Close Quarters
Ellora's Cave
Genre: Fable/Contemporary
ISBN #1-84360-847-2
Book Length: Novel
Buy the eBook

In Aesop's Fable The Fox and The Crow, a wily fox plays on a crow's vanity and convinces her to drop a piece of cheese.

It's time for the crow to even the score.

When Brenna Hennessy embarrasses Alastair Reynard, he decides to show Brenna just how easy it is to be seduced from the straight-laced world she lives in. Playing on her vanity, Alastair convinces Brenna to drop her clothes and spend a night in his bed.

Brenna learns two things from her night with Alastair-a person can't die of embarrassment and Alastair is an incredible lover.

Now Brenna wants some payback of her own. A "friendly kidnapping" leaves Alastair tied to her bed and at her mercy. It's supposed to be a weekend of hot sex and acting out the fantasies she's only dreamed about. Her heart was not supposed to become involved, but when she's locked in close quarters with Alastair, revenge quickly takes a back seat to pleasure.and love.



Excerpt:
Brenna shivered as she clung to the last tendrils of sleep. She wasn't ready to wake up and she was cold. Eyes closed, she reached behind her, trying to find the blankets and drag them back over her. Her hand came back empty. Groaning and a little disgruntled, she stretched farther. Still nothing.

"Where the heck are my bla-" She opened her eyes and yelped.

Not my blankets. Alastair's blankets. She was in Alastair's room. Naked in Alastair's room.

She sat up in the huge bed and searched for the missing blankets, or a sheet-anything. They had to be somewhere. She could not be lying here, naked, when he came back.

The thought propelled her out of the bed. She couldn't be there at all. Her midnight escape had been foiled but now, he was gone. She would get dressed, slip downstairs and get the hell home before her mind truly realized what her body had done.

Damn. Too late.

Her groans and pleas came back to her as an auditory hallucination. She pressed her hand against her stomach, trying to quell the hollow arousal that returned at the simplest memory.

As if to remind her just exactly what she'd done and how many times she'd done it, her nipples tightened. She glared down at the hardened points. Now is not the time, girls.

She had to get dressed and go home. Her clothes. The physical memory of them being stripped from her body the first time and pulled from her hands the second slowed her down, but she took comfort in knowing they would be where she'd dropped them. She looked toward the door expecting to see her suit in a heap on the floor. There was nothing on the floor or on the chair behind the door. She spun around. Except for the furniture-a chair, desk, lounger and the huge bed-the room was empty.

Maybe Alastair hung them up. She opened the closet.

Empty.

Suspicion mixed with dread and made the acid in her stomach burble. She hurried to the master bath. Maybe he put them there. Or towels would work.

She stepped into the room and her heart plummeted to her roiling stomach. Empty. No towels, no shower curtain. Nothing.

That bastard had left her naked. With nothing to put on.

She walked back into the bedroom. There weren't even curtains on the windows. He'd stripped the room of absolutely everything made of cloth.

She stared at the bed dominating the room. There was still the fitted sheet. But that was a last resort and she hadn't given up hope. Not yet.

The shadow under the bed drew her forward. People stuffed items under beds all the time and forgot them. Maybe, just maybe, there had been something left behind that Alastair had missed.

She dropped to the floor onto her hands and knees, and peered underneath the bed.

And gasped. It had to be the cleanest, emptiest under-bed she'd ever seen. Whoever cleaned his house vacuumed under here on a regular basis.

Brenna released a frustrated sigh and stuck her head farther underneath. She slapped her hand into the shadows, blindly searching. There had to be something.

The quick snap of the door opening froze her in position-on her knees, ass in the air, presented to Alastair as he walked in.

"Damn it, Alastair, what were you-" She stood up, whipped around and yelped.

Three people stood in the doorway. Two she knew. One was a stranger. None of them were Alastair.

"Mitchell, Genevieve." Brenna skimmed her hands down her body, laying one arm across her breasts and sliding the other hand to her pussy, trying to casually mask the fact that she was naked-in Alastair Reynard's bedroom-with two of the most notorious gossips standing before her.

"Brenna?" Mitchell said. His mouth dropped open. Then his eyes dropped-not politely to the floor-but to her breasts, partially covered by her arm. "I didn't know you and.Alastair Reynard?" His question was laden with reprimand. His wife, Genevieve, didn't say anything. Her eyes widened as she looked at Brenna. Then the woman winked, as if commending Brenna.

"Oh my," the third party gasped. "Mr. Reynard must have forgotten to mention that we were showing the house this morning." The way she said "the house" was as if Brenna was a tacky decoration that the owner surely should have hidden in a closet before company came over.

Brenna felt a blush creep up her breasts and her neck.

"Yes, he must have," she replied, lifting her chin and staring them down. They stared back. And stared. "Uh, do you mind?"

Her sarcastic prompt jolted all three out of their stupor.

"We'll, uh, just wait downstairs until you finish.dressing."

"Yes, and could you send Mister Reynard up here?" Brenna asked, though how the words were able to escape through her tightly clenched teeth, she didn't know. She was going to kill him. How dare he embarrass her like this?

She sank down on the edge of the bed. Had he actually planned this? It seemed impossible. He couldn't have. But why else would he have taken her clothes and every scrap of material from the room?

Mr. Reynard forgot to mention that they were showing the house. I'll bet.

The door swung open. Brenna was on her feet and stalking that direction before Alastair made it across the threshold. She slapped her hand against his bare chest-he was at least wearing shorts-and stopped him.

"Just give me my clothes."

"Brenna-"

She ignored the hint of apology in his voice. "Don't speak to me." She shifted her hand until it was in front of his face. "Just give me my clothes," she repeated. He handed her a rumpled pile of material that used to be her suit. "You really are a bastard, you know that? I've never been so embarrassed in all my life," she snapped as she snatched the clothes from his arms. "Mitchell and Genni will tell the world."

He raised his eyebrows arrogantly. "Well now, maybe you'll understand how it feels to have your private actions talked about around the water cooler." He backed out the door. "Have a good day, Ms. Hennessy."

His words hit her like a fist in her stomach. It couldn't be. It had all been about revenge? I shouldn't be doing this. I hadn't planned it this way. His words as they'd made love the first time came to haunt her. She slapped the memory away. She couldn't think about it now. She had to get dressed and get the hell home and then she would decipher what Alastair meant.



Reviews:
"Brenna and Alastair simply burn up the sheets, rugs, pages and everything else that gets close to them.Tielle St. Clare has created a sensual, funny and outrageously sexy book that will keep you turning the pages and when you've turned the last one you will wish there were more."

The Road to Romance


"Tielle St. Clare pens a romantic, erotic, and fun love story.Close Quarters is a story not to be missed."

Fallen Angel Reviews


"CLOSE QUARTERS is a terrific story that is sure to set your blood to boiling and your heart aflutter. This is one explicit, sizzling tale you won't want to miss. You can't go wrong with a story written by Tielle St. Clare."

Romance Junkies


"Get the ice cold water and turn up the air conditioner because CLOSE QUARTERS is hot.Tielle St. Clare creates a red-hot romantica with fascinating characters in CLOSE QUARTERS."

Romance Reviews Today