Restricted Release Read online

  Restricted Release

  Sommer Marsden

  Clara is the recovering anorexic who’s nearly become a shut-in after the end of her emotionally abusive marriage. Matt is the new boy next door. Graphic artist, nice guy, funny…accepting of Clara. She wants him, he wants her—but Clara is afraid.

  Nadia is the stand-in—Matt’s idea, Clara’s challenge to accept. A longtime friend of Matt’s, she’s a sexual surrogate intended to guide Clara until she’s not afraid of Matt’s desire for her or hers for him. Twosomes become threesomes, watching becomes touching and lust becomes love.

  When Matt moved in next door, lust was the last thing Clara expected. Two lovers never crossed her mind. And the need to make a choice was something she thought she’d never encounter. But she’s bolder now, healing, and everything has changed. And a choice must be made, no matter how hard.

  Inside scoop: Clara’s healing includes a hot woman who wants to show her how desirable she is, as well as f/m/f menagés.

  A Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Restricted Release

  Sommer Marsden

  “Those who do not know how to weep with their whole heart do not know how to laugh either.”

  Unknown

  Chapter One

  I stood with my cup of coffee and watched the moving men. Nothing like leaning against your garbage cans and openly staring to welcome a new neighbor.

  There were three men who looked as if they’d seen better days, but had been doing this moving gig for quite some time. My two cents—I’d trust guys like that over hungry student movers any day.

  I sipped the dregs of my brew even though it was cold as shit outside. A few tentative snowflakes swirled around my face and I wondered what the hell was wrong with me anyway. I could see most of this from my own small kitchen where it was warm.

  The movers carted a dark-green sofa up the steps and I watched, slightly amused, as they had to angle it several different ways before getting the clunky thing through the doorway. These homes were so narrow they reminded me of cattle cars.

  “Anything good?” he said close to my ear and I jumped. If I’d had more coffee, I would have spilled it.

  “Jesus. Do you have a death wish?” I asked before I’d even turned around.

  Like I said, I don’t care. On my home turf, it doesn’t matter if Mr. New Neighbor likes me or not. So…I gave him attitude from the get-go.

  So what if my tongue stalled out just a little when I saw him? He was tall and broad with dark hair cropped close to his head. Close enough that I could see his scalp. I’d call it a military cut but it was actually a bit more severe.

  “Hi.” He stuck out his hand. “No death wish.”

  I grunted, making sure to keep my lips pressed tight together. Part of me wanted to smile at his self-deprecating humor but I stifled it.

  “You ready to live in the most narrow house ever?” I asked, still trying not to smile. But I failed. The smile he had plastered on his handsome face—complete with stubble—was enough to make me fail.

  “I am. It’s just me, so it won’t matter. See anything good?” he asked again. He cocked an eyebrow and then leaned against my other trash can, calling me on my obvious snooping.

  “Nice sofa,” I said and swallowed the final dregs of my coffee. “Hey,” I added, trying to cut myself off and failing. “If I don’t watch out for me, no one else will.”

  Damn. Why had I said that?

  He cocked that eyebrow again and something in me twisted and swayed. I think it was my libido.

  “No husband?”

  “Nope.” I stared at my coffee, my feet, the snow. Anything but those suddenly intrusive brown eyes.

  “No boyfriend?” He leaned in a little. It was an oddly predatory gesture for an obviously well-tempered guy.

  “Nope.”

  “Huh,” he said. Then he pushed my coffee cup down so he could see inside.

  “Would you like my name, rank and serial number next?”

  He chuckled.

  “How about my height and my weight?”

  He released my cup. “Nah. None of that. Well, maybe your name. And maybe…”

  I knew where this was going. I sighed. “Maybe what?”

  “Maybe a cup of coffee. Since my coffeemaker is currently in a box probably marked ‘comic books’ or ‘photo albums’.”

