One by Virna DePaul

I love the idea of basing a short story on a favorite song. Since one of my favorites is One by U2, I decided to write a short story about a prevalent romance novel theme (finding "the one"), but with a twist. I hope you enjoy this light treat!

Alicia’s business is coaching women to fulfill their deepest sexual fantasies but in a way that lets them keep their current relationship monogamously intact. When she meets Peter Taylor, will she give him a shot at being her one and only?

Rated - Adult - for 18 years and older only.

Genre - Contemporary

Heat Level - Sweet

**********

The first thing Peter Taylor thought when he saw his opposing counsel was that there’d been some kind of mistake. The woman seated next to Penelope Castro looked more like a stripper than a lawyer. To be fair, however, the stripper association formed as a result of her plump, suckable lips and mesmerizingly lush curves, not because of what she was wearing or not wearing. While far from lawyerly, her clothes were perfectly respectable. She wore a fitted teal blue jacket, dark jeans and sassy little ankle boots. The outfit complimented her wavy red hair, pale skin, and golden brown eyes, giving her a vibrant, confident appearance. But confident or not, she wasn’t a lawyer and, therefore, she had no business being here.

He turned to his client, who was staring at his wife Penelope with a slight frown. Rick Castro had contacted Peter a week ago about wanting a divorce. Whenever he’d asked Rick about his marital problems, all he’d say was that his wife of seven years had turned out to be a fraud. Peter had been hoping today’s conference would clear that vague statement up so they could move forward. But wasn’t this interesting? The way Rick was staring at his wife confirmed the guy really wasn’t as committed to divorce as he’d led him to believe. If he could just get rid of the redhead, maybe Rick and Penelope could work things out. “Let me handle this, Rick.” Striding further into the conference room, he nodded to Penelope. “Good afternoon.” He turned to the redhead. “I’m Peter Taylor, Mr. Castro’s divorce attorney. And you are…?”

The woman rose and shook his hand in a firm grip before releasing him. “I’m Alicia Norton. I represent Penelope’s interests here. Are you ready to get started?”

As she sat back down, crossed her legs, and calmly looked at him, Peter suppressed an instinctive smile at her bravado. Her hand had been soft and cool, but it had also trembled in his grip. She might look calmer than a placid sea, but inside she was all turbulent nerves and emotions. Leaning his hip against the side of the conference table, he crossed his arms over his chest. “That depends. I take it you’re not a lawyer. Given this is a pre-divorce settlement conference, exactly how are you representing Mrs. Castro?”

Her smile was intimate, as if she was about to share a private joke with him. A zing of awareness streaked through him and he visibly jerked. She was obviously a pro when it came to charming men, but he’d be damned if he’d let her get away with it this time. Whoever she was, he was looking forward to bringing her down a peg. Deliberately, he grinned back at her, not missing the way her eyes widened before narrowing.

She licked her lips, then said, “I’m Penelope’s marital satisfaction consultant.”

He barely suppressed his snort of disbelief. “Right. Let me guess. That’s some kind of… counselor?”

“You could say that. I counsel clients on how to fulfill themselves in order to maintain a happy marriage. Since the only reason Rick came to you in the first place was because of me, I’m here to make things right. Penelope loves Rick and the last thing she wants is a divorce.”

“That’s right,” Penelope interjected. “I love my husband.”

“You wanted to screw another man!” Rick blustered from behind him.

Penelope opened her mouth but shut it when Alicia placed a hand on hers. She turned to face Rick. “Penelope told you she’s always fantasized about partaking in a threesome and asked how you felt about that.”

Peter waited, but when she didn’t continue, he prompted, “And? There’s a difference?”

“Quite a difference since what she had in mind wouldn’t have actually involved another man.”

Peter glanced at Rick, whose eyes had rounded so much he looked comical. “A—another woman?”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “No, you big dolt. I wanted the fantasy of a threesome but only with the two of us. Before I could explain that, you jumped to conclusions and tore out of the house. The next thing I knew you’d hired this bozo and wouldn’t even talk to me!”

Peter didn’t take offense at the bozo remark; he’d been called worse. Still, as amused as he was, he had other cases to work on. Rubbing the back of his neck, he looked at Alicia. “Alright, why don’t we all just sit down and talk.” He pointed at her. “Let’s start with you.”

* * *

A lot of people scoffed at her chosen profession, but for some reason Alicia had hoped Peter Taylor wouldn’t be one of them. She’d done considerable research and knew he was a respected legal professional. He was smart, ambitious, and ethical. He was also single. Given the instant attraction she’d felt when he’d walked into the room, that might have meant something in other circumstances. But her sources had also told her that Peter was a dedicated bachelor who liked to play the field. That meant as soon as she explained the misunderstanding between the Castros, she was out of here.

It was really too bad. With honey brown hair and blue eyes, a strong chin, and a lean broad-shouldered body, he radiated a combination of boyish charm and sex appeal. More than that, his steady gaze, combined with his professional reputation, the way he held himself, and the fact that he was giving her and Penelope their “day in court,” so to speak, made her want to get to know him better. But not if he didn’t believe in monogamy.

Her belief in monogamy and soul mates and commitment was the reason why she did what she did in the first place. She took a deep breath and jumped right in. “I believe most marriages break up because people—especially women--are afraid of truly voicing their desires. As such, these desires go unmet and build resentment over time.”

“That still doesn’t explain how Penelope’s request for a threesome didn’t include another man.”

“Sexual fantasies are just that. Fantasies. I teach women who are committed to being faithful that they can still spice up their marriage and fulfill their most secret desires. First, by sharing these fantasies with their partners. Second, by thinking creatively.”

Mouth quirking, he leaned back in chair. “A creative threesome with only two people. I can’t wait to hear how you’d manage that.” His expression made her think he was actually imagining her…well, managing it.

A little imp inside her rose to the challenge he threw down, but she quickly squashed it. She wasn’t here to titillate him or herself, but to make sure Penelope’s husband understood what she’d been asking for. “There are several ways one can—”

“Wait,” Penelope interrupted. “I want to show him. Rick, I mean.” She looked at her husband. “If you still love me and want to be with me, I want to show you what I was asking for.”

Caught off guard herself, Alicia saw the way Peter’s gaze flickered with surprise. Both of them turned to Castro, whose face was suffused with color. But the look in his eyes—

Alicia looked away. Sheesh, it was so obvious the man was in love with his wife. As such, it was no surprise when he stood, scraping back his chair, and held the door open for her. “Let’s go.”

“Rick, are you sure—” Peter began.

Rick smiled at Penelope when she met him at the door. Tenderly, he cupped her face, then stroked her hair. “I was an idiot, Mr. Taylor. Sorry to waste your time. If Penelope says she was just trying to be creative…then I believe her…”

“Oh, Rick. Thank goodness…”

The rest of her sentence was muffled as husband and wife kissed. And kissed. By the time they broke apart, they were breathing hard and Alicia had begun to feel like a voyeur. When she looked away, her gaze clashed with Peter’s. Instantly, heat flooded her body. He wasn’t looking at the couple that was once again making out in front of them—he was looking at her. And the expression on his face was one of intense consideration…and desire.

His gaze held hers as he deliberately cleared his throat. “Weren’t you two going somewhere, Rick?” he asked softly.

Penelope giggled. “Yes, I’ve got something to prove, remember?”

“I can’t wait for you to refresh my memory,” Rick growled.

The two left, shutting the conference room door with an audible click.

Aware that Peter was still looking at her, Alicia shifted, looked around the room, then finally stood. “Well, I guess that’s all taken care of. I’ll just be getting out of your way.”

The man didn’t move. He wasn’t exactly sprawling in his chair, but his body suddenly seemed relaxed and boneless. His posture enticingly seductive. “Aren’t you going to finish what you were saying? About creatively recreating a three-way, I mean. ‘There are several ways,’ you said. I’m dying of curiosity.”

The flesh between her thighs tingled, causing her to stumble. “I’m sure a confirmed bachelor like yourself has no shortage of opportunities to take part in the real thing, so like I said, I won’t waste any more of your time.”

He was looking at her funny as she sidled to the door. “Confirmed bachelor? Who told you that?”

“I like to be prepared for whatever or whoever I’m going up against. I didn’t have to dig very far to know you’re considered a playboy.”

