So there’s this girl, right? She’s got a crush on this friend-of-a-friend and she’s pretty sure he’s into her too, but not sure enough to actually take the plunge. Of course, fate intervenes and puts them in the same bed. You can guess where this is going …
If I have a muse, then that was the pitch she gave me when the idea for Head Over Heels last year.
It’s a simple premise and to be honest I originally imagined it taking place in an urban setting, maybe after a wedding or a night out. I pictured a couple still rosy from walking in the snow, high heels kicked off at the foot of the bed, and the smell of his cologne lingering in the room.
As any writer will tell you, ideas are fairly disposable. I eventually lost interest for no reason except that it didn’t click. The characters really weren’t saying anything to me.
Then I went on vacation and all that changed. Suddenly, the couple were enjoying the cottage I was staying in. They were visiting the same places I was visiting, taking pictures of the same sites, eating the same food, and so on. It wasn’t just a change of scenery: it was a change of characters. They went from personifying their chaotic urban setting to immersing themselves in their beachy surroundings and really discovering one another.
After I plunked them in the middle of cottage country the words just flowed and their adventure together evolved. By the time I got to the end, Chrissie and Sam made it clear to me that they wouldn’t have fallen for one another anywhere else in the world.
Chrissie Lowe felt like she’d been on the hiking trail for hours. Her feet hurt. Her calves hurt. Her back hurt. Her libido was amped up to such a degree that she felt like sinking her teeth into something.
Sinking her teeth into Sam Ferguson’s ass, to be precise.
He had been behind her, but when they’d reached the embankment about a quarter of a mile back, he’d jumped ahead of her so he could help her up. Now she was stuck staring at his backside.
And what a backside it was. Nice and round and clenching with every step he took. Those cargo shorts were going to be the death of her.
It wasn’t just his ass. His upper body was obscured by his backpack but the entire lower body got a standing ovation. He had thick thighs and muscled calves that were dusted with blond hair. Even the scratches and scuffs on his bare legs were sexy.
She could hear his breath coming in hard spurts as he hoofed it up the incline and occasionally grunted. Delicious sex sounds. Every such sound went right between her legs.
“I can see why they took the long way,” he said and glanced over his shoulder. “They probably beat us to the lake.”
Chrissie bobbed her head and took a moment to catch her breath. “Is this where you stop being Mr. Outdoors and admit that this is killing you?”
“I admit nothing except that I’m not in the shape I was in five or so years ago.”
There was sweat on the back of his neck that formed a ring around the collar of his grey T-shirt. The shirt was coming off soon. It always did after he started to sweat through it. When it did her palms would itch from wanting to run all over that hard chest. His shorts would slip just a little over his narrow hips and she’d get a flash of the black waistband of his jockeys. The hot flashes she’d been having would turn into a full-body burn, and then the real suffering would start.
Annemarie Hartnett lives in Eastern Canada and is a full-time office monkey/part-time smut peddler. She writes erotic romance as Annemarie and erotica as A.M. Hartnett. Her first erotic short was published in 2006 and yes, this totally made up for spending a fortune on the degree in English literature she’ll never use. For more information on Annemarie or to contact her, visit www.annemariehartnett.com