Category Archives: Want to read
RELEASE BLITZ ~ Her Silver Fox by Koko Brown
Title: Her Silver Fox
Author: Koko Brown
Genre: Contemporary, Sensual, Interracial
With running the family business and taking care of her old man, Shoshana Haufman’s life is complicated enough without adding a man to the mix. All of that changes when her newest client, Patrick Kelly, waltzes into her show room looking to purchase a bespoke suit. Tall, prematurely gray, and handsome poured in a three-piece is the personification of the quintessential silver fox, pushing all of Shoshana’s buttons.
Lust as first sight is the order of the day, the chemistry is undeniable. And despite her initial reservations, Shoshana breaks her cardinal rule: never have sex with a client.
Equally affected, Patrick breaks his cardinal rule: never allow a woman to get the best of you.
Once he’s had a taste, Patrick isn’t willing to settle for just a brief fling. It’s either all or nothing. And he doesn’t lose. After all, everything he has he’s worked damn hard for it. So what could be so difficult about a mere woman who barely reaches his chest?
That ‘mere woman’ quickly begins to resemble a concrete wall.
Shoshana Haufman’s equally stubborn. She doesn’t do relationships. Her life is planned out and orderly. Her employees depend on her for their livelihood and her father with his diminishing health is sending her to an early grave or a bed at Bellevue Hospital. Adding a man–even a sexy, silver fox– is just way too complicated.
Not willing to be a client with benefits, Patrick sets out to crack this five foot anomaly in four-inch heels. She’s unlike any woman he’s been with. She’s not clingy, she doesn’t leave stuff behind to precipitate another meeting and she’s more than complete without him.
Instead of figuring out how to convince her to be in his world, he finds that sacrifices have to be made on his end. Throw in some sweaty sex, frozen yogurt and a heavy dose of trust, this silver fox has found the perfect remedy to make this master tailor realize it takes courage to love and to be loved, and that the love given to you is an amazing sacrifice.
HER SILVER FOX! (18+ read)
She touched her lips against his. Liking it, he growled into her mouth, and it reverberated inside her, heightening her own desire and she realized that the tea room was just as good as her bed upstairs. He’d lock the doors and none of her employees—even on the threat of death–would disrupt them.
Panting, her breasts swelling, she pushed her fingers into his hair. Handsome, charming and wicked, he would truly complicate things. Then why didn’t she get her butt off this table and send him on his way? Common sense told her she should. Unfortunately, it stopped working in concert with her traitorous body the moment he walked in the room. She fisted his silky and tugged.
She waited for his eyes to meet hers. “Is this going to be a mistake?”
He pulled back slightly, those beautiful baby blues drifted over her then came to settle on her lips.
“You don’t look like a mistake. You look like something I did right for a change.” His voice was husky, his bright eyes even brighter.
“And I will follow your lead. Whatever you want I want, like….”
His hands slid upward over her waist to her rib cage. His thumbs stroked the underside of her breasts.
“Do you want me to touch you here?”
“Yes,” she confessed, pushing toward him. He pressed the pad of his thumbs flat against her nipples and began to massage slowly. All sensation focused in her core.
“Do you want more?” he asked, teasing the hardening peaks.
“Yes,” she breathed, lifting up she sealed her mouth over his.
This was desire, hot blistering desire. Nothing else mattered. If she had any doubts before, they evaporated like rain on hot asphalt and she knew in that moment, she was his and she needed to be closer…
Well acquainted with the workings of a man’s wardrobe, Shoshana slipped her index finger into his tie loop. One gentle tug, the black silk unraveled in her hand. With a playful twist of her wrist, she dropped it onto the conference table behind her.
Her approach to undressing him would’ve followed in the same teasing manner, removing each garment one piece at a time.
He had other ideas.
“Want to see all of you.”
He swatted her hands out the way, and then proceeded to attack the buttons running down the front of her jumpsuit. He also took control of their kiss. He deepened it, his mouth moving over her with a delicious aggressiveness that had her head swimming.
He worked hurriedly, stopping occasionally to nibble at the crook of her neck, lick her clavicle and bite a bare shoulder. When the top of her garment gaped, exposing her black bra, he tugged until it lay pooled at her waist.
Koko Brown is a quintessential romance junkie, who once read over two hundred Zebra Club novels the summer before her senior year. Bitten by the writing bug at the age of nine, Koko self-published and distributed a newspaper to her fellow classmates. Not liking outside competition, her principal put her out of business after one best-selling issue.