He shrugged. “I’m single. I date. Occasionally, I even have sex. But I’m no playboy.”

She froze and turned to face him. “But you’re not looking for a relationship.”

“Why? Are you?”

Her mouth fell open. “No. But--”

“Then if I’m a confirmed bachelor or playboy, what does that make you?”

“I’m leaving.”

He stood. Although he didn’t move closer, the air in the room suddenly grew more scarce. “Scared to answer the question?”

Exasperated, she threw up her hands. “Fine. I’m someone who’s not looking but is open-minded to the possibilities of a relationship, including monogamy.”

“Then that makes two of us.”

She frowned. “Really?” Had her sources really been that wrong about him?

“Yes, really. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“It’s not, I guess. It’s just, well, most of my clients are women. And your—well, your attractive and single and are obviously a successful professional. And your reputation…”

“My reputation is conjecture not fact. Seems like Rick isn’t the only one fond of jumping to conclusions. Now, would you like to explain the concept of a creative threesome to me or not?” His question implied he’d be okay no matter her choice, but his clenched jaw and the way he seemed to hold his breath belied that notion.

She studied him and let her mind open to the possibilities. With a potential client in a professional setting, she had no problem discussing some creative ways to fake a threesome—using a sex phone service while the couple made love, using sex toys to mimic the feeling of being taken by more than one man, or mocking an encounter with a third person by blindfolding a partner and pretending to be two people. But with a man she was personally attracted to, she knew better than to start such a dialogue unless she was willing for the discussion to lead to other things, at least eventually. She struggled with indecision.

A song played through her head. A song about one love going wrong. About someone who said one thing but did something else. Alicia believed in the power of one love to last a lifetime. Was she willing to take a chance on that belief with Peter?

She took a breath and imagined loving someone the way Penelope loved Rick. Imagined loving someone enough to work for her happiness. Imagined loving this man. She nodded and smiled. “Sure. I’d love to.”

**********

Virna DePaul's debut paranormal romantic suspense novel with Berkley, Chosen By Blood (Book 1 in the Para-Ops Novels), launches on May 3, 2011. Virna also writes for Harlequin Romantic Suspense (Dangerous To Her, September 2011) and HQN. she also has published several e-books, including a sexy contemporary, This Magic Moment. Visit her at www.virnadepaul.com

Every Little Thing She Does is Magic

ANNOUNCEMENT REGARDING CONTEST WINNERS

Apologies to contest winners, but CJ's internet is very spotty at the moment. You WILL get your prizes, but you may have to be a little patient until she's back online!

When I got the invite to join in this blog, and the prompt, it took me all of about 2 seconds to decide on a song. Firstly, I write mostly fantasy, so magic is always lurking in my brain. Plus, I was a huge Police fan in the dark and distant days of my youth. Every Little Thing She Does is Magic leapt into my brain. And with it came an image--a man watching a woman out of the window. A man watching a magic woman.




Note: This story contains Britishisms, including spellings and punctuation. For instance cell phones are instead mobiles, Blake's 7 is a British SF series from the seventies, the tube is in fact the underground railway in London. I think that's most of the really confusing ones, but if there's any clarification required, just ask! I love playing with the differences in UK/US English.

Rated um, PG? The ratings are different over here too!
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Heat level: Sweet

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every Little Thing She Does is Magic.

On Monday, she was a petite blonde in tatty jeans. Tuesday, a statuesque redhead in a flowing silk dress. Wednesday she was Mediterranean-looking, filling her clothes in all the right places. Thursday she was boyishly slim, black bob pristine, her suit severe in a schoolmarmish way.

Today was Friday, five minutes till knocking off time, and I was looking for her. Every day, at five to five, a woman would stop briefly at the bench opposite my office. Every day she looked different. Not just clothes and hair, but build, height, face. And every day I became surer she was the same woman.

I’m not sure what it was about her that gave her away. Maybe the walk, the way she swung her hips as though in time to music only she could hear, despite the lack of ipod. Maybe it was her hair and, no matter the style or colour, the way she tucked a curl of it behind her ear.

Then again, maybe I’d just been working too hard. Too much stress. The business—architectural salvage if you’re interested, here’s my card—well, the business wasn’t going so well. I’d had to lay off my secretary, and it was looking like at least one of the lads in the yard was going to have to go too. I’d been spending too much time trying to scratch up business during the day, and too much money in the pub in the evening, pretending I wasn’t lonely.

I’d taken to staring out of the window, trying to think up crazy plans to keep myself solvent, and that’s how I’d noticed her, last week. She’d sauntered up the street in black skinny jeans that showed off her shape just right, topped with a battered biker’s jacket. Her hair had been strawberry blonde that day, all muzzed and wild from the motorbike helmet looped over her arm. It was probably that hair that made me notice her then, because that was the day I’d made my secretary redundant and I was dreaming about doing something wild, maybe running away somewhere and living a bohemian life in a shack, beachcombing rather than poring over accounts and firing people. I remember wondering whether I could work up the nerve to run out and ask her if I could hop on the back of her bike and we’d zoom off, wherever she liked. Anywhere that wasn’t here.

She’d paused by the bench, just for a minute, digging into a pocket, rearranging the helmet on her arm, curling a lock of wild hair behind her ear. She glanced my way, and I wished I did have the nerve. Yet the moment passed and I still had a lukewarm cup of coffee in my hand, still stood at the window, doing nothing about the dreams in my head. Then she was gone.

I didn’t think much more of it, until a few days later when a redhead strode down the street at five to five. She was wearing a trim little sundress, and the sunset shone through it, letting me see the slim shape of her legs. She stopped at the bench, fiddled with something in her handbag, curled a lock of the red hair that shone like a beacon. Glanced up at me, and was gone.

Nothing to link the pair, except the way she walked and that curl of her hair behind her ear. Stupid of me, probably, but I began to look out for her. Better than crying over my bank statements and dreaming dreams that would never be reality.

The next day, at five to five, there she was. An Asian girl in a pale blue sari, all trimmed in silver. Her face was regal this time, serene as though nothing could touch her, her smooth skin a dark gold and her eyes, when she glanced my way, liquid pools of midnight. She hooked her hair behind her ear and looked up under sooty eyelashes, right at me. Paused a moment at the bench, adjusting the way her sari hung. This time I worked up the nerve to run for the door, but when I got there my mind was blank of anything coherent to say. I mean, what would you think, a strange guy running up to you, babbling about seeing you before, only it wasn’t you and…

And by the time I’d decided to go for it and the door was open, she was gone. It was a Friday, and the thought of the whole blank weekend ahead of me with nothing much to fill it except trying not to go bankrupt, cajoling, lying and downright begging at customers, maybe watching some crappy telly or popping to the pub for a desultory game of darts and a pint—it seemed like torture. More so, because I wouldn’t see her till Monday, if she ever came again.

Somehow I got through the weekend but for the first time in weeks, I was eager to get to the office on Monday. I’d watched all week, her and her different faces, and now here I was. I was going to do it. Today. I couldn’t contain my impatience as I waited for five to five, and snapped at everyone. Even the bank manager when he rang. While I waited, and pretended I was doing something constructive, I ran words through my head. What could I say to her? Or more particularly, what could I say without sounding like I needed a shrink?

By the time it got to half four, I’d drunk all the coffee in the place and was seriously considering taking up smoking. My hands were shaking so badly, they looked blurred and I still hadn’t worked out what to say. Did I mention I’m hopeless at talking to women, about anything? I am, utterly hopeless. My throat freezes up, my ears burn and I start to stammer like an idiot. That secretary I had to let go? Male. I get the lads in the yard to deal with all the female customers, and they’re quite happy to. Everyone tells me I should talk to women as friends, not aliens. But the last time I got together with my mates, we spent several hours arguing which was cooler, Klingon Bird of Prey or Millennium Falcon? Try that once or twice with a girl, stammer it out and watch the way their eyes glaze over, you soon learn to stop.

This time, I was going to do it. No way I could get through another weekend without the thought I’d at least tried to talk to her. I decided to wait outside, so I wouldn’t miss her. Not that I could have done. When she came, she was tall and willowy, blonde bombshell style. Claudia Schiffer would have slid into insignificant plainness next to her. She came along the street, walking like she owned it with that little sway to her hips as though some great tune was bopping through her head. She stopped at the bench and now was my chance. Only my legs were jelly and my mind was utterly blank.

