Whiskey And Merlot A Love Story

Whiskey And Merlot

An Excerpt From Chapter Eight

For a month, Lincoln stayed to himself. Isabelle, pleased with the break, admired him from afar. Every morning at seven thirty, she made herself a pot of Starbucks coffee. She relaxed at her desk and scanned the Atlanta Journal-Constitution while she waited for the coffee to brew. The coffee’s earthy aroma soon took over her office and her mouth watered as she anticipated its bold, sweet, spicy flavor. Once she heard the gurgling of the pot, she knew it was ready for consumption.

After pouring fresh coffee into a mug, Isabelle wrapped her fingers around it, enjoying the warm heat on her hands. The bold sweet flavor was soothing on her palate as the warm liquid eased down her throat. 

It was Friday morning, the end of a long, stressful work week, and she needed her coffee to get through the day.

The sudden ringing of the telephone reminded her of a squeaky wheel on a twisted metal train track. Startled, Isabelle struggled to hold on to her coffee mug as she hurriedly answered the phone. “Good morning, this is Isabelle Perkins. May I help you?”

“What are you doing this weekend?” a thick voice growled on the other end.

“Who is this?” Isabelle asked in an abrasive tone. 

“It’s Lincoln,” he chuckled.

“Whatever I’m doing, it doesn’t include you,” she fired back. He was back, just like an old rusty copper penny.

“Mmmm…we sure are feisty this morning,” he said in a playful tone.

“Lincoln, what do you want?”

“Forget it,” he said, sounding disappointed.

Isabelle quickly apologized, fearing she may have offended him. “Look Lincoln, as much as I’d like to, I can’t do this. You are married.”

“Isabelle, it’s just a drink,” he flatly reminded her. 

“I know, but I can’t.”

Frustrated and quiet, Isabelle drew in a deep breath. 

There was a long pause before he answered. “Look, think about it, Baby Girl. I’ll call you on Monday.”

Isabelle busted out laughing. 

“What’s so funny?” He sounded annoyed.

“You are such a trip. But don’t count on me changing my mind anytime soon.”

“You will,” he said with confidence. “But until then, have a nice weekend.”

“You too,” Isabelle laughed as she hung up the phone. 

She fell back in her chair, floored. His persistence and single-minded tenacity were stunning. Turned on by his sexy heavy voice, the thought of his smooth, velvety lips caressing hers stirred hot juices deep inside her. Sexually stimulated, she felt guilty and ashamed. Good gracious! The man is married! Stop it, Isabelle!

For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why this man captivated her attention. There were plenty of single men available vying for her. Why this man? There was something about the way he connected with her. A spiritual and emotional knowing mixed with sexual, passionate energy stirring up lust inside of her and bringing on intense anxiety.

Isabelle sighed long and hard at the brevity of it all. She grabbed the coffee pot and poured more coffee into her mug. As she took a sip, Lincoln consumed her thoughts, and she worried that his pursuit of her would send her down a slippery slope. She was losing control and it would take all of her strength not to fall for him.


As soon as Lincoln hung up the phone, he left his office and took a break. As he headed to the dock, a slight odor of burning rubber sizzled in the air. Steno Corp was an optic fiber cable company outside of Atlanta. Every day, the company received new cables, and it often smelled like burning rubber.  Lincoln coughed repeatedly bothered by the smoky odor. Once he made it outside, he collapsed in a wood chair five feet from the door. Lincoln inhaled sharply, taking in fresh, cold air. He reached in his shirt pocket for his pack of cigarettes.

He tapped the pack with his right index finger until a cigarette slid out into the palm of his hand. After he stuffed the pack back in his shirt pocket, he struck a match and lit up. Soon a thin trail of wispy gray smoke swirled over his head. He coughed after every puff, and his throat stung. Many times he had thought about quitting, aware the habit could one day be a detriment to his health. However, for now, he didn’t have the will power to take on such a bruising task.

His thoughts turned to Isabelle, and he knew he had no business pursuing her. However, he was fascinated by her and drawn by her sexual energy. He imagined her curvy, petite body naked and draped in his arms with her looking up at him with those smoldering mahogany eyes, listening to her moan as he dipped deep into her hot, wet center of pleasure. The image in his head caused the bulge in his pants to stiffened like a rod.

He flinched when the cigarette he was smoking burned down to a dark, ashy nub blistering the tips of his long dark fingers. “Damn,” he said, dropping the nub on the ground and smashing it with his boot. He flinched when a shrill, screeching female voice blared over the intercom. “Lincoln Davis, you are needed in the warehouse!” He stood upright and adjusted the hard bulge in his pants. He swung the door opened and went inside.

Thank you for reading. Whiskey And Merlot A Love Story is schedule for release later this summer!

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