Comfort Zone

By Franca Storm

Meet Emma Spencer, a resilient recluse who has mastered the art of living in solitude. She's vowed off men, convinced that her past experiences only lead to heartache. But her well-guarded world is about to be shaken by an unexpected encounter with none other than Daniel Alder—a local millionaire with a notorious playboy reputation.

 

Daniel Alder, the charming playboy, hides a fractured soul beneath his public image. Haunted by a tumultuous past, he struggles with trust. When his path intersects with Emma's, their worlds collide in a way neither saw coming.

 

Prepare for a journey where comfort zones are shattered, and demons are faced head-on. Can Emma and Daniel rise above their pasts to create a future together? Will they conquer their fears and insecurities, or will the echoes of yesterday dictate their tomorrow?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Franca Storm
• Release date: Oct 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223011651

Franca Storm

Franca writes emotional and gritty reads about bad boys with a dark side and the kickass women who turn their worlds upside down. A Marvel and DC fan, you’ll often find her binging on superhero shows and movies. Away from that heart-pumping action, she’ll relax with a good book, or work on conquering her next 1,000-piece puzzle. She writes to alternative and hard-rock with her storyboard of inspiration by her side and some tasty snacks along for the ride. A cross between a pantser and a plotter, she’s happiest when she’s fully immersed in crafting her fictional worlds.

Book preview

1

~Emma~

Oh God. I can’t do this.

I pull my Jeep over to the side of the dirt road.

I’ve made it two minutes into the five-minute drive into the town center. Town center is a bit of a stretch. It’s more like a village. The population sits at a little over two hundred people.

Harlson.

I live on the outskirts, just a few miles away.

The outskirts. Yeah, that’s me. Always on the periphery. Never in the center of anything. Never getting too close.

Safe.

But then there’s the dreaded monthly grocery shop.

Unfortunately, one of the downsides of living in a small town in the middle of nowhere is that you can’t get certain things delivered. Most people would probably enjoy the outing and treat it as a welcome break from the daily isolation of a living situation like mine. But I’m not most people.

I’m not normal.

I’m fucked up.

Most of the time I’m at peace with that. I’ve had thirty long years to accept it.

But then there are days like today where it smacks me over the side of the head. The fact that I can’t be around them.

People.

Embarrassment. Shame. Weakness. Those are the three loathsome feelings that plague me whenever my issue is staring me in the face. The cold, hard, inescapable truth. It’s only on days like today when I have to leave the safety of my house, that I’m reminded of how messed up I really am and all those awful feelings rise to the surface.

Thankfully, my job allows me to live anywhere. As long as I have an Internet connection, I’m good. I’m a successful published author. It pays the bills. I’m not famous or renowned by any stretch of the imagination, but I’m grateful beyond belief that I managed to get signed to a good publisher and that my books actually sell enough to generate an income that I can live comfortably on. There’s very little else someone like me, with my issues, can do for a living. It’s one of the only careers that doesn’t involve interaction with people on a daily basis. The only interactions I have are with the characters I build within my own head. My imaginative creations. And, unlike in real life, they don’t see me. I see them.

No one I’ve ever met has understood what it’s like to be consumed by this…issue.

The way I see it, if something isn’t tangible or easy to explain, people don’t want to hear about it. Not that I’d be up for talking about it anyway. But still.

I left all those people behind when I moved here a few months ago. I was sick of being pushed into situations that I wasn’t comfortable with, because of the ties I’d made to people. Friends, work colleagues, bosses, boyfriends.

I will never let anyone force me into anything I’m not comfortable with again.

God, back in that awful city, all I’d felt every single day was fear and a complete lack of control over my life. Now, though, I’m in control. And that’s the way it’s gonna stay.

All I need to do now is make it to the damn grocery store.

This is actually my first trip to get groceries. My first trip ever into the town center. I moved here with a stockpile of groceries that have held me over for a long time. But now that dreaded time has finally come.

A light tap on the driver’s side window of my Jeep startles me, making me gasp.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn’t notice someone approaching. Shit. I didn’t even hear a car pull up.

And, of course, immediately my mind kick starts my body into freak out mode.

People! People! Hide! Shield yourself!

My hands begin trembling, my palms start sweating. I can feel my neck and wrists itching. The stupid stress rash I always get.

I draw in a deep breath. Yeah, like that ever helps, although everyone always says it does. I call bullshit on that.

I turn to see who my unwanted visitor is.

Holy hell. I was not expecting this.

