Book Spotlight - Second Edition - Cleo White

In retrospect, it might not have been the wisest idea to hand in my v-card to a hot librarian I picked up at my mother’s cocktail party. 

Second Edition, an all-new single dad, age-gap, contemporary romance from bestselling author Cleo White is now available!

In my defense, the man has a French accent, gray hair, and knows a lot about books. The cards were really stacked against me making good choices, folks.

I was probably naïve to expect a call after that, but when he didn’t, it hurt to accept he didn’t feel that same connection I did.

If that isn’t a sign you need to make a change, I don’t know what is. Too bad the “change” I get is six months in a remote French chateau, working as a nanny to an adorable little girl. Who happens to be the daughter of the single dad I had sex with in a grocery store parking lot.

Ellis Delvaux has made it clear he isn’t interested in a relationship. Unfortunately, when you’re a hopeless romantic spending that much time with someone you’re attracted to, in what might be the most beautiful place on the planet, things happen.

And sometimes, to avoid those things happening, you come up with a list of rules to facilitate six-months of secret, no strings attached sex with a man who is as off-limits as it gets.

What could go wrong?

Start reading today!

FREE in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3V4kXeX  

Add Second Edition to Goodreads: https://tinyurl.com/secwgr   

Keep reading for a look inside Second Edition!

      The house is full and busy. Parties like this happen all too often, with different groups or departments showing up in hopes of getting some time with the woman in charge of their budget requests. It’s not just an obligation for me—nobody wants to be here.

      Any other night, I would make small talk, mingle and stand in as Elizabeth Sutton 2.0. Tonight, I need to be alone.

      Going back upstairs would mean getting past Mom, and I’m not willing to risk another soul withering lecture. I grit my teeth as I weave through the little clusters of Weston employees, breathing easier as the population dwindles the further I move from the main living areas. The library door is ajar, and I push through it, glancing around hurriedly.

      Empty.

      Groaning in relief, I push it closed behind me and sag back against the cool wood, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes until white spots appear in my vision. I let out a frustrated little shriek. “Shit, fuck, crap, mother freaking crapping crapsicles⁠—”

      “Ah… Excuse me?”

      A gasp rips free from my throat and I turn so quickly that I almost fall over, staring in horror at the man I completely missed in my rush. He’s standing in an alcove before a table littered with puzzle pieces, and he looks almost as mortified as I feel.

      He’s handsome.

      It’s not the kind of thing I typically notice, or at least, I don’t typically notice it so noticeably. This guy—man—makes it hard not to though. He’s older than me, quite a bit older if his graying, light brown hair is anything to go by, but the sudden tightness in the muscles below my bellybutton suggest I don’t have a problem with that.

      “Hi,” I squeak, heat rushing to my face.”

      He clears his throat, looking anywhere but at me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” His low, melodic voice is colored by an accent, French I think, and—phew. I didn’t think guys like this existed outside of my Kindle. I’m woefully unprepared.

      My answering laugh verges on hysterical. “I think I’m the one who should apologize here. I don’t normally walk into libraries and start making up curse words.”

      The stranger’s lips twitch. “It’s quite alright. No harm done. I may borrow crapping crapsicles, actually.”

      Purely to give myself something to look at apart from his very handsome face, my eyes fall to the partially assembled puzzle laying before him. “That good of a party?” I edge closer, tilting my head to make out the picture on the box, a watercolor landscape.

      “Is it a party?” He muses wryly, picking up a glass of whisky from the corner of the table and taking a sip. “I thought it was more of a campaign to get in the good graces of Madame President.”

      My heart flutters, because if he’s talking this way, there’s no way he knows who I am. We haven’t met before, which means he thinks I’m a colleague, and I can’t bring myself to correct him. “Are you in her bad graces?”

      The stranger snorts, returning his attention to the puzzle. “I’m afraid so. Not that tonight will make any difference.”

      I want to ask why, or at least find out his name so I can be nosy and question Mom later, but I keep my mouth shut and edge closer to the table, watching as he selects an edge piece and slots it into place.

      “If it helps, there’s no way she’s as angry with you as she is with me.” Spotting another that fits, I reach out and take it, pressing the small bit of cardboard into the correct position. When I lift my gaze again, I meet a pair of pale blue eyes.

      My stomach flips.

      We both turn away, but the brief eye contact is enough to reduce me to goo. Gazing blankly at the jumble of tiny colored pieces before me, I scramble for something to say. I want to keep talking to him, but he’s fallen silent, absent-mindedly turning a piece between the long fingers of his left hand.

      Again, it’s not the type of thing I take any notice of, but now I can’t help it. He’s not wearing a wedding ring.

      “Sorry to crash your puzzle,” I finally manage quietly, trying my best to pretend there aren’t butterflies occupying the place where my abdominal organs are usually located. My heart is still tender from the fight with Mom, but removed from the weight of her disapproval, I can breathe again. “You can tell me to get lost if you want. I’m sure I can find my own hideout.”

      “He huffs a laugh, and as I sneak another peek over at him I see he’s smiling. “I’d rather you didn’t. It’s far less pathetic to be found doing a puzzle with a beautiful woman than on my own.”

      Beautiful?

      I’m positive I’m blushing like a madwoman and no amount of telling myself to calm the hell down helps. I’ve had crushes in the past, and sexually frustrated way-too-old-virgin or not, I have done some stuff. It’s been a while, but I’m not so innocent that a man calling me beautiful would prompt this kind of reaction.

      Except I kind of like him. Not just his face—which is more than like-worthy on its own—but the way he talks. The accent is part of it, but the casual formality of it reminds me of the heroes in an Austin or Brontë novel. He reads, I’m sure of it, and it says a lot about my level of nerdiness that the image of this man sitting in bed with a book in his hands is downright erotic.

      Though not as erotic as how I would persuade him to put it down.

      Dear god, who am I right now?

For more information about Cleo White and her books, visit her website: 

https://authorcleowhite.com