Undaunted, Koko continued to write and read everything she could get her hands on. She honed her writing skills as a staff writer for her college’s newspaper and even wrote obituaries for the local newspaper. One day while daydreaming in bed Koko came up with the idea for her first erotic manuscript. In two short weeks, she fleshed out the story, cleaned it up and then sent it to Ellora’s Cave. Three months later, she signed a contract for her vampire novel, Charmed.
Koko lives in the great Sunshine State. She loves to travel and shop in thrift stores. Keep up with new releases by signing up for her quarterly eNewsletter:
Undaunted, Koko continued to write and read everything she could get her hands on. She honed her writing skills as a staff writer for her college’s newspaper and even wrote obituaries for the local newspaper. One day while daydreaming in bed Koko came up with the idea for her first erotic manuscript. In two short weeks, she fleshed out the story, cleaned it up and then sent it to Ellora’s Cave. Three months later, she signed a contract for her vampire novel, Charmed.
Koko lives in the great Sunshine State. She loves to travel and shop in thrift stores. Keep up with new releases by signing up for her quarterly eNewsletter:
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NEW RELEASE ~ Bear With Me by Jenika Snow
BRITTIN
When my brother and his problems had me coming back to Stales, my hometown, I was scared not just for my twin’s health, but also because I knew I’d run into Law, my bear-shifting ex and the sheriff of Stales.
Our breakup hadn’t been grisly, but after nearly two years, the thought of seeing him again had everything tightening in me because … I still loved him.
But that was the past, and I knew I had to move on, right?
LAW
Brittin was the only woman I would ever love. She was it for me, even if she broke it off because of my domineering ways. I screwed up when I lost her, and I spent the next two years regretting it. But she’d wanted space, and when she left for the city, I let her.
But now she’s back, and it’s my chance to show her I can give her everything she wants. It’s my chance to show her I can be the man she deserves.
I just hope I haven’t let too much time pass, because not having Brittin in my life is a fate worse than death.
Warning: This short story features a growly bear shifter, and a stubborn heroine. Bear With Me was previously published under the title “Yes, Sir” and was included in the Cuffed and Claimed anthology. It has since been revised and re-edited, but the story itself is the same.
When my brother and his problems had me coming back to Stales, my hometown, I was scared not just for my twin’s health, but also because I knew I’d run into Law, my bear-shifting ex and the sheriff of Stales.
Our breakup hadn’t been grisly, but after nearly two years, the thought of seeing him again had everything tightening in me because … I still loved him.
But that was the past, and I knew I had to move on, right?
LAW
Brittin was the only woman I would ever love. She was it for me, even if she broke it off because of my domineering ways. I screwed up when I lost her, and I spent the next two years regretting it. But she’d wanted space, and when she left for the city, I let her.
But now she’s back, and it’s my chance to show her I can give her everything she wants. It’s my chance to show her I can be the man she deserves.
I just hope I haven’t let too much time pass, because not having Brittin in my life is a fate worse than death.
Warning: This short story features a growly bear shifter, and a stubborn heroine. Bear With Me was previously published under the title “Yes, Sir” and was included in the Cuffed and Claimed anthology. It has since been revised and re-edited, but the story itself is the same.
Law
My bear wanted out, wanted to claim our mate right now. But I told myself I needed to go slow. After all the shit we’d been through over the years, and the fact I’d let her walk away from my own arrogant, demanding attitude, I had to make things right. I had to show her that I knew I’d fucked up.
I had to show her even a bear could make love, could admit he was wrong.
But I liked the rough kind of sex, the kind that had my female submitting to me. And Brittin had been such a perfect submissive. I wasn’t into the whole BDSM scene, but the occasional spank, the random restraining … yeah, that got me off.
But only with Brittin.
I only wanted to do that with her. Only her.
“Tell me you want this,” I growled against the side of her throat. I just stood there with her pressed against the wall, my body pinning her, making her submit to me. “Tell me, Brittin.” I ground my cock against her belly, wanting her to tell me, wanting her to feel how hard I was for her.
“God, Law.”
“Tell me you’re mine, baby.”
“You just think things can be patched up?” She breathed the words out.
She was mine. Only mine.
I wouldn’t let her go.
“No, I don’t think things can just be erased, but I want to show you what we used to have. I want to show you how good it was.”
She closed her eyes and moaned. “I know how good it was, Law.”
I said again, loving hearing her say that.
“I want this,” she breathed out.
I ground my dick into her harder. “Say my name, baby. I want you to tell me how much you want this. I want you to tell me that it was a mistake we stayed apart.” It was my fault just as much as it was hers; I’d stayed away. “Things can be different now, Brittin. I can be a better male to you.” I pulled back and looked at her. She looked drugged right now.
