When Beth Cho is tasked with interviewing elusive musician Tristan Harty, it’s hate at first sight. Despite his sapphire eyes and lithe frame, he’s got to be the most infuriating man on the planet.
Tristan Harty is already sick of reporters and this one is proving no different. Sure, she might be adorable with her ebony hair and big brown eyes. But her incessant need to dig into his past is dragging on his last nerve.
The bickering duo vow never to meet again, but Mother Nature has other plans for them, trapping them in a Vermont cabin via a blizzard. The more Beth learns about the aristocratic Tristan, the harder it is for her to keep her professional distance, just as Tristan discovers a familiar heart beating in the beautiful reporter’s heart.
But what happens when the snowstorm’s over, and the melted Tristan and enamored Beth are free to leave? Can their reluctant attraction bloom into a deeper love with the thaw of their judgmental ice. Pride & Pancakes is a sweet yet steamy contemporary story inspired by Pride & Prejudice.
Tristan and Beth have been at each other’s throats while trapped in a cabin during a blizzard for three days. When the power goes out, they decide to share a shower to use the last of the heat.
“You are…” Tristan grappled for words, his breaths scrambling like a man straining off a cliff’s edge. Raising his fallen palm, he hovered it less than a centimeter above her drenched body. As he skirted around her hip and trailed deeper to her waist, she shivered at the electricity sparking between them. He didn’t touch her, but the heat of his body, the rising scent of his masculine form, the beading of water against their skin set her off.
Panting and shivering, Beth clenched her toes in anticipation of his palm touching her. Of it parting through the fall of rain to grip her arm, the hand tugging her to his lips. But Tristan held off, his gaze never leaving hers, and she returned the laser focus as he circled up around the edge of her bust.
“I can’t stop,” he whispered, ignoring the nipple straining through her waterlogged bra. Swerving along her shoulder, he slowly walked the tip of his fore and index fingers across her narrow collarbone, every touch of his finger matching her rising heartbeat.
At the hollow of her throat, he rested his fingers before they began to ascend her jaw. From the tip of her wide chin, he glided the back of his forefinger, slicing off every water droplet on the way. “Tell me to stop.” His paused his finger. “And I will.”
Launching on her tiptoes, Beth circled both her arms around the back of his neck. “I can’t do that,” she said just before guiding his lips to hers. This was no sweet and uncertain kiss. Tongues spun in time with one another, lips sucked upon lips, and they drank of each other as they abandoned all pretense of civility.
Tristan surged forward. With the imaginary forcefield broken by her consent, he wrapped his hand around her hip. Where on the ice it’d been cautious and chaste, now it was a lascivious massage. He pulsed his fingers deep into the side of her buttock while his thumb wrapped the band of her panties around itself.
God! When he tugged on that elastic, Beth gasped into his mouth. Water struck the intimate skin exposed to the world, sending her heart racing. He paused, darting his gaze to her out of concern, but she knotted her hands through his hair and tugged him tighter to her. They slipped in the rising water but landed against the shower’s wall. Tristan spun with her, placing them both on equal footing into the water’s path. When Beth’s back bounced against the shower’s tile with no faucets in the way, Tristan’s hands landed on either side of her head for balance.
Both pulled in a cleansing breath, only the sound of their panting and the soothing fall of rain filling the bathroom. Tristan was vulnerable, all his weight in the palms spread across the tile. Most was in the left hand to protect his poor damaged right palm. The one he’d cut in saving her.
Water pulsed against Beth’s side, the steaming heat drenching her hair and his. It pressed flat to his forehead like dark copper ribbons, rivulets of water streaming down his cheeks. Tristan’s mouth fell agape to aid him in breathing air instead of water. Every gasp and sputter puffed against Beth’s cheeks, her body delighting in the sounds of the man turning primal.
12 thoughts on “A Cabin, A Shower, All Steam #MFRWHooks”
Wonderfully sensual, Ellen.
I’ve heard of Only One Bed, but never Only One Shower. Fun!
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Cute premise; great chemistry!
Sexy in the shower! Nicely done. I love “imaginary forcefield,” and “the man turning primal.”
I can almost feel the steam rising between these two. What a perfect scene, Ellen.
A spicy shower scene.
What a hot, passionate shower scene.
My glasses fogged up reading that 🙂
Wow! Very sexy when he didn’t even touch her at the beginning, and even better when he did touch her. Great excerpt!
I’m sorry, do you have a degree in science? Have you studied microbiology? Because I have. The only acceptable research is the kind that takes 4+ years and ends in a degree. Ten seconds of googling and listening to a mad man on Youtube is not research and never will be.
You are the one being very disrespectful dragging your ass to my blog in order to trash me. You have blood on your hands. Every time you breathe on someone there is a high chance you are infecting them, then they will go and infect their beloved grandmother who will die. That’s what facts say. Your delusion doesn’t change facts and never will.
Leave me alone and stay the fuck away from people before you kill them. If you don’t, you will wear that blood on your hands, Lady MacBeth.
Oh honey, you have a real issue with taking no for an answer don’t you? When someone tells you to leave them alone, why do you then have to spam them with paragraphs of blather? What drives you to keep attacking over and over where you are clearly not wanted?
I see that as bullying behavior, and history would hold that up. You know, that thing you’ve claimed to study. People who refuse to take a no aren’t generally looked upon fondly. I daresay there was a whole movement for it.
No, asking people to not murder others isn’t totalitarian. It’s common decency. It’s helping out. It’s protecting our most vulnerable by doing the bare minimum. It’s what humans do. But you don’t care, because far as you’re concerned everyone else isn’t as special as you. It’s why you cannot take no for an answer.
As for your claim that you see no one, what about the clerks in grocery stores? Or do you grow all of your own food? What about pharmacists? If you’re asthmatic you must have to get drugs. Do they not count as people? Do you think that salespeople should just drop dead because they’re not as special as you?
That is all I hear when you refuse to do a simple task of wearing a piece of fabric lest you spray your virus-soaked spittle on people just trying to do their jobs. That is the truth. That is reality. There is no point in you reponding because this is my house and I decide who gets a voice.
You are not wanted. Take your death and get out.
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