  I studied him. I liked him. I didn’t like that I liked him, but there it was. And I was attracted to him. That bugged me even more. Being the special kind of idiot I am, I decided that the only way to nip the attraction in the bud was to invite him into my house—close quarters—and get to know him better.

  Genius plan.

  * * * * *

  “So are you going to tell me?”

  “Tell you what?” I played dumb but I knew. My heart was beating fast. I chose to chalk that up to too much coffee as opposed to the very large handsome man in my kitchen.

  We paused to watch some men bring a small kitchen table up his back steps. It bounced off the banister and he turned his head. “I don’t want to see.”

  “Why don’t you tell me first?” I countered, switching it up on him.

  He grinned and nodded. “No problem.” He stuck his hand out and I had no choice but to shake it a second time. “Matt Millen,” he said. “Now you.”

  I sighed like I had a piano strapped to my back and that made him laugh. Which made me smile. Which made me wary. “Clara. Clara Barrett.”

  “Nice to meet you, Clara. So you’re a good spy then?”

  “What?” I poured our coffee. My face had gotten hot like I’d done something wrong. The good things about the houses in our area were the windows. They went from about knee-level almost to the ceiling.

  “You can see everything.” He pointed outside.

  I cleared my throat and handed him a mug. Rummaging for cream and sugar, I said a bit too defensively, “You will too.”

  “Good to know.” His eyes raked over me and I felt naked. I scrambled to remember how long it had been for me. How long had I been without a lover?

  There had been one after Richard. Just one. A rebound guy who had tied me up, fucked me silly and then I realized I didn’t even want that in my life. So I kicked him to the curb.

  A year.

  “A year,” I said without thinking. I was used to talking to myself. Often.

  “Pardon?”

  I don’t know what possessed me to say it, but I blurted it out. “It’s been a year since I’ve had sex.”

  To his credit, he only looked surprised for a moment. A boyish, crooked grin took over the look of shock and he nodded once. “Nine months.”

  My mouth went dry. “What?”

  “Nine months. Long enough to have a baby, I guess, if you want to look at it this way. But I was this close…” He held two fingers up so they nearly touched. “To tying the knot and then it all went to shit and I…”

  He threw his hands up. “I gave up on it all. I’ve been a monk. Well, except for self-abuse.”

  My cheeks went hotter but I muttered, “I’m familiar with that.”

  “So, Clara Barrett, why exactly are we telling each other these incredibly intimate and embarrassing things?”

  I plopped my ass on one of the wicker barstools and sipped my coffee. I was in no hurry to answer him. I was in fact pretty poleaxed that we were having this conversation before his furniture had even been moved into his home.

  He watched me. I could feel his gaze on me and it made me warm all over. I felt the urge to shift but made myself stay still. It was not okay to come all unglued and get all girly over one good-looking man. A man who would be living right next door no less.

  “You don’t know eith
er, I take it,” he said finally.

  “Actually I was just thinking about it. I think there is something about you that disarms me,” I said matter-of-factly.

  Another shock. I was usually abrasive, evasive and mildly offensive. All well-known, well-cherished self-defense techniques. Because under it all I am terrified on a daily basis. To strangers it is easy to be bristly and hard to deal with. I rarely have to deal with strangers in person.

  “Oh yeah? What is it?” He crossed his arms and waited. I realized he was done with his coffee though I was still nursing mine. I should ask him if he wanted more.

  Instead I said, “I think it’s the fact that I want to have sex with you.”

  “Don’t be shy now,” he said.

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. He’d surprised me and the sound of amusement burst up out of me in a rush. But I didn’t look right at him. I watched the movers bring a few small bookcases up the kitchen steps.

  What the fuck was wrong with me? I’d apparently lost my mind.

  “Sorry,” I said finally. “I didn’t mean to traumatize you.”

  “Oh I’m not traumatized.” Matt took a pencil from the counter and started to draw on an envelope. My guess was it was a nervous thing.