My bear wanted out, wanted to claim our mate right now. But I told myself I needed to go slow. After all the shit we’d been through over the years, and the fact I’d let her walk away from my own arrogant, demanding attitude, I had to make things right. I had to show her that I knew I’d fucked up.
I had to show her even a bear could make love, could admit he was wrong.
But I liked the rough kind of sex, the kind that had my female submitting to me. And Brittin had been such a perfect submissive. I wasn’t into the whole BDSM scene, but the occasional spank, the random restraining … yeah, that got me off.
But only with Brittin.
I only wanted to do that with her. Only her.
“Tell me you want this,” I growled against the side of her throat. I just stood there with her pressed against the wall, my body pinning her, making her submit to me. “Tell me, Brittin.” I ground my cock against her belly, wanting her to tell me, wanting her to feel how hard I was for her.
“God, Law.”
“Tell me you’re mine, baby.”
“You just think things can be patched up?” She breathed the words out.
She was mine. Only mine.
I wouldn’t let her go.
“No, I don’t think things can just be erased, but I want to show you what we used to have. I want to show you how good it was.”
She closed her eyes and moaned. “I know how good it was, Law.”
I said again, loving hearing her say that.
“I want this,” she breathed out.
I ground my dick into her harder. “Say my name, baby. I want you to tell me how much you want this. I want you to tell me that it was a mistake we stayed apart.” It was my fault just as much as it was hers; I’d stayed away. “Things can be different now, Brittin. I can be a better male to you.” I pulled back and looked at her. She looked drugged right now.
Good.
“This might be a mistake…”
My heart fucking stopped.
“But I want this, Law. I want you.”
I growled out low, my bear pushing for supremacy.
“I want you to make me yours again. Lord help me, but I want things to be different than before.”
Fuck. Yes.
I stared into her eyes. “You’re mine, and I’ll never let you go. Not again. That was the worst damn mistake I’ve ever made.”
She licked her lips. “This is insane,” she whispered. “But fuck me, Law. Fuck me like you’ve been aching for me this entire time.”
“I have, baby.” I leaned forward and ran my tongue up the length of her neck. “Tell me this doesn’t feel good.” I gently bit the spot where I used to all those years ago.
“It would be a lie if I said that,” she whispered, and I groaned in approval.
I rested the tip of my nose right on the side of her neck and inhaled. Yeah, she smelled the same.
So. Fucking. Good.
“It’s only ever been you, baby.” She gasped after my words. “I haven’t been with another female since you. And I don’t want anyone else.” I leaned back and looked into her eyes.
“I haven’t been with anyone else, Law,” she whispered, her eyes wide.
“Are you surprised, Brittin? Did you really think anyone else would compare to you?”
She licked her lips, and I watched the act. “I didn’t want to think about that.”
I lifted my gaze to look into her eyes. “Once we start, I won’t stop. I can’t. Too much time has passed, and I don’t want to waste another second.”
She parted her lips and sucked in a breath.
I leaned in so close our lips were almost touching. “Tell me you want this, and that you want more than my cock filling you.”
She didn’t answer for long seconds, and I wanted to tear through my skin to get the answer.
“Fuck me.” She pulled me close and slanted her lips on mine. “Let’s just take this one step at a time,” she whispered against my lips.
“This might be a mistake…”
My heart fucking stopped.
“But I want this, Law. I want you.”
I growled out low, my bear pushing for supremacy.
“I want you to make me yours again. Lord help me, but I want things to be different than before.”
Fuck. Yes.
I stared into her eyes. “You’re mine, and I’ll never let you go. Not again. That was the worst damn mistake I’ve ever made.”
She licked her lips. “This is insane,” she whispered. “But fuck me, Law. Fuck me like you’ve been aching for me this entire time.”
“I have, baby.” I leaned forward and ran my tongue up the length of her neck. “Tell me this doesn’t feel good.” I gently bit the spot where I used to all those years ago.
“It would be a lie if I said that,” she whispered, and I groaned in approval.
I rested the tip of my nose right on the side of her neck and inhaled. Yeah, she smelled the same.
So. Fucking. Good.
“It’s only ever been you, baby.” She gasped after my words. “I haven’t been with another female since you. And I don’t want anyone else.” I leaned back and looked into her eyes.
“I haven’t been with anyone else, Law,” she whispered, her eyes wide.
“Are you surprised, Brittin? Did you really think anyone else would compare to you?”
She licked her lips, and I watched the act. “I didn’t want to think about that.”
