M R Field is an author from Rural Victoria and has completed a Bachelor's degree with Honours from Latrobe University, Melbourne. After growing up with the river at her front door, she returned back to her hometown after many years of living in the city. She now lives a tranquil lifestyle with her husband and two young children.
M R Field has always held a love for writing, filling journals as a child which progressed to more eloquent pieces as an adult. After ten years of creative instruction, she decided to turn these ideas into manuscripts. She adores creating new story lines and is a big fan of a happily ever after, but believes strongly in making her characters work for it.
She has recently decided to join the independent publishing world with her debut novel, Fragments, due for release on December 8th, 2014.
“Roberto,” Nonna chides. “You not try hard enough. You need nice girl to bring home.” “Yeah, yeah, Nonna.” I laugh. “How do you know I even want one?” “Oh.” She points to the side of her nose. “I know everything. You have a girl in there.” She points to my head. “You just need a plan.” I freeze in shock as she smiles at me knowingly while patting my cheek. “She is the one for you. But a”—her smile instantly vanished as her eyes glared into mine, moving to speak in rapid Italian—“if you make me a great-grandmother before you get married, I’ll—” She motions her fingers into a cutting gesture. I cringe and cover my beloved manhood. “Nonna! Don’t scare the boys!” She tuts and waves her hands at me, dismissing my point. “They won’t feel scared as they won’t exist.” “Okay, Nonna.” I kiss her cheek and go to the kitchen, but not before she summons me to turn around to her again. In soft Italian she whispers, “She was never happy much, Roberto. Only when she was here. One day her eyes will match her lips and many hearts will break knowing it wasn't them who did that. Wait for that look.”
Without turning, I know it’s Robbie standing there. I hear a muttered “fuck” as he clears his throat. That familiar wave that I’ve felt all this time returns. No matter where he is, I sense him. My body feels in tune with his, like a well-loved instrument. I want to be strummed, my pulse to rise while everything else fades away. “It’s okay,” I assure him, my voice deep with desire, “you can come in.” I don’t risk turning around just yet. I know those eyes will loosen the grip I have at my side, and the fingers will release my costume until it flutters to the ground. “Ten minutes to show time, Hazel.” His voice breaks. A breath flutters out of my throat. In the corner of my eye, I see him move closer until he is standing behind me. My grip tightens on the fabric as I feel his warm breath against my neck. Goosebumps tease along my skin and I can’t help it. I have to look at him. My eyes turn and stare into the molten depths of the eyes of the most beautiful man I have ever known. Without a word, his fingers reach out to my hips and begin to slowly zip up the corset. As the zip drags up my side, his warm fingers tease my skin until soft pants escape my lips. I swallow hard. I run the tip of my tongue along the inside of my lip, not caring that I’ve probably coated it in lipstick. He finishes zipping me up and runs his fingertips along the feathered tulle that peaks out at the top from under the seam of the corset. He hisses as the heat from my body rushes to the surface, giving my skin a pink glow. He gently turns me to face him and I watch nervously as his eyes trail up and down my body. “You are magnificent.” He breathes, his voice only marginally returning. “Th … thank you for the flowers,” I stammer, too turned on to function. A slow smile warms his face as he leans forward to leave a gentle kiss behind my left ear. “Anytime,” he whispers in my ear.
I sit on the cracked leather seats that I don’t want to replace. They represent how hard I’ve worked, and what I’ve done to get here. What I’ll keep on doing to get there. Pushing through my weight stations, my arms burn as each weight is pulled back and pushed forward. I won’t let this club fail. I continue to pull each weight as the sweat trails down my back and chest, pooling against my hot skin, my shirt sodden. Still the ache is not enough. The exercises continue to burn through my body as I power through. There isn’t an area left that doesn’t ache. I pull myself up to my chin-up bar, lifting my body up, crossing my ankles together. You can still be friends. Maybe she’ll come around. Growling in frustration, I release the bar after my set and shake my hands and feet out. She is doing my head in. I push myself until my exertion has me almost in a crippled mess. I push myself until there is nothing left and my mind can stop thinking about her. I push myself until all I can do is stare at the ceiling above me and wonder how the fuck I ever got in so deep with a girl who I only ever kissed. I close my eyes and mentally kick my own arse. You fell for her long before that. You were just too busy being a manwhore to realise it. I kick my arse for not jumping on a plane and following her. That would have made her believe in us. I sit up and lift my shirt to my face to wipe the sticky sweat away from my brow and neck. My hair clings to the side of my face in an annoying reminder to get it cut. Something for them to hold onto—apparently except for the one you want. My shirt itches against my skin from the heat so I pull it up and over my head, reaching for my water bottle that is on the floor beside me. Taking a deep swig, I let the water cool my throat and I swish it around my mouth. I wipe my face again with my shirt and am about to take another drink when I hear a muffled, “Oomph” near the door. I peer behind the fabric of my shirt to find a frazzled Hazel standing awkwardly by the door, gripping the wooden frame with her hands. Is she holding on? The very person who fucks with my head is in my house again. I’m about to greet her when