Husband Material

Left at the Altar

Book Cover: Husband Material
ISBN: 9781942095361
ISBN: 9781942095378
Pages: 230
ISBN: 9781942095507

She left me the week before our wedding.

Said I wasn't "husband material."

Actually, I'd have to agree with my ex on that matter...because I'm just better off alone.

But everything changed for me the day I met a mysterious beauty sketching on the beach.


We had one magical night together...and then she was gone—a French beach fairy who danced away with the dawn.

I searched until I found her again.

And now I can't let her go...because maybe I am husband material after all.


She made no protest as I swept her up again and carried her over, although she did let out a small exhale of surprise.  "You made that look very simple."

That's because it is.  I set her down on the suede cushions, grinning like an idiot.  "I'm sure if you went to the gym as much as I do…plus, you are easy to carry."  I’ve never carried a woman like this.  For some insane reason, it felt right.  She felt right in my arms.

"Ha."  Giselle threw up a hand.  "Do not lie."

"I'm not lying," I said, passing her glass to her and depositing myself on the opposite end of the couch.


I was far enough away that when she lifted her glass to make a toast, I had to really reach in order to clink my glass to hers.  "To a failed drawing, but a successful evening nonetheless, yes?" she said.

I nodded slowly and tasted my wine.  We stared at each other, shared shy smiles, and mostly said nothing.  Right now, in the warm, dim lights of my living room, she was all I could see.  In her blue dress, with her golden skin and long silky hair—a contrast to the soft tone of my sofa—she looked…beautiful.  Perfect.  Like there was nothing else in the room to look at but her.  It took all of my self-control not to kiss her.

So, we sipped and ate in a comfortable silence instead.  As the clock ticked out the minutes, I pushed away a hundred different comments and excuses to talk to her, because sitting beside her like this was amazing.  Not in any way awkward.  Giselle was simply easy to be with, and I didn't want the moment to end.



Seeing her glass was empty, I reached for the bottle to refill her glass, but she declined with a sad smile.

"This has been more than enough.  It has been months, to tell you the truth.  I-I…"  She shook her head, and another sad smile appeared on her lovely face.  "No matter.  The point is"—she met my eyes and bit on her luscious bottom lip again—"I really just want to thank you…for your incredible kindness today."

I tried to keep my focus on her eyes and not the distracting lip-biting thing she did so well.  "Of course."  Right this second, every part of me was screaming to move closer to her, to meet those lips of hers that looked so delicious.

Instead, I got up from the sofa and made my way to the kitchen with the cheese plate and the half-empty bottle.  "Tomorrow, I've got an early morning.  Should probably be getting to bed."  It was a lie, though.  You're a pussy.

But what the hell was I supposed to do?  Giselle was essentially a stranger.  She probably didn’t want some horny American guy leering at her.  Let along touching her.  Kissing her.  Tasting her.

Oh fuck.  Yeah, you’re still a pussy.

"Oh.  Of course," she said, her tone quiet, unassuming…possibly disappointed even.  I refused to look her way.  The next words she spoke to me were dismissive, coming from a stranger's voice.  "You may turn off the light on your way up."


Frustration rattled through me as I snapped off the light switch.  I was halfway to the staircase when she said, "And Gage?"


"Can you come back for a moment?  There is just one more thing I want to say to you."

Caution had every hair on my body standing on end, but now that my feet had been given permission to do what they'd been itching to for hours, they strode back to her obediently.

As I stood behind the couch and she peered up at me, I came to another realization.  In the moonlight, her features had assumed an almost mystical clarity, as if this were her intended state all along.  Like she was always meant to be here in my house, on my sofa, staring up at me, wanting me to be with her.  There couldn't be any other reason.

"Closer," her whisper commanded.  So, I dipped my head down slightly, allowing the last of my good sense to give the fuck up in defeat.

She beckoned me again, and again I leaned in closer.

And even closer still, until any kind of retreat had become a ridiculous impossibility.

As her luscious lips swept up to mine, in the instant before they met, she murmured, "I want to kiss you good night."