  “No?”

  “Nope. I was thinking something along those same lines. Right around the time I saw you leaning on your trash cans, wearing faded tight-ass jeans and Vans, no less.”

  I glanced down. I had a habit of forgetting what I was wearing. “Well I needed to dress up for the new neighbor, didn’t I?”

  He smiled at me and I found myself smiling back. Damn him.

  “Anyway, the sight of you standing there in those…” He nodded toward my ripped and faded jeans. “Well, it was lust at first sight.”

  My stomach bottomed out when he said that. It was like being in freefall but standing utterly still. A confusing but not unpleasant feeling. “Oh,” was my brilliant response.

  He chuckled. “What every man wants to hear when confessing sudden and absolute attraction.” His hand flew along the white envelope as he spoke.

  Something banged ominously outside and we looked up in time to see a green metal cabinet take a header off the side of the back steps.

  “Shit. I think that’s my cue to stop flirting with you and go oversee all this insanity.” He downed the dregs of his coffee in one big gulp and set the mug in the sink. “Thanks for the brew.”

  I watched him and then caught myself, nodding stupidly in response. “No problem.”

  We stood there in that awkward I-really-want-to-touch-you stance that accompanies an instant sexual attraction. I cleared my throat and said, “Hey, if you need anything, you know where to find me…”

  “Ditto,” he said.

  We watched the moving men trying to subtly gather the cabinet up and get it in the kitchen. The movers didn’t know we were watching.

  “And I hope your green thing is okay.” I pointed to the window and felt like a fool. My cheeks were blazing. How had this happened? I had started the day as usual. A bit angry, a bit horny and a lot of not caring. It was how I hid my most common state—scared. Now here I was, stammering and flustered but oddly not afraid.

  “Me too. It’s my art cabinet.” He touched my arm. My body’s reaction was similar to licking lightning, I imagined. A sharp jolt of energy seemed to consume me, and my heart went erratic even as my girly bits warmed up for action. Dear God I was hopeless.

  “Cool.”

  This conversation was just getting better.

  “I’ll see you, Clara.” He gave me a small wave as he headed for the door. But he quickly turned, “Hey, Clara…that’s a nice old-fashioned name.”

  I cocked my head, hair falling in my eyes. Good, it was like a superhero cape or a curtain to hide behind, my unruly dark-blonde hair. “Really? I think my parents just hated me some.”

  He tsked at me. “Don’t be silly. The world is full of Ashleys and Brittanys and all those precious names. But not Clara. It’s…old school. Like Clara Bow.”

  Another crash sounded outside and we both flinched. “Better go before I have no furniture,” he said.

  When his broad back was to me I found my voice. “Hey! Um, Matt!”

  He paused, turned to look at me.

  “Just because I suck at this whole…back-and-forth thing…That doesn’t mean I don’t feel it. You’re the first guy I’ve looked at twice in a very long time.”

  “I’m honored,” he said and grinned. “I’ll be seeing you soon. Don’t think you’re free of me.”

  And then he was gone. Good thing too because another loud noise came from his yard. I glanced outside to see the movers gathering a slew of boxes that had fallen from the truck. Turned out I’d been wrong about trusting those guys. Outside, he bounded up to the movers, looking big and handsome and…nice. He was nice and I liked him.

  And that was a dangerous thing. I didn’t want to like anyone.

  Chapter Two

  I’m not the brightest bulb in the chandelier when I’m aroused. So yeah, I admit it took me time to think of it. First I finished my coffee and watched Matt move. Through the window he was a work of art. Tall and strong and well-developed in jeans and a blue pullover sweater. No-nonsense brown work boots on his feet and his head bare. How could he not be cold with that super-close cut?

  He helped the men right the green cabinet and seemed to pitch in instead of get irate. But the overall feel of it just from watching was that he’d arrived and he was in charge and there would be no more fucking up.

