Chance Encounters: The Collection
by Hedonist Six
Chance Encounters #1-3
Publication Date: Jan 7, 2017
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Erotic, Romance, Realistic, Box Set
Chance Encounters #1-3
Publication Date: Jan 7, 2017
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Erotic, Romance, Realistic, Box Set
Synopsis: Chance Encounters is a series of stand-alone novellas set in jolly old England, following a set of loosely connected people as they find love in unexpected places. Can love conquer all, from class differences to age gaps? Read on and find out.
Book 1 – One Night Stand
Lucy has always had everything under control: her business, as well as her (non-existent) love life. And then George came along and changed everything.
Book 2 – Beautiful Stranger
Claudia and Peter meet by chance at the side of the road. She’s a down-to-earth 24 year old with a dead-end job, he’s married and rich. What can possibly go wrong?
Book 3 – Only a Taste
Mandi is set to move back in with her conservative Punjabi parents. The last thing she needs is complications, but they turn up anyway, in the form of handsome stranger, Callum.
Lucy has always had everything under control: her business, as well as her (non-existent) love life. And then George came along and changed everything.
Book 2 – Beautiful Stranger
Claudia and Peter meet by chance at the side of the road. She’s a down-to-earth 24 year old with a dead-end job, he’s married and rich. What can possibly go wrong?
Book 3 – Only a Taste
Mandi is set to move back in with her conservative Punjabi parents. The last thing she needs is complications, but they turn up anyway, in the form of handsome stranger, Callum.
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EXCERPT: Only a Taste
by Hedonist Six
EXCERPT : Callum
"Mr. Byrne, I can assure you that you won't find a better location
for your new restaurant in all of Brighton." The estate agent flashes his
extra-white teeth. He looks almost like a shark, readying himself to shred his
prey to pieces - me in this case.
"The rent is too high, it won't be viable,"
I argue, while looking around the empty establishment again. A lot of decorating
would be needed as well. It's too much.
"Think of the footfall!" He points out the
window which is currently partially obscured by white paint. Still, masses of
day-trippers can be seen from where we stand.
"How about you speak to the owners again and let
me know if the lease is negotiable? It will take a lot of investment to bring
this property up to scratch." I offer him my hand, signalling the end of
the viewing, as well as the discussion. If he comes down enough, I may consider
this property, otherwise, it's back to the drawing board.
"Very well. Thank you very much for your
time." The estate agent shakes my hand slightly less enthusiastically than
at the beginning of the meeting.
After leaving the empty shop, we say our goodbyes and
go our separate ways.
It's a beautiful day, deep blue skies with not a cloud
in sight. Warm too, the surging temperatures of our current summer heatwave
evident in the amount of exposed skin outside. Apparently I'm overdressed.
Swimming trunks and bikinis, that's Brighton's dress code in the summer. I
stand out like a sore thumb in my jeans and button-up shirt.
The footfall would be good here, though I'd expect my
new restaurant to quickly become bookings-only once the new show airs. Perhaps
I should consider a location that's a little further away from the madding
crowds, and hopefully more affordable. I don't want to have to shutter up the
place as soon as I'm no longer on TV.
Enough work for one day though. Today is too lovely to
waste.
The beach is crowded, so much so I'm not at all
tempted to go near it. Perhaps if I walk further out towards the western side
of town I'll find some peace and quiet. But not without sampling some of the
local refreshments. The only establishment not selling fish and chips around
here seems to be the ice cream truck parked up on the pavement. There's a queue
of people already waiting, but I can't help myself. Gelato will do that to a
person.
I join one of the two queues and wait my turn. It
takes a while, but it'll be worth it.
"One scoop of rum and raisin, please," I
say, shocked to find that the girl to my left has word-for-word ordered the
exact same thing. The two guys behind the counter look at each other and pause.
"OK, you're going to have to sort this out
between yourselves," my guy says. He seems to be in charge of the truck.
"We've got one scoop left."
Looking over at the girl I'm competing with, I'm
struck by her exotic beauty. Big brown eyes gaze up at me, a mixture of
disappointment and hope. Her full lips half-parted as if she's about to say
something, but something interrupted her. I find myself uncharacteristically
reluctant to speak up first, but it looks like I have no choice.
"Let's flip a coin for it," I attempt a
joke.
Her stare tells me I failed. My eyes are quickly drawn
to her hand, clutching a purple leather wallet. No ring, no tan line where one
might have been. She looks young, but not inappropriately so.
