We asked the posters of the JMBB to write an original scene that takes place between a hero and a heroine. It can be a love scene, a fight, a scene where the sexual tension is off the charts ;). It can be a contemporary or a historical. Characters can be from JM novels or your imagination. The scene should not be too graphic and less than 500 words.
The person who wrote the winning scene is...
*drum roll please*
Queenie
CONGRATULATIONS!!!
Check out Queenie's winning submission below.
End of the Game
Disclaimer: Courtney Maitland and the Thornton ancestors are the property of Judith McNaught. No copyright infringement intended. The title “End of the Game” was taken from a song written by Sting.
Finn Thornton cast a curious glance at Courtney Maitland. Peering over her shoulder at him, she was the picture of girlish innocence.
“This way?” she asked, in the same soft tone she used when she had called to invite him to play pool.
Having heard similar questions twice in the last half-hour, he smirked. “Would you like me to show you?” he volleyed with the natural upper class English accent he always reverted to when he was not on camera. “Again?”
“Please.”
She was smart and beautiful, but he liked her too much to mess with her. And that was what it would be if they got together tonight. They’d be messing around. Neither of them was ready for something serious. At nineteen, she was seven years younger than he was, with so much of life still to explore. Unwilling to trade on his illustrious family’s name, he needed to focus on his career, build on his recent onscreen success.
Moving behind her, he wrapped his arms around her and he guided her hands on the cue stick.
She glanced up at him. “Have you been playing long?”
Meeting her gaze, he nodded.
“How long?”
“Since I was nine,” he replied. He lowered his hands and rested them lightly on her hips as he bent down to murmur in her ear. “About the same age you were when your brother taught you how to play.”
She laughed. “Busted.”
Lining up her next shot, she stopped pretending to be a novice. “Let’s make this more interesting, shall we?”
“How so?”
“I win, I get a kiss.”
He stared at her.
Her eyebrow arched up. “Worried?”
He shook his head slowly. “Not even a little.”
She smiled.
“What do I get, if I win?”
She leaned a hip against the table, appearing sweet and seductive at the same time.
No longer amused by her little game, he curtly asked, “Are we playing or yapping all night?”
She pocketed her seventh solid and moved towards the opposite end of the table.
He set his drink down, grabbed his cue stick and waited for her to pass, stepping closer to the table so she could go around him.
She didn’t. She squeezed between him and the table, her body pressing into his.
His arms came down, trapping her. “Don’t play with me, Maitland.”
Stepping out of his embrace, she looked back at the table, studied the angles and winked at him. “8-ball, corner pocket.”
She chalked the tip of her cue, planted her left hand on the table to bridge her stick and fired. The cue ball flew to collide with the 8-ball. The 8 disappeared gracefully into the corner pocket.
She smiled softly as she straightened up. “I win.”
Weighing what he wanted versus what he could lose, he watched her approach. And as his lips hovered over hers, his last thoughts were that she knew exactly how well she played when she made this bet. She wanted this. She wanted him.
Finn Thornton cast a curious glance at Courtney Maitland. Peering over her shoulder at him, she was the picture of girlish innocence.
“This way?” she asked, in the same soft tone she used when she had called to invite him to play pool.
Having heard similar questions twice in the last half-hour, he smirked. “Would you like me to show you?” he volleyed with the natural upper class English accent he always reverted to when he was not on camera. “Again?”
“Please.”
She was smart and beautiful, but he liked her too much to mess with her. And that was what it would be if they got together tonight. They’d be messing around. Neither of them was ready for something serious. At nineteen, she was seven years younger than he was, with so much of life still to explore. Unwilling to trade on his illustrious family’s name, he needed to focus on his career, build on his recent onscreen success.
Moving behind her, he wrapped his arms around her and he guided her hands on the cue stick.
She glanced up at him. “Have you been playing long?”
Meeting her gaze, he nodded.
“How long?”
“Since I was nine,” he replied. He lowered his hands and rested them lightly on her hips as he bent down to murmur in her ear. “About the same age you were when your brother taught you how to play.”
She laughed. “Busted.”
Lining up her next shot, she stopped pretending to be a novice. “Let’s make this more interesting, shall we?”
“How so?”
“I win, I get a kiss.”
He stared at her.
Her eyebrow arched up. “Worried?”
He shook his head slowly. “Not even a little.”
She smiled.
“What do I get, if I win?”
She leaned a hip against the table, appearing sweet and seductive at the same time.
No longer amused by her little game, he curtly asked, “Are we playing or yapping all night?”
She pocketed her seventh solid and moved towards the opposite end of the table.
He set his drink down, grabbed his cue stick and waited for her to pass, stepping closer to the table so she could go around him.
She didn’t. She squeezed between him and the table, her body pressing into his.
His arms came down, trapping her. “Don’t play with me, Maitland.”
Stepping out of his embrace, she looked back at the table, studied the angles and winked at him. “8-ball, corner pocket.”
She chalked the tip of her cue, planted her left hand on the table to bridge her stick and fired. The cue ball flew to collide with the 8-ball. The 8 disappeared gracefully into the corner pocket.
She smiled softly as she straightened up. “I win.”
Weighing what he wanted versus what he could lose, he watched her approach. And as his lips hovered over hers, his last thoughts were that she knew exactly how well she played when she made this bet. She wanted this. She wanted him.
