Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Christmas Naughtiness with Bonnie Bliss!!

 
A Slave for Christmas
Bonnie Bliss
Holiday Doms; Book 3
Genre: BDSM Erotic Romance
Word Count: 17500
 
Book Description:
After Kenny steps away from Brad and Millie, he makes the ultimate sacrifice for his best friend. He takes not one bullet, but two for him in combat. Trapped in a military hospital for the holidays, he forces Brad to go home to Millie for Christmas. Reluctantly, Brad heads back to the states, leaving Kenny behind to spend his first Christmas alone and in a bed.
What no one expects, especially Kenny, is the tender care of a very sweet and submissive nurse. Lindsey Williams has been caring for Kenny since he came in injured. Old friends from high school days, Lindsey has no clue that Kenny is a Sadist—looking for his perfect slave. After spending a long night Christmas Eve talking, she discovers his secret. Only to be hiding something of her own. She has been longing for a 24/7 Master/slave relationship since she realized the level of her submission.
With Christmas right around the corner. Lindsey has her heart set not only being his naughty elf, but giving him a Christmas he is not soon to forget.
Disclaimer: This story shows a ‘total power exchange’ relationship, and may contain content that is objectionable to some readers. There could be, but not limited to acts of humiliation, orgasm denial, double penetration (by objects), BDSM punishment and discipline, and is intended for readers over the age of 18.
Excerpt:
**Mature Content**

Lindsey froze in mid fork lift.
She thought she had blacked out for a moment. There is no possible way that she had heard him correctly. He needed to whip a woman? Did he also need a woman on her knees naked, head lowered in pose for him? God, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. It felt like time had stopped while she just stared at him. Her fork with the thick mashed potatoes poised to go into her still gaping mouth. Her eyes started to hurt. She wasn’t blinking, and she noticed him shift uncomfortably. Before the moment passed she knew that she had to get him back to that place. That needy place where he desired a slave, a woman, and the hunger to inflict sadistic pain.
“You want to what?” Her voice was hoarse.
Lindsey placed her fork back on the plate lightly. Licking her lips she brushed a hand through her loose bangs. Her long hair was pulled back in a braid. A messy braid that left stray tendrils falling around her heart shaped face. Clearing her throat, she looked down at her plate. He was laughing and making strange noises from his throat to avoid the question.
His throat made a sound to clear it, “Nothing, I was kidding.”
Her shoulders slumped. She licked her lips before she dove into her mashed potatoes again, annoyed that he was changing the subject.
“That’s a shame,” she whispered. It was directed more as a silent comment.
“What?”
Her head jerked up. Kenny was looking directly at her. His eyes bore into hers. They glittered with mischief, desire, and—arousal. No, that couldn’t be it. Though, she did notice the distinct gaze of Dominant that was hopefully looking at a submissive woman. He looked eager in that moment. Lindsey’s body got tight. Her nipples puckered under the thin green scrubs. The feel of her labia swelling under the intensity of his gaze brought her out of reality and into the fantasy that he could make her a dribbling idiot. Fear peaked at the prospect of being shut down. She was so tired of men shooting her down. This was a man that could have any woman he wanted. He probably did get any woman he wanted. Slaves falling at his feet, kissing his shoes, and posing so beautifully for him. That mattered. She was forever the submissive that just oozed too much toppiness.
Toppiness?
Was that even a word?
She broke out of her silent musings and shook her head at him. Lifting the food again to muffle the sound of her own voice, she quickly mumbled a nothing and took a long drink of the beer.
“Oh no little one, you will tell me.”
It was a demand coated in a slight growl. Gooseflesh rose all over her flesh. Her scalp even tingled from the way he commanded her. Then what he had just called her crashed over her desire, and she was back in the reality that she lived in.
“Little one, that’s funny.” She mocked. Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she took another swig of beer.
She needed to get drunk and wallow in her own self pity tonight. Lindsey knew if she told him everything, he would laugh her out of the room and break it to her how much her being submissive didn’t work. Just like every other man she met. No Dom seemed, ‘Dom enough’ to take her on.
“With the right training, you would make one hell of a submissive.”
Training.
It was like a slap in the face. She hated that she came off so strong. Lindsey knew that he would think she was a joke if she told him. Only one man so far had taken on the challenge of breaking her. He could smell submission on her, he had told her. That club back home, he was a Master Sergeant. Before that it was a kid in high school, at a Senior party. The one lone guy in high school that had wanted her, started to spank her as a ‘joke’, and…
“I’m submissive!” She blurted out.
 