her eyes begin to roam down my chest and linger. She shuffled on the spot as her teeth gnaw on her bottom lip and my chest tightens. Is she checking me out? Why is she so quiet? I watch in avid fascination as she snaps out of her stare and awkwardly clears her throat. “Hey, Robbie ... didn’t know you were her ... here. ” I smile as her tell-tale deep blush makes a special appearance. I lift my outer leg over the bench to turn and face her. Standing up, I make a point to wipe my shirt along my chest and smile when her eyes track each movement. So, she’s not so immune after all. “What are you doing here, Farfalla?” Her gaze flicks away from my chest as her shocked stare clashes with mine. “We’re we ... we were just practising our root ... um ... routine. “I get that, but what are you doing here, Farfalla?” “You’ve called me that before.” She steps into the room, fumbling with her hands, and I feel a surge of pride as I wait for her to remember. “When?” My tone demands. “At the bonfire ... you, ah ... you stopped that guy from coming near me. Remember?” Her eyes gaze into mine, and in an instant I remember standing in front of a scared girl who I wanted to protect more than anyone else. A girl who once sang a song so painfully raw that I wanted to burst into the room and hold her. A girl who had captivated me for years and weaved herself into the tapestry of my skin. “You have nothing to fear. You deserve to be cherished, Farfalla. No man I know is worthy of you.” She nodded, too stunned to speak as my hand lingered against her cheek. I’d been right then, and I am still right now. No man is worthy of her. But as I stare back at the most beautiful woman who makes me wild, and gaze into her emerald lustful gaze encased by the longest lashes I had ever seen, I realise that I can never give her up. She was born for me. It now makes me even more determined to win her over and make her mine. It’s now or nothing. I drop my sodden shirt on the floor and swagger over to her, watching her eyes widen as my steps draw me near. She moves slightly, causing her back to stand against the wall like a caged bird. No more flying away. “Do you know what Farfalla means?” She gulps and nods. Barely over a whisper, she says, “Butterfly.” I step closer to her, mesmerised by how fucking gorgeous she is. The rise and fall of her chest heats my blood, and my tired, worn body feels rejuvenated with a charge of life. She looked the meaning up. She wanted to know me. “It does mean butterfly. To me, you are soft, delicate and beautiful. Fragile and in need of protection.” She sighs and shivers. Her eyes are hooded as she runs the tip of her tongue in the corner of her bottom lip. If that isn’t an invitation to go to her, then I don’t know what is. I lean forward, placing a hand on her cheek and gently touch her lips with mine. Her body instantly relaxes. I feel her beginning to respond—but I don’t take it further. I kiss her once more softly, savouring the taste of her lips. Leaning back, I run my thumb over her cheekbone as her wary eyes watch me. I brush a loose curl of her silken hair behind her ear as I memorise each feature of her wanton gaze. This moment can either make or break us, and I want to remember each feature, from her pouty lips, to the gentle freckles across her nose, and those deep green eyes, forever. This, if it all turned to shit, she can’t take from me. “Hazel,” I whisper, as my hand lingers behind her ear, “I will wait for you.” I release my hand and step away from her, turning towards the door. Each step causes a sharp pain in my chest. I exit the room and aim for the bathroom to shower and wash the heat from my skin. I push open the bathroom door and look over my shoulder to find her standing there with her fingers against her lips, her brows squishing together. “You’re not ready now, Farfalla, but when you are, come and get me.” I step into the room and close the door behind me, leaning my back against it. I tip my head against the wood and listen to the moment outside the door. Nothing. I clench my eyes shut for a moment and let the breath that I’m holding out, vibrating through my lips. All I can do is hope that I’ve read those signals right. Only time will tell, but in the meantime, why do I feel as if I’ve dangled my balls to sharks?
“Your eggs!” Nonna suddenly yells at Trice, startling us as we sit at the table as she points to her. I pass Hazel the Corn Flakes as I reach out for the toast that Mamma has prepared. I stare at Nonna, confused, wondering if one of us was meant to go to the chicken coup to grab some eggs this morning. “Nonna, we’ve been here before. We have plenty of time,” Trice pleads, her voice gently trying to placate her. “You really should stop watching Dr Phil.” “It’ll be too late!” She sighs, holding her hand to her chest. “They will be gone soon.” She looks over to Hazel, then her eyes barrel into mine. “You need to hurry up too.” “Nonna, have you got Grappa in your coffee this morning?” I laugh, trying to knock the worried look from her face. Mamma brings over the percolator and holds it up for us. I nod and lift my cup while shifting my eyes to Nonna then back to her. She chuckles as she finishes pouring. “Trice, you do have plenty of time. You know Nonna is just impatient.” I poke my tongue into my cheek for a moment and then I sip my coffee while wondering if Nonna is starting to lose it. Trice sees my confusion and waves her hand at me. “It’s nothing to worry about. Nonna saw an episode on Dr Phil about fertility and apparently by my age, my eggs will start to shrivel up. She just wants to be a bisnonna.” I laugh as Alex’s face pales, causing Trice to laugh—loud. “It’s okay, babe. We’re fine, remember?” she teases, rubbing his arm. He relaxes and shakes his head. I chuckle as his eyes flick over to me and he mouths arsehole. Mamma moves behind me to Hazel and offers her some coffee. Dr Phil has a lot to answer for when it came to my Nonna.