I lifted my gaze to look into her eyes. “Once we start, I won’t stop. I can’t. Too much time has passed, and I don’t want to waste another second.”
She parted her lips and sucked in a breath.
I leaned in so close our lips were almost touching. “Tell me you want this, and that you want more than my cock filling you.”
She didn’t answer for long seconds, and I wanted to tear through my skin to get the answer.
“Fuck me.” She pulled me close and slanted her lips on mine. “Let’s just take this one step at a time,” she whispered against my lips.
And just hearing her say that, even if she wasn’t telling me she wanted me and all I had to offer, I couldn’t deny her.
She was mine, and I wouldn’t let her get away again.
She was mine, and I wouldn’t let her get away again.
Jenika Snow is a USA Today Bestselling Author that lives in the northwest with her husband and their two daughters. Before she started writing full-time she worked as a nurse.
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CHAPTER REVEAL ~ Just Like That by Nicola Rendell
Coming April 10th
Pre-order exclusively via
iBooks HERE
“I bet I can untangle you.”
At an airport baggage claim, Penny Darling looks up from her knotted mess of ear buds to find the sexiest hunk of man she’s ever seen. He’s got a military haircut, a scar through his eyebrow, and he’s rocking a pastel pink dress shirt like only a real man can. But Penny is on a man-free diet so she leaves the airport without succumbing to his delicious double-entendres…or his dreamy dimples.
PI Russ Macklin can’t take his eyes off Penny. As she sashays out of the airport with hips swaying and curls bouncing, he suspects they may share more than just sweltering chemistry. That suitcase she’s rolling along behind her? It looks a lot like his.
Because it is.
When he tracks her down, he holds her bag hostage in exchange for a date. Their night begins with margaritas and ends in urgent care, and Russ proves that Cosmo’s theory about a very particular type of orgasm was oh-so-wrong.
In Penny, Russ finds a small-town sweetheart with a very naughty side. For the first time ever, he’s thinking about picket fences. Penny finds in Russ a loving, caring man who understands the power of massaging showerheads.
But Russ is only in Port Flamingo for a week. They agree it’ll be a fling and nothing more.
Because really, they can’t fall ass-over-teakettle in love just like that…
Can they?
99k words. HEA. Dual POV. No cheating.
Featuring a big drooly dog named Guppy.
Russ
I step off the escalator, and there she is. She’s looking down, doing something with her phone. Air conditioning blows on her from above, making the hem of her purple dress flutter against her leg. And fuck, look at those legs. Look at that body. Look at that woman. Underneath the dress, instead of a bra she’s wearing the top half of a pink bikini, tied at the nape of her neck in a bow.
Welcome to Florida. God bless the Sunshine State.
The place is dismal, except for her. On the walls are 1980s tourism posters, rippling with the humidity. All the guys have Magnum, P.I. mustaches, and all the women look like extras from Baywatch. She’s a vision in the middle of all of it, an oasis at the goddamned baggage claim. I circle the clumps of old people bumping into each other with walkers, like slow-motion bumper cars. As I get closer, I see her face. Her freckles, her slightly shiny pink lips. Her breasts, which are fucking beautiful. But her expression, it isn’t beautiful. It’s seriously pissed. Nostrils flared, teeth set, jaw clenched.
In her hands is a whole big tangle of ear buds, and maybe a phone charger. A big knot of cords, like a wad of cold pasta.
I get closer. Not too close, because I don’t want to be that guy, but close enough to see the small starfish necklace dangling from her neck, and close enough to smell something warm, and sweet. Familiar. Vanilla, maybe. Whatever it is, it’s fucking delicious.
On the wall behind her is a big banner. It’s got a faded old cartoon flamingo, flapping his wings and grinning. Underneath is the caption:
WELCOME TO PORT FLAMINGO! HOME OF THE FIRST AIR CONDITIONER!
No shit. Because it’s hot, and I don’t mean like ordinary summertime hot. I mean hot like the time the sauna malfunctioned at my gym and turned all the drywall in the locker room into oatmeal. She doesn’t look hot at all though. She looks cool, and soft, and beautiful. Just the thing I need. Like a vodka soda after a long fucking day.
I set my shoulder bag at my feet and take off my suit jacket. Her braid comes down over one shoulder, the curl at the bottom nestling into her cleavage. I roll up my sleeves. “I bet I can untangle you.”
She looks up at me. Her eyes are deep blue and sparkling. A smile starts to pinch her cheeks. The end of the charger swings between us. “I’m okay. Got myself into this mess, got to get myself out of it.”