She curled a lock of her hair behind an ear and glanced up at my office window. A little frown marred her perfect forehead. Not because I wasn’t there, surely. She turned away and dug in her handbag for her mobile.

When the vibration started in my pocket I almost leapt out of my skin. Then the ringtone played out, only it wasn’t a ringtone I’d ever had on my phone. Every Little Thing She Does is Magic.

I fumbled my mobile out of my pocket and picked up, just as Sting was telling me about losing his nerve. You and me both mate.

‘Hello?’

Her voice was soft honey in my ear, somehow like I’d known it would be. ‘Hello, Jim.’

I almost dropped the phone again, but I was watching her as she walked away, her voice echoing in my ear as she turned and smiled. When I lifted the phone up again, she’d disconnected. I ran after her, a few hesitant steps, but then she reached the entrance to the tube and was lost in the usual end-of-day crush.

Commuters buffeted me and muttered under their breath as I stood like an idiot at the top of the steps. The phone went again. Same song, different line—Sting asking why he was alone—but it cut off before I could answer it.

Good question, Sting. Bloody good question. Why am I alone? I took what little courage I had and plunged down the steps after her. The concourse was packed, naturally. Heaving with commuters, with tourists returning to their hotels, flustered women with their kids off school for the holidays. Which line would she go on? District or Piccadilly? And which direction?

I looked down at the phone. Missed call. I pushed the button to return it, wondering if I’d manage to gather the nerve to speak when she answered. I knew which way she’d gone almost immediately. Sting’s voice echoed up the tunnel, resolving to call her up quite a lot indeed, which was odd because usually I couldn’t get my mobile to work for love nor money once I was in there.

The ticket office had a line by it, as always. It would take roughly a thousand years to get a ticket that way, and the machines were no better.

She picked up on the other end of the phone. ‘Are you coming then, Jim?’ Her voice in my ear galvanised me, crystallized everything inside to one hard lump of ‘screw it’. I had nothing to lose but my sanity.

I jumped the barrier, ignored the shouts behind and barrelled my way down the tunnel. I still couldn’t see her and by now she was all I could think of. Her soft, honey voice, the way she walked, wondering what she’d look like tomorrow. A warm rush of air greeted me at the bottom, the whoosh of a train arriving, the sudden throng of people pushing against me, getting off, trying to get home. Back to their normal little lives, their families, their dinner, the telly. Normal little lives that were still a billion times better than mine, because they had someone to share it with. A young couple got off, laughing together, and the way they looked at each other, the shine in their eyes, speared me.

I couldn’t see her anywhere but she had to be on the train—there was nowhere else for her to go. I squeezed on just before the doors shut and stared at my phone. It wouldn’t work down here, no way it could. I pushed the button anyway.

Far away, just on the edge of hearing, Sting was working up the nerve for a proposal, the good old-fashioned way. I shoved my way along the carriage with the odd ‘excuse me’, ‘dreadfully sorry’, ‘beg pardon’ and ignored the general swearing in my direction.

She was in the next carriage. Not blonde now but dark haired with alabaster skin, sloe eyes and a dimple where she smiled at me through the glass before she turned away. The crowd swallowed her whole.

I could stand here like an idiot with my nose pressed to the glass, let her slip away like all those other women, the ones I could never gather up the courage to talk to. Or I could open this door and the next and follow her. Speak to her. Possibly even kiss her.

I rattled the doors open one after the other and stepped through the gap. Some upright chap in a three piece suit looked down his nose at me like I was mad, but I ignored him and pushed past.

She wasn’t there. Last carriage on the train, the only way to go was out into the black tunnels of the underground. I pressed my forehead on the glass before I slumped to one of the half seats that do little more than prop you up while you stand. I took to the phone again, returned the call again. And again. Nothing but the slightly tinny sound from the earphones on girl opposite me. She looked at me quizzically, silently asking a question.

‘I—er, sorry.’ I could feel my ears blushing. ‘Did you see a lady come this way?’

She frowned and smiled at the same time, the way people do when they aren’t sure of a question. She was very pretty, not in a Claudia Schiffer way but more the sort of girl who everyone at school would have wanted to be with. A girl who could live right down my road. A comforting prettiness of a pert grin, blonde hair left sort of wild, blue eyes like cornflowers.

‘A lady?’ Her voice had a soft burr to it, somewhere north, the Highlands maybe, a voice soothed with honey.

‘Yes, she—I.’ The way she looked at me, the way she curled her hair behind her ear made my throat dry up. Was it her? The same woman? ‘Do you have a phone?’

‘No, I don’t like mobiles. Always interrupt me.’ She took her headphones off, and the strains of ‘Every Little Thing She Does is Magic’ drifted out. ‘Are you all right?’

I was staring at the headphones, listening to Sting. He was losing his nerve again. I pushed the button on my phone. ‘The number you are calling is no longer valid. Please hang up or try again.’

Sting was telling the story of a thousand rainy days. I was still staring at the headphones. The girl put her book on her lap and leaned forward. ‘Listen, are you sure you’re all right? I’ve got some water—.’

The book was A Geek’s Guide to Blake’s 7. ‘I’m fine, really. Thanks.’

‘You look a bit pale.’ She looked up at all the people in the carriage, stuffed together whether they liked it or not, silent and blank-eyed. ‘Amazes me you know, how the tube turns everyone’s brains off. I’ll be glad to get home.’

My silent fears were gripping me, much as they were Sting over the headphones. I suspect no one has been more surprised than me when I said, without the hint of a stammer or blush, ‘Where’s that then?’ I almost fell off the chair.

She tucked a curl of hair behind her ear and looked up at me with a dimpled smile. ‘Scotland. I’m only down to try to find a gallery for my stuff. Sorry, I expect you’re not interested. No one else is.’

‘What sort of stuff?’ Two sentences, no stammers. This could be a record. My face was hot, but it wasn’t nerves, not really. It was looking at the curve of her cheek when she smiled at me, her soft way of talking and the Highland burr to it. The fact that I was talking to her, she was talking to me. That I had a funny feeling about her, a magic little thrill in my stomach.

She sighed and I felt it as a tingle in my fingers. ‘I make furniture, you know from driftwood, windfalls, whatever I can find on the beach. Salvage as furniture art. I tried a few places, but they pretty much laughed at me.’

I saw her then—the girl from outside my office. She was a reflection in the blank glass of the train as we whooshed through the ground. Her face changed even as I watched—strawberry blonde, redhead, Asian girl, schoolmarm brunette, but they were all smiling. I blinked and she was gone.

The little blonde opposite was looking at me, a bit shy now. Wondering if I was going to laugh at her perhaps.

‘I know a place that might help you out. Mine, actually. Furniture art would fit right in.’ I straightened my shoulders. It was now or never. Sting would have been proud of me. ‘Do you want to go for a drink and we can talk about it?’

Her face lit up, and I forgot about the woman outside my office, all her different faces. This face in front of me was the one that mattered.

And even if my life before was bloody tragic, I had a really good feeling about this.

Julia Knight writes fantasy and historical romance and has novels with Samhain Publishing and Carina Press. When she isn't writing, she's dreaming about her next hero. More information can be found on her website.

Weekend In New England by Jill James

When I was told I needed to write a short story based on a song title I knew it would be a Barry Manilow song. I've loved his songs since I was a pre-teen and got a 45 record of Mandy for my birthday. Weekend in New England is such a poignant song and I love it.

Can Britt and Bethany find true love in a year of weekends in New England? When put between a rock and a hard place, will Britt follow his ambition or his heart?

Rated - Adult - for 18 years and older only.