 
Cuff Me, Santa
Bonnie Bliss
Genre: M/M/M/F Erotica
Word Count: 8705
 
Book Description:
Alex never could leave her presents alone. Its Christmas time again and her boyfriend has left her something naughty under the tree. Determined to try her new toy out before everyone wakes up, she makes the couch her sexual playground. Come midnight Alex hears a noise. Before long she’s no longer alone after Santa arrives and together they create a Christmas neither will forget.
Full of sexy Christmas cheer, this is one Christmas you are not soon to forget. Not only will Alex have some Christmas magic, but Santa will get one heck of a gift himself from the sultry Alex.
Disclaimer: This short story contains adult content. Features one naughty but nice female, and a Santa that is not from your Night Before Christmas. With the stockings hung by the chimney with care, you will sure get a Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
Excerpt:
**Mature Content**
She giggled at her own thoughts before she hiked her legs up. Alex hadn’t even bothered putting her PJ pants back on. Resting her heels on the edge of the couch, the cool air in the room caressed the glistening seam of her now pulsing cunt lips. She opened her mouth and started to suck the huge plastic cock, readying it for her tight little hole. She may bang Bobby a lot but he was her first boyfriend, and this was the biggest dick she had ever seen. Moaning as she pushed the thick shaft in and out of her mouth. She popped it out and spit on the head, using her tongue to spread the moisture all over the member.
Carefully, she ran it up and down her sensitive labia. She used the flared head of the fake cock to part her delicate folds and started to press. It stretched and parted her pretty lips as she went in for more. She adjusted herself, pushing her ass over the edge of the couch more. Her free hand reached down and rubbed her engorged clit. With one final hard shove the pink cock was shafted fully inside her.
“Oh fuck me that feels so good!”
Just as she started to get momentum with the toy a crash, a grunt, a hard thud, and a billowing cloud of soot and ash filled the room. Leaving the menacing pussy puncher inside her, she looked over. She had to blink a few times. There was no possible way she was seeing what she saw—right?
His pants down to his ankles, the protruding belly, the cherry red cheeks, and the white beard. He was huge. That man was over six foot four. He was handsome despite his size. Alex licked her lips. Her pussy clenched hard around the toy as she looked at his huge cock. It stood straight to attention. God, was she doing that to him?
“Um, Santa?”
She closed her legs, but didn’t pull out the toy...
 
About the Author:
Bonnie Bliss is not just a willing submissive, but she is a wife and a mother. By day, she is a busy, stay at home mother. At night, she is a sultry storyteller. Her tastes go towards the dark and the extreme. She loves to twist up fairy tales and sweet stories we all know and love. Her lust for Dominance and submission has taken her into the dark inner workings of Sadomasochism. 

Bonnie is a native of Southern California, and says that everything in the Katy Perry song, California Girls is totally accurate. She has done everything from waitressing, customer service phone rep., Corporate Real Estate, and spent a pretty impressive part of her life working for the Disney Corporation—including as a Disney Princess. When she’s not writing, she is ordering too many custom bows for her daughter, baking the best cupcakes in the world, going to Disneyland, laying on a beach, and sometimes playing hockey for release.
 
 
 

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Review: Covert Dreams by Michale Meyers




Title: Covert Dreams
Author: Michael Meyer
Genre: Thriller/Suspense/ Mystery
Publisher: Pacific Books
Release Date: June 1 2012
Format: Ebook
 
Synopsis:
Imagine waking up remembering intimate details about a country in which you have never traveled and fluently speaking a language that you have never spoken. B.J. is living the ideal life. He has a great wife, a wonderful job. And yet he is experiencing life-like vivid dreams of Munich, a city he has never visited.

