My Twist of Fortune
Piper Rayne
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2021 by Piper Rayne
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Cover Design: By Hang Le
1st Line Editor: Joy Editing
2nd Line Editor: My Brother’s Editor
Proofreader: Shawna Gavas, Behind The Writer
My Twist of Fortune
Two aching hearts. A meddling small town. A second chance.
It’s not a new story. Wife finds out husband’s been cheating on her and she packs up her four kids and heads back to her hometown, Sunrise Bay, Alaska.
Yeah, not a fresh start, but thousands of miles away from my ex will do just fine.
I’m prepared for the cold weather, the early snowfalls, and dark days and nights. What I’m not prepared for is coming face to face with my ex’s cousin and for the same feelings from twenty years ago to ignite like the flame never went out.
It doesn’t take long before people are whispering about the widowed Hank Greene and me. But we both have children to think of this time around. Then again, Hank knows what it’s like to be a single parent and sometimes those damn dimples of his make it hard to remember why we can’t be together.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Piper Rayne
I lay back on the warm sand with the sun beating down on my body. “More of that,” I mumble as his dark stubbled cheek runs across my flat belly and he nestles between my legs. “I think I love you.”
With a devilish smirk, he pushes my skimpy bikini bottom to the side and his sparkling blue gaze coasts up my body to meet mine. Oh, he’s a bad boy all right. One swipe of his tongue and I writhe under him, my thighs opening wider. My hands fall to my sides, searching for something to clamp on to, but only sand slips through my fingers.
This man knows his way around a woman’s body. I wish my ex-husband could see me now. See this gorgeous hunk of a man willingly pleasing me without the disclaimer of “I’ll do you if you do me.” He hooks his fingers into the sides of my bikini bottoms, staring up at me with half-lidded eyes as he lowers them down my legs and flings them behind him.
“Now where was I?” His shoulders nudge my thighs farther open.
I sigh, falling back down while the warm sun soaks my skin and the sand cocoons my body. This man is an expert. He should start a YouTube channel on how to give oral sex on a beach to a woman you don’t know. He flicks his tongue and all thoughts of YouTube leave my brain because this man deserves to have every one of my nerve endings’ attention. My back arches, my thighs quake, my moans deafening to my own ears.
“That’s it. I’m right there. Keep going.”
He presses his arm over my taut stomach. I clench to prolong the impending orgasm, but the urge to let go intensifies with every swipe of his tongue. He pushes a finger into me, quickly adding another one. I free-fall as if I’m in one of those extreme swing rides, but my harness doesn’t jolt me back when the bungee cord stretches to its full capability. Instead, I fly out and soar through the sunny sky.
“Mommy?”
“Mom!”
“Is she sick?”
“She’s groaning like she’s gonna throw up.”
“She’s not groaning, she’s… oh God, I’m out.”
A nudge on my side jolts me, and as if a witch cast a spell, the man disappears, then the beach. The ocean is the last to fade away as I open my eyes and blink to find three pairs of curious eyes hovering over me.
I look at the ancient alarm clock with flip numbers. You know, like in the movie Groundhog Day? It’s programmed to my dad’s favorite seventies radio station so “Something’s Comin’ Up” by Barry Manilow sounds throughout the room as I blindly fumble to find the small button that makes it stop.
I slowly rise from the bed, peeking at three of my four children. My fourteen-year-old Nikki has one arm of a shirt while my twelve-year-old Mandi has the other. The middle is so stretched out, it’s a wonder the fabric hasn’t ripped in half.
“Tell her she can’t keep borrowing my clothes!” Nikki screeches, yanking on the fabric.
“Are you okay, Mom?” My sweet little eight-year-old, Posey, climbs over the edge of the bed and cuddles up next to me. She’s my worrier and my spiritual leader, as she’s decided it’s her mission to find remedies to cheer me up every day.
“I’m leaving!” Jed screams from downstairs.
Nikki huffs and glares at Mandi, yanking again. “I gotta go. Give me the shirt.”
I sigh and look at Posey, whose head is on my shoulder and staring up at me with her sweet smile. She runs her small hand down my arm until our hands are joined, then she squeezes because she’s worried. I could kill my ex-husband, Jeff, for this. Our once-carefree seven-year-old now feels as though she has to take care of me because he decided to implode our family unit.
“Go get ready, Posey. We have to leave soon.” I kiss the top of her head.
She’s reluctant to let me go, but when her sisters’ screams become louder and I sigh, she sees it’s her best option. This room is about to shake from the volume of my yelling.
I close my eyes and swing the covers off the bed, sliding my legs over the edge to get up.
“Mom!” Nikki points.
I look down to find a giant stain on my sweatshirt from the mint chocolate chip