Genre - Contemporary

Heat Level - Sensual

~~~~~~~~~~~

Weekend In New England

by Jill James

A beautiful drive back to New York City and Britt Mason couldn’t enjoy it as he did every month. His mind was crammed with thoughts of rocky beaches, warm water, and Bethany Wilson. Bethany and that last, ugly fight. It wasn’t supposed to end that way. He’d meant to call it off with class, instead they had yelled, argued, and Bethany had thrown a vase at his head.

He winced. Maybe he had deserved it. It wasn’t as if he didn’t let Bethany know she was his woman. His only one. She had been, totally, until a few weeks ago. Until he made the decision that changed everything.

Britt raked his fingers through his hair, sighed, and wondered how something so sweet could turn so bad. Just one year. Twelve months from amazing to appalling. It was such a short time to fall in love with the right girl, the right place, and so not the right time.

He stared at the traffic ahead. Great, a traffic jam. Concentrating on driving took his mind away from his troubles. Like why he was driving away from the woman he wanted, and driving back to the woman he was supposed to marry.

“Damn, I’ve become a lovesick ballad.” His fist pounded the steering wheel. He pushed the button and watched the window roll down beside him. Fresh, early autumn air flooded his Lexus. The headache stopped pulsating behind his eyeballs. Deep breaths of salt air mixed with honeysuckle filled his chest. Life had been so simple before his trip to Connecticut and St. Peter Island last fall.

* * * 

The sand sat toasty on his buried feet. The laughter of children came to him on the breeze from the ocean. It was perfection. Then, something whacked him in the back of the head. He turned to yell at the kids and fell into deep green eyes.

Britt gazed, dumbstruck, watching her pink, luscious lips move, and not hearing a word. She stopped talking and stared at him. He shook his head, the fog lifting as her hand touched his head.

“Are you all right?” Her fingers tangled in his hair.

No, he wasn’t all right. His heartbeat raced a million beats a minute and he couldn’t catch his breath. This girl, and she was a girl, barely out of her teens, had his brain befuddled and his emotions on overload, and all she’d done was touch him.

He reached up and removed her hand from his hair. An electric shock pulsated from his fingertips to his brain. She didn’t let go of his hand. She held on. Electricity flowed between them, to his heart, to his brain, to his groin.

“I’m Bethany Wilson. We’re sorry we hit you with the volleyball.” She turned slightly and indicated her friends, most with the same worried look on their faces hers wore.

Jeez, they made his thirty years seem like a hundred to their glowing, youthful faces. As if they had hit the senior citizen with the ball. He jumped up from the sand, somehow with his hand still attached to Bethany. 

“Care if I join in? I’m Britt Mason, by the way.”

Bethany smiled and her beautiful face turned drop-dead gorgeous. He gazed at her and wondered if love at first sight might actually exist. His heart skipped a couple of beats and raced to catch up. 

Once they joined in the volleyball game resumed, fast and furious. Britt found he was more than able to keep up with the young guys. He whispered a thank you to his weekly racquetball games with his buddy, Morgan, for the ability to look good today.

The last game wound to an end with his team the winners. Britt put his hands on his knees and caught his breath. He looked up at the silence of the beach. Most of the families with little ones had already left. Britt and the volleyball players were the only ones on the sand as twilight started and the sun continued to set over the bluff behind them. Goosebumps rose on his arms as if to announce the end of the day and the end of summer.

He started when someone touched his shoulder. Turning, he found Bethany at his side with his sweatshirt brought from his earlier spot on the beach. Her smile was like coming home. He reached for his shirt and found her arms around him and her lips grazing his. He sighed. It was so sweet. Her breath tart with a touch of spearmint, her lips slick with strawberry.

He jumped back as if he had touched a forbidden object. “I don’t need the police swooping down on me here.”

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Britt, how old do you think I am?”

He felt his face flush with embarrassment. “I’m hoping at least eighteen.”

Bethany’s glare disappeared as her smile grew, until she laughed aloud. “That is about the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. My twenty-eighth birthday is next month. Here I was all upset that thirty was around the corner and I’m about ready to be stuck on a shelf.”

His hand reached out and cupped her face. “You are definitely not destined for spinsterhood. Some man is going to be very lucky and scoop you up.” His lips found hers. The first kiss had been sweet. The second was anything but. His tongue caressed her lips, demanding entrance. She gasped and he took advantage. Their tongues dueled and slid against each other. Their moans swallowed by each other. His blood boiled and his flesh between his legs hardened. He ground them together, center to center. Her hands raked through his hair, pulling him closer to her.

“Britt. Bethany. We’re going to build a bonfire. Are you coming?”

Laughter pealed out from the gathering darkness. They both jumped back as if scalded. Britt groaned. What was he thinking? They weren’t teenagers. Bethany smiled and grabbed his hand, dragging him towards the others and the growing pile of driftwood. He pulled on his sweatshirt, wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and found a spot by the beginnings of a giant beach bonfire.

Two beers later, the bonfire warmed the sand and Britt. Bethany sat in front of him, her bottom pressed against his growing erection. Her hair smelled like strawberries and her body was soft and full. He groaned. Bethany wiggled in front of him with a laugh. The woman knew exactly what she was doing.

He wrapped his arms around her, her breasts cradled on top of his arms. Their weight sent his heart pulsating into overdrive. He waited to hear the zipper on his shorts pop. Bethany leaned back, her hair cascading over his chest. Her whispered words pushed him over the edge. “Do you want to go somewhere alone?”

He set his beer bottle into the sand, jumped up, and pulled Bethany up with him. Her laugh skittered across his mind like fingertips sliding down his flesh to his groin. She grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the fire into the dark beyond the reach of the flame’s glow.

It was cooler away from the fire, but Britt didn’t feel it. His skin was aglow with desire and want for the woman holding his hand. Just the touch of their fingers sent electric shock to his brain. There was a real chance he might expire all together at their lovemaking. But, what a way to go. He smiled.

Bethany stopped. Britt looked around. The moonlight shined on a secluded cove with sand, driftwood, and large rocks. She led him to the back of the cove, with the bluff on one side and the ocean far out across the sand in low tide.

Bethany reached up with long arms and pulled the rubber band from her hair. Long tresses of strawberry blonde hair fell to her hips and to the front playing peek-a-boo with her breasts, still covered in her turquoise bikini top. But, not for long. She reached behind, untied her top, and let it fall to the sand.

Britt licked his suddenly dry lips. Lush pink nipples peaked out of her strands of hair. They were hard and upright with the cool breeze from the sea. His hands itched to touch them, to see if they were as hard and ripe as they appeared.

She bent down and removed her shorts and bikini bottom. The fabric tossed to the sand with the rest of her clothing. Bethany straightened up and Britt saw her in all her naked glory. His breath left him in a rush.

Her long legs led to red-gold curls between her thighs. She was Venus rising from the sea. Suddenly, he didn’t feel worthy of this gift. He was only here for the weekend, on vacation. This would be a mad fling, nothing else. Could he do that to this beautiful woman? She seemed so pure, untouched.

Bethany laid back and reached out her hand to him. It was a wanton invitation he couldn’t resist. His clothes disappeared like magic. One moment they were on and the next he was kneeling beside her, his hands roaming her luscious body. Her skin against his fingertips as soft as he had imagined.

She smiled up at him, her body arching against his hands, and Britt knew he could conquer the world. Her lips parted on a sigh and he claimed them. They still tasted of strawberry as his lips slid along hers. Her tongue slid along his lips. He groaned. Their tongues touched, dueled, and thrust together. Britt’s breath came fast and hard. His heart skipped a couple of beats when Bethany’s hand wrapped around his erection. Her hand soft but sure, moving up and down the length of him.

His fingers trailed down her abdomen, along her thighs, and up to the red-gold curls at the center of her body. He found her hot and wet. Her musky scent carried over the scent of the sea breeze. His pulse quickened as his fingers entered her. The muscles clenched to hold his fingers inside her and his palm tight against her.

“Please,” she begged. Her fingers tightened on his flesh and pulled him over her. Her hand guided him to where his fingers still played. His hand retreated, allowing his erection entrance to her hot, wet, slick center.

He slid in, his fingers moving to her breasts. His fingertips, wet with her juices rubbed her nipples. They tightened and budded with his ministrations. He bent down and took her sweet, musky-scented nipples into his mouth.

Bethany’s body arched as the rhythm built. His mouth at her breasts and his flesh joined with her moving in sync. In and out, in concert with the tide on the beach just a few yards away. Her hands moved to his face, caressing his cheeks, tunneling into his hair, pulling him closer to her.

Her moans filled his ears as he groaned her name in husky passion. He bent down and seized her lips, their moans captured between them. She screamed in ecstasy and her nails dug into his back. The pain sweet as he reached the pinnacle and slid down the other side with a hoarse echo of her sweet cry of his name at her own peak.

Muscles clenched him deep inside her. She squeezed every drop of his pleasure. He collapsed and rolled to the side so he didn’t crush her. Bethany smiled, stretched, and cuddled next to him. The moon shined down on them as the crash of waves lulled him. His heartbeat slowed and he kissed Bethany, sleep rushed up to claim him.

* * *

The sun shined on his closed eyelids, the brightness piercing to his brain. Britt raised his hand to his face to shield his eyes. Something scratchy in his palm cut across his cheek. He peeled his eyes open to a blur and a business card in his hand. Bethany’s Bed and Breakfast in bold script flowed across the card. He jumped up.

Two things became instantly clear. Bethany was no longer by his side and he was as naked as the day he was born. He couldn’t do anything about the first problem, but looking up and seeing two little boys gawking at him had him rushing to fix the second. He yanked on his shorts, yelping as the zipper caught flesh. He grabbed his shirt and sweatshirt and slid his feet into his loafers.

It was an uphill battle as Britt struggled up the bluff as the day’s beachcombers were all trekking down. His anger at finding himself alone this morning added to his frustration. His heart pounded and his face grew hot and dripped sweat.

He slammed into his Lexus and ripped on the air conditioning. The soon cool air calmed his heated body and heated mood. He glanced at Bethany’s business card again. Her bed and breakfast was across St. Peter Island on St. Michael’s Bay.

He put the car in reverse, slid out of the parking slot, pushed the gearshift into drive, and peeled out of the parking lot. He was going to find Bethany and find out why she left him after a night of wonderful, fantastic, amazing sex with not even a kiss good-bye, just a card with her name. 