Stan Halsey is a professor in Saudi Arabia, who sends for his wife to join him. She arrives, and, in the blink of an eye, she vanishes, leaving no trace of ever being alive in either the United States or in Saudi Arabia.

COVERT DREAMS is a fast-paced international suspense thriller that moves from Munich to the burning sands of Saudi Arabia. What is real, and who is responsible for the terrifying nightmare?
 
Excerpt 1:

The Munich all around her was bustling with activity. She could hear it from all directions. Munich was a wonderful city, a fun-loving place, the live and let live ebullience of the city emanating from its every nook and cranny. She had had a lovely stay here. All of it had been so adventurous, so new, so unlike life back home in Arizona. She could vividly recall the first time she had ventured into a Munich beer garden, where the liter mugs had been so huge that she had had to lift hers with both hands, and the giggles, from him, until he too had had to use both hands.

The fumbling noises he had been making came to an abrupt halt. He began stroking her cheek again. Gus looked so happy, so young, so full of life. It was so hard to imagine that he could be so heavily involved in all this horror.

Gus smiled at her once more. His eyes were soft, so gentle, so caring, so loving.

Maybe this was some kind of huge mistake. Maybe he wasn't going to kill her after all. Maybe everything would turn out happily ever after. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

But then suddenly she saw it clearly. It was no fairy tale. There would be no maybe. This was real, as real as the mixture of sadness and fear that now flooded her brain.

And then she died, with her eyes wide open, challenging, piercing his to the end.
 
 
Excerpt 2:
 
Man and woman, husband and wife, person to person—they looked into each other’s eyes, too scared to verbalize their thoughts. Onwards they plunged, right into the dark unknown, oblivious to the fact that their lives at that very moment were intertwined with other lives half a world away, in both Munich, Germany, and in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.
 
Time, gradually becoming their enemy, did a flip-flop, and the now became the then, dying, giving birth to what lay ahead, way beyond the present, biding its own good time, in total control, much like a German panzer unit moving across The Netherlands. Just like the power of Allah under the hot Saudi Arabian sun.
                                                                                            
 
 Author Bio 
 
  I have resided in and have visited many places in the world, all of which have contributed in some way to my own published writing. I have literally traveled throughout the world, on numerous occasions. I have lived in Finland, Germany, Thailand, the U.S. Virgin Islands, and Saudi Arabia, where COVERT DREAMS is set. I gained the wanderlust to see the world, to experience other cultures, at an early age, and this desire has never left me. If anything, it has only gained in intensity as I have aged. I try to travel internationally at least once a year. In the interim, I spend lots of time traveling around both my home state of California and other nearby states.
 
  I spent my early years in the small town of Lone Pine, California, the home of almost every western movie, in addition to a wide variety of other genres, made in the 30’s, 40’s, 50’s, and 60’s. In fact, Hollywood still films parts of big-time movies there today. My dad, the town’s lifeguard at the time, personally knew John Wayne, Lloyd Bridges, and Lee Marvin, all of whom came to the town’s pool, the Memorial Plunge, at times to cool off after a hectic day of working in the sun. I was even an extra in a movie filmed there in 1957, MONOLITH MONSTERS, a B-cult favorite even today. I was ten years old at the time. Even though I resided in a small town hours from the big city, I was exposed to the excitement of action and heroes at a formative age, and, thus, my interest in writing novels of suspense such as COVERT DREAMS was born.
 
 As a recent retiree from a forty-year career as a professor of writing, I now live in Southern California wine country with my wife, Kitty, and our two other cats. 
Places to find Mike
 
 
 
 
 
Places to find Covert Dreams
Book Trailer  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b9drU4-um_U
 
 
 
 
This was definitely a new avenue of book for me and I must say I was quite delighted at the trial run!  B.J., one of the main characters is a very normal man.  I think it makes the story more interesting when it happens to a regular guy as opposed to a paranormal entity or someone that is already a believer in the supernatural.  So we have B.J. who has a completely normal life...that is until the dreams start happening.  They are about a woman named Dabbie and they occur in Munich.  The irony is that these things that happen in these dreams are about places he had never been and people he has never seen.  They are interesting and exciting at first, but that soon ends.  The dreams slowly start taking over his life and threaten not only his marriage, but his very sanity.  He decides to confront his demons head on and journeys to the very place his dreams lead him.  This is the point the book becomes entrenching.
 