"I can just get something else," she
whispers at last. Her eyes are still glued to me. Did she recognise me and that's
why she's staring? Or is it something else? Have I got something stuck in my
teeth?
"I hope you won't take this the wrong way."
I pause, while she raises an eyebrow. My guy, who decided to serve the customer
behind me instead of waiting for us to resolve our gelato stand-off, pauses a
bit too long, clearly listening in to our conversation.
The black-haired girl patiently waits for me to
finish, but something in her body language has changed. I'm sure she gets this
all the time. Fuck it, I feel like a sleaze for even trying.
"You have it." I turn to face the chalkboard
again, ready to pick another flavour. "I'll have tiramisu," I tell
the guy behind the counter, who just shrugs. I guess he was looking forward to
watching me get shot down by this girl, had I actually made a move.
Meanwhile, the younger guy hands the girl her scoop of
rum and raisin in a cone, which she accepts with a smile. God, what a radiant
smile. She takes her change and turns, walking off towards the beach. I quickly
take my cup and impossibly tiny spoon and rush after her.
"Excuse me, miss," I say, when I catch up
with her a few steps ahead.
She turns and stares at me again. How the hell do I do
this without coming across like a total douche bag? Funnily enough, coming
across like a douche has never been much of a concern. You win some you lose
some, and ever since the first season of my show aired, I haven't really had to
work hard to get female attention. But there's something different about this
one. I wonder if much of my interest in her is caused by how hard she's making
things?
"Yes?" she asks, sounding stand-offish. Her
rich amber-coloured eyes are too distracting, I almost forget what I was about
to say.
"I was wondering if I could take you out to
dinner?" I ask at last.
She scrutinises me from head to toe, as she considers
the question. Perhaps she's wondering if it's worth the sacrifice to stick the
ice cream in my face.
"Do I know you from somewhere?" she says
finally.
Normally, I may have been more than happy to explain,
but not this time. Oh yeah, I'm on TV, seems way too tacky. So
I shrug. "Maybe I just have one of those faces?"
My answer makes her pause as she cocks her head and
looks me right in the eye. Shit, she can tell I'm bullshitting her.
"Where would we go?" She has a lick of ice
cream, rescuing some droplets that were about to dribble off the side of the
cone.
I hadn't thought ahead so far. What is it about this
girl that she throws me off so much?
"That entirely depends on what type of food you
like."
A hint of a smile plays on her lips.
"I'm here with a friend, is she invited
too?"
Bollocks .
Finally a full grin does appear on her face. "No
need to look so shocked, I'm only joking."
I smile back at her, relieved to have not made a
complete arse of myself. Yet.
"But I'd better let her know anyway." The
girl turns to scan the beach stretching out ahead of us, before facing me
again. "So. What time and where?"
"Nine? Here? Unless you have a better idea."
"Bear in mind I'm only here for the day, so I
don't have a change of clothes with me. What you see is what you get, I'm
afraid." She glances down at herself, smoothing down the multi-coloured
cotton summer dress that covers what appears to be a bikini.
"No matter, same here." I suddenly realise I
don't even know her name. "I'm Callum, by the way." In the absence of
a better idea of what to do, I stretch out my hand towards her.
She accepts the handshake, though the slight curl of
the corners of her mouth suggests I did indeed just make an arse of myself at
last. "Mandi. Lovely to meet you." Yep, her tone
confirms it. Ouch.
I try to think of something else to say to break the
tension, or at least to distract me from the instant reaction I feel upon
touching her hand. What is it about her? You'd think I'd never interacted with
a beautiful girl before. Why does she make me feel more like an awkward
teenager than a successful and established thirty-year-old man?
"Perhaps we should exchange phone numbers, so we
don't miss each other in the crowds here," I mumble, while quickly pulling
my hand back and fishing my mobile out of my pocket.
"Sure," she says, before giving me her
number. When we say our goodbyes immediately after, I can't help wondering if
I'll ever see her again, or she'll decide she'd much rather vanish with her supposed
friend. Only time will tell.
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I first started writing because I craved to see more of “my kind of books” on the shelves. In any scenario, you’ll find me rooting for the underdog. The (emotionally) scarred hero who hasn’t really had much (or any) luck in love. The shy office worker who wants to pursue the man of her dreams, but hasn’t quite mustered the courage yet. All my characters are beautifully flawed and messed up, in a way that makes them perfect for one another.
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