“Sometimes two is better than one.”
She smacks her lips at the cords. “Sometimes.” She pulls hard on the plug end, making the wires tighten even more. “You’d think I’d learn to keep that little plastic box that comes with these, but oh no, every—” She tugs. “—single.” Tugs again. “—time.”
Granted, she’s not exactly in need of rescue from a burning building, but no way am I going to stand here and watch her struggle, no fucking way. Without another word, I start undoing the end of the tangle that’s nearest me, and I watch that smile of hers get bigger. She doesn’t look at me, but I see a dimple, and she bites her lip.
Still focused on the knot, she says, “Let me guess. You’re not from around here, are you?”
Can’t imagine what gave me away. Maybe the fact that I’m the only guy in the building wearing slacks and actual shoes. “Here on business.”
She looks me up and down. “What kind of business? FBI?”
Fuck. Not the first conversation I want to have, definitely not. Also, I don’t know a single fed who wears pants this nice. “Private business.”
“Hmmm.” She eyes me more mischievously. “Tall, dark, and a military haircut. Something tells me you’re not here to do some competitive bass fishing. “
Oh man. Cute. Really cute. “No, I’m not.”
Slowly, the tangle comes undone, until we’re in the middle together. Reminds me of that scene in Lady and the Tramp.
But before I can say anything more—like, for instance, I’m down for 20 questions, as long as it’s over a drink—the buzzer on the carousel roars to life, as loud as a tornado siren. The crush of people starts to tighten around the conveyor. She winds the three sets of ear buds and the cord around her palm. From the pocket of my bag, I take out the plastic case that came with my ear buds and hand it over. “There.”
She laughs through her nose. “I’ll be okay.”
“I insist.” I press it into her hand, and her eyes meet mine.
“I’ll bet you do.” She looks away as a blush covers her cheeks.
The bags start to rumble off the conveyor. For one long second, she watches me, smiling. Sizing me up. The little curls around her face tremble in the air conditioning, and I’m about to say You, me, a pitcher of margaritas, tonight when she looks away and hoists her purse up on her shoulder.
“That’s my bag,” she says. “I should get going. Thanks for…untangling me.”
She steps away and threads her way between a handful of old ladies in walkers. I know I should help her, I know I should grab her bag, but holy fuck look at that body.
She grabs her bag herself and flips up the handle.
“Give me your number. Let me take you out for dinner.”
Her smile dissolves into a scowl. “You married?”
I shake my head slowly. “I’m a lot of things, but married definitely isn’t one of them.”
“Separated?”
Shake my head again. “Nope.”
She takes her starfish charm between thumb and forefinger and loops the chain over her lip. “Under any restraining orders? Involved in a complicated love triangle that your Match.com profile describes as an open marriage? Divorced five times and counting? Polyamorous?”
Whoa. This girl’s got to find a new dating pool, stat. “Promise. I’m Russ, and what you see is what you get.”
Zip-zip-zip goes her necklace.
“Just a drink.” I lift my hands out between us, to say C’mon. “Maybe dinner, if I make the cut.”
She blinks hard a few times and she drops her necklace charm. “I’m sorry. You’re sweet, but I can’t.”
Well, fuck it. The first time I try to get back in the saddle in ages and the goddamn thing slides right down onto the ground again. I respect it though. I don’t want to overdo this, so I give her a final nod and clear my throat. “Had to try.”
She swallows hard. “I’m glad you did.”
Fuck.
And she’s gone. As she goes, her hips sway with her dress. She works that sashay, as my aunt says, like a fucking pro. She looks back over her shoulder, only once, as she walks through the sliding doors. I give her a wink.
And she fucking winks back.
Jesus Christ.
She takes a left out of the door, which means she isn’t gone yet. Not by a long shot. The architecture does me a favor, and I get to watch her sashay right past the floor-to-ceiling windows. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her, not even if I wanted to. She smiles at the sidewalk without looking up, and laughs a little. Like she knows I’m watching her and is feeling pretty good about it.
God, what a cutie. And what a bummer. She was fucking sexy, she seemed sweet, and there was something about her that was up to no good. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it was somewhere between the bikini top and I’m glad you did. But the spark wasn’t all we had in common. I realize, as she finally disappears from view, she also has a bag that looks just like mine.
Medium-sized black Samsonite. Sensible, dependable. Number One Amazon Bestseller in Luggage.
But that couldn’t be my bag, I think to myself as I turn back toward the conveyor. Couldn’t be.