In another part of the world, Stan is starting over in Saudi Arabia.  He waits for the arrival of his wife who never shows.  He searches for her but can find no trace of her actual existence.  Starting over has its downfalls...or was it all just a dream?
 
The was completely fascinating and a must read for thrill and suspense lovers!  It is captivating and will draw you in completely til the last page!!  Never a dull moment in this book! 
 
 

Monday, December 17, 2012

Review: Rescuing Lacey By Rebecca Heflin

 
Title: Rescuing Lacey
Author:  Rebecca Heflin
Publisher:  Soul Mate Publishing
Length:   227 pages
Sub-Genres:  contemperary
               
BLURB:
When tough battle-scarred photojournalist-turned-wildlife-photographer Lacey Sommers travels to Costa Rica in a last-ditch effort to save her job, she meets beach-bum-gorgeous Luke Hancock, an outdoor guide, environmentalist and expert on economics and sustainability, who’s been hired by her magazine to serve as her pilot and wilderness guide for the duration of her stay.

It’s clear from the outset there is a powerful physical attraction between the two, but strong personalities, pre-conceived notions, an unexpected and contentious family connection, and the scars from a tragic death and a terrifying event threaten to keep them apart.

Will Lacey shed the mantle of Kevlar she’s worn for so long and allow Luke inside her heart? Or will her ostensible strength be her downfall?
 
EXCERPT:
 