The guy looks like he’s just stepped out of the pages of GQ, Vanity Fair, or something along those lines. His crisp, black and white, pin-stripe suit looks like it probably cost more than a few of my mortgage payments. I’ve never seen a man fill out a suit so well.

I glance at his arms as he rests them against my car window. His biceps are straining against the confines of his suit jacket, so much so that they look like they could break free any second and rip through the seams and fine stitching.

His business attire is an odd contrast to the prominent stubble along his jawline and his thick, chestnut-brown hair that is wild and shaggy. He really has that whole sexy bed head thing down pat. I’m sure there’s a ton of primping and product that went into perfecting that look.

His eyes are striking. They’re a rich shade of the deepest blue, the likes of which I’ve never seen before. They’re enthralling. I can rarely ever bring myself to look someone in the eyes for more than a couple of seconds, but his are captivating and I’m actually finding it difficult to look away.

He taps on the window again and an amused grin plays on his lips.

It’s then that I realize I’ve been staring at him. Oh God. Now my anxiety is spiking again. Wait. Where did it go moments ago? It had disappeared for a while, as I’d studied him. I’m shocked. That’s never happened before. No one’s been able to affect my issue like that before, to make me forget it, if only for a moment.

I manage to collect myself and roll down my window. My Jeep is manual through and through and at least a decade old. But it was one of the few vehicles within my price range. I don’t go out much, so I hardly ever drive it, but so far it’s served me well whenever I do. It seems to be a tough old thing.

Hi, I eke out to the stranger, hating the nervous waver in my voice. It’s always there.

Car trouble? he asks.

God, even his voice is sexy as hell. Deep and commanding with a noticeable rasp.

Uh…no…thanks. I’m fine, I say, hoping that will be the end of this awkwardness.

Yes, he’ll get back in his car and be on his way. I glance quickly in the rear-view mirror, oddly curious about what kind of vehicle he drives. I see a slick silver Audi. It seems so out of place on this little dirt road in the middle of nowhere. It would be more suited for the city.

To my surprise, instead of leaving, he rests his elbows on the open window ledge. His arms are now half in and half out of my car. Oh no. What does he want?

So, if there’s nothing wrong with your car, why are you pulled over on the side of the road?

Shit. What a loaded question that is and he doesn’t even know it.

I…uh…I was on my way to pick up some groceries and I…I couldn’t…. What am I saying? I’m about to tell this man about my issue. This complete stranger.

What is happening here? It’s not normally this easy to get any information out of me. Hell, it’s actually an impossible task. I have no idea how he’s doing this…making me feel comfortable enough to just start chatting away. It must be those eyes of his. They have some sort of hypnotic power over me.

He gazes at me. I feel like he’s trying to see my eyes through my sunglasses, like he’s trying to connect with me.

When he realizes that he can’t, he looks me over. I watch his gaze sweep from my black silk blouse, lingering on my cleavage, before moving down to my gray mini-skirt and black thigh-high boots. He notes my stylish denim jacket. Something flickers in his eyes that I can’t interpret.

You’re from the city, he says. It’s not a question. It’s a statement.

What?

You dress the part, is all he says. But the suggestive wink he gives me says a hell of a lot more. It’s loaded with undisguised interest. Urgh. That’s the last thing I need. Attachments.

I can’t summon a response, so I just end up looking away uncomfortably. I need to get out of here, or he needs to get out of here. I just want to be left alone. What is his deal? Why is he still here talking to me?

Daniel Alder, he says, reaching into the car and holding out his hand expectantly.

His name sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t think to place it right now with his hand hanging there so ominously right in front of me.

Emma, I say, hoping that this will be it and after the introductions are done, he’ll finally go. Emma Spencer.

I hesitantly reach for his hand. Apparently he finds me too slow to act. Before I can stop him, he takes my hand and brings it to his lips. His gaze is intense, as he softly kisses my knuckles. I tremble involuntarily at the feel of his warm, moist lips on my skin. It’s been ages since a man has touched me in any way, let alone in such an affectionate manner like he’s doing. He draws it out for several seconds, smirking at me when he finally releases me.

Now that I know your name, I can ask you out properly.

What? I…I can’t.

You can’t do dinner?

I shake my head, my throat suddenly incredibly dry.

He’s not the least bit put off and he presses, Coffee then? He sees my hesitation and then he reaches into the car and pulls down my shades, exposing my eyes.

The intense eye contact is too much for me and the things I’m feeling being in such close proximity to this man who just seems to ooze sexuality, are completely unnerving. I can barely breathe.