* * *

Bethany strode across the dining room to serve her guests. She blushed as every slide of her thighs brought back memories of last night. She tried thinking of anything but sand, sex, and Britt Mason. Her face burned with heated memories that had no business during work hours.

“Are you all right, dear?” The elderly Mrs. Kepler inquired, as Bethany slid the basket of muffins onto the table.

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“Because you look well-loved this morning, dear. It may be many years since Mr. Kepler passed. But I remember that glow very well.”

Her face was on fire. She didn’t think her face could get any hotter without combusting, and then Britt Mason walked into the dining room. Oh my God, just let her die now.

“Oh my, this must be the glow-maker.” Mrs. Kepler’s peppy little voice didn’t help.

Britt came over and touched her arm. A tingle shot all the way through her. She shivered as his deep blue eyes glared down at her. “Can we talk?” 

Bethany murmured an ‘excuse me’ to her guests and led Britt to the hallway and beyond to her office. She shut the door once they were inside and two seconds later found her back pressed up against the door, Britt’s lips sliding deliciously across hers.

She placed her hands on his chest and pushed his away. “I thought you wanted to talk?” She crossed her arms on her chest and put a safe distance between them.

His fingers raked through his salt and sand encrusted hair, grains of sand falling to his shoulders. “You left. Did I hurt you? Upset you?” The worry in his eyes struck her like a hurricane. This man really cared.

Bethany shook her head. “No, I’m fine.” She moved closer, her hand rose to caress his cheek. The stubble tickled her palm. “It was wonderful. But I have responsibilities. I have to be up at dawn to start breakfast for everyone.”

His hand covered hers on his cheek. “I want to see you today.”

She shook her head. “Not until after lunch. I don’t serve dinner, so in the afternoon I’m free.”

“I’ll be back.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and crushed her lips against him in a scorching kiss. “You better be.”

* * *

Britt shook his head, shocked to find himself in his car, the skyscrapers of the Manhattan skyline growing close in the coming twilight. He’d been so wrapped up in thoughts of Bethany, of holding her close, of being with her that first time he swore he still smelled ocean breezes, suntan lotion, and tasted salt strawberry lip gloss on his mouth.

Their story couldn’t be ending. It was just beginning. The first visit to St. Peter Island in September had started the magic between them. October found him at Bethany’s Bed and Breakfast for his getaway weekend. November and December had them huddled in front of a roaring fire watching a Nor’easter blustering against the plate glass window, the waves of St. Michael’s Bay crashing against the bluff. The vibrations carried all the way to Bethany’s Victorian and sent her into his willing arms. January, February, and March of this year had been the calmest, warmest in history. They’d walked the island from end to end with no one else in sight. April and May found him tied up with business at the ad agency but he’d burned up the cell phone minutes with calls to her every night, for hours at a time.

June and July were Bethany’s peak times at the Bed and Breakfast and they had to steal moments away to be together. August had seen a new level of closeness between them. They strolled Main Street of St. Peter Island, stopping to look at the new cakes in the bakery, rings at the jewelry store, and laughed at the new styles of wedding dresses in the window of Mrs. Hampton’s.

Parting Sunday morning had been tough; August at work had been tougher. Mr. Adkins called him into the corner office, the one with the view of the Brooklyn Bridge and the river. Britt barely sat down and Tom Adkins laid down how it was going to go.

“I want this to all be yours, Britt. Your’s and Heather’s. Marry my daughter and some day this office will be yours, along with the company.”

Thoughts of Bethany and the island whooshed past his brain. He couldn’t do it. Then, he scanned the office, the view, the thought of owning Adkins Agency. He couldn’t think, sitting here in a cushy chair, surrounded by mahogany and wealth.

He was torn in two. He loved Bethany, there was no doubt. But, when he was in the city things weren’t so clear. He was juggling one weekend a month against a lifetime of having it all. A wonderful fling, but a fling nonetheless against real life, his real life, here in New York and Fifth Avenue.

“Sir, I’m honored. I’ll need time to think about this great opportunity. A time to get to know Heather.”

“You have until next month. I will want to announce your engagement the first weekend of September. That’s all. Back to work, Mason.”

Britt trudged back to his office. His future unclear and his present a mess. At his office, he found his buddy, Morgan in a chair in front of Britt’s desk. Britt threw himself into his chair, gripped his hair, and moaned.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Morgan said.

“Adkins asked me to marry Heather.”

“Wow, hope a benefits package comes with that offer. I wouldn’t marry that woman for half of New York City.”

“He offered me the agency in the future.”

Morgan shook his head. “Yep, hard choice there. Glad it’s you, buddy and not me.”

Britt looked up. “Thanks a lot.”

Unfortunately, Morgan hadn’t been wrong. A few dinners at the Adkins mansion and he wanted to chuck it all and run away to the saneness of St. Peter Island and Bethany. He couldn’t do it. His career was everything to him, the Adkins Agency his whole life.
 

He wanted to call Bethany just to hear her voice, but that seemed so unfair. It was bad enough that he didn’t call her to let her know he wouldn’t be back to her island and to her. He let her messages go to voice mail. It hurt so much he deleted them without listening.

Any other time the dog days of August dragged in the city, but not slow enough this year for Britt. In a rush, August ended and September arrived with the beginning of fall in New York, with turning leaves and crisp mornings. With his and Heather’s engagement party.

The party was planned for Saturday at Bobby Flay’s restaurant. Big man Adkins had rented the whole place for his little girl. Britt wanted to throw up. He couldn’t do this. Not without a face-to-face good-bye to Bethany. He owed her that.

He left work, grabbed his car from the lot, and once out of the city, raced to Connecticut. He caught the last ferry of the day, arriving at St. Peter Island long after nightfall. A night clerk checked him into the Bed and Breakfast. He tiptoed to his room, praying Bethany wouldn’t spot him. He couldn’t do this in the middle of the night.

“Britt.”

Her husky tones pierced right through him. She rushed from a table full of guests and filled his arms. She smelled of breakfast and her own personal strawberry scent. Her red-gold hair spilled over her shoulders and tickled his arms.

Holding her, feeling her, felt so right, why was it so wrong?

He held her out at arm’s length. “Let me help with breakfast. Then we need to talk.

Her deep, green gaze eyed him, her brow furrowed and her smile disappeared. She glanced at him under long lashes as they moved around the dining room and back and forth to the kitchen.

All too soon, breakfast was done, the guests were gone, and the dishes were all cleaned and put away. Bethany threw the dishtowel over the edge of the sink, folded her arms across her chest, and sighed.

“You could have said good-bye over the phone. I would have understood. It would have been better than seeing you again.”

He walked toward her and stopped at her upraised hand in a firm stop motion. “I wanted to tell you good-bye in person. I owed you that. I owed us that.”

“Why?”

He swallowed. This was more complicated than it had seemed back in the city. “This year with you has been . . . unbelievable. But I’m getting married. The engagement party is tonight.”

“What?” Tears filled her eyes and rolled down her bone-white face. His heart broke to see her this way.

“I didn’t know about it last month when I was here. I swear. It happened when I got back to work. It’s the boss’s daughter.”

Bethany started laughing. A pitiful little laugh, full of anguish. “Do you love her?”

He stared at the woman he loved. “Of course not.”

She hiccupped as she laughed and cried at the same time. “Of course not! Get out of here. I hope I never lay eyes on you again.” She picked up a vase and launched it at him.

Britt ducked as the vase sailed over his head and shattered against the wall, shards of glass raining down on the wood floor. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he went to leave.

“Not as sorry as you’re going to be if you don’t leave right now.”

* * *

Just like that, his life was full-circle. He was putting his car in the lot as darkness fell. Headed to propose to one woman, leaving the one he loved behind.

Britt walked up to the restaurant, still dressed in his khakis and tee shirt. Mr. Adkins stood outside the door, probably making sure he showed. The man sneered, his nose wrinkled at Britt’s appearance. Too bad. They could take him as he was.

The door opened and Heather appeared. His heart didn’t skip. His breath didn’t hitch. He felt nothing for this woman

She opened her mouth, no doubt to screech at him and his appearance. Suddenly, everything was clear. His and Bethany’s story hadn’t ended, it was just beginning. While he’d been running like a rat in a maze, he now saw everything. His ambition was as bad as Mr. Adkins and Heather, buying a husband. And he had been willing to be bought.

He smiled. “Heather, I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I’m not.” He turned. “Mr. Adkins, I quit.”

Before either of them could say anything, Britt rushed across the street, down the block, and got his car back out of the lot.

Midnight tolled on the clock tower dockside of the St. Peter Island ferry as Britt pulled up to the landing. The ferry sat dark and closed for the night. He looked across the water to the few twinkling lights still on at this hour on the island.

He shut off the car, got out, and ran to the ferryman’s house. He banged and rang the bell. Finally, a light came on, along with a gruff ‘who is it?’

“It’s Britt Mason,” he shouted through the door. “I have to get to the island.”

The old man opened the door. “Young man, the last ferry was hours ago. Just pop a squat. First ferry is 6 a.m.”

“I can’t wait,” Britt pleaded. “I have to get to Bethany. I have to let her know I was wrong.”

“Wrong about what, exactly?”

“I was wrong to leave her.”

The man sighed. “Okay. Bethany is a good girl. She deserves some happiness. But, you better not break her heart.”

Britt cringed. “I already did. I’m back to fix it.”

The ferry ride passed in silence as the man took him and his car across the water to the island. Britt tried to tip him an extra $100 bill, but he refused, muttering about true love and all that.

At the Bed and Breakfast, Britt started to rush up to the door but a flash of pale pink blew in the wind on the bluff. He would know that nightgown anywhere. Bethany sat huddled on the edge of the cliff, her gown and hair blowing in the sea breeze.

He rushed to her side. “Bethany."

 * * *

Bethany rubbed the tears from her cheeks at the sound of Britt’s voice in the wind. She turned her face to find him kneeling at her side. She hardened her heart at the sight of him. He’d hurt her once, was he back to finish the job?

“What are you doing here?”

“Following my heart. Sitting here beside the only woman I ever want in my life.”

“You were leaving to get married.” She hated the hitch in her voice.

“The most stupid thing I’ve ever done. Ambition is nothing. A job is nothing. Not when it makes you hurt the person you love.”

“You love me?”

His arms surrounded her, gathered her close. His warmth transferred to her chilled body. “Always and forever.”

The End