Fucking frogs, Lacey thought. I can’t believe I’ve been reduced to shooting frogs. “I hate frogs,” she muttered, drawing unwelcome attention from the man seated next to her.
The Cessna Grand Caravan banked, tipping the wings so that the ground looked as if it were rising up to meet it. Lacey gazed out of the window at the lush green landscape of Costa Rica, her home for the next two months, or longer, if she couldn’t get the shots she needed.
The airport resembled something out of a B-movie. As the plane bumped onto the runway she expected to see a couple of aged Hummers emerge from the jungle filled with AK-47-toting drug runners. Meager though the airport was, boasting only a small terminal consisting of a row of benches covered by a tin-roofed overhang, it wasn’t the worst airport she’d seen.
She stepped off the plane and into the heavy, humid air. If it was this hot in November, July must be a killer. Hitching her equipment bag up on her shoulder, she watched as a couple of men unloaded the rest of the luggage, tossing it carelessly onto the pockmarked tarmac, confirming her decision not to check her equipment bag. Spotting her army-green duffle, she walked over to pick it up.
“Lacey Sommers?”
“That’s me.” Lacey didn’t look toward the voice as she bent to pick up the bag and toss the bulk over her other shoulder. A hand slid beneath the strap and she turned to glare with disdain at the offending appendage. The hand was large, square, and calloused. Capable. Powerful.
“I’ll get that.”
She was rarely caught by surprise, but this was one of those times. She gazed directly into a pair of aqua-green eyes as clear and deep as the waters off the Costa Rican coast and suppressed an unexpected frisson of desire.
“Why?” was all she could think to say, her eyes narrowing behind her sunglasses.
“Well, because I have two free hands, and because it’s the polite thing to do.”
A half smile accentuated the dimple in the man’s chin. His windblown, honey-blond locks were highlighted by nature’s hand. Her sister would kill for those highlights.
“I’m Luke Hancock. I’ll be your pilot, your driver, your guide, and—” He took the duffle from her as if it were packed with feathers and tossed it onto his shoulder. “—your bellman during your stay in Costa Rica.”
He stood a good head taller than her five-foot-ten inches and had all the markings of a beach bum: tanned; sun-kissed hair; board shorts; faded Oakley T-shirt; flip-flops; diver’s watch; even the cliché ratty hemp friendship bracelet. Just another overgrown boy, like most of the men she’d encountered in her adult life, the kind of men who made a profession out of avoiding responsibility.    
“I’m quite capable of carrying my own bag.” She planted her feet in a belligerent stance, one hand on the strap of her equipment bag, her other lifted to her forehead blocking the sun.
“I’ve no doubt you are . . . capable, I mean.” Luke didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but this was definitely not it. The name Lacey Sommers, and all it implied, didn’t fit the woman standing in front of him. There was certainly nothing frilly about her. Tall, tanned, and muscular, she couldn’t be accused of being girlie, but neither was she the care-worn, jaded photographer he’d envisioned. A knot of desire formed in his stomach.
Dressed in an army-green camisole, khaki cargo shorts, and a pair of worn hiking sandals, she appeared quite capable . . . of many things. The color of her eyes, hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses, piqued his curiosity.
Her only adornments were a heart-shaped garnet that hung from an antique-gold chain and an enormous Breitling watch strapped to her left wrist. He recognized the expensive brand as one he often saw on his ex-father-in-law’s wrist. No engagement or wedding ring, but there must be a rich boyfriend in the picture. A girl didn’t buy those things on a staff photographer’s salary.
“Let’s get one thing straight, Mr. Hancock, I’m no helpless female. I don’t need pampering.”
She lifted that Breitling-adorned hand to tuck a golden strand of hair behind her ear. The simple movement caused a firm bicep to ripple beneath the smooth bronze of her skin. That’s when he noticed the vicious white scar that ran across her neck; jagged at the edges, yet straight and about three inches long, very near the carotid artery.
Her short wavy hair curled tantalizingly around her throat as if to caress the scar. He swallowed hard, wondering how such a lovely neck had been so brutally desecrated.
Dragging his gaze from the scar, he said, “That’s good,” before striding off toward his Jeep without waiting for her. “I’m not the pampering type.”
******
After a perilous ride through the jungle in the open-air, doorless Jeep, fording flooded streams, and bouncing over muddy potholes that could have swallowed compact cars, Lacey’s right side was covered in water, mud, and who knows what else. Not to mention, her neck felt like she’d been riding a bucking bronco.
She began to wonder if her editor were secretly trying to get rid of her when they finally arrived at the gates of a resort tucked among strangler figs and Kapok trees, still dripping from a recent rain. The sign, adorned with an enormous Blue Morpho butterfly, read MARIPOSA LODGE. 
