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She Doesn't Play Well With Others
She Doesn't Play Well With Others
She Doesn't Play Well With Others
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She Doesn't Play Well With Others

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Can one very feisty artistic woman find comfort and forgiveness in the arms of a man who killed to protect our country, serving as a Navy Seal Team Six? It takes a calm levelheaded man to face up to the attitude of one Natasha Kova, a famous artist, whose paintings sell for a price more than Sam Cole's Harley. Natasha's life did not start out easy and her lack of trust was understandable but Sam Cole wanted nothing more than to love her and protect her. Would Natasha's jealousy and lack of trust push Sam away or would he follow through at the end and not leave a man behind to succumb to their own devices. The passion these two feel could be the explosive device to end their relationship or it could very well be the reason they find each other in their loving arms once again.
Book Excerpts:
I let the stroke of my brush take over me and felt each new color down to my soul as I applied it. The sense of excitement I had from seeing Sam Cole eluded me.
The canvas I selected for this piece was as large in presence as the man that I just left. It was six feet by six feet in length and I was using predominately dark colors in cool shades, because that was what Sam Cole reminded me of. He had dark black eyes, pitch-black hair like mine only cut in a short military style and his skin had seen some sunny days. His six-foot plus frame came encased in solid lean muscles and his square jaw had a set about it, as if he was extremely serious.
He lowered the bat past his head and pulled out a nine millimeter glock from behind his back. He held it up, stepped in front of me on the stairs and put his hand securely behind him, touching my side. At that moment, that distinct moment, I did not care about strangers in my building. I cared about having a full on flushed orgasm from the man that wanted to play my hero.
As he gently laid me back, I absorbed the instant image of a very strong and healthy man. His muscles rippled with energy as he set me back on my bed and took a step back to set my legs off to the side. I watched him put a knee between my legs and his hands settle next to my hips, on my bed. It was then that I saw the sexual lust in him build, as he glanced down at my naked body and back up into the searing of my eyes; begging him, pleading with him to touch me with his mouth in places I dreamed about him touching.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherCJ Hawk
Release dateJul 29, 2011
ISBN9781465781505
She Doesn't Play Well With Others
Author

CJ Hawk

I am an independently published author that finds scraps of time to write with intentions to escape the perils of a working life while owning and operating three small businesses with my husband, raising teen boys, sixteen paws (yes four shelter dogs) and a tank full of fish that keep multiplying on their own every time we look for baby fish – free fish anyone? For all of the chaos, testing of mental fortitude, strength and intuition I have endured, I have a lot to be thankful for.Recent years have put my dedication to writing time on the back burner. There were a few major surgeries within my immediate household, to then have major changes in life in general. As of 2015, I lost my mother to the final battle of Ovarian Cancer. She was a strong independent woman that I loved deeply but often saw things quite a bit differently, yet only a mother knows, you love your child no matter what - and that love will always find a way.Between our business, teens, my mother’s cancer battle and life, I have found a renewed sense of what makes me content when the tides are trying to drown me... and that is to be creative in any whimsical way that nudges me. I am back to writing full force when time allows, painting, gardening, taking pictures, knitting or my all-time favorite thing that helped me morn my loss, scrapbooking. All of these things are so very therapeutic and to be able to share with others, gives me joy.I hope you like my books, not perfect as they could be; but life is not perfect and is meant to be enjoyed nonetheless. – CJ Hawk

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    Book preview

    She Doesn't Play Well With Others - CJ Hawk

    She Doesn't Play Well With Others

    CJ Hawk

    Adult Chick Lit Romance

    This book contains sexual content that is not suitable for those under eighteen. This book is the work of an Independent Author: no big name publishing company or expensive editor was used in the making of this book. Thank you for supporting the arts of the freelance community.

    Published by CJ Hawk at Smashwords.com

    Copyright 2011 CJ Hawk

    hhtp://www.cjhawk.com

    https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/cjhawk

    This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    Synopsis

    Can one very feisty artistic woman find comfort and forgiveness in the arms of a man who killed to protect our country, serving as a Navy Seal Team Six? It takes a calm levelheaded man to face up to the attitude of one Natasha Kova, a famous artist, whose paintings sell for a price more than Sam Cole's Harley. Natasha's life did not start out easy and her lack of trust was understandable but Sam Cole wanted nothing more than to love her and protect her. Would Natasha's jealousy and lack of trust push Sam away or would he follow through at the end and not leave a man behind to succumb to their own devices. The passion these two feel could be the explosive device to end their relationship or it could very well be the reason they find each other in their loving arms once again.

    Chapter One

    I let the stroke of my brush take over me and felt each new color down to my soul as I applied it. The sense of excitement I had from seeing Sam Cole eluded me. When I left the coffee shop in the rain on my black Ducati, with him standing there, I was so pumped full of adrenaline, I did the only thing I knew how to get it out of my system. And that was to paint.

    The canvas I selected for this piece was as large in presence as the man that I just left. It was six feet by six feet in length and I was using predominately dark colors in cool shades, because that was what Sam Cole reminded me of. He had dark black eyes, pitch-black hair like mine only cut in a short military style and his skin had seen some sunny days. His six-foot plus frame came encased in solid lean muscles and his square jaw had a set about it, as if he was extremely serious. That was until he laughed and then slight dimples set upon his cheeks and his eyes seemed to light up. I loved watching him, but I had mostly only witnessed his sexual smile from afar. This morning I witnessed it up close and very personable. Too personable for me.

    I had woken that morning to the sounds of construction coming from across the street from my loft and art studio. I knew that sound all too well in the last few weeks as Sam Cole worked with a construction crew to open up his business. A Harley motorcycle shop, in the heart of the industrial downtown business district, across from my art studio and apartment. My street consisted of mostly industrial businesses; a plumbing supplier, a mom and pop hardware store, two design studios - but they didn't live in theirs and several empty buildings. That is until Sam Cole came a knocking as if my place was for sale. Which it wasn't and I promptly informed him, not so nicely.