~~~~~~~~~~

Jill James is a debut author with her first book, Tempting Adam, available now from The Wild Rose Press and Amazon.com  

Her website is http://www.jilljameswrites.com/

Into the Ocean by Missy Jane

I'm a big fan of music in general and have an eclectic taste depending on my mood. So, when I was approached with the idea to write a story based on a song title I jumped at the chance. What is more inspiring than music? Few things come to mind, but many songs popped into my head as I considered the story. I was born and raised in Texas and knew right off that I wanted to promote a Texas band. When my characters started talking to me (unbidden as usual), I knew this was the song I had to use. It's a song of loss and love, but I found it inspiring for me and my characters. I hope you enjoy the song and the story. Be sure to leave a comment at the end to possibly win the prize in the final photo.

 

Is it truly better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? Nerina has loved Kegan from afar for years, waiting patiently as he mourns a lost love. The time has come for her to decide of he is worth the wait or of his heart was lost at sea.

 

Rated - Adult - for 18 years and older only.  
Genre - Contemporary  
Heat Level - Sensual 

 

********** 

Into the Ocean

by Missy Jane

Nerina watched Kegan enter the room like he owned it, confidence in every step as his masculine swagger carried him towards her. She steeled her spine and pushed her shoulders back, raising her chin as she assessed him from head to toe. He was in that damn gray t-shirt again. She rolled her eyes and tried to keep the annoyance from her face. But really, tonight of all nights? She understood his attachment to the worn gray shirt, the white letters so faded only his closest friends knew they spelled Galveston. She'd never deny him the reminder of what he'd had, except it was holding him back so securely from what could be.

His strong, long legs were encased in well-worn blue jeans and he had on black military-style boots. He created a tough image, standing six-four in said boots with his broad shouldered build. Most men stepped out of the way when they saw him coming, some women too. But Nerina never had. She'd taken one look at him when they were teenagers and fallen helplessly in awe. Once her heart became irrevocably his, she was at loose ends, unable to move forward even as he continued to look back. But two years had passed in heartbeats and she was tired of sitting in limbo. Tonight she would lay it all out for him and deal with the consequences. She would either lose a great friend or gain a lover. Both prospects terrified her. 

He reached her side and flashed his knee-melting grin. Thank god she was already sitting down. Playing nonchalant with him was always a challenge but she was feeling very vulnerable tonight.

"Hey, beautiful. What's got such a serious look on your face?"

His deep voice sent a shiver up her spine and she rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms. The sleeveless silk blouse had seemed like such a good idea this afternoon when the thermostat read eighty. However, in true south-Texas fashion the temperature had dropped with little notice and was now a cool sixty-eight outside. She'd been sitting by the door waiting for him, but now that he was here the rest of the room was too full to move. 

She looked around with a shrug.

"I have a lot on my mind, Kegan. I wanted to talk to you but the party started early and you're a little late."

It was the only admonishment she'd give him. Not that it mattered. His world ran on Kegan time, as all of his friends knew by now.

His confident grin melted into serious regret and he stepped closer. She hated when his heat warmed her skin, giving her a hint of what she was missing every night in her lonely bed.

He placed his large palms over her smaller hands and moved them up and down in unison. Now she shivered for a different reason as her body instantly warmed.

"I'm sorry I'm late, honey. I had to find the perfect gift to give the perfect gal. It was a hell of a lot harder than I'd expected."

She rolled her eyes again but smiled to ease his mind. She was upset but didn't think it would matter much to him anyway. No use getting worked up.  

"No problem."

Anger flashed across his face so briefly she might have imagined it. He tightened his grip on her arms and gently pulled her from the bar stool she'd been perched on the past hour. She allowed it, more curious than concerned as he pulled her against him and turned her toward the back of the house. It was crowded with her friends and co-workers, who parted like the Red Sea as Kegan navigated his way through them. She smiled and spoke briefly to who she could as they passed, but no one seemed to find it odd that he had her in his grasp as they headed for her bedroom.

His muscular chest pressed against her back and she wanted to melt into his arms. Being strong was a lot harder than she'd thought it would be. How could she say goodbye to him? She would be ripping half of her heart from her chest, but it had been waiting in vain for too long.

They finally reached her room and went inside. She walked to her dresser and looked down at the picture of them at the lake from three months ago. That was the weekend she'd decided to end this farce. He'd seemed so happy until someone had mentioned Angela. Then the rest of the time he'd been distant. 