***
It was. Twenty minutes later, I’m the only guy standing by the carousel, and there’s a single black bag going around and around in front of me. It’s exactly the same as mine, except it’s overstuffed and has a pink puff of yarn tied to the handle. Same color as her bikini top and literally hanging by a thread.
It slides to a stop, and the yarn ball swings off the side of the carousel. Tick-tock, tick-tock.
A rattle from the center of the conveyor sounds promising—I was early connecting through Atlanta, so my bag had to be the first one on—but no dice. What comes off the conveyor isn’t a bag at all, but instead one of the baggage guys in big set of protective earphones and a reflective vest. He crawls up through the flap and pokes his head out. He wipes his forehead on his bare leathery shoulder and then looks from me to the bag and back again. “Nice pom-pom, man,” he says and backtracks down the hole.
I glance around for some airport help on this, but all I see is a handwritten sign at the baggage claim desk. Will Return On Monday!
It’s Saturday.
Christ.
As I take hold of the bag, I notice it’s got not one but three “LIFT WITH CAUTION” tags: the first one new, the second one beat up, and the third one halfway shredded, all together the way people keep lift tickets from ski areas. I give it a hoist. The thing is so heavy it makes me grunt like I’m doing a dead lift. With a two-handed lug, I yank it off the conveyor and set it on the ground, wheels down.
Squeezing the roller handle, I pull it up…and it snaps off right in my hand. The arms stick up from the suitcase like the tines of a fork.
I clench my eyes shut and think back to “the most helpful critical review” from Amazon. “Looks like every other bag on the planet. Sh**ty handle.”
Touché. But it is what it is. Which is her bag, hopefully.
I wheel it along to a bank of benches, by some old beat-up phone booths, lining the far wall. I open up the ID pouch and read:
PENELOPE DARLING
125 E. BEACH POINT DRIVE
PORT FLAMINGO, FL 34102
I bite down on my gum and groan. How cute is that name? Jesus Christ, come on. Penny Darling. What’s more, it’s not a business card or typed up like mine, but written by hand. Her writing is sweet, pretty, and feminine, with big plump letters written in bright pink marker that’s bled into the plastic cover, so they’ve got a haze around them like neon lights. And there, at the bottom.
Her number.
Jackpot.
It might not be my smoothest move, but I’ll take it. I pull my phone from my pocket and give her a call. As I wait for the ringtone, I decide to hell with suave and understated. I want her, and I need her to know it.
But then in my ear I hear, “Mobile Network Temporarily Unavailable.”
Goddamned Verizon, jamming up my plans. So I try to text her instead.
This is Russ.
From the airport.
I’ve got your bag and I think you’ve got mine.
How about that drink?
I hit send, and I’m answered immediately with a row of red exclamation points and four repetitions of NOT DELIVERED. What. The. Fuck.
Then I noticed my cell service flips over from 1 bar, to Roaming, to Searching for service…
I pull my hot pack of gum from my sweaty pocket and take out a second piece. The gum is weirdly melted even before I put it in my mouth.
The options now are pretty simple: I could touch base with the guy who hired me to come down here to the land that Verizon forgot or…
I think about those tan lines, the curve of her hips. That bikini. The glisten on her rosy lips. The way she wrinkled her nose when she smiled.
Why is this even a goddamned question? It’s four o’clock on a Saturday. A beautiful woman is on East Beach Point Drive with all my stuff. And somewhere in this town, I’ll bet there’s a beachside bar with a pitcher of margaritas with our names on it.
Welcome to Florida. God bless the Sunshine State.
The place is dismal, except for her. On the walls are 1980s tourism posters, rippling with the humidity. All the guys have Magnum, P.I. mustaches, and all the women look like extras from Baywatch. She’s a vision in the middle of all of it, an oasis at the goddamned baggage claim. I circle the clumps of old people bumping into each other with walkers, like slow-motion bumper cars. As I get closer, I see her face. Her freckles, her slightly shiny pink lips. Her breasts, which are fucking beautiful. But her expression, it isn’t beautiful. It’s seriously pissed. Nostrils flared, teeth set, jaw clenched.
In her hands is a whole big tangle of ear buds, and maybe a phone charger. A big knot of cords, like a wad of cold pasta.
I get closer. Not too close, because I don’t want to be that guy, but close enough to see the small starfish necklace dangling from her neck, and close enough to smell something warm, and sweet. Familiar. Vanilla, maybe. Whatever it is, it’s fucking delicious.
On the wall behind her is a big banner. It’s got a faded old cartoon flamingo, flapping his wings and grinning. Underneath is the caption:
WELCOME TO PORT FLAMINGO! HOME OF THE FIRST AIR CONDITIONER!
