The Stranger - Book cover

The Stranger


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Her husband prefers takeout, but she has a hankering for homemade spaghetti. As she stands in the grocery store aisle, trying to decide on a pasta sauce, a handsome mechanic appears. He’s more than willing to help her decide what should be on the menu tonight. But it’s not either of those choices.

Age Rating: 18+ (Cheating)

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Chapter 1

The Stranger

As soon as I saw him, my heart skipped a beat. You know, the way it does when you see something you really want?

Well, in this case, I wanted a blond Adonis with green eyes that barely glanced in my direction. But he disappeared at the end of the aisle.

Now, I find myself gazing at rows and rows of pasta. How can there be so many different types of pasta? I shake my head with annoyance before remembering my husband’s voice in my head.

“Just pick up takeout on your way home.”

I hate takeout. I want to make a thick spaghetti carbonara with oodles of red wine to wash it down.

Then, I want to have sex with my husband on the new sheepskin rug that dominates my living room without the kids interrupting us for five seconds.

Fat chance.

I sigh, picking up a bag of spaghetti before turning toward the jars of sauces lined up beside it. A scent hits my nostrils, and a shiver runs through me.

Standing a few feet away is the heavenly man that caught my attention earlier.

He is delicious, and I am ravenous. Sadly, I am also married. But I can look, right? I mean, I never look. But this guy…wow. It is like he has been crafted especially for me.

He has on those pants that tradesmen wear—you know, the kind with lots of pockets for their tools? Almost like a silky material. Blue. They contrast with the tight white vest he wears, covered in oil and dirt.

Hence the scent. Rugged and manly.

Those eyes…fuck. His jawline.

He glances at me again before sighing with irritation.

I look away hurriedly as I try to pay attention to the damn sauces.

Typical—the one I want is at his waist, meaning I have to do that thing where you apologize politely and lean around to pick up the jar easily with your fingers.

“Huh,” he mumbles, tutting as he waits for me to move away. His voice is deep, and I find myself almost groaning with desire when he cocks an eyebrow at me. “Am I in your way?”

“What? No. I mean, I’ve got the jar I wanted, so no. Thanks.”

I’m staring at him now, and I feel the heat in my cheeks rising as he looks at me as though seeing me for the first time.

“You don’t use a jar, come on.” He winks, tapping the side of his head as I smile and try not to swoon. Good Lord, this man is just…unreal.

“Make it yourself. It’s damn easy. Those jars are full of crap.”

Wait. So he cooks too? Oh, fuck. Off.

“Yeah, it’s just easier…,” I mumble, holding the jar up guiltily. “I guess I’m kinda lazy.”

It isn’t true, but I don’t want to tell him it’s because my husband argues that takeout is easier and more convenient.

“I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

He smirks a little before glancing back at the wall of pasta beyond me.

“You’d guess my activity level from the aisle of a supermarket?” I find myself asking him curiously as he steps behind me to pick up a bag of penne pasta.

He hooks the bag smoothly over his fingers, and I try not to stare at his muscular arms as he holds it.

“I’d guess all sorts of things about you.”

He looks like he is going to walk away, and I find myself speaking again. “Like what?”

He stops, dropping the pasta on the floor between us as I try to steady my breathing.

“I’d guess you are compromising with that little jar of sauce for someone you live with.” He glances at my wedding finger as I bite my lip guiltily. “Your husband?”

Our eyes meet then, and I find myself tilting my head to examine him. His lips are full and sexy, parting slightly as he exhales.

“You look like you’re hungry, but not for spaghetti.”

I freeze then, as his eyebrows lift together with amusement.

“You’re pretty accurate,” I whisper.

His gaze drops from my eyes to my lips. He steps closer, and I can’t help but fantasize about him fucking me right here, right now.

“But a man like you…must be married or whatever, too. But yeah. I’m hungry for something other than spaghetti.”

He seems to study me for a brief moment before leaning in real close to my ear. “What are you hungry for?”

I feel almost dizzy with lust as a small gasp leaves my lips. Instantly, my eyes are devouring his broad chest, his muscular arms. I clock the wedding ring on his finger and feel my heart sink a bit.

He is married, too.


He laughs before picking up his pasta. “You’re cute, but I haven’t got long.”

He turns to walk away as I blink suddenly, realizing this is an opportunity. I have never cheated on my husband, but I haven’t ever felt chemistry like this from mere physical attraction.

It is ridiculous. I am a woman of nearly forty. I need to get a grip. But still…

“You.” My voice sounds husky and sexy, and I’m surprised I’m capable of such a weapon of seduction.

He stops, slowly turning around to gaze at me with that cool green stare. He glances at the jar in my hand before putting the bag of pasta on the shelf beside him, nodding for me to do the same.

My mind is whirring as he turns and walks away, glancing behind him just once as if making sure I am following him.

I try to guess his age, but he could be anything from thirty to forty-five. I don’t care; my brain is just searching for a distraction.

We walk out separately, and he gazes at me before glancing around the parking lot.

“Where’s your car?”

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