer websites. Good or bad, I appreciate them all.

Once again, thank you so much for taking the time out
to read this book! I can’t say thank you enough. I hope to hear
from you.

Much love and happy reading!

Sneak Peek

Layla Ellison may be the best friend in this story,
but she’s the heroine in her own sexy romantic comedy, Sweetly
Irresistible. Keep reading for a sneak peak.

Chapter One

“I just have a few more questions to go.”

I smile and clench my hands tighter. It’s the second
of November, in the thick of my favorite season. Normally, this is
the time I’m at my most comfortable—no need for AC, no need yet for
heat. I can still wear short sleeves with long pants. Evenings can
be brisk but all I need is a blanket and my coffee. Like I said,
cozy. But right now, I’m…what’s the phrase? Sweating like a sinner
in church. And squirming like a baby in the same pew.

“And how much do you make annually?”

My right hand is clutching the fingers of my left so
hard I’m surprised my knuckles aren’t cracking. I answer, “It’s
been a slow season. I did just have four parties over the last few
months, though. Each one was worth—”

“I just need a number, Miss Ellison.”

I lick my lips. “Sixteen-thousand.”

The woman—it’s weird to call her Patty; Patty is a
name for nice aunts and helpful old ladies, not helmet-haired bank
tellers with bad acrylic—puts her hand on her mouse and moves it in
a small circle. She hasn’t made any real eye contact with me since
I’ve sat down.

“What is your job?”

“I’m self-employed.”

“What do you do?’

“I’m a baker.”

Casually, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear,
wiping a bead of sweat off my face as I do so. I can’t believe it.
I felt so good when I woke up this morning. I love the start of a
new month, I love the feel of a new beginning. It’s like my
motivation is fresh and I can begin again, stronger and better than
before. But the minute I sat down with Patty, I felt as hopeful as
a bug pinned under a microscope.

“Um, like I was saying though, the jobs I do can pay
anywhere from a few hundred to a few thousand dollars, so it—”

“Do you have any other source of income?”

Jesus, would I be wearing a button-down shirt a size
too small and a gray skirt with a small hole on the hem above my
left knee if I had any other sources of income?

I shake my head. “Just the catering.”

Mouse click. Typing. Mouse click.

“And what would this loan be for? To pay off
existing debt?”

Deep breath, I’ve rehearsed this. “Actually, I’d use
the money to open my own bakery. I’ve always wanted to be a small
business owner, especially here. I’ve spent my life in Silver Lake
and think the residents would especially enjoy a bakery in their
neighborhood. Cake Shoppe is the nearest one, and it’s almost five
miles—”

“Okay, that’s all I need.”

Ever play the game Red Light, Green Light? Someone
yells “green light!” and you run as fast as you can toward them and
then, without warning, they yell “red light!” and you have to stop
so abruptly your upper body pitches forward? Talking with…Patty…is
exactly like playing Red Light, Green Light.

I hate that game.

“Alright”—finally, she looks at me—“let me just put
this through the computer. An answer should come back to us pretty
quickly.”

She types a few things. God, my face hurts from
smiling. And the back of my legs are sticking to the metal chair
because I’m so damn hot.

Come on, St. Anthony. Please let this loan go
through. Please find a way to make this loan go through. I paid off
one debt, and yeah, I know it’s not anything big but still, that’s
got to count toward something. And I did get one of those spammy
pre-approval letters in the mail from a bank in Honolulu. That’s
got to mean something, too. Right?

Suddenly, the music to A Chorus Line starts sounding
in my head.

Oh God I need this loan. Please God I need this
loan. I’ve got to get this loan!

Patty finally looks at me. Drum roll, ladies and
gentlemen.

“I’m sorry, Miss Ellison. The bank did not approve
you.”

“Oh,” I say. I sit back and blink. And even though I
didn’t come in here with sky-high confidence, it still feels like I
got the wind knocked out of me. “Um, does it say why?”

“No, but you’ll get something in the mail within the
next few days explaining the decision.”

Shit.

I want to slump in my chair. I want to frown and
furrow my brows and whine
but why?
But you know what? The
ol’ slump, frown and furrow never got me anywhere before, and it
won’t get me anywhere now. Just the other day, I went to the mall
to return a shirt I thought I liked but the minute I tried it on,
realized what an unflattering monster it was, but the receipt had
expired. Did I give up, though? Did I slump, frown and furrow? No.
I persisted and insisted and bam! Shirt returned.

Persist. Insist.

I sit up straighter and smile. Again.

“You know,” I say, “just so you know, in case you
want to write a note on my account or something, I probably got
rejected due to my credit. But my credit is only so low because I
just don’t have much of it.” Smile. “I mean, I don’t lease. I got
my car from a friend. And my phone too…well, I didn’t get it from
her but I use one of those monthly plans so I’m not locked into a
contract because cell phone companies are always increasing their
prices and, well, anyway, you see that it’s not bad credit, just
not, you know,
any
credit so—”

She nods as if she understands, but the whole effect
is ruined by her pursed lips and slow blinking, as if I’m some
lying piece of scum off the street instead of a loyal customer
since I was sixteen years old.

“You know,” I say, “maybe there’s someone else I can
talk to.”

Her lips tighten so much it looks like she’s either
going to kill me or kiss me. “The answer will be the same. With
your credit score, lack of funds, and the fact that you overdraw
every other week, you’re too much of a risk.”

Two thoughts hit me at once. One: so she
did
know the reason why I got rejected and her whole
you’ll-get-something-in-the-mail schpiel was bullshit. And two: a
risk! Really? The most daring thing I’ve ever done was shoplift a
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figure when I was eleven. And
then I felt so damn bad about it, I buried the thing in my backyard
because I couldn’t deal with the guilt of playing with it. Every
time I was in that yard, I swear I could hear him whisper,
Kowabunga…

Risky? Yeah, just ask my Tell-Tale Turtle.

“Well, what about a smaller loan? If fifty is too
high, I’m sure I could get by on forty. Or even thirty.” I inwardly
cringe, but it’s better than nothing. Thirty thousand wouldn’t pay
for all the equipment I’d need, but it’d be a good down payment on
the building. I could do thirty thousand if I was careful.

“Miss Ellison, you were denied a loan. For any
amount.”

An awkward silence descends. That’s probably my cue
to leave but I can’t. Leaving is admitting defeat. If I can’t get
this loan, I’m back to working at the Bargain Basement. I cannot
ever work at the Bargain Basement again.

“Are you sure there’s no one else I can talk to?” I
add quickly, “Not that I don’t trust what you’re saying or
anything. But maybe there are different avenues we could look at,
see what we can come up with.”

Patty sighs, as if I’m a child she’s fast losing
patience with. “I’m the branch manager here, and I cannot authorize
this loan. You can go to a different bank. You can call the
eight-hundred number. But the end result will be the same because
frankly, you don’t have enough money, you don’t have steady income,
and you have no collateral whatsoever. Based on that, no bank will
give you a loan for two thousand dollars let alone fifty.”