Built on a thousand acres of pristine tropical lowland rain forest three hundred fifty feet above the point where the Gulfo Dulce and the Pacific Ocean collided, the eco-resort offered visitors a peaceful retreat; something she hadn’t had in she couldn’t remember when. But she wasn’t there to relax. She was there to save her career. If she screwed this up, she’d be relegated to shooting screaming kids on Santa’s lap.
The last conversation with her editor still rankled. When she’d gone in for her assignment, she’d been hoping for the story on gorilla poaching in the Congo. She should have known better after the previous incident in Africa, but she’d never expected this.
Not one to toot her own horn, she hadn’t hesitated to trumpet away under the circumstances. None of her arguments had worked on him.
“Look, Lacey, you’re the best photographer around, but I can’t have a repeat of Tanzania.” Simon shook his head, his bushy eyebrows drawn together in a unibrow. 
“But frogs! Christ. It’s humiliating.” There was no way she was telling Simon about her fear of frogs, that the slimy little things gave her the willies.
“Damn sight less humiliating than a meltdown.” His voice became placating. “Listen, go down to Costa Rica, get some great shots of the poison dart frogs and any other wildlife you come across and we’ll see. Should be a nice, easy assignment for you. Maybe you can even squeeze in a little R & R while you’re there.”
“Come on, Simon, please—”
“Damn it, Lacey, this is it. You either do this, or . . . you’re out. I’m sorry.” He’d held his palms up in resignation.
Luke’s big hand jostled her shoulder, snapping her back to the present.
“Hey, Sommers, we’re here.”
No sense brooding over her situation anymore. It is what it is. She’d get the best damn pictures of frogs the magazine had ever seen and then she’d go back to the high-risk assignments she preferred.
******
“Buenos dias, José. Como estâ usted?” Luke asked one of the resort’s friendly employees as he and Lacey stepped into the lobby’s relatively dim interior. 
“Pura vida, Luke.”
“Bueno. José, this is Lacey Sommers. She’ll be staying with you for several weeks.” Turning to Lacey, he said, “José will take it from here. We have an early start tomorrow so get some sleep. I’ll meet you here at five-thirty a.m. And don’t worry, you’ll be awake.” The corners of his mouth lifted in a slight smile.
She’d taken off her sunglasses, and he saw for the first time her eyes were an indigo blue of infinite depth, rimmed by lashes so thick they looked like they belonged in one of those cosmetic ads. He stared into her eyes longer than he’d intended. Christ, he thought as he dragged a hand through his hair, like the Bahamas’ great blue holes, a man could get lost in those depths.
Lacey shifted from one foot to the other. Luke’s intense stare made her uneasy. She returned his gaze with a bravado she didn’t actually feel. He stood within inches of her and although he wasn’t touching her, the sensation was just as disconcerting as if he had been. The heat rolled off him in waves, carrying the clean, salty scent of the beach.
“Right.” She narrowed her eyes, something she did whenever it seemed like someone was trying to pull something over on her. How did he know she would be awake at that hour?
“See you.” Without a backward glance, Luke strode out to his Jeep with the easy gait of an athlete.
She had to admit, he had a nice ass, even in those baggy board shorts. “Uh, José, can I have coffee in the morning?”
“Claro, of course,” José said with a bright smile, watching her watch Luke.
Busted. Damn. “Uh, thanks. At that hour it will be the only thing standing between me and unconsciousness.”
******
Lacey surveyed her new living quarters. Her thatched-roof bungalow could only be described as rustically opulent. Built of bamboo and mangrove, both sustainable hardwoods, the interior gleamed as if it were polished copper. The floor-to-ceiling screened walls offered a hundred-and-eighty-degree view of the turquoise water below.
Mosquito netting draped two queen beds, while ceiling fans whirred in the heavy air. Despite its openness, once occupants crossed over the threshold of their bungalow, they had total privacy. That same privacy extended to the wraparound deck.
Nestled in the middle of a private nature reserve, the resort could boast one of the top spots among the world’s eco-resorts, but it wasn’t for the faint of heart. There was no TV, telephone, radio, Internet, air conditioning, or blow dryer. Electricity could be hit or miss, with the lodge depending on solar panels and a biodiesel-powered generator.
Hence, the box containing her laptop computer, a satellite phone for Internet access, and a solar-charged power station, had already been delivered to her room. All the necessary accoutrements to upload her photos and send them to her editor in New York.
She unpacked the box and set up her work station on a modest-sized bamboo desk that faced the expansive deck, which boasted a private outdoor shower, hammock, and lounge chairs. She stepped outside, the cooling breeze a respite from the heat. The spectacular view of the ocean could prove a little distracting if she weren’t careful.
“Speaking of distractions,” she mused aloud. Luke Hancock could prove more than a little distracting. He could prove to be downright dangerous, especially for her. Why did she seem to be always drawn to the sexy heartbreakers, the ones who were all form and no substance? Despite her feigned disinterest, being near him set her heart racing and scattered coherent thought.