    I remembered that day as well. I had on nothing but my long white painter shirt on that hit knee length and black silk panties. I remembered the way I opened the door expecting a package of paints and brushes to arrive and instead there stood Sam Cole. Looking like the devil of sin himself. He eyed me up and down very quickly and then focused on my eyes. Very gentleman of him but I felt every trace of those eyes on my body.

    He asked if the owner of the building was available and I smartly replied, 'you're looking at her'. I knew I was too young to own a building this size, but at twenty three I had a name for myself and that was Natasha Kova - famous contemporary artist in these parts. With my paintings selling at an upwards price of over ten thousand a piece. I not only owned the building I lived and worked in but I knew my building was a hot commodity for many businesses in the area. One being, Sam Cole's new Harley shop. I had even gotten a copy, by accident, of the new plans for renovating my loft into the perfect Harley shop from a courier. They were gorgeous plans but they were not going to happen.

    His voice had echoed in my head as he asked to come in and enquire about my property. He had a way of letting his deep thick voice cause goose bumps on my skin, as did my nipples. They promptly perked up and poked through the sheer white painter's shirt I was wearing that was only buttoned up to below my breasts. My slender frame and small tits did not seem to come across as unappealing. If anything, he reacted as if he was turned on.

    Within five minutes of conversation, I promptly felt the way he was trying to work me over to sell my property. My steel armor I used to protect me mentally went up along with my voice and daggering eyes. I had never seen a man leave my place so fast, but I think he knew when to count his losses. The next day, I received a huge bouquet of exotic flowers with an apology card and a copy of building plans for across the street. The card simple read: Hope we didn't get off on the wrong foot. Neighbor.

    Neighbor. Interesting way of putting it. Although I was sure, he did not plan on living in his Harley store. I was the only one crazy enough to live in this industrial part of downtown. I loved it and it felt like home ever since I ran away at thirteen and found solace in the empty industrial buildings. I kept out of shelters since my age was a red flag and found secret hiding spots to live in old empty buildings.

    It wasn't until one day I met a kid like me, Nathan, who was doing the same thing. Only he liked to spend his free time painting murals inside the empty building walls. That was where I found my love of painting and my skill soon followed behind. I still remember Nathan and the way we bonded as friends. He was sixteen to my thirteen and he acted like an older brother in every way possible. It wasn't until he got caught stealing art supplies from a store, that I never got a chance to see Nathan again. That pain I felt from losing a friend, my only friend, my best friend and brother caused me so much hurt, I decided to never have a friend like that again.

    Then along came Clyde. Clyde Stellar had a successful art gallery off the main strip. I had found his wall behind the gallery utterly irresistible and with my recent anger over Nathan; I stole several cans of spray paint and put my heart and soul into it. All along, I sensed someone was watching me but I just did not care. It was when I finally collapsed from lack of eating and sleep from the previous two days that Clyde approached me with complete carefulness.

    He offered me a large coffee loaded with real cream and deli sandwich from around the corner. He sat next to me and told me 'you've got talent kid, ever think of painting on a canvas'. I told him to 'fuck off' and ran away as fast as possible in my holey sneakers, with the coffee he gave me in one hand and my sandwich in the other. It wasn't until late that night that I realized I had left my ratty old green messenger satchel at the feet of the man that had been kind to me. It took me a day to work up my bravado but when I did, it was a pivotal point in my life.

    Clyde paid to set me up in a weekly hotel, bought me paint and canvas and had me work his gallery by day for extra cash and I got to paint at night. Within a year, I had my first showing. By then I had just turned fifteen, so we played out a story that I looked young for my age but that I was really an eighteen-year-old prodigy as they described me. Unfortunately, some journalist got a hold of the real story of my life and exposed me to the media by the time I was eighteen. Clyde was extremely clever in playing that off and before I knew it, I was an elite artist name.

    Now I owned my building, had well over hundred thousand in savings and paid cash for everything I needed. All thanks to Clyde and Nathan.

    The sound of the construction brought me back to the here and now as I stood in my white painter shirt and underwear, staring at a partially painted canvas and not even sure how I got there. It was going to be a dark and mysterious piece, just like Sam Cole.

    I had seen him several times since the day I yelled at him to get off my property. I would watch him from the ledge of my fire escape as he ran in and out of the building across the street. Whenever he sensed me watching, he would look up and smile with that devilish grin of his and I felt it wash over every inch of my body. I would close my eyes after he smiled at me and let the warm sensations of his deep black eyes, smile with dimples and dark black hair seem as if he was right there with me. I imagined what he looked like under his work clothes. He appeared as if he has a thick muscular build and a walk of purpose and stride. However, every time I was there, sitting on my ledge, he looked up at me with a sincere smile. How I wanted him to put that smile on my face.

    We even caught each other in passing out on the streets, me in my black Ducati and him in his navy blue Harley with a logo on it that caught my eye. It was a Seal Team Six logo from the Navy Seals. Ever since I saw that logo, I had to wonder if he was one of the very brave men that fought effortlessly for our country.

    It wasn't until this morning, running into each other at our favorite coffee house and pastry shop, just a few blocks away from our businesses, that I got the full explosive impression that Sam Cole was one very dangerous man for my body.

    We had run into each other many times before there and I always ran out fast before we had a chance to talk. I was always embarrassed for my angry protective behavior that first time we met. He even went so far as to bring by a six pack of bottled beer asking me if I cared to join him, which I promptly held up my Jim Beam bottle of half empty whiskey and

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