  Honestly that whole vibe made me feel sort of flustered and stupid. He was not one to be trifled with, it seemed. But he was also not one to go apeshit and shove his power in your face. It was a subtle and quiet kind of control.

  And there it was. A rush of moisture between my legs, the defiant push of my hard nipples to my sweater. I was turned-on just watching him. At least the gods had smiled on me and he wasn’t here to see it.

  “So how did you go from being totally fine as a celibate nun-like creature to a rabid horny girl next door?” I whispered, my breath fogging up my very clean window. I cleaned a lot. I read, I wrote, I tutored kids online in all things physical science. I was a homebody and I liked to watch the world. But stay removed from it and all the men who inhabited it.

  He caught me. He either felt me watching or some super psychic part of his brain heard me chiding myself for my attraction. Matt looked up and waved toward my pristine kitchen window.

  I started, my heart bounding around in my chest cavity. But then I sighed—caught red-handed—so I simply put my hand to the window and gave him a return wave.

  It was only then, connecting with this strange man yet again, that I remembered the envelope. And whatever he’d written on it. I turned too fast—too eager—sloshing coffee and cursing. But then I was holding it in my greedy little hands and I couldn’t quite believe it.

  It was me. Nude. Done in pencil and shaded perfectly. My hair hung in my face and I was backlit. Even in humble pencil on junk-mail paper, I was gorgeous and my heart thundered in my ears when I read what he’d written beneath it.

  This is what you look like in my mind. I hope to find out if I’m right. One day…

  Below that he’d signed it MM and dated it Feb. 24, 2012.

  Sure he had. It was clear from just looking at this drawing—something he’d scratched off while talking to me—that he was a pro. Or if he wasn’t he damn well should be. Immediately.

  “Sucker,” I said to myself. But that didn’t calm my heart any or make me stop staring.

  I found an old frame in the back of my china cabinet. It had once held a picture of me and Richard before there was no me and Richard to frame. I folded the envelope just so, preserving the original as it were. It took some effort to close the velveteen back but I managed.

  Then I took the picture into my room and put it on my dresser. The one inside my walk-in closet. Effectively sealing that piece of art off from ever
yone and anyone but myself. A small little secret. Something that made my heart lift up when I looked at it though I didn’t know why. Nudity normally scared me.

  Lunch and stacks of papers to look over for some regular students took up most of my afternoon. I had a kid who just could not grasp asexual reproduction and it was making me bonkers. A small problem, but something to focus on to keep my mind from jumping maniacally back to Matt Millen over and over again. The phone rang and I checked the caller ID first before answering. My sister Cat wanted to know what was up.

  I flopped on the bed in the sun and told her about the wonderful world of tutors and helping grade-school kids learn about amoebas. She told me I needed to get my life back on track and find a man.

  I told her about my new neighbor. When I described him, Cat said, “Yum.”

  “I had him in for coffee,” I said as if I were confessing doing him in the alley.

  There was a pregnant pause and then she recovered.

  “Really?”

  “Really,” I said. I tried to say it with a what-the-fuck no-big-deal voice but it came out in a scared kind of whisper.

  “That’s…great, Clara!”

  “Don’t make me sound like I just got out of the loony bin,” I said. “I’ve just taken my life slow since the divorce. That’s all.”

  “It should have been an arrest and not a divorce,” she said, her voice going bitter. “Mental and emotional abuse is still abuse.”

  “Stop,” I said. Not for the man she was referring to but for me. I did not want to pick at wounds or aggravate old scars. I wanted to go straight ahead. Don’t turn around. Don’t look back. Do not examine the extent of your damage. Just move ahead.

  “Sorry, Clara. But about this guy…that’s great. Can I come by and see you some time? Maybe you could introdu—”

  “Don’t get excited. I had him in for coffee. I’m not going to marry him. I’m not even going to date him, Cat.”

  But it had occurred to me that I might like to fuck him. For real.