No shit. Because it’s hot, and I don’t mean like ordinary summertime hot. I mean hot like the time the sauna malfunctioned at my gym and turned all the drywall in the locker room into oatmeal. She doesn’t look hot at all though. She looks cool, and soft, and beautiful. Just the thing I need. Like a vodka soda after a long fucking day.
I set my shoulder bag at my feet and take off my suit jacket. Her braid comes down over one shoulder, the curl at the bottom nestling into her cleavage. I roll up my sleeves. “I bet I can untangle you.”
She looks up at me. Her eyes are deep blue and sparkling. A smile starts to pinch her cheeks. The end of the charger swings between us. “I’m okay. Got myself into this mess, got to get myself out of it.”
“Sometimes two is better than one.”
She smacks her lips at the cords. “Sometimes.” She pulls hard on the plug end, making the wires tighten even more. “You’d think I’d learn to keep that little plastic box that comes with these, but oh no, every—” She tugs. “—single.” Tugs again. “—time.”
Granted, she’s not exactly in need of rescue from a burning building, but no way am I going to stand here and watch her struggle, no fucking way. Without another word, I start undoing the end of the tangle that’s nearest me, and I watch that smile of hers get bigger. She doesn’t look at me, but I see a dimple, and she bites her lip.
Still focused on the knot, she says, “Let me guess. You’re not from around here, are you?”
Can’t imagine what gave me away. Maybe the fact that I’m the only guy in the building wearing slacks and actual shoes. “Here on business.”
She looks me up and down. “What kind of business? FBI?”
Fuck. Not the first conversation I want to have, definitely not. Also, I don’t know a single fed who wears pants this nice. “Private business.”
“Hmmm.” She eyes me more mischievously. “Tall, dark, and a military haircut. Something tells me you’re not here to do some competitive bass fishing. “
Oh man. Cute. Really cute. “No, I’m not.”
Slowly, the tangle comes undone, until we’re in the middle together. Reminds me of that scene in Lady and the Tramp.
But before I can say anything more—like, for instance, I’m down for 20 questions, as long as it’s over a drink—the buzzer on the carousel roars to life, as loud as a tornado siren. The crush of people starts to tighten around the conveyor. She winds the three sets of ear buds and the cord around her palm. From the pocket of my bag, I take out the plastic case that came with my ear buds and hand it over. “There.”
She laughs through her nose. “I’ll be okay.”
“I insist.” I press it into her hand, and her eyes meet mine.
“I’ll bet you do.” She looks away as a blush covers her cheeks.
The bags start to rumble off the conveyor. For one long second, she watches me, smiling. Sizing me up. The little curls around her face tremble in the air conditioning, and I’m about to say You, me, a pitcher of margaritas, tonight when she looks away and hoists her purse up on her shoulder.
“That’s my bag,” she says. “I should get going. Thanks for…untangling me.”
She steps away and threads her way between a handful of old ladies in walkers. I know I should help her, I know I should grab her bag, but holy fuck look at that body.
She grabs her bag herself and flips up the handle.
“Give me your number. Let me take you out for dinner.”
Her smile dissolves into a scowl. “You married?”
I shake my head slowly. “I’m a lot of things, but married definitely isn’t one of them.”
“Separated?”
Shake my head again. “Nope.”
She takes her starfish charm between thumb and forefinger and loops the chain over her lip. “Under any restraining orders? Involved in a complicated love triangle that your Match.com profile describes as an open marriage? Divorced five times and counting? Polyamorous?”
Whoa. This girl’s got to find a new dating pool, stat. “Promise. I’m Russ, and what you see is what you get.”
Zip-zip-zip goes her necklace.
“Just a drink.” I lift my hands out between us, to say C’mon. “Maybe dinner, if I make the cut.”
She blinks hard a few times and she drops her necklace charm. “I’m sorry. You’re sweet, but I can’t.”
Well, fuck it. The first time I try to get back in the saddle in ages and the goddamn thing slides right down onto the ground again. I respect it though. I don’t want to overdo this, so I give her a final nod and clear my throat. “Had to try.”
She swallows hard. “I’m glad you did.”
Fuck.
And she’s gone. As she goes, her hips sway with her dress. She works that sashay, as my aunt says, like a fucking pro. She looks back over her shoulder, only once, as she walks through the sliding doors. I give her a wink.
And she fucking winks back.
Jesus Christ.
She takes a left out of the door, which means she isn’t gone yet. Not by a long shot. The architecture does me a favor, and I get to watch her sashay right past the floor-to-ceiling windows. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her, not even if I wanted to. She smiles at the sidewalk without looking up, and laughs a little. Like she knows I’m watching her and is feeling pretty good about it.
