WIP it Wednesday!

Hey folks and welcome to WIP it Wednesday. This week we'll be talking about one of my works in progress - Spicy with a Side of Cranberry Sauce.

Here's a little bit about the book: It's a holiday book set between Thanksgiving and through Christmas. My heroine is Amy Easton and she meets Mason Rider in a grocery store the night before Thanksgiving. Of course, they're both headed for the same can of cranberry sauce - the only one left on the shelf. He's home visiting his mom for the holiday, and she's with her dad, visiting his old flame.

And now for a snippet from the WIP:

Where the hell was the cranberry sauce?

Amy Easton turned down the aisle of baking goods, searching for the last item Martha needed her to get. She had to find the damned can. This holiday would be perfect if it fucking killed her. The chains on her boots jangled as she hunted. The gallon of milk and box of stick butter froze her hands, but they’d been out of carts, and she needed them both for first thing in the morning.

She dodged an older lady pushing a heavy cart as she careened around the corner of the end of the aisle. She still didn’t spot the right display. The stock boy had told her it was on aisle six, and here she stood at the end of aisle six. Empty-handed. Sighing, Amy turned back around and headed up the aisle again, her eyes roving left and right. She forced herself to slow down, fearing she’d miss the display. Thanksgiving just wouldn’t be the same without cranberry sauce.

Martha was a domestic goddess. The way Mom used to be, the way Amy would never be. So when Martha had panicked after failing to get in touch with her son on his way from the airport, Amy had volunteered to go get it. She would be useless in the kitchen tomorrow, so it was the least she could do. Besides, it got her out of the house and away from the smooching her dad and Martha kept doing when they thought she wasn’t looking.

It was sweet, really. And Amy couldn’t be happier with the way Dad was slowly coming back to life under Martha’s tutelage, but she could do without seeing her dad making out. She wanted to throw up her hands or punch something. Where the hell was it?

There!

She spotted the display across the end of aisle six. One lonely can sat on the shelf, as if it had waited just for her. She hadn’t thought Martha was the kind of person to leave the shopping till the last minute, but apparently a few items had slipped her mind this year. With Amy and her dad down visiting, she wouldn’t be surprised if Martha had been a little worried about how the holiday would go.

A tall man with reddish-brown curls was heading down the aisle across from hers, his gaze locked on the can.. She didn’t know where else to go around here to find one. She had to get to it  first. She picked up the pace, and just as he turned the corner at the end display and reached for the can, she bodychecked his cart. The cart slammed into the shelf and pushed back against her. The cart bounced into her hip and she flew back onto the hard floor, the milk and butter crashing to the linoleum beside her. Okay, not the most brilliant idea she’d ever had.  She glanced up at the man’s stunned face just as the can of cranberry sauce flew off the shelf toward her.

MASON RIDER GRABBED the can as it careened off the shelf and threatened to cave in the poor woman’s head. She flinched and yelped, but sighed when he realized it was only his hand before her face and not the can. Big hazel eyes and rosy cheeks greeted him when he moved his hand.

“Thanks,” she said.

He set the can on the shelf and then offered to help her up. She wiped the splashed milk off her hands onto her jeans and then took his hand. The slide of her soft skin against his brought a flush to his skin. He savored the heat, but tried not to let it show on his face. But as he gazed into her eyes, he saw an answering spark of lust within them.

He tugged her to her feet, and she wobbled. He grabbed her arm to steady her, wanting to prolong the physical contact between them as long as she would allow. The leather of her thin jacket was just as soft as her skin had been beneath his fingers. She gasped at the contact but stopped swaying.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” he said.

She nodded, still holding on to him tightly, and he wasn’t in any rush to let go. “Ma’am? Do I look old enough to be a ma’am?” Her voice was damned near acerbic and the spark he’d seen in her hazel eyes was gone. Maybe he’d imagined it. What in the world had he done to deserve such a tone?

She was definitely a Yank. And freaking feisty. She must be new to Austin, or she’d be used to everyone ma’aming her by now.

“No, of course not. It’s just…” How did he explain it was just as natural as breathing for him to call her ma’am?

She shook her head. “Never mind. I’m fine. I just broke my ass and spilled the milk. I’ll live. No use crying over it, right?”

He laughed at her caustic tone and choice of words. Broke her ass, huh?

“Did you really break it?” He barely stopped himself from laughing again. He let go of his hold on her upper arm, because it was becoming a bit improper to keep holding her. He licked his dry lips. She rubbed her derriere as she turned it toward him.

“No, it’s just bruised, I think.”

“Well, I can’t really see anything through the jeans,” he teased. Flirting was automatic for him. And Yank or not, the woman before him was gorgeous. He was here on official son business, not to have a one-nighter. His mother needed him. The first postdivorce holiday was certain to be difficult for her. Since Lewis wouldn’t be in until tomorrow, Mason was the only support she’d have tonight. He was already running late.

Damn his father for putting him in such a position. It was going to be hard with only him and Lewis there. Elly and Dan would spend Thanksgiving with Dad and his new girlfriend, which made Mason ill. They were supposed to switch parents at Christmas. As if Mason would voluntarily go see his father. The last thing he should do was pick up a woman in a grocery store.

But he couldn’t help the way his eyes followed the movement of her hand over her posterior. Or the way his gaze continued down the length of her legs to the leather biker boots covering her feet. Hmm. Biker boots. Interesting footwear for this weather. The women that usually intrigued him were office types or girlie girls. This tomboy intrigued him.

She stopped rubbing her nicely shaped butt cheeks and shook out her slightly wavy hair, using her fingers to comb through the long tendrils. They bounced with her every movement. Not a complete tomboy after all. The warm orange shirt she wore set off her peaches-and-cream skin perfectly, and a soft blush tinted her round, perky cheeks. She was a knockout, even in jeans, a sweater, and leather jacket. He wondered what she’d look like all dolled up.

“So what were you in such a hurry for?”

She took the can of cranberry sauce off the shelf. “Last one.”

Crap.