The lock clicked into place behind her and she spun on her heel to face him. He was leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. She ran her gaze across his biceps, wishing that strength still surrounded her. He was always quick to hug her, but then just as quick to let her go. She didn't want to go.

"All right, now that we're alone, tell me what you wanted to talk to me about."

This was it. The time had finally come and real fear snaked up her spine. Could she really do this? Could she really give him her ultimatum and face the consequences of his choice? Tears burned the back of her throat as she realized she had to. It was now or never and she may as well get it over with. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, opening her mouth to speak, but then he raised a hand to stop her.

"Wait. With the look you have on your face, I think maybe I need to go first."

She closed her mouth and frowned at him, but he just uncrossed his arms and ran his hands through his thick, black hair.

"Kegan—”

“Nerina, honey, let me talk. I always let you do all the talking while I just smile and nod. I know I’ve been an ass for months and you’ve put up with it. Now I need to talk.”

She refused to let hope fill her. Damn near anything could fly out of his mouth with that introduction. With a huff of annoyance she walked over to her bed and sat down. Her feet were killing her. She kicked off her heels without a thought and looked up to find him grinning at her.

"What?"

"You have such dainty feet. I've always thought they look so feminine."

Her face heated at the odd compliment and she crossed her ankles as if that could hide the objects of his inspection. His grin widened as he if he knew what she was doing and she frowned again.

"So, what do you have to say?" she asked.

His grin faded and he closed the distance to the bed. She fought the urge to squirm when he sat down on the floor. He pulled her feet onto his lap and ran his hands up and down her calves.

"I've missed you, Nerina."

"I haven't been away."

"Not physically, but ever since we left Lake Conroe there's been distance between us. I don't like it, honey. I know its my fault but I don't know how to fix it. Tell me what I need to do."

It was hard to think with his hands on her legs. Even with the thin stocking separating their skin, she felt a jolt from his touch. Her modest skirt fell below her knees even while she was sitting, but his hands didn't stop at the hem. He ran his fingers up to her knees, tickling the backs ever so slightly until she wanted to scream.

"K-Kegan, stop that."

"Stop what?"

Any other time she would've laughed at the innocent expression on his face, but not tonight.

"Stop...touching me."

She pulled her feet away and stood, pacing across the room to ease her agitation. 

“I like touching you.”

She huffed out a breath and continued to pace. “Sure you do.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

She stopped walking and turned to face him, setting her hands on her hips. 

“Why do you think there’s been distance, Kegan?”

He frowned in thought, and twisted around to lean against the bed and face her. 

“Luke said I’m being an ass and Mark agreed. When I asked them to elaborate they clammed up. Are you going to enlighten me or is everyone just going to continue watching me be an ass and then get pissy with me for it later?”

He was getting angry. She could hear it in his voice. This conversation wasn’t going exactly as planned and now he was on the defensive. She considered dropping it and saying something lighthearted to ease his mind, but she just couldn’t do it anymore. 

“I’ve been offered a really good job in Austin.”

His head snapped up from where he’d been studying his boots, and shock radiated from him. He shook his head, then jumped to his feet and closed the distance between them.  “Are you going to take it?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Don’t.”

“Kegan—”

He grasped her face in both hands and kissed her suddenly. She placed her hands on his but made no attempt to stop him, just held on for dear life as shock filled her. It wasn’t a chaste or quick kiss. He took his time, nibbling on her lips until she opened for him, then he plunged his tongue in deep. She moaned and leaned her body into his, reveling in the sensation of him against her.

“I don’t want you to go,” he panted between kisses.

He made an erotic trail from her lips down to her throat. She let her head fall back to give him full access, and he wrapped an arm around her to keep her steady.

“Say you’ll stay with me,” he whispered.

“Say you want me to,” she whispered back.

He stopped kissing her and looked into her eyes. “Can’t you tell?”

She sighed, and pulled away from him. He seemed reluctant to let her go but she persisted.

“Will her ghost always be between us? Will you be able to dedicate yourself to me without her getting in the way?”

His expression closed down and he took a step back, widening the gap between them in more ways than one.  “What are you talking about?”

“Kegan, you know what I’m talking about. Things are always good with us until someone mentions Angela. Then you shut down and I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall. I know you miss her, and I don’t blame you for that, but it’s been two years.”

He turned away and paced the length of her bedroom. She watched his strong back and silently cursed fate. 

“Sometimes I wonder if you look at me and wish I was her. I wonder if you wish I’d been the one in the water instead.”

He immediately spun around and came to her, grabbing her arms and pulling her against his chest.  “That’s not true. I’ve never…never, felt that way about you. What Angela did, she did to herself. It had nothing to do with you.”

Tears burned the back of her throat. Guilt ached like a knife in her chest and she almost couldn’t get the next words out.

“Sh-she told me.”

He frowned and loosened his grip slightly. “Told you what?”

“She told me she wanted to die. She said she had been thinking about killing herself and I tried to talk her out of it.”

“Did you know she was going out on the boat that night?”

“No. We’d been up all night, drinking wine and talking about stuff. I passed out and when I woke she was gone.”

He continued to look into her eyes a heartbeat longer, then pulled her fully into his arms.

“Oh, honey, it’s not your fault anymore than it’s mine. We were closest to her and couldn’t stop her from leaving us. It was her choice.”

Nerina sobbed against his chest, releasing the guilt and pain she’d been holding the past two years. He rubbed her back and let her cry, holding her up when her knees weakened. After what felt like an eternity, there was a sharp knock on the door.

“Shit, I guess they finally noticed we’ve been missing,” he said.

She sighed and moved out of his arms, turning away to wipe her face with her hands. Kegan opened the door and had a quiet conversation with Mark, then closed and locked the door again.

“Hey, birthday girl, the party is winding down. Mark and Luke are herding out the stragglers. They’ll lock up behind them here in a few minutes.” She nodded but kept her back to him. “You haven’t opened your presents.”

A sigh escaped as she realized what a terrible hostess she had been. The first part of the night had been spent sitting by the door waiting for Kegan to arrive. The second part had been spent holed up in her room with him. She would have many apologies to make tomorrow.

“I’ll do it later,” she mumbled.

“Not mine you won’t. Come on.”

He took her by the arm and dragged her out of her room. True to their word, Mark and Luke had gotten everyone out the door and locked up. A few beer bottles and empty plates strewn around the house proved a party had taken place but it was over now. She was officially twenty-five.

Kegan led her to a table shoved in one corner of the living room where colorful bags and packages were displayed. Her birthday gifts. There were about a dozen in various shapes and sizes, and he took the smallest one from the pile.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d had a hard time getting your gift. I wanted something unique and beautiful, like you. That was damn near impossible. So, I settled for something important instead.”

He handed her a flat, rectangular purple box. She untied the bow holding it closed and opened it warily. It was the type that typically held expensive jewelry but there was only paper inside. “What’s this?”

“Read it.”

She took the paper out and realized it was a computer print out of an itinerary.

“I don’t understand.”

“He took the box and paper from her hand and set them on the table, then pulled her into his arms again.

“We’re going on a trip.”

“Where?”

His slight hesitation made her wary. “Galveston.”

She sighed and tried to pull away but he tightened his grip.

“No, wait. Listen to me, Nerina.”

“I don’t want to go there ever again.”

“Me either, but that’s why we should.”

She stopped struggling but kept her face averted, stubbornly refusing to face him.  “I don’t want to.”

He huffed out a breath and pressed his mouth to her cheek. “We’re going to say goodbye, honey. I’m going to rip this shirt into little pieces and toss it into the gulf. Then we’ll say goodbye to her once and for all, and start fresh.”

She finally faced him, almost afraid to hope. “We?”

“Yeah, you and I. I’m not letting you go without a fight, honey, and if Angela’s ghost is what’s getting between us then it’s time to do something about it.”

Hope was slow to come as she considered the past few months of trying to hold on to it. But this was the first time he’d mentioned saying goodbye to Angela, and he was even willing to get rid of the gray shirt. That had to count for something.

“Okay,” she finally said.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Let’s do it. When are we going?”

He smiled and kissed her lightly. “You’re off tomorrow, right?”