It has me freaking out.

I snatch my glasses out of his grip and adjust them back over my eyes. I fumble for my keys and gun the engine. Go! Go! Go!

I…I have to go. Uh…bye.

He steps back quickly.

I don’t even glance his way again as I pull a tight three-point-turn and head back the way I came. Home.

There’s no way I can face going into the town center now. I’m completely frazzled and out of sorts already, thanks to that impromptu and oddly intense conversation with Daniel.

I hope he was just passing through town. That way I won’t have to see him again and face the shame of the incredibly awkward and rude getaway that I just pulled.

2

~Daniel~

I’m leaning back in my leather office chair, twirling a pen around in my hand and staring blankly at a pile of paperwork on my glass-top desk. I’m supposed to be analyzing the development proposals in front of me. It’s unlikely I’ll approve any of them, but I still have to review each one. Company policy and all that. Since I took over as CEO from my dad three years ago, I’ve seen firsthand just how many scumbag developers want to worm their way into Harlson.

It’s the last thing I’m gonna allow to happen.

For one thing, it would kill my dad. It would also ruin the small town atmosphere. God knows, there aren’t a lot of those remaining. The big time retailers have moved into too many former quaint little towns and completely wrecked any sense of character that they’d once possessed.

My father, Alfred Alder, started Harlson. Our family owns most of the local businesses here. We’re all for welcoming newcomers, but not the city fat cats. No one’s going to usurp us. Alder Assets is the only big corporation in this town and that’s how it’ll always be. Damn city fuckers.

Just like that woman I met earlier today. Emma. I still can’t believe she drove away from me like that. She has no idea how much effort I was exerting to hold back with her. I’m not usually that restrained when I hit on a woman. If I want pussy, I get it. I barely need to make any effort to have a woman spreading her legs for me. I’m not even being cocky. It’s simple fact.

But I’d noticed Emma’s anxiety right away, so I’d held back. If I’d known things were going to end the way they had, I wouldn’t have bothered.

I don’t make a habit of hitting on women pulled over on the side of the road.

At first the whole thing had been completely innocent. I was just being a good citizen. I’d thought her car had broken down on the side of the road and I’d intended to help her out.

But then I’d seen her.

Holy shit. She was a definite ten. Absolutely gorgeous.

That gorgeous hair of hers, chestnut-brown but with strands of deep-red interspersed throughout. Real special. Those big, expressive eyes of hers sent a jolt of desire through me. And her thighs should be outlawed. I’m a definite thigh man. Sure, she had a nice set of tits. They were so deliciously perky. But those thighs of hers in that skirt were what did it for me.

The thing that’d really drawn me in, above all else, was the strong submissive vibe I’d sensed from her. It was a major turn on. I’d love to dominate her. It looked like she needed it too. When I’d kissed her hand I’d seen just how responsive she was to that slightest touch. It was her noticeable tremble, the way her breath had caught in her throat.

I can’t believe she drove away from me. It was beyond rude. Maybe that kind of shit passes in the city, but in Harlson we try to maintain a certain level of cordiality.

I’m not sure that’s really what I’m mad about. She turned me down. That never happens to me. Never. She’s stuck in my fucking head now. I’ve been sitting here for the last hour, thinking about what went down and how it went down. I need to find out what her deal is.

I’m startled out of my thoughts by the sudden entrance of my assistant, Alison.

She’s my saving grace. The way the woman manages my schedule is a miracle in itself. In her late fifties, she’s been with the company for years. She was my dad’s assistant too. She knows Alder Assets inside and out. She always dresses the part and exudes a high level of professionalism at all times. She’s old school, through and through.

Mr. Alder, she greets me. I’ve told her so many times to just call me Dan, but she won’t.

Alison, I return, smiling and giving her a polite head nod.

I’m giving you your fifteen-minute reminder for your meeting with Harlson Construction at 10:00am today, regarding the permit for the proposed bed and breakfast on the edge of town.

Got it. Thanks.

She turns to leave, but that’s when something occurs to me.

What do you know about an Emma Spencer? I ask her. Today is the first I’ve heard of Emma. Usually, I get to know all newcomers, but she must have kept herself off the radar. The only reason I know she lives here and wasn’t just passing through is because of her reference to going into town for groceries. No one shops for groceries far from their home. She has to be local. Alison knows all the locals. To call her a busybody would be an understatement.

She smiles and I see a glint in her eye. I know what that means. She thinks I’m asking out of personal interest. All right, I am. But that’s for me to know,