“Keep your mind on your work, Sommers,” she chided. “Get it done and get out of here.”     
A cool shower and dinner in her bungalow sounded like the perfect way to wind down. Unless you liked to party with iguanas, the nightlife around here looked to be nonexistent, which was probably a good thing since she had to be up at the butt-crack of dawn.  
The shower, like the ocean side of the bungalow, was screened, giving the occupant a view of the rain forest. 
“Jesus!” As she reached for her towel she nearly lost her footing on the slick stone floor. A squirrel monkey watched her with grave curiosity.
“What the hell?”
The tiny monkey, whose head markings resembled Eddie Munster, continued to stare at her with no sense of shame. “Pervert.” Wrapping the thick towel around her, she stepped out of the shower and sighed. “This is going to be a long assignment.”
******
On time as usual, Tony pulled into the narrow dirt driveway adjacent to the beachfront house, right behind the Jeep.
Luke smiled. He could always count on Tony.
Best friends since Luke’s family started spending their winters in the cozy house at the tip of the Osa Peninsula, he and Tony were thick as thieves.
For years, he and Tony had spent their days swimming the uninhabited beaches of the Peninsula and running the palm swamps and virgin forests with Luke’s twin sister, Lisa, tagging along.
A deep welcoming bark from Luke’s new resident greeted the men as they strode toward the house. 
“Hey, amigo.” Tony wore his perpetual grin. Dark skinned, not only from his Hispanic and Boruca heritage but also from his time spent in the tropical sun, Tony’s toothy grin sparkled stark white in contrast. Hair, black as pitch with eyes to match and a stocky muscular body, Tony was a hit with the women. Not that Tony noticed. He only had eyes for his wife of five years, Alejandra, or Allie, as she liked to be called.
“Hola.” Luke clapped Tony on the back.
The two ambled toward the kitchen door, the dog’s barks becoming more insistent.
“Stand back. She explodes with the power of Walter Payton off the line.” Luke opened the door and eighty pounds of squirming, barking, whining, yellow fur bolted a good fifty yards, then circled back to the men.
Luke knelt down and gave the lab an affectionate tussle, allowing her time to calm down before she greeted Tony. By the time it was Tony’s turn, her pent-up energy had been reduced to mere shivers of delight as her whole body wagged in opposition to her tail.
“Hola, señorita Sandy.”
Sandy’s tongue lolled as her face split into a big doggie grin. Tony bent over to grab her silky ears and give her rump a warm pat.
Luke was already in the kitchen at the fridge. “Want a beer?”
“Sure.”
After taking the first satisfyingly frosty swig, the men stepped out onto the deck to relax in the lounge chairs, Sandy by their side. At a signal from Luke, Sandy laid down, her head on her paws.
“How’s our new client?” Tony asked.
Luke hesitated, then at Tony’s questioning glance, he felt a sly grin spread across his face.
“That good, huh?” Tony shot him a questioning look. “Are you going to bang every female client who hires us?”
“No, not every female client, just the sexy single ones,” he said between pulls on his beer.
“With your track record, some could accuse us of running an escort service instead of a guiding service.”
Luke shrugged. “One of the perks of the job.”
“You ever going to settle down?”
“Been there, done that. Don’t see any reason to do it again.” His chest tightened as he thought about her, his rash mistake, never to be repeated. Caroline Clarkson. They’d married shortly after being college sweethearts at the University of California Santa Barbara. A cool, tall blonde who’d secretly harbored materialistic tendencies. Just one of the many reasons why Caroline was his ex-wife.
“So, she’s sexy and single?” Tony asked, bringing him back to the present.
“Oh, she’s sexy. And she appears to be single. No ring of any kind.” Luke frowned, remembering the necklace and watch. He took another pull on his beer before continuing. “She’s what I imagine Lisa would be like if she were still here. Tall, athletic, fresh. Nothing artificial about her.”
“Yeah, I miss Lisa.”
A masculine silence descended, the kind of silence that acknowledged shared emotions without the need to speak of them.
A day didn’t go by that Luke didn’t think about Lisa, miss her. Like with a phantom limb, he often had the sensation that she was still there, still a part of him, her body moving through the forests in tandem with his.
“But our client’s got a chip on her shoulder.” Luke broke the silence. “You know the type: stubborn, independent, doesn’t want or need any help.”
A beat passed in silence.
“Just like Lisa.” The men spoke in unison and, grinning, tapped their beer bottles together in a toast.
 
 
BUY LINKS:
 
 
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Rebecca Heflin has dreamed of writing romantic fiction since she was fifteen and her older sister snuck a copy of Kathleen Woodiwiss’ Shanna to her and told her to read it. Rebecca writes women’s fiction and contemporary romance. When not passionately pursuing her dream, Rebecca is busy with her day-job as a practicing attorney. She and her mountain-climbing husband live at sea level in sunny Florida.
Twitter: @rebeccaheflin
 
Written Review Coming soon!!
 
 
 
 

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