*****

Kegan watched the waves lap against the seawall and inhaled a deep breath of salty air. He’d missed this the past few months, but the pain of returning wasn’t nearly as acute as he had feared. Nerina’s hand in his gave him strength and reminded him that he had too much in his future to keep living in the past. He had loved Angela but she had needed something he couldn’t give. What that was, none of their circle of friends had been able to find out, and now she was gone. 

He’d made Nerina wait on him for way too long. The knowledge that he’d come close to losing her terrified him. Austin wasn’t that far away, but she would’ve started a whole new life there. She would’ve met another man that wasn’t being held back by a ghost. The fact that losing her was so much more painful than this goodbye only solidified his decision. It was time to start fresh.

They left the seawall and walked the beach all afternoon, then returned to the hotel for dinner. Nerina had been quiet most of the day and it worried him, but he knew she would open up when she was ready. As they took the elevator up to their room she finally voiced her thoughts.

“You only reserved one room.”

He smiled to himself. “Yes.”

“So…we’re both sleeping in one bed?”

“Yes.”

Agitation radiated from her in waves and he nearly laughed. This was what they both wanted and he knew it. They had waited long enough. They reached their floor and she remained silent as they entered the room. He picked up the remote and turned the TV on while she set down her purse and removed her jewelry.

“Oh, I love that song.”

Her admission brought his attention to the channel he had stopped on, where the video for Into the Ocean by Blue October was playing.

“Yeah?” he asked. “It’s kind of depressing isn’t it?”

She shrugged and kicked off her sandals. “It’s like a sad love song, I guess.”

He listened more closely to the words and set the remote on the nightstand.

“Sounds like it’s about surrendering your heart,” he said.

She shrugged again and watched him warily as he approached.

“Are you willing to do that, Nerina?”

“Surrender my heart to you?” He nodded. “I already have.”

Pleasant surprise filled him at her easy admission and grew into shock as she pulled her shirt over her head. He remained frozen in place as she unzipped her shorts and let them fall to her feet, then stepped from the puddle to stand inches away.

“Are you willing, Kegan?”

For a moment he thought she meant to get naked, but luckily he realized his mistake before answering. He pulled his shirt off and wrapped his arms around her waist, looking into her curious gaze.

“I’m more than willing, honey, I’m eager. I know I can trust you to hold my heart and care for it like I need. Just as I’m willing and able to do the same for you.”

Her amusement melted away and moisture filled her gaze. He kissed her before she could say anything else. It was a few minutes before he could think clearly again. The sweet taste of her mouth drowned him in sensation and he was reluctant to stop. Once he did, he lifted her into his arms and took her to the bed. He placed her in the center and hovered over her on hands and knees, just watching her wait for his touch.

“You are so perfect,” he whispered.

She smiled and ran her hands over his chest. “So are you.”

He grinned and looked at her black lace bra and panties. “I love you in black lace, honey, but I think I’ll love you even more out of it.”

She laughed breathlessly and unhooked the front clasp of her bra. He held his breath as her amazing breasts were slowly revealed to his starving eyes. He'd had fantasies about those breasts.

“Perfect,” he whispered.

As soon as her bra was out of his way, he bent his head and ran his tongue across one of her light brown nipples. She gasped and plunged her hands into his hair, holding him in place. 

“Kegan…”

He had a thorough tasting of first one, then the other, before licking a path down her stomach. He nibbled on her navel, making her laugh and push on his head, before traveling further south. Her panties stopped his progress but he didn’t mind the interruption. He left the bed long enough to strip off the rest of his clothes and get a condom from his bag.

“Kegan?”

“Just a minute, honey, I don’t want to forget this.”

She smiled as he dropped the foil packet beside her and rejoined her on the bed.

“Now…where was I?”

She laughed again as he ran a fingertip beneath the top of her panties. He pulled them down slowly to reveal the prize beneath. His heart nearly stopped when he saw she was shaved bare.

“Damn. I’m going to die of pleasure just from looking at you.”

She shivered as he ran his fingers between her legs. He urged her thighs apart and took a moment to just stare.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Just looking at paradise, honey.” She laughed and rolled onto her side to face him. “Hey.”

“Hey nothing. Do you know how long I’ve waited for you to touch me? Let’s get this show on the road, cowboy. You can explore later.”

He barked out a laugh as she pushed on his shoulders until he lay flat on his back. Then she straddled him and picked up the condom.

“Honey, wait—”

“I don’t think so.”

She ripped open the package and made short work of covering his erection. 

“But you’re not ready.”

“Are you kidding?”

“I mean…”

She laughed and moved up to rub herself against him. Moisture glistened on his covered cock, telling him she was definitely ready.

“I know what you mean, but trust me…I’m ready.”

His body was telling him to shut up and let her do as she would, but his heart was still unsure. He grasped her hips to slow her ministrations as she continued to thrust against him.

“Nerina…”

“Kegan, if you stop me, I swear I’ll…punch you in the mouth.”

He laughed and his hold loosened. She grasped his cock in one small fist, abruptly ending his amusement. He moaned as she began to stroke him.  “All right, honey. Go for it.”

Her face brightened with his permission and he promised himself he would do whatever it took to always get that smile from her. Then she placed his erection at her entrance and slowly sank down. All coherent thought flew from his head as sensation took over. Tight, warm pleasure filled his mind and he groaned in surrender.

She set her hands on his shoulders and moved against him slowly. He let her set the pace as their bodies became acquainted. Her soft skin warmed his hands and he filled them with her breasts. She moaned as he teased her nipples before wrapping his arms around her and pulling against his chest.

“I can’t…move…like this,” she panted.

He thrust his hips upward to show he could continue their movement and held her head for his kiss. She let him control their pleasure for a little while, but soon took over again. She kissed him one last time before sitting up to increase their tempo. He let her ride his cock and watched pleasure wash over her face. She was glorious, with a light sheen of sweat beading on her tanned skin. Her dark brown hair fell in waves to her waist, brushing his thighs when she threw her head back. 

He grasped her hips and increased the tempo yet again, urging her to climax. Her fingertips dug into his chest and she closed her eyes. He knew she was close. He slipped a hand between them and found her hardened clitoris, rubbing it with his thumb. She cried out as an intense orgasm washed over her, clenching her feminine muscles. He gasped when the grip on his cock tightened and in the next heartbeat joined her in ecstasy. 

He held her against his chest and listened to her breathing slow to normal. This was what had been missing in his life. He’d needed to hold her, to love her and know that she loved him. She hadn’t said it but it had been in her gaze, in her voice and in every touch they had shared for months. He would be forever grateful that he’d realized it before it was too late.

She stirred against him and he tightened his hold. He didn’t want to relinquish her warmth just yet.

“We should shower,” she mumbled.

He chuckled. “Yeah, probably.”

“Do I have to get up or will you carry me?”

“I’ll carry you, honey, but I want to tell you something first.”

“What?”

“Thank you.”

She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. “For the sex?”

He chuckled again and shook his head. “The sex was amazing, but that’s not what I’m thanking you for.”

“Then what?”

“Not giving up on me. You know, the more I think about that song we were listening to earlier, the more I realize just how lost I was. I kind of felt like that, you know? Like I just wanted to float away because no matter how hard I swam I couldn’t make it to shore. But even on my darkest days you were always the beacon that brought me back.”

She sniffed and placed a kiss on his chin. “I’m glad I could. You’re welcome.”

He smiled. “I love you, Nerina.”

Surprise lit her gaze before a small smile brightened her face. 

“I love you too, Kegan.”

“I know, honey, and I’ll be forever grateful that you do.”

He kissed her thoroughly before carrying her to the shower.

**********

Ms. Missy Jane is a native Texan, mother of four and wife of fifteen years. Her most recent release is an erotic short story available through Ellora's cave, titled Educating Macey.

Sex has taken a backseat on my priorities list for a while now—being a single mother never allowed me the chance to dwell on it. But then my daughter grew up and Max moved in next door. Just seeing his sexy-as-hell body and hearing the way he growls my full name, Macey Lane, gets me all hot and bothered. I am not a woman of experience, but Max is more than willing to teach me. His lesson plans may be too delicious to pass on, but is hot sex worth the risk of becoming another of his conquests?

Read an excerpt here: http://www.jasminejade.com/productspecs/9781419932236.htm

 

-Missy Jane

*Make reading a guilty pleasure...*

www.msmissyjane.com

 

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