God, what a cutie. And what a bummer. She was fucking sexy, she seemed sweet, and there was something about her that was up to no good. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it was somewhere between the bikini top and I’m glad you did. But the spark wasn’t all we had in common. I realize, as she finally disappears from view, she also has a bag that looks just like mine.
Medium-sized black Samsonite. Sensible, dependable. Number One Amazon Bestseller in Luggage.
But that couldn’t be my bag, I think to myself as I turn back toward the conveyor. Couldn’t be.
***
It was. Twenty minutes later, I’m the only guy standing by the carousel, and there’s a single black bag going around and around in front of me. It’s exactly the same as mine, except it’s overstuffed and has a pink puff of yarn tied to the handle. Same color as her bikini top and literally hanging by a thread.
It slides to a stop, and the yarn ball swings off the side of the carousel. Tick-tock, tick-tock.
A rattle from the center of the conveyor sounds promising—I was early connecting through Atlanta, so my bag had to be the first one on—but no dice. What comes off the conveyor isn’t a bag at all, but instead one of the baggage guys in big set of protective earphones and a reflective vest. He crawls up through the flap and pokes his head out. He wipes his forehead on his bare leathery shoulder and then looks from me to the bag and back again. “Nice pom-pom, man,” he says and backtracks down the hole.
I glance around for some airport help on this, but all I see is a handwritten sign at the baggage claim desk. Will Return On Monday!
It’s Saturday.
Christ.
As I take hold of the bag, I notice it’s got not one but three “LIFT WITH CAUTION” tags: the first one new, the second one beat up, and the third one halfway shredded, all together the way people keep lift tickets from ski areas. I give it a hoist. The thing is so heavy it makes me grunt like I’m doing a dead lift. With a two-handed lug, I yank it off the conveyor and set it on the ground, wheels down.
Squeezing the roller handle, I pull it up…and it snaps off right in my hand. The arms stick up from the suitcase like the tines of a fork.
I clench my eyes shut and think back to “the most helpful critical review” from Amazon. “Looks like every other bag on the planet. Sh**ty handle.”
Touché. But it is what it is. Which is her bag, hopefully.
I wheel it along to a bank of benches, by some old beat-up phone booths, lining the far wall. I open up the ID pouch and read:
PENELOPE DARLING
125 E. BEACH POINT DRIVE
PORT FLAMINGO, FL 34102
I bite down on my gum and groan. How cute is that name? Jesus Christ, come on. Penny Darling. What’s more, it’s not a business card or typed up like mine, but written by hand. Her writing is sweet, pretty, and feminine, with big plump letters written in bright pink marker that’s bled into the plastic cover, so they’ve got a haze around them like neon lights. And there, at the bottom.
Her number.
Jackpot.
It might not be my smoothest move, but I’ll take it. I pull my phone from my pocket and give her a call. As I wait for the ringtone, I decide to hell with suave and understated. I want her, and I need her to know it.
But then in my ear I hear, “Mobile Network Temporarily Unavailable.”
Goddamned Verizon, jamming up my plans. So I try to text her instead.
This is Russ.
From the airport.
I’ve got your bag and I think you’ve got mine.
How about that drink?
I hit send, and I’m answered immediately with a row of red exclamation points and four repetitions of NOT DELIVERED. What. The. Fuck.
Then I noticed my cell service flips over from 1 bar, to Roaming, to Searching for service…
I pull my hot pack of gum from my sweaty pocket and take out a second piece. The gum is weirdly melted even before I put it in my mouth.
The options now are pretty simple: I could touch base with the guy who hired me to come down here to the land that Verizon forgot or…
I think about those tan lines, the curve of her hips. That bikini. The glisten on her rosy lips. The way she wrinkled her nose when she smiled.
Why is this even a goddamned question? It’s four o’clock on a Saturday. A beautiful woman is on East Beach Point Drive with all my stuff. And somewhere in this town, I’ll bet there’s a beachside bar with a pitcher of margaritas with our names on it.
Nicola Rendell writes dirty, funny, erotic romance. She likes a stiff drink and a well-frosted cake. She is at an unnamed Ivy and prefers to remain mostly anonymous for professional reasons. She has a PhD in English and an MFA in Creative Writing from schools that shall not be named here. She loves to cook, sew, and play the piano. She realizes that her hobbies might make her sound like an old lady and she’s totally okay with that. She lives with her husband and her dogs. She is from Taos, New Mexico.
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