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About the author:
Maggie Maloney is a hopeless romantic whose love of writing propelled her to pen her first novel “My Pace or Yours?”, quickly followed by “Perhaps Some Other Time”, all while working as a professional musician, her other passion. As a gifted jazz composer and guitarist, Maggie learned the art of combining talent with finely honed skill and was able to translate that to her writing. Her fascination with the beauty of human connection brings her characters to life in a way that makes you care about them and get lost in their stories. Maggie lives in a cozy seaside cottage with her wonderful husband who she calls “My own personal Prince Charming” and her beloved four-legged pooch, Matches. Keep an eye out for more Maggie Maloney stories coming your way soon!
What inspired you to write your book?
My Dad was a master carpenter just like Sean. Took his sweet time with all that he did. I loved that about him and VERY quickly came up with the story line. And, like Sean, he built only masterpieces. (Dare I say like the daughter he made?)
Here is a short sample from the book:
Beth was in her bedroom, taking off her shoes, when Sean came to her. Scarcely five minutes had passed since she’d said goodnight to the Roth’s. She’d planned to go downstairs to wait for him and let him in. He’d taken care of that detail himself, apparently watching for the guestroom light to come on from outside and using the key he’d never offered to return and which she had never asked for. Now he stood, looking comically urgent and adorable, just inside her bedroom door. His eyes were all over her as she sat on the window seat, placing her shoes on the floor beside her tightly curled toes.
She looked up at him, breathing in the scent of a blustery wind that he’d brought inside with him. Then she smiled at him. “Cold out there?”
He didn’t return the smile. “I’m Canadian. I can take it.” Still, he looked at her, waiting.
“Well, then, despite your blatant audacity at coming to a lady’s bedroom unannounced, I suppose it would be rude of me, as hostess of The Yesteryear, not to invite you inside. So, please, come in. Make yourself comfortable.”
“I intend to.” Four swift strides brought him to her place by the window. Then he reached for her hands and drew her up and into his arms. He moistened his lips. “So … where were we?”
Beth smiled and brought her arms around his back. “My, how impulsive we are tonight.” She brushed her lips tauntingly across his. “Right about here, I believe.”
That was all the invitation Sean needed. In a single shaky breath his mouth claimed hers. In another, Beth was treated to a kiss that displayed so much urgency one would have thought they were lovers in the throes of goodbye rather than the ecstasy of hello. Feeling the hammering thrusts of his tongue, Beth discovered just how impatient a man he could be when he wanted. He devoured her. Although his jacket was cold from the outside she could feel heat in every part of him — his cheeks, chest, hands, tongue. It was heat of passion and of feelings repressed for too long.
They kissed for a long time, standing in the center of her room, interrupting themselves every so often for mismatched snatches of conversation.
“How was Abbott and Costello?” he asked, then moved his tongue slowly down the side of her neck and back up while waiting for an answer.
“Oooh,” she whispered. “Um, it was very nice, actually. The Roth’s loved it.”
Then: “How’d it go with the police this morning?” His hands moved lightly across the peaks of her breasts.
“Ahh. Um, fine.”
“Same here. Victor’s going to nail their asses.”
Beth attempted to nod, though her head was thrown back, her nose pointing straight at the ceiling. “Mm-hm,” she managed, her voice an octave higher than normal.
Later still. “Sean? Why do you love me?” Beth worked her fingers through his russet hair.
Sean went on with his kissing spree. “Because you dream and you invigorate me with your insatiable energy. And because I happen to believe that, in our own weird way, we both want the same things in life. Plus, there’s no denying your physical charms.” His hand slid high up her thigh.
“Like what?” she squeaked.
“Like ‘what’?” He laughed silently, then kissed the hollow above her breasts. “What do you want? A list of your charms?”
Beth moaned softly. “Maybe later. No, I mean, what things do we both want?”
“A place we can call home.” His hand reached behind her, boldly pulling the backs of her thighs and her bottom closer to him. “A life together. Summer days in Wickford. Good coffee. Kids. Things like that.”
Beth moaned in response to his touch, then looked up at him. “Kids?”
Seconds later she felt his hands move up her back, then slowly, very slowly, draw the zipper of her dress down to her waist. While he worked he said. “I’m sorry, you know. For being such a son of a bitch lately. I know now that Girard put a lot of mistrust in your head. But it shouldn’t have mattered anyway. If I didn’t have such an overinflated sense of pride, none of this would …”
Beth pressed a finger to his lips. “Enough of that. First of all, if it weren’t for your sense of pride, I wouldn’t have all this.” She swept her arm around. “You can’t imagine how much I love this place. Do you realize it’s a product of the two most important men in my life?”
Then she brought her arms about his neck, locking her hands together. “Furthermore, my only concern right now is you.” She stood on tiptoes and kissed his wonderful, firm lips.
A moment later Sean drew his mouth slowly from her. “Listen, about last night … when I was going ballistic on Messier, I think you should know why I …”
“It’s all right, Sean,” Beth said softly. “I know … about Colleen.”
His mouth opened slightly. “You know?”
“Alicia Bjorn called a while back. She was looking for you to tell you about the halfway house for teen prostitutes she and her husband opened. I assumed she’d reached you by now. Anyway, she told me the story.”
Beth half expected Sean to get angry upon hearing the news. Instead he took two steps back and sat down on the bed. Then he lowered his head and released an almost unending sigh. After another minute or two he looked up at her and said. “A halfway house, eh? Good for her.” He sighed again. “Well, I can’t say I’m disappointed that I don’t need to go into any of that right now. But I want you to know I am healing. I’ve done a lot of that these past several months.”
“Me, too. I did a lot of mine yesterday while I was painting the sign.”
Sean nodded. “I like the name you put on it. I think Elizabeth suits you very well.”
The sound was music to Beth’s ears. She smiled. “Mmm. Maybe you could use it from time to time — help me get used to hearing it.”
“You can count on that. In fact, I intend to start right now.” Sean looked her in the eye. “Elizabeth … I want to make love to you.”
She smiled. “That, Campbell Incorporated, is very mutual.”
Sean finished undressing her. Beth couldn’t help but notice the look of awe in his eyes the whole time. At first, she assumed it was her clothes; the silky dress, the slip, her stockings — all the trappings of a more romantic time long gone. But then, when there was nothing left, she saw that his awe had only intensified as his eyes moved over her. Was it her? she wondered.
He gave her his answer. As he slid his hands over her cheeks and chin he said, “You’re beautiful. You are so beautiful. All of you.” His voice was filled with reverence.
Beth stared in surprise. “You think so?”
He dropped his eyes down the length of her, then brought them back up to meet hers. “As a carpenter, I feel well qualified to say that you, Elizabeth Martin, are built. Take it from someone who knows first-class construction when he sees it.” Then, without waiting for a reply, he drew her by the shoulders and lay her softly down onto the bed.
Beth watched him as he shed his clothes. Talk about first-class, she said to herself as he came and lay on the bed beside her.
Save an occasional hiss from the radiator, it was quiet in the room. And everything was so soft, so soothing: the snow that clung to the windowpanes beside the bed, the golden lamplight, the pillow and comforter beneath her, his gaze, his touch. First, he touched her with his eyes only. Then, after several minutes, she felt his hands, his skilled and strong hands, move slowly upon her body. Painfully slowly. His unending caress began in the center of her stomach, then spiraled outward …